by Marie Sexton
He actually used those words. “Meant to be.” And if that announcement had me rolling my eyes a bit, well, I also had to admit I was more than a little jealous.
After spending Christmas together, they’d been so sure of each other that his boyfriend had immediately withdrawn his application from some college I’d never even heard of and applied to CSU instead. They’d spent the last half of their senior year sending letters and talking on the phone late into the night. Bryan had managed to convince his parents to let him spend the entire summer in Orange County, although he hadn’t told them until midway through the trip that the girl he’d gone to see wasn’t a girl at all.
“So why isn’t he your roommate?” I asked.
“He’s loaded. He paid for a private single on the other side of campus. Besides, my parents were already losing their shit over having a gay son. I figured I’d give them some time to adjust.” He shrugged. “Next year, though, we’re definitely getting an apartment together.”
Our room had a bunk bed on one side—Bryan let me choose the bottom bunk—and two desks crammed against the far wall. He plopped down onto the bed.
“So, you only think you’re gay?”
I kept my back to him so he wouldn’t see how embarrassed I was. I concentrated on arranging and rearranging my stack of textbooks on the desk that was to be mine. “Pretty sure, I guess. I just haven’t, you know, managed to confirm it one hundred percent.”
Somebody knocked on our door, and in flew a whirlwind in human form. Skinny. Tan. Cute. So obviously gay, it could only be Bryan’s boyfriend.
“There you are! I had no idea where you’d gone. I had to track down the RA to find out where they’d moved you to. And of course she was all in a huff, dealing with one thing after another. Everybody on the floor either wants a new room or a new roommate or both. I don’t know how she stands it. Thank goodness you’re not still rooming with that Puritan, though. He was horrid. Oh, hello there. Who’s this?”
“That’s Jared,” Bryan said.
“Is he…?”
“Probably gay. Still a virgin. Desperate to confirm the former by changing the latter.”
The boyfriend smiled at me. “Oh, honey, no problem at all. There’s a club on the east side of town. I already checked it out. It’s eighteen and over, so you won’t even need a fake ID. It’s packed full of sexually frustrated college students and horribly repressed cowboys. By the end of the night, you’ll have a line of men begging to deflower you.”
“Uh—” was the only thing I managed to say. I wasn’t quite ready for a full-on “deflowering,” but I wasn’t quite sure how to tell them that. Not that he gave me much of a chance to speak.
“Excellent. It’s all shaping up nicely, isn’t it? By this time tomorrow, your virginity will be yesterday’s news. But good lord, where are my manners? Bryan never did properly introduce us, did he? I’m so happy to meet you.” He held out a slender, delicate hand for me to shake. “My name’s Cole.”
THEY TOOK me to the club that night, as promised.
My stomach was a mess as we drove across town, torn between excitement and sheer panic. I had a feeling Cole could tell, because he babbled the entire time, trying to distract me. He told me about the summer he and Bryan had spent together in Orange County, where it seemed they’d had zero parental supervision. Listening to him, I was reminded of the “Summer Nights” scene in Grease. It sounded magical—swimming in the ocean, evenings under the stars, waking up in bed together each and every morning. He pulled a strip of photos from his wallet for me to see, taken in one of those automatic photo booths—the two of them smiling, laughing, finally kissing. They couldn’t keep their eyes or their hands off each other. They were so in love, they practically glowed with it. It felt like they had everything figured out, and here I was, still a virgin in every sense of the word.
The bar was nothing like I expected. There was nothing screaming “gay” from the outside. It looked more like a honky-tonk in some old seventies movie, but with better music. The woman at the door checked our IDs, then gave us wristbands that said “Do not serve!”
The building was long and low, the space divided by a DJ booth. The near side contained four pool tables. The far side was for dancing. The wall opposite the door held a bar that ran the length of the building.
“Do you dance?” Cole asked, yelling so I could hear him over the music.
“Never.”
Cole and Bryan both laughed. “We’ll play pool, then,” Bryan said.
He racked the balls. Cole came back from the bar with a round of Cokes. “Whatever you do, don’t keep your eyes on the balls,” he said to me, perching on a stool and blatantly eyeing the men around us. “Tell me if you see anything you like. What’s your flavor? Twink? Bear? What?”
There was somebody, sitting at the bar. He looked to be about twenty-seven, wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and a T-shirt that accentuated a broad chest and bulky arms. I was as subtle as I knew how to be, pointing him out to Cole.
“Him.”
“Ah. Repressed cowboy it is, then. Not the way I would have gone, but it’s your party.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, and after a couple of games of pool, I was pretty sure he was aware of my attention. He turned on his stool, not hiding the fact that he was watching me too.
Great. Off to a good start. Of course, I had no idea what to do next.
Cole chuckled and nudged me with his elbow. “At this rate, you should lose your virginity by the time you’re thirty.”
“I’ve never done this,” I mumbled, leaning closer so he could hear me. “What am I supposed to do? Just walk over there and ask him to kiss me?”
“Why not?”
“Are you serious?”
Cole grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the bar. My cowboy watched us the entire way, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I thought I’d die of embarrassment. That seemed better than dying a virgin, though, so I let Cole lead the way.
“Hello. My name’s Cole.” The man kept his eyes on me as he shook Cole’s hand. “This is Jared.”
He wasn’t quite as cute close-up. Above the neck, he was average at best, but I was far more interested in the parts south of that anyway.
Cole angled himself into the space next to the man’s barstool. “Are you from Fort Collins?”
“Nope.” His voice hinted at the Deep South. “Drive an eighteen-wheeler. Just passing through.”
“Single?”
“Always.”
“Excellent. Look, I know Jared will hate me for being so frank, but he’s sort of on his maiden voyage here, so to speak, but at this rate, it’s going to take all night. Now, we don’t want anything too intrusive or crazy. Not the full five-course meal, you understand. But a little appetizer wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
The cowboy grinned at him, then at me. “That right?” He stood up from his stool, glancing in Cole’s direction. “Save my seat.”
He took my hand and led me down the length of the bar, away from the pool tables and my bemused roommate, past the packed dance floor to an open door in the corner. My heart pounded as we exited onto a small patio, strung with Christmas lights, even though it was September. The patio was full too, mostly with people smoking.
“This way,” the cowboy said, leading me away from them all. The music still reverberated in my chest, even outside.
We went around the corner, crossing from light into deep shadow. We passed one couple kissing. Another man on his knees, sucking off another. The second man’s moans were enough to make my erection strain against the confines of my jeans.
“Here.” The cowboy cornered me against the wall, his body hard against mine. He was several inches taller than me. He rubbed his knuckles against my jawline. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep it simple. But I ain’t taking your friend’s word for it just to find out he’s playing some mean prank. I want you to tell me this is what you want.”
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but I s
ure as hell wasn’t turning back now. “God, yes.”
If I’d had any doubts at all about being gay, they disappeared the moment he kissed me.
I’d had a couple of girls kiss me in high school. I’d never felt anything except uneasy and awkward. But this, being pinned against the wall, his rough stubble scouring my lips, the weight of his body against mine—it was more than an epiphany. I whimpered, putting my arms around his neck, pulling him in. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, but I hardly cared. One of his hands traveled down my back to grip my ass, pulling me against him hard enough that his erection pressed against mine.
I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch all of him. He let me lift his shirt, and I explored his back, his chest, his stomach. I fought with his belt buckle until he took pity on me and undid it himself. I ripped his pants open and slid my hand inside. The first time wrapping my hand around a penis that wasn’t my own almost undid me. Just the feel of his hardened flesh, finally doing something I’d daydreamed about for years, made me desperate. I made a pathetic, strangled sound—something between a whimper and a moan—my knees practically giving out as I fought to keep from coming in my jeans.
He chuckled against my lips. “Maiden voyage, all right. I’ll remember that sound you made for the rest of my life.”
He undid my jeans with a lot more patience than I’d shown. I did more than whimper when his hand found my cock. I was glad the music was so loud. Glad the couples on either side of us were making noise too. Glad he was muffling my cries with his mouth.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Just like that, baby. Don’t stop now.”
Not that I had any intention of stopping. The wall at my back vibrated with the bass of the music from inside the club, and I lost myself in the rhythm of it—stroking him while he kissed me, fighting not to come as he returned the favor, until I lost the battle in the best way possible. I cried out, not even caring who heard me at that point. He moaned in relief, as if he’d been waiting for me, and pinned me harder against the wall, thrusting into my fist as we both came.
A few seconds passed as I caught my breath, and then I laughed out loud. After so many years of wondering, I finally knew for sure.
I was definitely, undoubtedly, 100 percent gay.
ALL THE way through elementary school, the teachers say, “Middle school will be so much harder.” But it isn’t. And all through middle school, they tell you, “High school will be more work. No more turning things in late. No more babysitters.” Except of course, that’s also a lie. It’s just more of the same. So is it any wonder that when high school teachers say, “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than this in college,” we don’t believe them?
I’d coasted through school, taking honors classes and getting mostly As and Bs without even trying. I started college with the same attitude, expecting it to be a cakewalk, whatever the hell that meant.
Boy, was I wrong.
It took about two months for me to realize college was going to kick my lazy ass unless I got my shit together. My parents were paying part of my way. I’d picked up a part-time job at Checker Auto Parts to pay my living expenses. The rest came down to loans, which we’d have to repay whether I passed or failed. It hit me pretty hard, the first time I scored a big fat F on a test, that this was real life. This was my future, and nobody was going to hold my hand. Unless I wanted to return home, head hanging in shame, I needed to start taking school seriously. That meant less slacking. Less skipping class. Fewer trips to the gay bar, looking for another chance to fool around.
And no matter what, way more studying. I drove home almost every Sunday to watch the Broncos game with my family, but other than that, I allowed myself very little leisure time.
I got along well with both Bryan and Cole, who split their time between our dorm room and Cole’s single. The latter offered them privacy, which they generally took advantage of on the weekends, but during the week, they both used the dorm room as their home base.
One day, only a week before Thanksgiving, Cole came breezing into our dorm room, emanating shades of Scarlett O’Hara as he threw himself into Bryan’s desk chair and put the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh dear God, this math mod will be the death of me.”
Cole was still a bit of a mystery to me. Bright, dramatic, and flamboyant, he always managed to make me laugh, but there was a secrecy about him as well. I’d gathered bits and pieces of information, doing my best not to be too nosy. He was rich. That much was blatantly obvious. His father was dead. He never talked about his mother at all. He spoke fluent French, and was majoring in literature and cultural studies, with a minor in art history. Unlike Bryan and me, he hadn’t bothered getting a job, but he took school far more seriously than the average freshman. He studied more than Bryan and me put together, which was why his confession about math surprised me.
“Which math mod?”
“120. Have you taken it yet?”
CSU didn’t offer math classes at the lower levels. At least, not in the traditional sense. Instead, they offered a series of tests, which they called “mods,” each good for one credit. Students could take them at their leisure, breezing through them if they were good at math, or spreading them over the first couple of years of college if not. I’d already taken calculus in high school, and being in-state, the credit had transferred over to CSU, meaning I didn’t have to deal with the mods at all. I wasn’t off the hook, though. I was majoring in physics, so I had plenty of advanced math in my future.
Not that he needed to know any of that.
“I can help you. I kind of have a knack for equations.”
“I only need three math credits. If you can get me through those, I’ll be in your debt for all of eternity.”
I laughed. “I’m flat broke until payday. Buy me dinner for the next couple of nights, and we’ll call it even.”
COLE WENT to Paris that year for the entire winter break. Bryan pouted about being away from him for three solid weeks but couldn’t afford to go with him. He grudgingly returned to Texas for Christmas, where he had to split his time between his divorced parents. I spent a few days at home but elected to stay on campus the rest of the time.
And I finally met somebody.
Not at the club, but in the weight room at the student gym. I noticed him right away. How could I not, with him doing squats in front of me? He was exactly what I looked for in men—tall and built, with a shy smile that made me weak in the knees. It didn’t take me long to figure out he was watching me as much as I was watching him. A few stilted questions in the locker room, and the next thing I knew, we were back at my dorm, with our pants around our ankles.
It was my first real experience with oral sex, and it promptly led to my second, and third, and fourth, and so on, until I could happily say I’d lost count. Whoever had first thought to wrap their mouth around a cock, I thought they deserved a medal of some kind. Oral sex was better than the wheel. Better than sliced bread. Better than fireworks and the national anthem on the Fourth of July.
Maybe even better than the Denver Broncos.
His name was Caleb. He played on the football team, and he was deep in the closet. Not that I cared. I was far more interested in sex than I was in any kind of relationship. Every Friday night over the next couple of months, Caleb snuck into my room sometime around midnight, and we spent an hour or two together, rarely exchanging more than a few words. I lived for those stolen moments between the sheets. Other than that, I worked at Checker, I tutored Cole (who was now taking PH100 and struggling mightily), and I studied. My life became narrow and carefully scheduled, my eyes always on my grades. I still wasn’t sure what I intended to do with a bachelor’s degree in physics, but I figured I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
The first of March, I walked into our dorm room to find Bryan and Cole on opposite sides of the room with their backs to each other. Cole was facing me, his eyes swollen and red, and he quickly covered his face to hide the fact that he’d been crying.
>
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Cole grabbed his coat and book bag, keeping his eyes carefully averted. “I have to go.”
He didn’t slam the door behind him. He closed it carefully, as if afraid it would break.
“What happened?” I asked Bryan.
Bryan sighed and perched on the edge of his desk. I didn’t think he’d been crying, but his hands shook visibly as he pushed the hair out of his eyes. “He’s going to Cancun for spring break.”
“Wow. Lucky him.”
Bryan scowled. “Yeah. Lucky him.”
I set my backpack down and leaned my hip against our bunk bed, trying to decide how involved I wanted to be. Bryan was my roommate, but they were both my friends. I hoped they wouldn’t expect me to pick sides.
“He has so much money,” Bryan said at last. “He doesn’t get it.”
“Doesn’t get what?”
“That the rest of us don’t.” He shook his head. “My dad… he does okay, you know? I mean, we’re not loaded, but we were always comfortable, I guess. We went to Vail every Christmas, and to Mexico every summer. But in Cole’s mind, I may as well be dirt poor. He doesn’t understand why I can’t go skiing every other weekend, or why I can’t just fly to Paris for the holiday.”
“You don’t want him to go?”
“No!” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. Then, calmer: “No. I want him to stay. I know how he is. I know, because I’ve seen it. Because that’s how we met.”
“I thought you met on the slopes.”
“We did.” He threw up his hands, clearly frustrated by my slowness. “Think about the time we took you to the club. He has no qualms about approaching people. About… flirting. Or, you know, making passes at complete strangers.”
Understanding dawned. “You think he’s hooking up with other people?”
“I don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe? I want to say no, but I know him. I can’t imagine him spending all that time alone.”