Cuddling

by Allan, S. H.

  “And we’re not too old for board games?” Mike sat on the other end of the couch and pulled Ryan’s feet into his lap. He absentmindedly started massaging them.

  “Board games require skill and strategy. Truth or Dare is what kids play at high school parties along with Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

  “Both excellent suggestions, but there are only the two of us, and we have issues if it only takes us seven minutes.” Mike waggled his eyebrows. He might have single-eyebrow envy, but he could do the Groucho Marx waggle with the best of them.

  “Why Truth or Dare?”

  “It’s a getting-to-know-you game.”

  “We know each other. Biblically, even.” Ryan laughed.

  “Ha! Until a couple of days ago, you didn’t know I got off on being spanked, and I didn’t know that you got off on dominating. So I think we have new areas to explore. Consider it a getting-to-know-each-other-better game.” Mike moved on to massage Ryan’s calves. Ryan gave an appreciative grunt.

  “Can you even play just with two people?” Mike shot Ryan an irritated look. “Fine. I’ll be good.”

  “Being good is not the point of the game. Being honest is.” Mike dropped Ryan’s legs and angled himself so he could look Ryan square in the face.

  “Fine. I’ll be honest, then. But I think you’re missing out. ‘When I’m good, I’m very good.’” Ryan leered at Mike.

  “Don’t quote Mae West to me. I audited your Sex and Sexuality in Early Twentieth Century Film class. I know you left off the rest of that quote.”

  “‘But when I’m bad, I’m better’? You know that’s true.” He teased. “Okay. I’ll play.” He added almost sullenly, “As long as you go first. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth,” Mike said unhesitatingly.

  “Damn, I was hoping you’d say dare. I’ve got a long list of requests, now that we’ve discovered your hidden propensity toward kink.”

  “Too bad. This is supposed to be about us reconnecting more than just our dicks. Truth.”

  Ryan got very quiet. “Why did you pick me?”

  “Pick you for what?” Mike asked, honestly confused.

  “Pick me to be your first. You could have had anyone. Seriously.” Ryan nudged Mike’s leg with his foot.

  “What are you talking about? I couldn’t get a date to save my life. I couldn’t even start a conversation,” Mike protested.

  “Only because you didn’t try. I could name six people in our class, including me, who would have gone out with you in a heartbeat. But nobody could get a read on you. It’s like they weren’t even there.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is,” Ryan insisted. “And if you truly were that clueless, why did you choose me? Is it because you thought I was your only option? Did you choose me out of some misguided and idiotic belief that I was the only one who would have you?”

  “No, I chose you because I fell in love with you. You realize you quoted me poetry? You were the biggest nerd on the planet, and I loved it. I felt like you saw me. I felt invisible all the time. I wanted to be invisible. In my life I had learned that being invisible was essential to my survival, and then you came along and saw me despite my best efforts. You were this big, strong dork who quoted poetry and looked at me like I hung the moon, and you didn’t give a crap that I was about as sexually experienced as a starfish.”

  “A starfish?”

  “They don’t need to have sex to reproduce,” Mike explained.

  “But they can,” Ryan tried to clarify.

  “What? Have sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sort of, to reproduce. I don’t actually look at nature porn. Aren’t we off the topic?” Mike wouldn’t put it past Ryan to try to derail the dating assignment.

  “You were the one who brought up the sex life of the starfish. And aren’t they called sea stars now?”

  “See? You are the biggest dork ever.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who knows the sexual habits of sea stars.”

  “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth,” Ryan said cautiously.

  “What did you first notice about me?” Mike had always wondered why Ryan had hit on him in the first place.

  “Your T-shirt.”

  “My T-shirt?” Mike hadn’t expected that response.

  “Why do you always repeat my answers? Yes, I noticed your T-shirt. It was red and said ‘Have you hugged my T-shirt today?’ And I thought to myself, I haven’t hugged that T-shirt, and I really, really want to. Plus it was so at odds with you.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

  “I watched you after that first day. You were so quiet. You didn’t speak up in class, but I could tell just by watching your facial expressions when you agreed with a point and when you thought the person speaking was a complete idiot. I spent half the class watching you.”

  “I noticed. I thought you were plotting to beat the crap out of me. You had this permanently pissed-off look on your face.”

  “I was plotting how to ask you out. I wasn’t even sure if you batted for my team, and I was upset that the semester was halfway over and I couldn’t even find someone in the class who knew you enough to tell me if you were straight or not. I kept trying to get your attention, and then one day out of the blue, you sat next to me and asked me for a pen.”

  “Smooth, huh?”

  “You forget, I had been watching you for half a semester. You always had, like, ten pens tucked in the front pocket of your messenger bag. I was the smooth one,” Ryan claimed.

  “Saying ‘Here, let me test it out first’ and writing your name and phone number on my notebook was smooth?”

  “You know it was.” Ryan grinned. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

  “Dare.” Mike smirked.

  “What happened to getting to know each other better?”

  “I want to know more about this kinky request list. Can I add to it?”

  “Sure.” Ryan pulled out a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans.

  “You actually have a list? Give that to me.” Mike grabbed it from Ryan and started to scan it. “Role-playing? A certain blond vampire? Yes, please. Playing doctor. Wait…. A real doctor or, like, Doctor Who?” Mike asked, his nose crinkling in confusion.

  “You are such a geek. I love you.” Ryan shifted position so he could crawl over to Mike and steal a kiss.

  “Hmmph. I love you too. Now can we talk about the role-playing?”

  THE Final Date: Go on your first date again. If you followed our plan, you’ve reignited the fire in the bedroom. But recreating your first date can remind you why you fell in love with this person in the first place, and isn’t the fire in your heart the reason you married them?

  Mike thought a lot about the final assignment to recreate the first date. He remembered the amount of angst he had suffered over the thought of asking out Ryan the first time around. Back then, he may even have downed more than his prescribed dosage of antianxiety meds that week trying to decide whether to call Ryan or not. Was he really the focus of some hot jock’s attention? Ryan had been hitting on him, right? He’d never even been on a date before. He was socially incompetent. He had come out of the closet in the fifth grade, not out of any bravery or social statement, but out of a lack of social filter. Apparently when asked who you thought was cute at your first boy/girl party, you were not supposed to actually be truthful and blurt out the same name all the girls had said. He had spent the next seven years actively keeping his mouth shut in any social situation so he wouldn’t inadvertently blurt out something else that would cause any attention to be drawn to him.

  HE HAD never told Ryan, even after all these years, the reason he had worn funny T-shirts that first semester. They were his lame attempt to initiate some sort of conversation with people that didn’t involve him actually opening his mouth first. And it worked. People came up to him and tried to make conversation, but he usua
lly blurted out the first thing that came to mind, and their faces would freeze in polite grimaces, and they’d find somewhere else to sit the next class. When Ryan started the conversation about the stanza he thought was blatantly referring to the “male member,” Mike had been silently cheering him on. He agreed with Ryan but would never have the balls to say so to a teacher who so staunchly maintained the interpretation wasn’t valid. When Ryan then pointed out that if you did think the interpretation was valid, the poem took on homoerotic overtones, Mike’s stomach got queasy with fear for Ryan and shame at his own silence. He agreed with Ryan, and nobody else in the classroom weighed in on the argument, either through not caring or for fear of ticking off the teacher and jeopardizing their grade. He always felt he should have spoken up to defend Ryan’s interpretation. Mike had also been struck by the homoeroticism of the poem. It made him want someone to see him in that light instead of the awkward, lanky mess of fey geekiness he was. It was an odd feeling of hope that made him take the leap to actually make the first move to get to know Ryan. The fact that his first lame volley was so easily and effortlessly batted back into his court left him at a loss for a next move.

  Mike made it to Friday without knowing how to proceed. After three days of internal debate, Mike made the momentous decision just to drown the fuck out of the voices in his head in with a Xanax chased by neon-colored cocktails at Hart’s End, the only gay club in the nearest city. He flailed around the dance floor, heading back to the bar every time he felt self-conscious. On the third trip back, he stumbled into a very broad chest and felt hands steadying him. He looked down to see the guy from his English class looking up at him.

  “You!” he accused.

  “Me,” Ryan agreed.

  “You—you go to MIU!” Mike was pissed off. He had gone out tonight to forget this guy.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re in my poetry class.”

  “Yes.” Ryan smiled.

  “You’re gay.”

  “Yes. And apparently so are you.” Ryan’s smile got even broader.

  “Will you go out with me?” Mike managed to say without slurring a single word. There, that would show him. He had given him his number, after all.

  “You’re asking me now?” Ryan shouted to be heard over the music.

  “Yes, now. Tomorrow I’ll be sober and won’t have the guts to call you. Because you have muscles.” Mike drew his hand down the side of Ryan’s biceps. Yep. Those were definitely muscles.

  “You like my muscles,” Ryan said confidently. “Don’t you?”

  Mike shook his head. “I like your brains. You were right!” he shouted while managing to spill the last of his cocktail.

  “Right about what?” Ryan looked puzzled.

  “The poem. In class. About the penis.” Mike ignored the startled stare of the bartender who was cleaning up the remains of Mike’s drink. “The poet totally wanted to do his friend. So, will you?”

  “What? Go out with you?”

  “Yes. Because I really, really like your brain. And you know… your face. I would really, really like to kiss your face.” Mike leaned in before he realized they were still standing in the bar. “There are too many people in here. I’m shy.”

  “I can tell. Want to come back to my place?” Ryan offered.

  “Are you going to take advantage of me?” Mike purred.

  “Not until you sober up some,” Ryan said gently.

  “Bad idea.”

  “Taking advantage of you?”

  “Probably. Don’t have much experience. But it’s kind of like a job,” Mike said gloomily.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Can’t get a job without experience. But can’t get experience without a job. It’s the same with sex. Nobody wants anyone who doesn’t know anything about sex. But can’t get sex without…. What was I saying?” He stumbled a little.

  Ryan put his arm around Mike’s waist. Mike thought he had never felt anything so good. People didn’t touch him. He really liked being touched.

  “C’mon. Let me get you back to my place. Your virtue is safe with me,” Ryan promised.

  “Damn. I was really, really hoping to get laid before I died,” Mike confessed.

  “Do you have a disease that will suddenly kill you in the next twenty-four hours?” Ryan asked as he steadied Mike to lead him out of the bar.

  “No.”

  “Then don’t worry about it.”

  “I could have an aneurysm. Or you could be a vampire. You’re not a vampire, are you?” Mike stopped short at that thought.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Lots,” Mike said abashedly.

  They walked back to Ryan’s place, where Ryan gave him two Tylenol and kept feeding him water. They talked for hours about random things in their lives. Mike’s nonexistent filter combined with alcohol led to several embarrassing confessions. Much to his relief, Ryan didn’t seem fazed by any of them and even offered some of his own.

  Ryan suggested they curl up in bed with clothes on once he noticed Mike was starting to doze off. As they lay there, drifting to sleep, Ryan whispered to him while stroking his face.

  “I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody too?”

  “That’s sweet. Who wrote that?” Mike murmured the question back.

  “Emily Dickinson. The second stanza is cool too. But it involves frogs.” Ryan sighed. Mike tried to answer, but he couldn’t, as he was sliding into sleep.

  The next morning Mike awoke to a brush of lips across his forehead.

  “Hey, wake up.” Ryan gently shook him.

  Mike groaned.

  “Hangover?”

  “No. Just embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  “Did I confess to both my virginity and the fact that I first masturbated to covers of old Doc Savage novels last night?” Mike mumbled into the pillow.

  “Yep.” Ryan smiled.

  “Yeah. I’m going to just… go.” Mike rolled to get off the bed.

  “No. Nope. Not going anywhere.” Ryan grasped his arm and rolled him back.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I promised to do this when you were finally sober.” Ryan grasped Mike’s head in his two hands and kissed him. Mike finally realized what all the fuss was about two seconds before he realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth, and it felt like two cotton balls had bred six more in his mouth overnight.

  “Stop.” He gasped when they came up for air.

  “Why?”

  “I need to brush my teeth.” He started to get up.

  “Later.” Ryan hauled him back to the bed.

  “But.”

  “Later….”

  They wound up slotted against each other, still in the clothes they had worn the night before. Mike relished the feel of Ryan on top of him grinding down as they exchanged kisses until morning breath wasn’t a problem and the wet spots leaking through their pants were.

  Mike got up to remove his pants and brushed his teeth while Ryan looked for a pair of pants that would fit him. When he came out, he saw Ryan staring at him.

  “What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “No. It’s nothing. Here.” Ryan handed him a pair of black sweatpants. “So what do you want to do this afternoon?”

  “You want to see me again?”

  “Yes, I want to see you again. Did you think I just wanted sex?” Ryan looked hurt.

  “Holy shit. That counted as sex?” Mike said wonderingly. Did that mean he was finally devirginized?

  “Yes, it counted. Is that all you wanted? You said you liked my brain last night…. I thought….” Ryan sounded uncertain.

  “Yes, I do. I definitely like your brain. And the sex. So, afternoon. Yes.” Mike pulled on Ryan’s sweatpants, which were a little short but otherwise covered him. “What would you like to do?” he asked.

  “Take a hike,” Ryan said.

  “Okay. I’m confused, but okay
.” Mike started to look for his wallet so he could leave.

  “No, I mean go for a hike. With you,” Ryan explained patiently.

  “Are you sure? I’m not particularly athletic.” Mike flexed his nonexistent muscles and was rewarded with laughter from Ryan.

  “It’s an easy hike. It’s just around the lake.”

  “Wait. How many times?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes it matters.” Mike exhaled impatiently.

  “Why? It’s not a particularly long hike. It’s like half a mile or something.”

  “Don’t you know? It’s campus legend that if you walk three times around the lake, it means you’re going to get married to the person you’re walking around the lake with.” Mike hoped the panic in his voice wasn’t as obvious as it sounded to him. Ryan came up to him and petted the sides of his waist. He kissed Mike before answering.

  “Stop panicking. Gay marriage isn’t legal. I mean, I guess we could move to Vermont. They have civil unions.”

  “That’s the part you’re focusing on?” He had the sneaking suspicion that dating Ryan was going to kill him.

  “Yes. C’mon. Let me feed you, and then we’ll go for a hike.” Ryan reached out and grabbed Mike’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss.

  ELEVEN years later, Mike wasn’t sure how the hell to recreate their first date or even what counted as their first date. He finally consulted Ryan, who was sitting at the desk. He still couldn’t look at the desk without getting partially aroused.

  “We didn’t have a first date.” Ryan looked up at him, surprise written all over his face.

  “What do you mean, we didn’t have a first date?” He thought they were done with Ryan not cooperating with the dating project. He had found Ryan quite enjoyed… cooperating.

  “I mean, we didn’t have a first date. I ran into you at the bar, and I took you home. We never called anything a date. I mean, you technically asked me out the first night, but we never really did the dating thing. We just were,” Ryan said steadily.

  “Were what?”

  “We were us. We were just together. Even before we could actually legally get married, we acted married. You moved in a week later, remember? So we can’t recreate the first date, because we never went on one.” Ryan sighed and tossed his pen onto the desk. Mike processed this.