by Kent Bushart
He waved it around. “Is this how you do it?”
“Are you crazy? The smoke alarms are going to go off!” I took it from him and looked around for a way to put it out, while he chortled. I had no ashtray, no anything. Finally I put it in the trash can and dumped some bottled water on it. He was still giggling.
“Asshole.” I grumbled, severely annoyed, but I couldn’t stay mad. He was grinning at me to beat the band, and he looked so cute, sitting there at my very own desk, in his black Batman t-shirt. It showed off his little frame nicely.
I roughly grabbed him by the arm and drug him to the bed. “Come here, you devil.”
I kissed him, and he kissed me back, avidly. It was heaven.
We didn’t stop, and it was the make-out session I’d been dreaming of since the first time I’d kissed him. He parted his lips and I slipped my tongue into his mouth. He made a little moan, and our tongues played. His tongue is short, and stubby, but mine is longer, and wouldn’t be denied. We clutched each other, and I ran my hands all over him, and he did the same.
After going this way a good long while, I pulled back, and whispered, “Take your shirt off.” I tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt.
“What? No,” he said, scandalized. I couldn’t see a problem.
“Come on,” I rasped, pulling on it. I was pretty worked up.
He forcibly pushed it back down. “You first.”
Without a word I whisked my shirt off and threw it across the tiny room. He looked at me, mesmerized.
Like I said, I look pretty good. I’ve pumped up my chest and arms a lot in the past year, and my delts are nothing to sneeze at.
Okay, I don’t have super-defined abs. But what am I going to do, tell my grandmother that I’m not going to eat the Cuban dishes she prepares especially for my dad and me? Tell my mom that I’m not going to eat the lasagna she slaves over, with the homemade ricotta cheese? But even given that, my stomach is flat, and hard.
He swallowed audibly, and let me pull his shirt up over his head. I tossed it aside and looked at him.
He tried to cover himself with his arms, but I wouldn’t let him. His skin was like alabaster, perfect, and beautiful. His nipples were small and pink, like his lips, and I still thought he was nicely formed. Okay, he wasn’t an athlete, but he had full shoulders, nice arms, and his chest was big enough, proportionally, that is. He was a little baby-fatty, true, as I’d theorized before, but he wore it well. I thought he was gorgeous.
His chest and neck were flushed in his excitement. I sighed and kissed him again, running my hands over his chest and stomach. Then I kissed his neck, and he squirmed. That was right before I went lower and kissed his nipples, which got me a full-on groan.
We stretched out on the bed, chest to chest, and enjoyed the contact of naked skin, and kissed more and more deeply.
When you’re horizontal everyone is the same height. I was able to kiss him face to face, without leaning over, and it was great. We took a breather and gazed into each other’s eyes, and I was lost in his shining blueness. I couldn’t help myself. I reached down and groped him, feeling his hardness. He rolled his head back, and I was sure he was going to moan again, when we froze.
There was someone outside the door, fumbling with keys. Panicked, I looked at my alarm clock. I’d completely forgotten to watch the time.
“Quick!” I yelped, scrambling up, “Put your shirt on!” I stood in front of the door, and blocked it. I pushed back when Carlton tried to swing it open.
“Just a minute, Carlton,” I called. I hissed at Patton, scrambling to dress himself, to get my t-shirt, flung across Carlton’s desk.
“What’s going on? Let me in!” Carlton whined, and kept pushing the door.
“Just a minute,” I sang. We were giggling. Patton found my shirt and tossed it to me, and I finished putting it on just as I stepped away from the door and let Carlton in.
“What’s going on in here?” He asked suspiciously, glaring at us. Patton was sitting on the rumpled bed, smiling sweetly. I was standing where I had just stepped away from the door.
“Nothing,” I said casually. “Just hanging.”
Carlton tested the air, and his eyes went wide. “Are you smoking pot in here?”
“What?” Patton asked. Then he realized Carlton was smelling the sage smoke.
“Oh, sorry,” I grinned. “You caught us.”
Carlton slammed the door. “Smoking pot, in my room?”
“Our room,” I corrected. Poor Carlton was so sheltered, he didn’t even know what pot actually smells like.
“Smoking pot! I should tell the RA!” He stormed around, dropping his books on his desk with a thud.
“Please, don’t,” Patton said, in a tone of voice that clearly said he really didn’t care what Carlton did.
“Who’s this guy?” Carlton asked, looking at Patton.
“This is Patton. He’s a computer science major, and my friend.” It felt good to say that.
“Still, why shouldn’t I tell the RA?” He asked.
“Because,” I sighed, “I promise we won’t do it again. Besides, they’ll never let you change roommates this late in the semester, so you’re stuck with me.”
“It’s not even midterm,” he said.
I shrugged. “Well, you can try. Or you can get over it. We won’t do it again, don’t worry.” I looked at Patton, who was trying hard to keep from laughing. I shook my head at him.
Carlton slammed himself down at his desk. “Well, if you swear you’ll never do it again.”
“I swear,” I said.
“I swear,” Patton said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Well, that’s okay then, I guess,” Carlton said. “As long as it never happens again.”
Patton put his jacket on and picked up his backpack. I followed him out the door, but once we were halfway down the hall, we busted out laughing.
“Oh, God, that’s your roommate?” He said.
“Yeah, that’s good ol’ Carlton.”
“Jeez, Farmer Brown is ten times cooler than that,” Patton said, as we rode down the elevator with a couple of girls.
I walked him to the lobby door and gave a little wave when he looked back and grinned.
***
Carlton raved for three days, but I didn’t care. Patton and I had had our fun, and it was bliss.
We went to a movie on campus, and attended a lecture by a famous humor columnist, and whatever else that was going on that we felt like doing together. Basketball and wrestling were over, though. The Cyclones were eliminated early in the NCAA tournament, and everyone was pretty bummed, but I was happy, spending whatever time I could with Patton, between studying, classes, and spring workouts. We met for coffee a lot, and a few meals, but suddenly we were on top of midterms, and both having to do some cramming. We met in the library, and studied across from each other.
People were talking about their Spring Break plans. Kids were going skiing in Idaho, going to beaches in Mexico, going to New York, but neither Patton nor I had any such expensive plans. I was just sad I wasn’t going to see him for a week.
“What will you do during Spring Break?” He asked me, one afternoon in the coffee house.
“Try and earn money as much as I can,” I said. “If my dad doesn’t need me on his floor crew, I’ll check out the feed store, maybe work a few days, if I can.” That was my job during high school, throwing heavy bags around at the local feed store. It was a great upper body workout, and I’d come home most days sore. “Mr. Johnson will probably let me get some hours there. What will you do?”
He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, hang around with my mom, maybe see what my friends are up to, if any of them are around,” he said. “I know I’ll miss you.”
That made me happy. I would miss him, too, and was about to say so, when Patton looked up over my head, eyes brightening in recognition.
“Hey, Kevin,” he said.
I looked around, and Kevi
n Little came from behind me and stood by our little table.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this a cozy scene,” he said. He was all sharp and clean, product in his hair, his face shiny and moisturized. He probably spent hours every morning monkeying with himself.
“S’up,” I mumbled.
“What’s up guys?” He purred, all friendly. “Any plans for Spring Break?”
“Not really,” Patton admitted. “I’m just going home.”
“Me, too,” I said. I didn’t like Kevin, and he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from bugging us. Of course, Patton saw him regularly at the meetings.
“I’m going to LA,” he said, crouching down on his haunches to table level with us. “So, tell me. I’ve seen you guys around together. Are you two an item?”
Patton opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. “Just friends,” I said. I was about to say something nasty, because what we are is exactly none of his business, and I was sure he didn’t wish us well, but saying that wouldn’t have been politic. Patton still had to deal with him.
“Aw, is that all? I thought for sure–Well, it’s so cute when guys like you get together.”
“I suppose,” I deadpanned.
“Okay,” he said. “I just thought I’d ask. See ya around.” He straightened up and left. I watched him go out the door.
I turned back to Patton, and saw him looking at me with hurt in his eyes. The hurt little boy eyes he tried so hard to hide.
“So, are you ashamed of me?” He asked, quietly.
“No, of course not, Patton,” I said. I realized then I’d made a big mistake.
“Yes, you are. I’m an embarrassment.”
“No, Patton–“
“Yeah. You’re the big soccer stud, and I’m just your little nerd toy, a placeholder until you meet someone better.”
“No!” I cried. “I like you.”
“Then how come I’ve never met any of your friends? You’ve never introduced me to anybody.” He leaned forward on his elbows, now more angry than hurt.
“I don’t have that many friends,” I said. But it was true, I did have some friends, not a lot, but a few people I was friendly with. But then we would have to go and do things with them, and hang, and I guess I wanted to keep him all to myself.
“Then why didn’t you tell Kevin about us?” He asked, nostrils flaring.
“Because nothing about us is any of his business!”
He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. I could tell he was making up his mind. He stood up. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you anymore.” He stooped to pick up his backpack.
“Wait!” I reached across the table and grabbed at his arm. As I did so, my elbows thumped hard on the table, rattling it, and our drinks spilled.
I froze, and realized the coffee house had gone quiet, and people were looking at us.
I knew what I had to do.
I released his arm, and stood up, taking a deep breath. “Everyone, I have an announcement,” I said loudly. I wasn’t used to addressing crowds, like I said, I was a shy kid, but I screwed up my courage.
“I am Jules Carreras. I’m on the soccer team, and I’m a freshman. I live in McGinnis.” I stepped close to Patton, who was standing there awkwardly, and put my arm casually over his shoulder.
“This is my boyfriend,” I said. “I’m crazy about him.” People were staring, and I didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks for your attention.”
I didn’t name Patton, because I didn’t feel it was my place to, but there we were, for all the world to see. One person started clapping, and people joined in, creating a smattering of polite golf tournament applause.
Now I was really embarrassed. I picked up my stuff and we hurried out, my arm over his shoulders.
When we were a little ways away, I dropped my arm and we faced each other.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. But I’m not ashamed of you, Patton. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry you didn’t know that.”
His face softened, and he looked up at me, eyes shining. “Now everyone’s going to know about you. The soccer team–“
“So what. I don’t care.” That was true, it would probably get back to the soccer team, but I didn’t know if I would even be on the team next year, anyway. Besides, some things are more important, like the people you care about.
He shook his head in wonder. “Thanks,” he said, subdued.
We separated and I headed off to class.
***
We saw each other a few more times, and texted, but we were both pretty busy with midterms.
There was one more spring workout with the team before Spring Break, and it was mostly okay. Nobody said anything, but I could detect a few guys keeping their distance, especially in the locker room. A few guys with their heads together, looking at me. Guess word got around.
Then, on the Wednesday before Spring Break, he called me.
“Guess what?” He said, excited. “Kevin called me and invited me to a party at his place. Invited us.”
“He did? He has your number?” I asked.
“I guess he found it, in the directory,” he said. “People at the LGBT know I’m a Pinkerton.”
“Hm, when is it?” No way I wanted to go. Kevin still hadn’t gotten back at me for snubbing him that night, and I didn’t think he was the type to let things like that go.
“It’s Thursday night, a pre-Spring Break party. Friday everybody heads out of town, so I guess that’s why it’s Thursday,” he said. “He has great parties. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never been invited.”
I remained silent, not exactly knowing what to say.
“If you don’t want to go, that’s okay,” he said. “I can probably get a ride with someone.”
That made up my mind. No way was I going to let him go without me. Who knew what Kevin had planned. I had no way of knowing if he’d even heard about my little coffee house announcement.
I had my Calculus midterm on Thursday, and I was sweating that, but Friday I only had English, and I wasn’t too worried about that one. I’d gotten Chem over with earlier that day, and I think I did okay.
“If you want to go, I’ll take you,” I said.
“Great,” he said.
So the next night we met at our spot close to the parking lots. He was wearing a polo shirt, khaki pants, and boat shoes I’d never seen before.
“You look nice,” I said. “Very peppy.”
He quirked his mouth. “The term is ‘preppy,’ and thanks. So do you.”
I wasn’t wearing anything other than jeans, and a black v-neck t-shirt, under my Iowa hoodie.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
We used a mapping app to find the place, and had to search around a bit for the visitor parking. We left the car and found a pedestrian gate, with a call box. Patton referred to his phone, and punched a number in.
“Hello?” Kevin’s voice.
“We’re here. Patton, and Jules,” Patton said. There was a buzzing, and the gate popped open.
So, a really nice building, and a security gate. It was one of those brand new condo buildings, that everyone thinks is cool, but I think are crappy. The building goes right up to the curb, with not a single green space anywhere.
We took an elevator up to the fourth floor, but didn’t need any help after that. We could tell where it was by the thumping music.
Kevin opened the door. “Hi, guys, come on in.”
He led us straight back to a bedroom, and told us to leave our coats in the bed with the others. When I dropped my hoodie, he appraised us both. “Looking good, guys,” he said.
We followed him into the kitchen where we were given long-neck beers. I know we’re underage, and but Kevin was too. Someone else probably brought the beer. I’d had beer before, but I wasn’t totally sure about Patton. Anyway, I had no intention of getting drunk. I still had another test tomorrow.
Going
into the living room we found a lot of people. Not a choking amount, you could still move around comfortably, but plenty. There were a few girls, some I’d seen at the LGBT meeting, but there were even more guys. Good-looking guys, guys that would never be caught dead at an LGBT meeting. The gay upper-crust. The image crowd.
Patton started working the room immediately, in that over-friendly way he had. He was nodding, doing the pistol-fingers, and bopping along with the pulsing, too-loud music. I followed along like a puppy.
Shortly he struck up a conversation with one of the girls, and I looked around. Kevin’s place was really nice. It was roomy, with a vaulted ceiling, and a railing on the second floor overlooking the living room. The furniture and décor all matched, just like one of those model rooms you see in a chain furniture store ad. Pre-fab. At least there wasn’t a poster of Che Guevera, like I was half-expecting. He might be willing to mar his body with that image, but not the walls of his fancy-pants apartment.
And he had a big-screen that was playing the video that went along with the music.
“This is Jules, my friend,” Patton was saying as he pulled on my arm, bringing me in range of his conversation.
“Hi, I’m Trina,” the girl said. She was a pretty brunette in a cocktail dress.
“Hi,” I said.
We all chatted a bit. She was a Senior, a marketing major. “I just love Kevin’s parties,” she gushed. “He knows so many cute guys.”
If she was trolling for a date, I was pretty sure she was going to go home disappointed.
We met more people, and did our best to mingle. Patton was much better at it than I was. When I was talking to a rather effeminate theater major, Patton peeled off and went into the kitchen for another beer. I had only drunk about half of mine, and he was already on his second. He left me with the theater major and glided around, butting into conversations. I imagined he was already feeling the beer, but I decided to leave him alone, for now.
I watched the videos, and watched Patton. A really good-looking guy came up and introduced himself. I think he was into me, but I just kept it polite. I had come with Patton, and I was leaving with Patton. Besides, he would probably need help getting home, judging from the effect only two beers had on him.