Out in the Open

by A. J. Truman

  “They can see us!”

  “Nah, they’re too focused on rehearsing.” Greg leaned against the entryway and crossed his arms, making the fabric of his T-shirt stretch against his toned arms. Ethan tried to keep his resistance intact.

  “Someone could walk in.”

  “Someone could walk into the janitor’s closet.”

  Ethan knew he couldn’t win in an argument with Greg. Some lawyer he’ll make, although Ethan doubted any of his future cases would revolve around public sex.

  “I feel so exposed.”

  “You haven’t even taken your clothes off.” Greg placed a calming hand on his shoulder. A very bro move. “Trust me. We haven’t gotten caught yet. That is something I will avoid at all costs.”

  That should’ve made Ethan feel safer, but this time, it nicked him like a flick of a rubber band.

  All thoughts escaped Ethan once Greg’s hands were on him, rubbing his chest and drifting south. His eyes bore into him, and the light silhouetted his solid jawline. That made Ethan hard instantly. The violin section played the stirring opening notes of a classical piece, sending his heart racing. He reached out for Greg and cupped his hardening cock over the layer of mesh. Back and forth, he stroked.

  They massaged each other through their pants. Greg’s moan rumbled in his throat; Ethan’s pulse thumped in his ears. He lifted Greg’s shirt and ran his fingers along Greg’s glorious, firm pecs, ringing the grooves, then sliding down to his tight six-pack. Ethan could have gotten off just by this alone.

  He unfurled Greg’s cock from his warm-up pants and black boxer briefs. Like opening a present on Christmas, it never got old. Ethan knelt down—head-to-head—but Greg pulled him up.

  “I thought it was my turn,” Ethan said. “Since you started it at the movies.”

  “You’re keeping track?”

  “I thought it would only be fair,” he said, though he would never enforce the rules. The rules were whatever Greg said the rules were.

  Greg laughed. His eyes crinkled when he grinned, two chocolate chips staring back at him. “I have a better idea.”

  He laid down between the first row of chairs and the edge of the box. His dick stood straight up, and Ethan’s mouth watered. He was confused and caught off-guard and quaking with anticipation. Every synapse in his body was on high alert, waiting for further information.

  “What are you doing?”

  Greg sat up, not saying a word. In a swift move, he unzipped Ethan’s pants and dropped them and his underwear to his knees. Ethan nearly screamed out in panic. Was this a prank? The punchline at the end of a long con?

  Greg took his length in his mouth, and Ethan held onto the balcony railing for balance, not daring to glance behind him. His fingernails dug into the fresh coat of paint. He tried to resist the fear encroaching on this moment, convincing himself that, if he didn’t look at the orchestra, they wouldn’t look back at him.

  “Come down here,” Greg said.

  Ethan got on his knees. Their rock-hard erections were inches apart.

  “Lie down next to me.”

  And so Ethan did. Now their eyes, their lips were in close proximity. Ethan could feel his body gravitating closer to Greg’s. The wanting burned in his chest.

  “The other way,” Greg said.

  “What?”

  “Do you know what sixty-nine-ing is?”

  Thanks to an inappropriate classmate who’d drawn a diagram during lunch years ago, Ethan did. He flipped himself around and went head-to-head with Greg’s hardness. Greg’s hot breath slid across his own.

  “Relax,” Greg uttered through stifled breaths. It took Ethan a few moments to get used to his new plank-like position. Blood rushed to his head—both of them, actually—making him dizzy, but exhilarated. Greg’s cock brushed against his chin.

  “Are you on lookout?” Ethan said.

  “No. So we gotta be quick.” Greg began sucking on Ethan’s manhood, taking all of him in his warm, slick mouth. He sucked with force, with intention. Ethan held onto his meaty thighs for support while he jammed all of Greg down his throat, covering each inch with spit. Ethan had gotten good at deep throating Greg. Practice makes perfect.

  He felt himself getting harder as he felt Greg’s hands and arms push into his hips and ass to keep him steady. He imagined his biceps flexing, his abs steadying him.

  As hard as Greg sucked him, Ethan sucked back. Greg sped up; so did Ethan. It was like they could control the other, like their dicks were voodoo dolls. Their mouth and hands worked in a coordinated fashion.

  More blood rushed to Ethan’s head, and his vision blurred. He couldn’t describe the sensation as there were too many levers being pulled. Sucking Greg from this unorthodox angle and vice versa equaled sensory overload. Ethan was consumed in ecstasy and thought he was going to explode.

  Then Greg one-upped him. He inched his finger toward Ethan’s back door and traced the opening, running an adventurous finger along the perimeter. Ethan wanted to scream out and go into a seizure, but the fact that he couldn’t utter a sound lest they draw attention made him channel that energy into sucking Greg harder. This was a brand-new sensation that sent shivers throughout his body and made him extra-sensitive. He gripped Greg’s cock with more force. Greg, in turn, circled his hole like a funnel, going lower and lower and lower until he slid inside Ethan.

  Ethan gasped. He had to be silent, but he couldn’t help it. Too much of him was stimulated. Too much of him was on fire. It was too much all around. And he loved it. Each time Greg’s slick finger thrust forward, another wave of pleasure consumed him. Greg’s tongue also got into the action, slicking up his opening. He didn’t know his body had the capacity to tolerate this much goodness. He had never been electrocuted, but he imagined this must be similar.

  Greg’s mouth and finger were pulling double-duty on Ethan. It was just rough enough to send an orgasm rumbling through Ethan without hurting. Greg slipped in another finger, opening up Ethan even farther. Ethan’s body couldn’t hold in the explosion boiling within him any longer. He had to release. The orchestra played with all their might. The music reached a crescendo, as did Ethan. He reached out and grabbed the first non-Greg thing he could touch, yanking at the carpeting as his breath got so fast it could break the sound barrier. His body trembled and wanted to collapse.

  “Coming coming coming,” Ethan muttered out as he was rocked by orgasm. He couldn’t form a proper sentence. His mind was possessed.

  “Fuck. Me too.”

  Ethan released his load just as Greg’s shot onto his face and neck. Coming was merely the icing on the cake (no pun intended) this time. His arms gave out, and he and Greg formed one messy pile. Ethan’s mind was static, but it was finding reception.

  Greg untangled himself. Ethan’s teeth chattered as his body worked to return to normal, as if he had just thrown up.

  “We need a handkerchief,” Greg said. He went to wipe himself off on the carpet, but Ethan blocked his hand. This was a lovely concert hall; he had respect for the arts.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and cleaned them both off. He’d walk home in an undershirt. He’d taken much bigger risks today. Pins and needles tickled his head and legs as blood returned to its rightful places. They sat down and took in the music as their bodies returned to normal.

  “That was…” Greg said. They both didn’t know how to finish that sentence. “You liked when I…” He held up his two fingers.

  Ethan blushed and nodded.

  Greg smiled. “Maybe next time we can go further.” But the thought of sex with Greg didn’t fill Ethan with joy, and it must’ve been evident because he added, “Or not. We’ll see how we feel.”

  Ethan already had his answer, though. He wanted it to mean something, to have weight, which he knew sounded trite. He didn’t want to cross that threshold with Greg in a public quickie. Was that the only thing that kept Greg coming back to him? That they were leading to this inevitable climax?

  “I’ll think about it
,” Ethan said.

  The music swelled in the auditorium. The violins, cellos, flutes, and everything else melded together to tell a story through notes. He closed his eyes and listened.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be back to see a show and not in a private box,” Ethan said. He marveled at the detailing in the ceiling and walls. “It’s beautiful. It’s like a space removed from the world.”

  He expected Greg to leave, but he sat next to him. He seemed more interested in watching Ethan listen than listening himself. They remained silent for the rest of the measure.

  “It was my frat brother,” Greg said.

  Ethan turned to face him. Now Greg was the one focused on the orchestra.

  “That was the other guy I’ve ever been with. He was my big brother.”

  Ethan knew he had to tread lightly. “What does that mean?”

  Greg watched the flute solo for a few extra moments before answering. He squinted, his usual tell that he was about to pull back, but then he seemed to relax. “Every new member in the frat gets an older member to guide them, show them the ropes. He was my big brother in the frat, so we were close, and I kind of always suspected something, even though he had a girlfriend. He seemed a little too chummy at times, especially when he was drunk, and I always wondered if he suspected something about me. But still, he was my big brother, and we were close.

  “Anyway, our frat threw this huge blowout bash at the end of my freshman year. We were all drunk. He helped me to my room, and he was being kinda handsy. Extra-helpful, if you will.” Ethan looked for his smirk, but it wasn’t there, no trace of it. Greg kept his body very still with his hands on his knees. “And I liked it. It was hot, ya know? So I began being handsy back. And one thing led to another and we were sucking each other off. Right there on my bed. I think we knew what was going on, but we didn’t, too, if that makes sense.”

  “Plausible deniability.”

  Greg nodded. “He went back to his room when it was over. The next morning, neither of us brought it up. I was waiting for him to say something, since he was the big brother, but he never did.”

  “He didn’t even acknowledge it?”

  Greg shook his head. “I tried talking to him about it briefly, just to say that I would never mention it to the guys or his girlfriend. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall. His eyes… They were so dark. He said, ‘Shut the fuck up, Sandman.’ And that was that. I’ll never forget that look.”

  “The Bro Code?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is he still with that same girl?”

  Greg exhaled a deep breath. “They got married last summer.”

  “That must’ve been an awkward wedding.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t invited.” Greg wiped his hand off on his pants. And that was that. He stood up and was back to his jocular self.

  Ethan stood as well and kept looking at him, at his whole eyes and twitching lips. He wanted to kiss Greg in that moment. They had never kissed before, and he wanted to feel those lips on his. He wanted to feel Greg’s arms roped around him. Ethan leaned in slightly, almost wondering if he might reciprocate.

  Greg walked to the entrance.

  “See you on Thursday, Folly. Enjoy the concert.” He closed the curtain behind him.

  He’s just a guy you fool around with, Ethan. Nothing more.

  CHAPTER eighteen

  Ethan didn’t hook up with Greg for the rest of the week and he felt grateful to have two eight-page papers due on Friday. Usually, Ethan was not a procrastinator, but his mind had been elsewhere lately. He tried sitting down to write paper number one on Tuesday night, but he didn’t see a blank screen. He kept seeing Greg’s eyes, looking at him, then looking away. No kiss. No nothing. Just super-secret public sex.

  Forcing himself to get those papers finished was a blessing in disguise. It gave his head a break.

  He woke up early on Saturday, rustled awake by the stomping of sneakers down the hall. Patches of lime green strolled past him. Kids were dressed in Browerton garb head to toe. “Go Whitetails!” was painted onto a girl’s cheek.

  Game day.

  His dormmates rumbled through the halls in high spirits. The only reason college students got up before eight in the morning was for class or drinking. Mostly for drinking. He could smell the sour stench of beer wafting from someone’s room.

  “GO WHITETAILS!” a dormmate shouted at Ethan, almost as an indictment against him missing the game.

  He watched them go by. They were pumped, filled to the brim with energy. Cliques mashing with cliques, being normal, all-American, fun-loving college students. They felt a world away from Ethan.

  “Hey!” Lorna had on a green football jersey and green Mardi Gras beads and a green streak was clipped into her wavy hair. “I was just coming to get you,” she said. “For the game.”

  Ethan’s face scrunched into a ball of confusion. “I don’t have a ticket.”

  “Neither do I. They’re seriously overpriced. But my sorority is having a tailgate in the parking lot. Did you want to come?”

  He had a vision of a drunken mosh pit. When you mixed rowdy football fans and copious amounts of alcohol, it equaled a place Ethan excelled at avoiding.

  “Isn’t that just for your sorority? I mean, do they allow boys?”

  “This isn’t the 1950s. We’re allowed to socialize with boys. Some girls are bringing their boyfriends, and a lot more are bringing their gay guy friends. Maybe we can find you a cutie.” Lorna strummed her fingers together like she was devising a devious plot. “A cutie to take your mind off your hottie.”

  Ethan blushed. No one had ever taken interest in his dating life, not like there was much to take interest in. Still, it felt good to be asked. Even if he was hung up on one guy in particular.

  She bounced in the doorway, and her excitement began to rub off on Ethan. His smile was elastic, and he got on his tiptoes for no discernible reason.

  “You’re going now? I just got up.”

  “You’re a guy. It’ll take you five minutes to get ready.” Lorna leaned against the doorway, taking a breather. “So are you in?”

  Ethan thought about Jessica and his friends. They loved to sleep in and grab brunch off-campus, where they could avoid the football ruckus. Jessica probably had a new activity mapped out that would top the sculpture garden.

  “I’m taking your hesitation and the fact that you haven’t slammed the door in my face as a yes,” she said.

  But day drinking would also relieve tension. Possibly. Ethan nodded yes.

  “Yes!” Lorna threw her arms up. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

  He hoped so.

  Φ

  The tailgate was not a mosh pit. Lorna’s sorority set up a tent between two vans. The “bar” consisted of a folding table with bottles of off-brand hard alcohol and off-brand mixers, plus a keg in the corner. There was no furniture throwing, no fights, no madness. Just drinking and good times.

  And peer pressure.

  “You have to do one shot with me.” Lorna held a shot of vodka inches from Ethan’s mouth. The harsh fumes of the drink stung his nose.

  “I don’t know. I think I’ll stick with beer.” Or what passes for beer.

  “You’ve barely drunk your beer. Because it’s nasty.” Lorna eyed his red Solo cup, nearly filled to the brim. “Come on. Do one shot with me, and I won’t bug you for the rest of the day.”

  Ethan never thought he would be the type to do shots at a party. He had never done a shot period. It seemed to be an important part of his college life and personal growth, too. He wondered what Jessica and his friends would think. What would Greg think?

  Not like it matters.

  He took the shot glass from Lorna.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Okay, what are we drinking to?”

  “I don’t know. Go Whitetails?”

  “How about to us? I’m glad you’re here,” Lor
na said, sincerity peeking through her loud demeanor. That warmed Ethan’s heart.

  And the vodka burned it. Holy shit. The alcohol sloshed down his throat, singeing anything in its path. He thought his insides were going to char, yet he was fine a few seconds later.

  “Lorna! Are you doing shots without me?”

  Ethan tensed up. He knew that voice. Sahil wrapped his arm around Lorna and grinded against her, singing to the music. Lorna scream-laughed. They easily drew all attention in the tent.

  “Oh dear Lord. When did you start drinking?” she asked.

  “Seven.”

  “A.M.?”

  “P.M., baby. I haven’t stopped since last night! Go Whitetails!”

  Lorna scream-laughed again and joined his grind-dance. Ethan just stood there, not really sure how to proceed. He doubted he would ever reach their energy level. Some people were born on full blast.

  “Sahil, this is my friend Ethan. He’s fucking awesome. Ethan, this is my fucking awesome friend Sahil.”

  “Hey, I know you. You’re Greg’s friend.”

  Ethan’s face became engulfed in flames. He sneaked a peek at Lorna, and she bit her lip. “Well, we’re not friends. We just have a class together.”

  “Cool.” Sahil shrugged, and that was that. “So is this your boyfriend, Lorna?”

  “Why? Jealous?” Lorna hugged Ethan, and if it were possible, his face got redder.

  “We’re in the same dorm,” Ethan said quietly. Compared to these two, anything he said came out as a whisper.

  Sahil chugged his beer while swaying to the music. He gave a head nod to one of Lorna’s sisters. “Is Stacy still seeing that guy?”

  “I don’t know. You should ask her.”

  Sahil checked-out Lorna’s sorority sister as she strutted to the drinks table. Ethan had no right to call him a creep since he’d done the same thing to guys. Especially Greg. If Sahil were here, then perhaps Greg was, too. Sahil asked him a question, pulling him out of his thoughts.