I wake up slowly, blinking at the ceiling as my mind catches up to the fact that I somehow seem to have fallen asleep on the couch last night.
It takes me another moment to realize that I’m not alone. I’m not sure how, but I’m lying on my back, my head on the middle section of the couch and my feet hanging over the edge. Next to my head, there’s Andy’s head. He’s in a similar position to mine, eyes somewhere near the region of my mouth, cheek next to my cheek. His body is stretched out on the other side of the couch, and his feet are hanging over the armrest.
We’re so close that our cheeks are almost touching. His mouth is right next to my eyes, and I can feel the soft puffs of air against my skin. He’s still deeply asleep, breathing softly. His hair is back to its usual messy curls and waves. A strand of it sticks to his cheek, and another one falls over his left eye.
Before I can think better of it, I run my finger over it. It’s soft to the touch as I follow the wave the hair creates with my finger. I repeat the movement. It feels like I’m hypnotized as I keep caressing Andy’s hair.
As if on cue, Andy’s eyes flutter open. He doesn’t seem at all surprised to find me practically in his face, with my hand in his hair. He just blinks, and the sleepy confusion leaves his gaze quickly as he yawns. His eyes move over to the window where the first rays of sun are starting to peek in.
“We fell asleep,” he says. His voice is gravelly with sleep and the morning wood I’m sporting takes it as its cue to perk up even more.
“Yeah,” I say, my own voice sounding just as raspy.
Andy yawns once more but doesn’t make a move to sit up. “What time is it?”
I reach out my hand and pat at the surface of the coffee table to locate my phone. “Seven,” I say.
“I’ve got work in an hour,” Andy says lazily but still doesn’t move.
I’ve never woken up with anybody in my life. My only serious boyfriend was in high school, and there were no sleepovers back then. My parents would have rather given up all their worldly possessions and joined a nudist colony than let me invite my boyfriend over for a night of sex and cuddling.
In college, it’s only been hook-ups, and I’ve never felt comfortable with a stranger sleeping next to me in my bed, so once both parties have gotten off, we amicably part ways.
Now, lying next to Andy, though, I must admit there’s something to this whole waking up to somebody in the morning thing. It’s endearing to see another person early in the morning when the matter-of-factness that encompasses people’s everyday lives hasn’t settled in yet. It’s like I get to peek at something sacred. Something most people don’t get to see.
The Andy I usually see is efficient to the max. He comes to my apartment, and he gets things done, which I appreciate and respect because I admire dedication. Hell, dedication is my middle name.
This Andy, on the other hand, is seemingly in no hurry to get up. The attitude and clever comebacks are all in hiding right now. Instead, he’s softer, his sharp corners duller in the early morning light. The way he stretches himself reminds me of a cat, lazing around in the sunlight.
“Anything interesting planned for the morning?” he asks me and turns his head toward me.
We’re practically nose to nose now, and it makes thinking a real chore. Andy’s gray eyes look like they’re made of silver. I’ve never noticed how long his lashes are or that he has a small beauty mark just above his right eyebrow.
“Law?” he asks, and only then do I remember that he asked me a question.
“I have a coaches’ meeting at eight,” I reply. My voice sounds too loud in the quiet room, so I lower it. “We should probably get up.”
Andy nods but that’s the full extent of effort he puts into moving his body, so I push myself to my feet and reach out my hand. “Come on, you can have dibs on the shower, and I’ll make us some coffee.”
He grumbles something under his breath as he takes my hand and lets me pull him to his feet. His clothes are rumbled and locks of his hair fall over his eyes.
I busy myself with grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge. I’ll whip up some breakfast while Andy takes his shower.
Andy disappears into my bathroom, and the ten minutes that follow are a real test for my brain as I recite the names of all the states and follow that up with naming European countries in alphabetical order. I get stuck after Slovakia, which is a problem. Not because I’m especially fond of countries starting with an S and am now upset that I can’t remember some of them. No. It’s more about not having anything to distract me from the sounds of Andy showering, and the accompanying mental images of wet, naked flesh my brain helpfully sends my way with no regard for the fact that my body gets a lot of ideas very quickly.
The water turns off, but my body still refuses to cooperate. I’m wondering if I should sneak into my bedroom and jerk off real quick. By this point it’ll only take a couple of tugs, so I probably wouldn’t even get caught.
“Spain. Switzerland,” I mutter desperately. “Transylvania. Fucking Tatooine.”
I glare at my cock, which absolutely refuses to deflate. Time to bring out the big guns. Grandparents. Having sex. Wrinkly flesh. Gray hair.
That does it, so when Andy emerges from the bathroom, I look decent enough, or at least I’m not greeting him with a sight of my dick so hard that it looks like it could hammer nails into a wall.
“All yours.” Andy comes to stand behind me and peeks over my shoulder at the eggs I’m scrambling on the stove. I’m clutching the spatula so tightly that my knuckles have turned white.
He smells like me. Well, my shower gel, but that’s also what I smell like, so by default, Andy smells like me, and it’s unbelievably hot. The citrusy aroma mixes with Andy’s skin and creates a whole new scent that reminds me of me but also smells distinctly like Andy. I will never be able to shower without getting painfully hard again. It’s getting ridiculous. By this point, I would be surprised if the sight of lemons at the grocery store would leave me unaffected.
“Ooh, breakfast,” Andy says like he has no clue what his proximity does to me, and to be fair, I’m pretty fucking certain that he really has no idea how he affects me.
He’s in love with another guy, I remind myself.
Get a grip, Anderson.
I drop the spatula into the pan and flee the kitchen. “Can you stir it?” I call over my shoulder, and I practically run into the bathroom.
“Sure thing, boss.” Andy’s reply makes my feet move even faster, so I sprint through the apartment and slam the bathroom door shut behind me. I pull off my pants and shuck off the T-shirt. The water is too hot, but I don’t give a fuck as I pull the shower curtain shut.
My hand grips my cock, and I almost cry out in relief. It’s quick and it’s rough. A couple of tugs with my wet palm, and I punch my hips forward, coming all over the white, tiled wall of the shower with a grunt.
It takes me a whole five minutes of leaning my arm against the wall and panting, hot water raining down my back, before I get my bearings.
I turn off the water and stare at myself in the mirror, even though it’s so foggy with condensation that I can only make out a faint outline of myself.
As I stand there, one thing becomes very clear.
I want Andy Carter.
I groan at the realization.
I’m fucked.
11
Andy
I am in a real-life reenactment of expectations versus reality.
There are people all around me, slamming down shots like they’re dying of thirst in a desert and vodka is the only source of liquid they could find.
This is not what I had in mind when I drove home for the weekend to hang out with Falcon. I was thinking something more in the line of there being just the two of us, maybe playing some video games like we used to when we were in high school. To be fair, we’d started out that way, but then Falcon had suggested shooting some pool, and we just happened to pick a bar where a bunch of people from our h
igh school class were having their TGIF moment. At least that’s how I’m choosing to interpret it.
In reality, our choice of the bar hasn’t been that accidental. The way some of those guys high-fived and bro hugged Falcon and shouted greetings like, “Asola, man. About time. Fucking finally!” has been a pretty big clue to how we ended up here.
I feel bad about it, but I’m not exactly enjoying myself. It’s not that Falcon’s friends are dicks to me. Falcon wouldn’t let that shit fly.
It’s just that these are the people who laughed at me in sixth grade when I fell on my lunch tray and ended up wearing my food for the rest of the day. These are the people who always picked me last in gym class, the people who only started talking to me when Falcon came into the picture. And I use the word talking lightly, since I don’t think any of us is really making that much of an effort to find common ground. We’re a bunch of polite semi-strangers. It’s not like with Law, where yes, I don’t watch hockey, and he isn’t exactly passionate about physics, but when we’re hanging out, we seamlessly find tons of things to talk about.
And now I kind of miss Law. No. Definitely not miss. That would be ridiculous. I just wish he was here. It’s not like I’m pining for him. But Law and I have a lot of fun, and with him here, I wouldn’t feel so out of place. Right. That’s the version I’m sticking to.
With people from high school there is a forced air. I talk. They talk. But it’s so much fucking work. I’m always freaking exhausted after a night like this one, even though hanging out in a bar should be a relaxing thing. I mean, people do that shit because it’s fun, for crying out loud, but all I feel right now is left out. Also, slightly bored. Man, I’m not coming off as a good friend.
I glance around the crowded place, and if I felt shitty before, the feeling multiplies as a twinky blond approaches Falcon at the bar. I reluctantly admire the guy because he doesn’t exactly look confident. He smiles shyly and there’s seemingly not a whole lot of super obvious flirting going on, but Falcon smiles back, and it’s clear that the twink has at least made his interest known to Falcon, even if it doesn’t pan out for him. Not a minute later, Falcon is back at our booth, carrying the beers he’d promised to get.
“Strike out?” Davis, who used to play basketball with Falcon, yells over the noise of the bar to Falcon. He’s a giant even by basketballers’ standards.
“As if.” Falcon snorts and starts handing out bottles. “I’m just not interested.”
Falcon has never had a big, official coming-out-of-the-closet moment, but he’s never hidden the fact that he’s gay. As far as I know, nobody has given him shit about it.
Jerome stretches his neck to the side as he searches out the twink Falcon has apparently given the brush-off to. “Why not? He looked into you.”
Falcon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but I wasn’t into him.”
“Plan to continue that romance with your right hand?” someone yells as Falcon flips the whole table off. “Nope. I’m left-handed,” he says seriously. As far as jokes go, this one’s pretty bad, but everybody’s so drunk that they roar with laughter anyway.
“He’s still checking you out,” Jerome says helpfully. “Just saying.”
We all turn toward to look where Jerome is pointing with his head.
“How very subtle,” I say, even though I’m also staring. And yes, thank you for asking, my high horse is very nice and comfortable.
“Just drop it,” Falcon says. “I won’t sleep with him.”
“But you still haven’t told us why,” somebody calls.
“Holy shit, just look at him. And I mean, really look at him,” Falcon groans. “It should be obvious.” He drains his beer while all of us stare at the poor blond who’s still oblivious to the fact that ten people are ogling him from across the bar.
“Oh,” Jerome says after a minute. “Yeah, okay.” He turns back to his own drink.
“Legit.” Davis nods. One by one they all seem to get what the mysterious flaw is.
Me? I just keep staring like a creep.
The guy is with two other people. They’re huddled in a booth, nursing their drinks. They seem a bit uncomfortable. Like they’d prefer to be anywhere else, or more accurately, like they’re afraid somebody will come and ask them to leave. I have no idea why. It’s a bar, unless you’re drunk off your ass or flashing somebody, you’re free to stay.
Unless… He looks very young. Maybe he’s underage? Is that it? Did I get it? I look at Falcon, but shockingly, because he’s not a mind reader, he hasn’t heard my silent questions.
“See?” Falcon says and everybody nods. I follow suit because I’m almost confident I got it right, and if everybody else understood, I don’t want to be the lone dumb one who doesn’t get it. Man, here I thought I was better than that, and wouldn’t allow herd mentality to affect me.
“Yup.” Davis makes the p-sound pop as he nods sagely. “Virgin alert.”
I’m in the middle of finishing my beer, so the next thing I know, I’m coughing, trying to get the beer out of my windpipe.
Falcon claps me on the back. “You all right there, Andy?”
“Absolutely,” I gasp. “Wrong hole.”
“That’s what he said,” somebody mutters and everybody roars with laughter.
“Virgin alert?” I finally ask when I regain the ability to breathe.
Falcon looks uncomfortable as hell as he looks at me. Almost as if he wishes he hadn’t said anything, and slept with the guy just so he wouldn’t have to have this conversation. “He didn’t seem to be that… experienced,” Falcon reluctantly explains.
“I’m not blaming you for not being interested, in that case,” Travis says. He’s one of the people who’s always been cool to me. Or, at least, he hasn’t actively sought me out to pick on me, so I’m not as hesitant as I would be with others to ask, “Why would you exclude anybody from a potential pool of datable people just because they lack, and I quote, experience?”
Travis raises his brows at my, admittedly, hostile tone. “I’m interested from the scientific angle. Human behavior is fascinating,” I say with as much dignity as I can, and I hope like hell that my own inexperience doesn’t ring through, loud and clear. I don’t care about what everybody else thinks of me, but I’d like to keep my dignity when it comes to Falcon.
Travis rubs his jaw as he considers my question. “I guess it’s a personal preference,” he finally says. “It’s like this. Remember, in fourth grade, Mrs. Pearson made us all play block flute for a semester? And we all sucked? But we practiced for a few months, and then when we had that concert for the parents we could all play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star passably well.”
I cock my head to the side at that little speech. “Did you just compare sex to playing block flute?”
Travis shrugs. “Good sex takes practice, is all I’m saying.”
“Exactly,” Davis says. “Like, it’s hot in porn, but then she”—he looks at Falcon—“well, in your case, he, goes down on you, and there’s all this fumbling and uncertainty, and indecision about what goes where and how, and it’s just not that good in the end.”
Falcon still looks like he’d rather change the subject, but he nods. “I’d rather do and not teach,” he agrees.
There are a lot of murmurs of agreement. I feel like I must have gotten all my knowledge of sex from porn, because I honestly hadn’t thought of virginity as a roadblock. It’s just a thing. That is there. It’s more of a social construct than anything else, to be honest. I’ve never considered it that important.
I’m not totally inexperienced. I’ve kissed a couple of people. Molly Burk in the ninth grade because I had a hypothesis about my sexuality, and I needed to confirm it. I was successful, I might add, because while Molly was as sweet and nice as they come, kissing her did absolutely nothing for me.
Not like with Gavin, sophomore year of high school. I felt all sorts of things then, the most life-changing part of which was the wood I sprang while we were at it.
Then there was Steve at my graduation party. He was the older brother of one of my classmates, and I was a bit drunk, which surrounds the whole experience with a bit of haze in my mind, but there were hands involved, and both of us got off.
There have been a few other guys during college, all of them unremarkable, so my scientific conclusion is that I’m about thirty percent a virgin. Probably. I’ve done some things, but I’ve never gone all the way because of the whole in-love-with-my-best-friend thing. It might sound stupid, but sex feels too intimate to do it with a complete stranger, at least for the first time.
There have been times when I’ve figured I should just get it over with and do it, but I guess I’m not wired that way, which is why right now, I’m cursing Past Andy. He’s the reason I’m in this predicament in the first place, with yet another obstacle in my way. Should have just done it with Steve, and I’d be golden right now. It wouldn’t even have to have been anal. One measly BJ, and I would already be in a decidedly better position in my quest to make Falcon realize I’m the one for him.
Great. Maybe I should see if the twink Falcon rejected is desperate enough to fumble through sex with me so I could gain some valuable insight?
What a great night this has turned out to be.
12
Law
Andy is distracted. It’s been his constant state the whole week. I’ve got no clue what has occupied his mind so thoroughly that, for our last three gym sessions, he hasn’t bitched and moaned at all. He just runs like a robot, brow furrowed, like he’s trying to simultaneously cure cancer, stop world hunger, and eliminate all forms of violence from planet Earth.
After Thursday’s tutoring session, a couple of guys actually approached me to ask if Andy was alright. It hadn’t been a bad lesson, per se, just way more subdued than usual.
It’s a Saturday, and I’ve picked him up for our hike. Andy stares out the window without saying a word, which is new. Usually he keeps up a random commentary on things he sees, things he thinks, and things he wants to ask. Today, however, he says nothing, just stares, frowns, turns away. Occasionally he opens his mouth as if to say something, but then seems to change his mind and turns away again.
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