Warning: This will be a multi-part story. Nifty's own injunctions against underage reading of this material should have turned such persons away by now, but please do not read further if it is not permissible in your area. You are free to save this story to a disk or to print it for personal use, but do not re-post, publish, or distribute this work in any medium. Thank you. --Evan
Chasing Tyler
Chasing Tyler Part I: According to Plan --Evan Dane
Sweat was beaded on his bronzed skin, taut over solid muscles flexing in exertion. Tyler watched the love-making with obvious interest until the woman's screams of pleasure broke up his concentration and caused him to look away with a sudden modesty. Tom Cruise was so hot, but, sadly, straight. "Just like all the other guys in the world." The recurring thought was old, but it had not yet lost its edge.
With a sigh, Tyler regretfully turned off the movie and stood up to stretch out the muscles of his 5' 10" frame. His course schedule this semester left him an odd hour and a half in the middle of the day for personal time. It was really lousy because the time frame was too short for a movie or even to begin studying and yet was too long for an extended lunch or a nap. Watching just parts of movies like "Jerry Maguire" was getting old.
He hoisted his knapsack up to his shoulder and headed out the door, stopping at the mirror to check his hair. While not particularly vain, Tyler preferred that his hair not stick up straight as it was wont after he'd been lying down. He had inherited his father's thick, straight brown hair, which several girls had claimed was wonderful for running hands through, but Tyler would have happily given it up for his mother's ash blonde locks. One just really could not do anything with hair so thick and straight other than keep it out of one's eyes.
Stepping out of his door, he was nearly brained by a blue object that he saw flying toward him out of the corner of his eye--a second too late. The Frisbee made contact with an audible "thwack," and he nearly saw stars. Nerf just was not what it used to be.
"Oh, God!" Exclaimed a voice down the hall. "Are you okay?"
"Yup. Fine, fine," Tyler managed as he bent down to pick up the disk. It was actually a hard plastic plate stolen from the cafeteria. Good-natured chagrin began to turn to anger. While not normally an aggressive person, Tyler was easily upset by stupidity. The freshmen this year had been particularly prone to stupidity much to the despair of Ron, the floor RA and Tyler's suitemate and friend.
"I am so sorry-" began the evil, plate-slinging hosebeast.
"Look, freshman-" Tyler interrupted as he turned to confront his attacker. He was cut short by a stunning pair of forest green eyes.
"I'm not a freshman, but I am sorry." The eyes flashed a bit in heat before they lowered in contrition. A flush of embarrassment crept its way up his cheeks.
Now that the eyes were off of him, Tyler could breathe again. He cleared his throat before beginning. "No harm done. See?" He ran his fingers through his thick hair. "I've got some insulation-Ouch." He winced as his fingers found a growing bruise.
"Oh, man, I'm so--"
"Please don't say you're sorry. Just don't do it again, okay?" Tyler forestalled the repetitious apology as he held out the plate. "Um, please say you don't live on this floor because then I'll be embarrassed that we've never met."
"Like I said: I'm a sophomore not a freshman, and I live next door in Bishop Hall. Look: thanks for not making a big deal out of this. Can I buy you a soda or something? Hitting the RA is not something that I do everyday." He flashed a charming smile and then bit his lip worriedly.
"RA?" thought Tyler, confused. The he remembered that he had come out of Ron's door. Although he had his own TV, his VCR was in the shop so Ron allowed him to use his since he had classes all morning. A glance at his watch blanked his mind and his thoughts of replying were wiped away when he noticed the time.
"Um, thanks for the offer, but I really have to run to class. Maybe I'll see you again sometime and you can make it up to me then." It was hard to leave without learning more about this cute guy, but he really did have to run to McGroat's class as it was. "Don't forget to return the plate!" He hollered as he ran down the hallway.
A slightly ajar door closed quickly as he passed by--probably the intended recipient of that blessed plate.
One of the disadvantages of attending a land-grant college is the fact that while some people joke about Aggies smelling like manure, it is all too true at MU. Sometimes. Tyler had helped to develop the ozone-bubbling process that the university now used to deodorize its fragrant fertilizer, but even ozone could only go so far. Shit is shit after all. This seemingly obscure and plot-irrelevant fact only serves to explain why Tyler was late to his 1 pm class: having determined that breathing through his mouth or nostrils both brought the choking tang of manure, he had tried to breathe as little as possible. Consequently, his light-headed, oxygen-deprived state impeded his running and made him arrive both late and sweating profusely to class.
While McGroat rambled on about yet another fascinating application of Schroedinger's equation, Tyler's mind wandered. He barely noticed when students began edging away from him as his heated body helped to propel manure scent off of his coat and into his surrounding area. All he could think of was the amazing pair of green eyes. Of course, in thinking about those eyes, his mind inevitably wandered to the strong, chiseled features and dirty blonde hair that framed those stunning eyes so well. His mind would have been totally remiss as well if it hadn't begun to conjure visions of what it might be like to nibble on those earlobes, to feel the white-smoothness of those teeth, to... The mind can only do so much, especially when in reality there was a backlog of impatient students waiting to leave from the row which Tyler was so obliviously blocking. Stumbling out of the way before he was trampled, Tyler managed a weak smile of apology.
The rest of the day was also a blur.
"So anyway, my father bled a sheep on Thanksgiving, and then we all danced naked round the May pole singing chants to Ashtoreth, our dark goddess. Praise be!" Ron threw up his arms in mock religious ecstasy.
"Mm-hmm. Sounds cool." Tyler replied noncommittally, munching on a green bean that had been boiled to taste-free blandness.
"I'd continue this absurdity to some unnatural conclusion, but it's obvious you haven't listened to a word I've said, so I'd only be wasting my breath," Ron observed sardonically, putting down his fork.
"No," Tyler said, shaking himself and tuning to face his friend. "Bloody sheep, satanic ritual, I heard every word. Sounds, um, cool. Continue...please."
"The blonde."
"Huh?" Tyler swung back to focus on Ron worriedly.
"You've been looking at that blonde. Hot stuff, huh?" Ron smirked.
Tyler's mind raced furiously. Ron had actually caught him looking at The Sophomore. "No, I'm, um-" he spluttered helplessly. "I'm not that way," he concluded lamely.
"Hey, no shame, buddy. She's pretty hot. All this PC crap about not objectifying women is bunk."
Tyler did a doubletake and realized that there was indeed an attractive blonde WOMAN sitting next to The Sophomore. And the bitch (Tyler's words, you understand--she may have been a perfectly nice person in real life...) was even beginning to play with The Sophomore's hair.
Suddenly, the cafeteria seemed a lot dimmer and the blandness of the food finally registered to his brain. "I'm not hungry any more," said Tyler, pushing away his tray.
"Can I have your apple pie?"
"Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out," he replied glumly. "At least I have my dreams," he thought, consoling himself cynically.
"Hey, do you wanna help me with my project after dinner?"
Ron was a psychology major, but Tyler tried not to hold that against him.
Deeply interested in the paranormal, Ron was considering going off to Duke after graduation to be certified in their parapsychology center. Not as a nut but as a practicing parapsychologist...whatever those were. The life plan he told his parents (the ones paying the bills) was that he was deeply interested in becoming a child psychologist--which was true, but the parapsychology yen always popped up every so often. Like now, for instance.
"I see...a star."
"Nope. And this one?"
"A circle."
"Nope, and that's the last one."
"So how'd I do?" Ron asked eagerly.
"Pretty good. You only missed 12 total. You were awfully lucky today."
"38 out of 50 is not luck, Ty; it's evident psychic ability. Those concentration exercises I started have boosted my psi abilities."
"Yeah, whatever. Now do I get to my homework?" Tyler asked exasperatedly, unwilling to sit through another tirade on ESP.
"No, seriously. I almost feel like I can read your mind. Sit down," Ron commanded, pushing Tyler back down into his seat.
"Ron, I-" Tyler began to protest.
"Sit! Close your eyes," Ron insisted. He began massaging Tyler's temples.
Knowing he would not be able to dissuade his friend, Tyler resigned himself to sitting through a "mind-reading" session. While mentally inventorying what he had left to do for the night, he suddenly thought about how lucky he was that Ron didn't watch Star Trek. Having to endure a hand-to-face mind-meld would be too weird. The thought was suddenly amusing and he could not help but snort a little.
"Shhh! I'm almost there." Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Rolling his eyes, Tyler's mind roamed and he found himself again thinking of the young men who had nearly brained him today. He hadn't been gorgeous in any conventional sense, but those eyes. And those kissable lips.
Suddenly, he felt--not imagined--something brush his lips. He opened his eyes to find himself looking into Ron's startled blue eyes.
"Tyler?" Ron asked uncertainly.
"Um, Ron, um, did you just kiss me?" Tyler asked woodenly. His mind was a shocked and distant observer hearing the words spill from his mouth automatically.
"Yeah, I thought you were thinking of a kiss, so I did it." Ron replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"That's weird. I was thinking that-" Tyler's voice trailed off in disbelief. "Did you read my mind?"
"Naw," Ron laughed uncertainly. "At least I didn't think so. I just saw your lips purse a little, and you looked, so...so...adorable! So, I just..."
Seeing his friend's distress, Tyler's mind brought forward a quick hypothesis and Tyler asked, "Ron, are you gay?"
"Yup. Are you?" Ron deftly threw the ball back in Tyler's court.
"I think I am, but I've never..." The words just popped out in response to Ron's nonchalant reply. Tyler was aghast.
"Whew," Ron whistled. "I know I acted kind of off-hand, but I wasn't sure if you'd say yes. I was hoping that you wouldn't deck me."
"I'm still confused here. Why did you kiss me?" Tyler pulled nervously at his collar. The room seemed to him to be losing oxygen at an alarming rate.
"Like I said: you looked like you wanted to be kissed. Plus I was kind of hoping you were gay since you seem to idolize Tom Cruise. This is the third time I've found one of his videos in my VCR when I returned from class." Ron offered with a shy but triumphant smile.
"So I don't-" Tyler whispered worriedly, dangling his hands effeminately.
"No. Oh God, no!" spluttered Ron. He stopped laughing abruptly to inquire anxiously, "Do I?"
Gaping at Ron's sudden shifts in confidence, Tyler then realized that he didn't necessarily have the weaker hand here; Ron was just as uncertain. A grin curled his lip as he replied, "No, a manly man ye are, Ronald Bardsey."
"Thank'ee kindly, Tyler Adams," Ron said gravely.
Their mutual grins faded in the ensuing awkward lull. Tyler wondered if he had ruined his friendship with Ron.
"Well-" Tyler began.
""Look: not another word, okay? This was a really awkward moment for both of us. Me especially. I mean, I've, um, got a boyfriend. I shouldn't have kissed you. It was this incredibly spontaneous spur-of-the-moment type thing. Let's just forget that this incident ever happened. Well, I guess we can't forget that we now both know the other's gay; I meant forget about the kiss. Okay? Not that the kiss was bad or anything; it in and of itself was nice, but, well, the significance of it is now probably way out of proportion and..."
Tyler sat back, open-mouthed as the flood of words poured from Ron's rapidly moving mouth. Ron was blushing furiously and gazing determinedly at a spot on the wall just above Tyler's head.
Seeing an opening when Ron paused for a breath, Tyler quickly clamped a hand over the motored mouth. "I get the picture!" he said, mouthing the words exaggeratedly. "Besides," he grinned evilly. "You're not my type."
+++++*
Who is the mysterious and handsome Sophomore? Is Tom Cruise really such a bad actor that only gay men can be Cruise film connoisseurs? Will Ron and his boyfriend break up over the kiss? To whom was the sophomore throwing the plate? What/who exactly is Tyler's type? What does Tyler have against psychology majors? Most importantly, is Ron really a demon-worshiping psychic? Tune in next week to see if any of these questions are answered.
I hope you enjoyed this first part of the story. If you like my style, check out "erics-life" also in the College section.
All responses to the story are welcome and should be sent to kencyr@hotmail.com --Evan Dane