Cottagecore: Road Trip Chapter 17 – Charlie E
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On the drive back to the Pines--creeping for hours in gridlocked Friday night beach traffic--Charlie and I tried to process our day at EQ.
We were both newly-commissioned EQ College Ambassadors, although our responsibilities weren't any clearer than when Troy first suggested the role. "We'll work out the details later," he'd said with a hand-waive.
My truck was loaded with sturdy EQ duffles and garment bags holding just some of Charlie's wardrobe.
EQ would ship the rest when Charlie got to New York.
Taylor said that EQ would deliver most of my wardrobe to the Pines on Tuesday. "We'll send you everything you'll want to start school. Pants, shorts, shirts, at least one suit, plus a few surprises."
By then, I'd stopped asking questions. "Thank you," I said for what felt like then fiftieth time.
"It's starting to get cold at night in Albany, so we'll get you the fall outerwear within ten days. Knits take a little longer," said Taylor, consulting her tablet, "but we'll have sweaters to you by the middle of September. You can let us know what else you need once you're settled."
"Or if there's clothing you want," added Troy. "EQ will continue to Iterate your wardrobe, particularly as we develop new products, but just let us know if you see something you like in the meantime. We'll also need to make a plan for you to preview the Spring Collection, probably before Thanksgiving."
"Don't be shy," said Taylor, mostly to Charlie. "We've already bulked up your collection for the internship, but if you feel like you need more or different, we want to know it."
"I really do view this as a conversation, a partnership between us," said Troy. "We want to know what your friends, your classmates, and your employers think."
Traffic started to thin. "You're quiet," said Charlie.
"Overwhelmed," I exhaled. "I don't even have words."
Charlie laughed, shaking his head in amazement at the day. "Troy like big gestures, but I can't believe all this," he said, tossing his head towards the haul behind us.
"I spent all day worried," I admitted. "It feels silly now, but I thought they might hand me a bill for $10,000, or more. The clothes are easily worth that much, right? I was going to tell them I only wanted the jeans and hope I could afford just those."
"Just flow with it," Charlie shrugged. "Anyway, there's a huge difference between what you'd pay at retail and EQ's manufacturing costs."
Charlie was trying to rationalize the enormous gifts we'd been given, I thought.
After some more silence, Charlie asked, "do you think you'll wear it all? Is it `Just Jon' enough?"
I'd been so caught up in the EQ process that I hadn't thought about authenticity or my brand or any of the other questions Charlie had been pushing me to think about.
"The EQ clothes are authentically me," I said, "even if they're not Road Trip Jon or even California Jon."
"New Jon?" asked Charlie. "A. Ham. Jon?" I thought he sounded doubtful.
"Until now, I've dressed the way I do because it's what everybody around me wore, and it was comfortable, and it was easy on my trip." I paused to collect my thoughts.
"But . . ." prompted Charlie.
"Comfort, ease, all that . . .." I shrugged to dismiss the past. "Until you started asking questions, it hadn't occurred to me that I could dress differently, stylishly. I'd just planned to get to campus and buy what everybody else was wearing or maybe put in an Amazon order from here. Seeing our slideshows, especially EQ's suggestions, it made me think of me and clothing in a new way."
"A good way, I assume?" said Charlie.
I nodded. "I think I'll need time to learn how to wear most of the wardrobe," I said. "It's dressier than I'm used to. I don't think dressy is a problem, but it will take some adjusting on my part."
"They're sending you a lot of jeans and tee shirts," said Charlie. Was he reassuring me or teasing? Or maybe testing?
"That's my comfort zone," I said, "but EQ makes it better. Flattering cuts, nicer fabrics, modern colors and lots of them. Even if I just wear basics, I won't look basic."
Another pause before Charlie asked, "are you ready for that?" His question was tentative, like he wasn't sure how I'd react. "You seem ready," he added with a sideways glance.
I wondered what Charlie meant.
"Hear me out," he said, "just something to consider, to ask yourself about."
I nodded, curious. I'd gotten used to Charlie's inquiry process. Lots of set-up before he got to his real questions. Was Charlie worried he'd hurt my feelings? I just let him keep talking.
"Could this be about more than clothing?" he said. "What if you're starting to see yourself in a different way, a new way?"
"A better way?"
"You know what I think," said Charlie. "What do you think?"
"You're back to the clothes make the man'? Fake it until I make it?'" I said doubtfully. "Kurt Vonnegut said `we are what we pretend to be,' but that's normally used as a warning not to pretend to be something awful."
"That's not what I was thinking," said Charlie. "The opposite, actually." Another pause. "Could stylish EQ Just Jon' be a new authentic "Just Jon'? That comfortable Just Jon' and California Just Jon' was really closeted Just Jon'?"
I thought for a bit. "You might be right," I said, but I wanted to hear more.
"Before EQ, or at least before I showed you the fashion show photos, you settled for ease, comfort, and tradition. Sort of thoughtless. Not careless' or rude' thoughtless, but you kept finding ways to say that clothing wasn't something you cared to prioritize. I think you said you thought fashion was vain or trivial or something similar. Fair?"
Charlie was right, I said.
"Do you think you were dressing to avoid attention?"
"Not consciously," I said too quickly, but I didn't disagree with Charlie. His question made me think about all the other unconscious ways I'd tried to keep people from knowing I'm gay.
"Do you think it's a coincidence that since you came out, you're looking at flattering clothes, bright colors, outfits that look good together?"
"Like maybe I'm worth the effort? Or like the people I grew up with think men who dressed well, or brightly, are gay? Internalized homophobia?"
Charlie shrugged a smile. "Maybe all of that, but I was thinking about how you value yourself. I think you're ready to be seen for who you really are."
"What if I'm just horny," I said. "Maybe I'm just upgrading my wardrobe to get laid."
"You are horny," said Charlie, "and you're going to pull at A. Ham., but you're thinking with more than your dick."
"Just Jon is a work in progress," I said, "but you might be right."
"Hallelujah," laughed Charlie. "It was fun to watch you push yourself today. You'd better send pictures once you're on campus."
Charlie and I hadn't talked about how we'd stay in contact after he left for home on Sunday. I steered the conversation towards easier subjects.
"I didn't even realize I was pushing myself," I said. "Until I saw myself in the fashion slideshows, I thought I was picking clothes I liked. It turns out that a what I like is a lot more interesting that what I've been wearing."
"Based on your suggestions to EQ, you're a natural," said Charlie. "You just needed some ideas and hand-holding. You'll figure the rest out on your own, or on your own with EQ at least."
"Maybe just jeans and tee shirts if I wake up late for class?" I said, teasing.
"You never wake up late for anything," said Charlie, rolling his eyes. "Plus, there are some great looks built around jeans and tees." After a pause, he said, "would you even notice a few extra few minutes to get ready in the morning?"
"It's not the time," I said. "It's one more thing to think about. I want to be intentional in how I look, but it just feels extra to worry about what I'm going to wear, or how it looks compared to what I wore the day before or what I'll wear the next day." What did my parents call the work of planning? "It adds to my mental lode."
That sounded pretentious, I thought. Or self-important.
Charlie wasn't convinced. "Don't overthink it, like Troy said. You'll have enough looks to just grab anything and throw it on, plus you proved today that you know how to pick out clothes that look great together. That's what people will notice, whether or not you occasionally look basic now or use EQ's suggestions."
"I'm a work in progress," I shrugged.
"We all are," Charlie said. "What about styling?" he asked, returning to a topic we'd been circling around. "About the beard . . .."
I'd shaved that morning, but I teased Charlie I might grow it back. "It lived a good life," I said. "Rest in peace."
"Thank god," said Charlie, not entirely joking. "Spend a normal amount of time outside between now and Thursday and you'll tan away the evidence that you ever had it. If not, there's always toner."
Charlie said he sometimes wore a little foundation but I knew he wasn't serious.
"No makeup," I growled. "Even if I bought it, I'd never bother to put it on."
"You could find the time," said Charlie. "You brush and floss your teeth three times a day. Why not add a little beauty time, just for you?" He was mostly joking, I thought.
I didn't see dental health and cosmetics as remotely comparable and said as much. After our day at the beach, I'd decided to start using moisturizer and sunscreen, but I used Charlie's language to explain myself. "I don't want my brand to include makeup."
"I get that," he said. "It pushes up against your `effortless' vibe. What about concealer for break-outs?"
I'd already added tinted concealer to my shopping list, I admitted. I wasn't sure I'd use it all the time, hopefully I wouldn't need it, but it would be nice to have.
Charlie nodded. "Keep an open mind about stuff like that once you get to campus," he said. "See how your classmates dress and match their effort." I knew Charlie thought I should exceed their efforts.
For the rest of the drive back to the Pines, we talked through grooming, fashion, presentation. Charlie probed how much work I was willing to do and gave me suggestions.
Separate shampoo, conditioner and body wash? Fine, I agreed, so long as I could find products that smelled nice. Maybe lemons, I thought, remembering Carlos's spa in New Mexico.
"What about mint?" Charlie asked, mentioning a brand he thought I could find at Target.
"Not peppermint," I said. My backpacking soap had so much peppermint oil that my ball-sack burned for hours after I lathered up the first time. "Normal mint smells great."
Hair product? Sure, I said, if I didn't have to wait for it to dry. And it had to smelled good too. The stink of coconut-scented mousse had lingered in my truck for days after my haircut in Columbus.
"Would you make time to blow-dry your hair?"
"Maybe to keep my hair from freezing," I said, thinking about winter in Albany. "Probably not just for styling."
"See what they suggest at Cock Robin," Charlie reminded me. The guys at the beach suggested the barbershops. My appointment was on Monday morning.
Would I buy an electric razor to shave every day? No, I said, so Charlie recommended a disposable razor brand that he said was better than the plastic throw-away he'd seen in my dop-kit. Shaving cream?
Again, Charlie recommended a drugstore brand that didn't have added perfume.
Cologne? Hell no. "I ain't no whore," I said, to make sure Charlie knew what I think of fragrances.
"What about manscaping?" asked Charlie.
"What do you think?" I asked. Charlie's careful grooming looked good, I told him. Really good. I chubbed a little thinking about the tight bush around the base of his cock. And his hairless scrotum. And his fat cock.
I wasn't opposed, I said, but manscaping was one more thing I hadn't considered.
"You don't have much chest hair, but it's pretty long," he said. "Don't you dare touch your treasure trail, it's perfect. I'd take a mower to your pubes and crack," he laughed. "Too much work for you? Too . . . blatant? Too obvious? Too effortful?"
It wasn't, I said, so long as I got it right. "I need some help so I don't fuck it up. I want it to look natural, like you. I am not a fan of guys without pubes."
"Turn in here," said Charlie a few miles from the Pines. "Let's make a Target run."
We started Saturday in the shower.
First, Charlie used the cordless razor to show me how to trim my chest. "I use the 1/2 inch guard," he said, "but with black hair on white skin, it's too short for you. You'd look like you're growing out stubble, obviously trimmed, not the look you want." We eventually settled on a guard that left my chest hair looking short and tidy but not obviously shorn. "What about your pits?"
I wasn't sure. "They're a little wild," I said, "but I think a guy's hairy pits are sexy as fuck."
"We'll leave them longer than your chest," said Charlie, "but let me clean you up for all those EQ tank tops." He showed me how to trim up and down to catch hairs that grow in different directions. "You can always grow them out if you don't like it."
The scurrilous last defense of a bad haircut, I thought.
When Charlie finished, I thought my pits looked tidy. Tidy and safe. I probably wouldn't trim them again. Safe pits aren't very sexy.
"Now comes the fun part," said Charlie, switching to the pubes-trimmer. He reached down to heft my balls, which were hanging low in the hot bathroom. "Natural, right? You don't want it to look like you've trimmed?"
"Naturally," I said, leaning towards him, my cock swelling.
"Stop," laughed Charlie, dropping my balls and switching back to business to keep me from distracting him. "You have too much hair on your balls to go fully hairless. There are creams, but I don't recommend them."
"No creams," I said, remembering a nightmare story one of my coaches told the cycling club. "I know a guy who said his sack ended up looking like raw hamburger from one of those creams." Charlie winced.
"I'll go as short as the clippers allow on my sack, crack, and taint, and a little longer for my pubes."
"You're going to like this last part," said Charlie with a smile. He started to stroke the shaft of my semi-hard cock. "I need you really hard."
"No problem," I said, reaching for Charlie. It had been more than a day since I'd cum and all the cuddling with Charlie had left me ready to go.
"Want to see some magic?" asked Charlie, wiggling his junk out of my hand. "I'm going to add an inch to your dick and make it thicker too."
"Thick is good," I said, squeezing his ass cheek since his cock was out of my reach.
Charlie trimmed the hair I hadn't noticed growing up the first quarter of my shaft. Using the shortest guard, he trimmed down my length until the blades were underneath the longer hair he'd left around my cock. He tapered the pubes at my base so they were shorter than the hair above. When he was done, I looked much bigger.
"It doesn't even look like I've manscaped at all," I said. My cock was framed by a tidy thatch of hair and my balls weren't obscured by fuzz.
Charlie smiled. "Now you just need to find somebody to keep you trimmed," he said. "You're twisty enough to reach all the hard on your own, but it's a lot more fun with a helping hand."
"I could give you a helping hand," I suggested, batting my eyes and reaching for Charlie's thick erection.
Charlie laughed and turned on the shower. "I hope so."
After we cleaned up, Charlie and I treated the rest of Saturday like an extension of the EQ trip: we kept shopping.
Taylor gave us lists and photos of accessories if we wanted to complete the EQ looks, mostly shoes and belts for me, plus a ridiculous number of sunglasses, watches, and bags, which we all knew I'd ignore. My new wardrobe deserved better than my ratty backpack, but I wasn't going to buy accessories just to complete the EQ looks.
Charlie and I had fun. By the time we finished, I had six new pairs of boots and shoes, more belts than I'd owned collectively in my entire life, and all the boring clothes Charlie had teased me about needing to replace: underwear, tee shirts, and some new exercise clothes. Sock shopping was especially fun, mostly because I got to surprise Charlie.
"What do you mean you like funny socks?" he'd asked when I started picking out loud colors and bold printed socks.
I had my riding club back home to thank.
During my junior year in high school, my road bike club decided to ride a Century, a 100-mile course in the foothills behind San Louis Obispo. The route followed back roads through pastures, vineyards, and orchards. We spent a lot of time on our road bikes that spring. None of us had never ridden that far in one day, so we trained hard.
The night before the ride, our club filled up the back patio of a SLO taqueria. Before long, the dares started. They guys knew I don't love spicy food, which made me a natural target.
"C'mon, Jon," said Terry, a friend since kindergarten. "One chip, just dipped in the salsa. You don't even have to scoop any."
I could do that.
"Okay, Jon," said Brad, a senior, lifting a bottle out of the hot sauce caddy. "One drop of Tapatio."
I actually like the taste of Tapatio. It's mostly vinegar. One drop wouldn't kill me. Nor did the three Brad shook onto a chip.
On it went. A scoop of salsa. It was mostly tomato, no big deal. A spoonful of enchilada sauce. I love enchiladas. A pickled jalapeno. Not much heat. A drop of Habanero Heat from the caddy. I got it down. I finally drew the line at an entire jalapeno. I should have stopped sooner. The serrano pepper I did eat was smaller but much spicier than the jalapeno would have been.
I spent the next day shitting fire in almond groves and avocado orchards for the length of the course.
My clubmates laughed the whole way. Every ten miles or so, I'd hobble in my cycling cleats into the trees and relieve myself. It felt spicier coming out than it had going in. Until I loaded up on toilet paper at a rest stop, I used my torn up socks to wipe myself.
At our club awards banquet the next month, my coaches and most team members gave me mementos of the Century: our Club photo framed inside a toilet seat, a travel pack of "Dude Wipes," a tube of Ride Butt'r Cycling Cream, and lots and lots of cycling socks. Socks emblazoned with bottles of hot sauce, socks with poop emojis, even socks with avocados.
For my last year with the Club, I wore those fucking socks with pride. I gave away all my plain black socks so I could only wear reminders of that shitty day in May. My favorite pair was white, printed with fire-breathing green chilis. Own it, I thought.
I didn't tell Charlie the backstory, but I did tell him I already planned to buy some quirky socks.
"Well look at you, getting all the extra credit points on the Advanced Placement test," Charlie smiled. "You can use the EQ color wheel to match your socks to the outfits."
"Maybe I'll match the socks to my pocket squares," I deadpanned, leaving Charlie to wonder if I was serious.
We had time for a power nap and quick handies before dinner. Not a bad day so far, I thought.
"Fair warning," said Charlie when we were getting ready to meet his parents, "my mom doesn't think you're taking the start of college seriously enough. Get ready for her to grill you."
We ate on the deck of a local institution, by which I mean a restaurant mostly for locals. The Crab Trap looked almost like a ruin, surely a dump. It sat on the edge of a wetlands, weathered gray by decades of sun and storms. The original deck rested on pilings driven into the marsh. Over the years, they'd added decks on both sides of the restaurant, giving it a teetering, ramshackle look.
"It's not so fancy," said Ken, "but we have our last dinner at the Crab Trap every year. Early on, it was the only splurge we could afford. We've been coming back every summer since."
It was exactly the sort of place my parents would search out, I told Ken. It seemed perfect to me.
We chatted about the restaurant, and how it had changed since Charlie's family started visiting the shore. Charlie had turned 21 in June so he made a show of browsing the cocktail list. We talked about what they normally ordered, what was new on the menu, and what specials looked good.
After we ordered drinks and appetizers, Angie turned towards me. "Speaking of your parents, Jon," she said, "what do they think of your preparation for college?" She asked with a smile, but I'd have known she wasn't messing around even if Charlie hadn't warned me.
"They trust me," I said. "They mostly take a hands-off approach for how I'm getting ready for school. They help me when I ask, but they don't push."
Really, my parents supported my decision to attend A. Ham. but didn't fully understand my choice. "Berkeley or Santa Cruz would be great fits," my dad had said, "if you don't follow Uncle Jimmy to Harvard."
"Hmmm," said Angie, clearly unimpressed. "I don't believe in a hand's off approach. Charlie tells me that you're `thinking about thinking' about your start at college, do I have that right?"
I agreed that was what I'd told Charlie.
"You start this week, Charlie said?"
Orientation would start on Thursday, I said, but classes wouldn't begin until the next week. Plenty of time, I implied.
"Does your orientation start on Thursday or Friday?" Angie asked in my mother's prosecutor voice. "The night we met, you told us you planned to drive up to campus on Thursday and start Orientation on Friday. Now you're saying Orientation begins a day earlier?" Her question was more a challenge than an inquiry.
I'd been confused, I admitted, not entirely focused on the start of school. But I'd started to read the Orientation materials.
"And I know I'm correct that you're attending Alexander Hamilton University? The most selective college in the United States? And certainly one of the most demanding?" None of her questions sounded like questions.
Yes, I agreed, A. Ham. was all of those things.
"But you haven't started to actually prepare?"
"Not really," I agreed, "but I've been getting ready to get ready." I was trying to convey confident nonchalance, but the look on Angie's face said I wasn't succeeding. Worse, I'd forgotten Charlie's warning not to let Angie pick up momentum. She was on a roll now.
"What exactly do you mean, that you're thinking about thinking about' preparing or getting ready to get ready'?. You start next week."
Reasonable questions. "Part of me is always thinking about school," I said. "I just haven't concentrated yet."
"When exactly do you plan to really focus on something that starts in just a few days?"
I had to turn the conversation around. The night was Charlie's family's last night celebration. We shouldn't be focused on me.
"The way my brain works," I said, "the way I think, I have channels in my mind, like different TV stations. My main channel is normally focused on whatever's in front of me, whatever's most important." I've wondered if most people think this way.
"Whatever's present," Charlie suggested. "Your `Intentionality Channel.'"
I nodded but Charlie's parents didn't understand. We'd broken Angie's momentum at least.
"For my main `channel,'" I explained, "I try to keep my awareness focused on what's happening in the moment. Now, I'm having dinner with you, or I could be focused on driving, or folding laundry."
Ken and Angie nodded for me to continue.
"I've got other channels running in the background, all the time. One's like a task list, things I need to get done. Another's my subconscious problem-solver, grinding away at questions. There's always a channel with songs that're stuck in my head."
Angie was getting impatient. "I still don't understand what you mean when you say you're thinking about thinking about something," she said. Persistent. She wasn't going to stop questioning me until I made her understand that I was taking the start of college seriously.
"All summer, one of my channels has been thinking about A. Ham," I said. "I've read all emails, reviewed the class lists, spent time on the New Student and Orientation websites, talked with my suitemates, made tentative plans for classes."
"Now we're getting somewhere," said Angie.
"I know the big-picture stuff," I explained, "things I'll need right when I get to campus."
"Does your `planning to plan' plan include academics?" asked Angie.
"I can't tell you how many hours I've spent reading the course catalogue," I said. "I feel like I could take a dozen classes each semester and still skip courses I'd like to take."
"That sounds like daydreaming to me, not planning," said Angie. "Your classes start in a week? But you don't know what classes you'll take?"
"That's my next project," I said. Your son and his fat cock gave me more important priorities this week, I thought.
Angie wasn't convinced but I thought I was winning her over so I kept talking.
"I've got a good idea of how I'll satisfy A. Ham.'s graduation requirements," I said, hoping that specifics would alleviate Anglie's concern. "To graduate, I'll have to take at least two courses from the university's humanities, literature, hard sciences, and social sciences divisions. I'll also need to satisfy statistics and writing requirements, plus a few other classes that are mandatory for all students."
The waiter delivered our drinks and a tiered platter of seafood on ice. Most of the seafood was raw so I was glad for the bread basket.
"Go on," said Anglie, toasting Ken with a raw oyster. "I like what I'm hearing."
"Based on my daydreaming list, I'll probably satisfy all the divisional requirements by the end of this year, certainly by my third semester. I haven't sat down to actually plan my schedule this semester, so it doesn't feel to me like I've really thought hard about academics. So I say I've `thought about thinking' about classes."
"What about your major?" asked Angie. "Do you have to declare right away? Won't that impact what classes you take."
"I applied as a potential history or biology major, or maybe combine them for a double-major. I'm not locked in, but my Faculty Advisor is in the History Department. The more I've read, I'm pretty sure I won't take a biology major."
"It seems awfully early to abandon one of your planned majors," said Angie.
"I haven't abandoned biology," I said, "just the major, probably. I'm take the Biology Sequence, A. Ham's two-year set of intro courses. It's premed-level Biology, so I won't fall behind if I change my mind later."
"That sounds sensible," said Ken placatingly. I though he was ready to move the interrogation along.
"Doesn't that sound sensible, Angie?"
"It seems to me, Jon, that you should think a little harder before making any decision that affect your major."
I agreed with Angie. "Here's the real issue," I said. "To major in Biology, I'd have to fill my schedule with math and chemistry courses that I'm not interested in taking. There's just too many other classes for me to justify filling my schedule with Biology prerequisites."
"Hmmm," said Angie again, not convinced.
I wanted Angie to know that I was thinking about her concerns. "Whatever major I eventually take, I'll probably take at least one Biology class every semester. I've even thought about trying to develop an interdivisional major," I said. "I'll look into it when I get to campus, see what my Faculty Advisor thinks."
"I'm encouraged," said Angie, "somewhat." I thought I'd said enough, but she wasn't done. "When do you plan to actually think about your education? To actually make college a priority?"
"It's time," I said, hoping to close the subject. "On Friday, I got an email from A. Ham. announcing that the course roster and schedule is locked for the first semester, so I can start to plan my schedule. It'll be tentative until I meet with my Advisor, but I'll finalize my short list of courses and a few potential schedules before I leave for New York."
Angie wasn't going to let me off without a test. "When do you plan to meet your Advisor?"
I smiled at the opening she gave me. "My meeting with Dr. Chance," I said, "that is, Dr. Linda B. Chance, will be one week from Monday, at 10:00 a.m., in her office on the Sixth Floor of Kirupa Suthakar Humanities Hall, which is about a ten minute walk from the First Year Dorms." After a pause, I added, "I think."
"You think?" said Angie with an exaggerated air of suspicion. She was smiling so I could tell she appreciated my attention to detail. "You're not sure?"
I pretended to think deeply. "I think it's the Kirupa Suthakar Humanities Hall. But it might be the Kirupa Sutakar Hall. I'm sure about everything else." I grinned at Angie. "I've got this," I tried to say.
She nodded an acknowledgment.
"That's a solid plan," said Ken, as much to Angie as to me.
"We'll also have two weeks after classes start to finalize our schedules, " I said. "We can sit in on lectures, see if we like the professors and subject matter, find new classes if we don't. Aside from that, my last step will be to see if I can take any classes with my suitemates or other friends I make."
It occurred to me then how funny it was to plan to take classes with "friends," when I'd never met anybody at A. Ham. other than the quick Zoom with my suitemates. By this time next week, I'd be in an entirely different world, probably with new friends.
"How are you planning to have fun?" said Ken with a glance in Angie's direction. He was definitely trying to move us past her inquisition.
"There are so many clubs I want to check out. Mountain biking, road cycling before the weather gets terrible, same with climbing and backpacking. Ski clubs, running clubs. There's a Civil Debate Society and political clubs. Performances by singing groups, film appreciation groups, plays, lectures, I could go on and on. I'll probably get even more ideas at the Activities Fair next weekend."
"You've put my mind at ease," said Angie, dusting her hands. "Somewhat. I'm sorry-not-sorry if I was pushy, I've just heard so many stories about A. Ham. I wanted to do what I could to make sure you are prepared."
"I'm not ready yet," I said. "But I'm preparing to prepare." Angie shot me a look. "I'll be ready before I leave for New York."
Angie and Ken ate a mountain of raw oysters. I couldn't get myself try one, but Charlie said the clams were better. "Cherrystones" sounded good, but it made me think of eating salty rubber. I liked the clams casino more, and my first soft shelled crabs. They were tasty, mostly because they'd been fried. My favorite was still the blue crabs. Together we ate a bushel.
After a stop at Schooners, Charlie came back to my cabin for the last time. We snuggled into bed, Charlie in his boxer briefs and me in soft shorts. We lay side by side, pressed against each other, my arm under his neck. I didn't turn off the light.
"What a week," said Charlie. "Way better than I expected."
"For me too," I said, "obviously. It was so great to meet you. I had way more fun than I would have if it was just Hot Boy Summer, even without EQ." Charlie had insisted that I stop thanking him for EQ, but I had to mention it.
"We'll stay in touch, right?" said Charlie.
"Obviously."
"You'll let me know how your suitemates turn out, what it's like once you get settled, all that?"
"Obviously."
"And there's the EQ Brand Ambassador stuff. I want to know if you still think the clothes are `Just Jon' once you're on campus."
"Obviously. And I'll need to see what Troy sends you, all your work outfits and the surprises he mentioned."
"Obviously," said Charlie. "And Dan, you'll tell me how he's doing, what's going on with him?"
"Do you want to know? Then yes, obviously."
Charlie exhaled a laugh. Ater some silence, he asked, "I'm leaving you better than I found you, right?"
"Obviously." I waited a beat. "I'm leaving you better than I found you, right?"
"Obviously," said Charlie, smiling. After another pause, he added, "I don't think either of us needed to ask, but it's been on my mind since we spent the day with the guys."
I agreed. Charlie and I had done right by each other, but I'd been thinking about the other guys I'd been with. I treated them well, I thought. I worried about Bryce and his religious family, and I'd pushed Todd beyond his comfort zone. But they were adults, willing and eager, and we had a lot of fun. Still, I hadn't considered the consequences before we'd hooked-up. In hindsight, it felt selfish.
Charlie and I talked for a while longer, but he'd had a few drinks and we'd had a long day. I set my alarm for 10 minutes earlier than Charlie's. I knew he wouldn't want to fool around in the morning, but I wanted to cuddle a little before he had to go.
I wrapped Charlie in my big spoon and fell asleep.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Thank you for your thoughtful feedback, comments, and suggestions. This is the next-to-last Road Trip chapter. After the finale, which I hope to publish before the end of the month, I'll introduce you to Jon's suitemates and get the boys started in college.
I look forward to your comments, critiques, suggestions, and questions. Please let me know what you think:
cottagecore.stories@gmail.com
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