Eric's Life: Final Version in 4 Parts
Chapter 1
"Fuck!" I muttered under my breath.
In the half-light of the television set, I had just stepped on and broken something, probably a CD. With any luck it was Jarand's piss-poor Green Day CD.
I looked up to see if I had woken him, but although his head was dangling slightly off his lofted bed, his eyes were closed. He had fallen asleep with the television on again, so I set about looking for the remote. I thought to look on the floor, and lo, there it was on the ground below his dangling left arm, right where it had slipped from sleep-muddled fingers.
I set my books down on the floor at the base of my desk, and moved my mouse to deactivate the screen saver. While my e-mail program opened, I used the remote to flip to my daily dose of Headline News. Jarand was an armchair sports freak and was apt to watch SportsCenter several times a day to the point where he was able to memorize a lot of it, but he himself only played golf. Go figure.
It was the night before the big genetics test, so I expected a ton of e-mails from gung-ho pre-meds wondering about one point of minutiae or another, but to my relief, there was only a note from my mother reminding me to come home for my Dad's birthday this weekend and a short letter from my post-doc telling me about a change in the protocol for my DNA sequencing that he wanted me to try. Being pre-med myself, I feel totally justified in characterizing some of my peers as grade-mad animals; being a teaching assistant allows me to see some of their worst behavior from arguing for a point to trying to trick test answers out of me during pre-test reviews.
With a relieved sigh, I shut down the computer and sat in the darkness and the television's glow for a while. I envied Jarand and his sleep. A genius, Jarand could sleepwalk through some of the university's toughest classes while maintaining a perfect 4.0.
Shaking off the effects of several hours of studying for a physical chemistry midterm, I turned the television off, flipped the remote onto the couch, and walked toward the bathroom in the dark. With the purposeful walk of someone who has trod the same steps for the past three years, I cursed as I again stepped on the shards of whatever I had crushed earlier. I stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light.
A sharp pain caused me to look down and notice the series of pink half-footprints on the tiled floor. "Oh, shit!" I moaned as I slid down, back against the wall, to the floor. I resisted the urge to throw up but that didn't stop a dry heave from leaving me doubled over.
"You okay?" mumbled Jarand as he shambled into the bathroom, absently brushing brown locks out of his gray eyes. After a yawn and a stretch, he finally registered that I was on the ground and shook himself a little more awake. "Eric, are you okay?" he repeated, as he bent flannel-covered legs to crouch next to me. He put a hand to my forehead worriedly, then noticed the trail of blood.
"What a woos!" He grumbled half-jokingly as he lifted my leg out from under me to gain better access to my foot. After examining my foot, he grunted in satisfaction and went to the cabinet to pull out some Band-Aids and some towels.
Biting my tongue to hold back the nausea and tearing a little in humiliation, I watched as he gently swabbed away the blood that covered my entire sole to reveal the inch long cut near a vein that had started this mess. It didn't really hurt that much, but I have this thing about seeing my own blood.
"That was pretty smooth, Er. Are you sure that you're cut out to be a doctor and all with this blood thing?" He said as he finished putting the Band-Aids over the wound. "I mean, I can just picture you passing out in the ER whenever a car accident victim rolls in. I know I wouldn't be too confident about a doc that can't stand to see blood."
"Look," I said impatiently. "I've told you that it's just my blood that makes me nauseous. Remember that time Brice cut his head and there was blood everywhere. Wasn't I the one that cleaned him up and stopped Marie from calling an ambulance and sending him to a costly emergency room. And what about-"
"Okay, chill," Jarand laughed, holding up his palm in mock surrender.
I grinned weakly. I had been an up-tight, typical pre-med when I arrived on campus, but Jarand had really saved me from myself. As a freshman, I would never have been able to laugh at myself, but Jarand had a mellowing influence, and I was now able to smile weakly. "I guess it is pretty pathetic," I admitted as I started to stand only to pitch forward in his hurriedly outstretched arms.
"Eric, are you sure you're okay?!"
"I'm fine, Jar. Really-deally fine" I giggled. The whole thing seemed really funny at that moment. My left cheek was pressed into his chest, and I could smell his characteristic Old Spice.
"Oh, God, Er, you're head's freezing!"
"Now that you mention it, Jay, I do feel a mite..." I stopped as the bathroom seemed to spin around.
My world tumbled around as I half-realized deep in the back of my mind that Jarand was half-carrying, half-dragging my limp body. A sudden spray of hot water rained down on me. I sputtered and gasped in shock (or is it out of shock?). As I blinked and pulled water-straightened brown hair out of my brown eyes, I found myself sitting in the shower with Jarand massaging my shoulders to reassure me and to keep me under the shower blast.
"Okay, okay, I'm all right!" I shouted, gaining myself a mouthful of water for my trouble. Coughing, I waved Jarand back so that I could rest my forehead on my knees. The shower was turned off, and I was shivering, suddenly cold. "Next time, just leave me on the ground and elevate my legs," I managed weakly.
Open-mouthed, Jarand started to say something then stopped. "Aye, aye, Cap'n. Should I bring you a cuppa tea and some bickies while you're down there, too?"
I knew him well enough after three years as roommates to know that the curious inflection in his voice meant that he was smiling while he spoke. I glanced up and saw that I was right. The only things to ruin his otherwise devilish grin and sparkling eyes were the worried frown lines on his forehead.
"And what about my two lumps of sugar?" I replied straight-faced.
"I've got your lumps right here," he laughed, raising his fists warningly.
I started to laugh, but then I was hit by a fit of coughing. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes," said Jarand, serious again. He tugged my sopping shirt out of my pants and I obligingly raised my arms above my head so that he could slip it off. I struggled with my pants button until he exasperatedly undid it himself. After stepping out of my pants, I tried modestly to keep his hands away when he made a move to remove my underwear, but he gave me a disgusted look, and I resignedly allowed him to remove them as well. At least he threw me a towel and allowed me to dry myself.
Once I was dry, he helped me out of the shower and supported me as I lurched to the couch. He flipped on the light and pulled my blanket off my bed. As I lay down, he bundled me up.
"Thanks, mom," I joked as he tucked me in tight.
"Mom, huh?" He said as he flipped off the light. A hand ruffled my damp hair, and lips softly planted a kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, son," he laughed as he climbed the ladder to his bed.
"'Night," I said wonderingly as I touched my fingers to the spot on my forehead where I could still feel his touch.
Luego...
I stuffed a pillow over my head and screamed in frustration. I had never had a wet dream in my entire life, but up until a few seconds ago, I had been making good headway toward one when the familiar strains of some Green Day woke me.
After lying in the dark for a few minutes last night, I had finally fallen asleep. I was awoken several times by a rather hard lump under me, but it wasn't until my third awakening that I had the initiative to reach under myself to pull out and discard the TV remote. Then, in the remaining hours, I had dreamed about Jarand.
The details were starting to fade even now, but I did seem to remember that we had done more than just kiss. A lot more.
As resentment faded, I realized that the music wasn't coming from my room, but was penetrating the bathroom door from our suitemate's room. It was times like this that I wished Jarand and I had followed the time-honored tradition and lived in Keck with our Founders peers. That place was quieter than a tomb with only the occasional rustle of a textbook page to indicate that in fact the place was inhabited and that intense studying was going on. I quickly shoved the thought away. No, nothing would have been worse than living there.
A Founders Scholar, one of the college's annual four top scholarship winners, traditionally lived in Henry C. Keck (the founder) Hall. Having two Founders Scholars in the "regular" dorms, much less in the same room was an oddity. Having them live together for three years with seemingly opposite goals and personalities made us a novelty.
Jarand and I had both eschewed the tradition of separation in favor of the "college experience" about which we had always been told. Unfortunately, we were both a bit too straight-laced to actually do much of the expected partying and drinking. He was determined to become a respected judge with aspirations to the Supreme Court, and I was not about to ruin my chance at medical school by having to explain how nightly revelry had contributed to my academic mediocrity. I preferred going out in small groups, but Jarand was a world-class schmoozer who worked massive parties like a professional politician. His weeknights were consumed by his duties as associated student president and golf, and mine were filled with either lab work or swimming.
Pat was our noisy, early-risin', more-cheerful-than-a-chipmunk suitemate. At that moment I could have either killed him for interrupting my dream or kissed him for keeping the hope alive that it actually had been Jarand's Green Day CD that I had crushed last night. Pat subscribed to the early morning swim hour at 5am. I didn't mind sharing a lane when the pool was just a little crowded at 3pm, but Pat was a little neurotic about needing to swim in a near-empty pool.
Hearing him get out of the shower, I glanced at my clock to see that it was indeed just 6:30am. Too early yet for breakfast at 7, but since I was up anyway... I struggled into some boxers and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Yo! I'm almost finished," Pat said. "There: it's all yours."
"Actually, Pat," I said to his back as he was about to close his door behind him. "Do you have some time?"
"Shoot, come on over. I'll just put some clothes on." He said as he shucked off his towel and scrounged through his dresser drawers. Pat was a few inches taller than my own 5' 7", but he had a much more impressive build since he regularly lifted weights as part of his baseball training. He was a poster child for the Honors College here because he was extremely photogenic (great for brochures) and his brains and athleticism combination helped to dispel the worrisome association of Honors programs with only-know-how-to-study geeks.
As his LooneyTunes boxers made their way above his tight butt, I couldn't help but sigh a little that we had decided that we were better as friends. Jarand and I made an effort to always have dinner or lunch together most days, but Patrick and I had made a connection during freshman orientation. A goofy, red-headed Irish kid from the Bronx, Pat stood out as much as I, the acknowledged Westerner from my tan, during our orientation with our tow-headed classmates from the Midwest. We had picked each other out as semi-outsiders immediately, and after winning the scavenger hunt together, we quickly became friends.
I quickly related the finer points of my encounter with Jarand last night and the few details I remembered from my dream this morning. Pat was rummaging through stacks of books to get things ready for his five-class in a row Wednesday marathon, but he was a good listener, so I knew he wasn't ignoring me.
"Whew," said Pat as I finished up, and he sat down next to me on his bed. "So, you think it means something? I mean, you said he's never given you any indications before. Why now?" He reasoned, logically. Damn logic!
"Let's see," he said. "Jar strips you down to make sure you don't hang around in wet clothes: perfectly sensible. He gives you a peck on the forehead after you make a crack about him being your mother: again, perfectly legit," ticking off each reason with his fingers. "Man, you got no case except for a case of wishful thinking." I hated being the lone pre-med in a dorm full of humanities majors and pre-laws. God, there were a lot of pre-laws.
I opened my mouth to protest, but I couldn't really think of any good reasons. It was too early.
"Did he even throw a woody when you were naked?" He asked.
"I don't remember," I said miserably. "It wasn't like it was the most erotic situation in the world, you know. Just when you add it all together-"
"Again, you get squat. I know you've thought he's hot for a while now, but you've got to get over him. I'll introduce you to some friends if you come out to Flotsam with me tonight. They're really nice, they're not pre-meds, and--listen up here, Er--none of them are obvious. Now Jon is really handsome, and quite unattached."
I begged out of it, "You know I don't have time during the week."
I had only begun to admit to myself that I was gay as a freshman. Pat's parents had been understanding and rich enough to pay for the single room he currently enjoyed, but it had come at a price. Pat's first roommate had nearly knocked him out in a drunken rage when he found out Pat was gay. Though the turd had been expelled, Pat had asked his parents for and received a single room in the suite next to mine that had been vacated by seniors who graduated in winter term. I had helped him through this incident, but it left me a little skittish about coming out in any meaningful way on campus. Despite Pat's encouragement, I had yet to get out to the gay bar in the capital a few miles away.
"All right, all right," he said good-naturedly, knowing my aversion. "But you can't stay a virgin indefinitely, and you can't pine after a guy who's straight."
Jarand had never had a girlfriend as long as I had known him, but Pat claimed that he could spot sexual orientation on sight and that he was convinced that Jar was straight. Sometimes I could get him to admit that he was not 100% accurate, and I wondered if he insisted that Jar wasn't gay only to get me to move on.
Lost in thought, I didn't even notice he had finished dressing until he tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You can stay here if you need to, but I need to get my butt to breakfast and then to class. You'd better get ready, too. Good luck on your p-chem test today!"
I walked back through the bathroom to my room and saw that Jarand was up and packing his knapsack.
"You up already?" I asked as he gave a surprised hop. "I seem to recall a certain someone saying that he could sleep in this morning."
"Yeah. Yeah, I just remembered that I have a meeting this morning with my thesis advisor. I have a board meeting tonight, so I might not be back for dinner. If I'm not back by 6:30, just go without me."
"Okay."
"Are you gonna be okay today?" He asked, placing the back of his hand on my forehead.
My breath caught a little as I felt the heat of his skin.
"Eric?" he repeated.
"Yeah, sure. I'm fine. I'll be fine," I managed.
As if he saw my confusion in my eyes, he slid his hand down to my cheek. "Well, just take care," he said as he pulled his hand back slowly.
"A little reluctantly?" I wondered.
"Well, see ya," he said as he turned and hurried out the door.
"Yeah, see ya," I echoed confusedly to the closing door.
As I turned around to get ready for a grueling day, I happened to glance at the ground and noticed that it was indeed "Dookie" I had mangled. I smiled and hummed Taps as I swept its remains into the garbage can. Perhaps today would not be as bad as I thought.
Chapter 2
"Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breath," I thought to myself. I had developed the rather bad habit of two-stroke freestyle. While one usually only average a few breaths in a sprint event like the fifty freestyle, two-stroking could get you into trouble over intermediate distances. I was determined to get the four-stroke down to instinct.
Someone jumped into my lane and began doing a rather fast-paced butterfly. I tried to hug the lane line as his wide arm sweeps caused him to take up a lot of space and went back to concentrating on my stroke. Flipping over at the wall, I pushed off only to see my fellow swimmer barreling down on me.
With a muffled yelp, I quickly ducked underwater and backed into the next lane to avoid a collision. Unfortunately, this caused me to bump into a middle-aged woman in that lane. She popped her head up out of the water, but as I opened my mouth to explain and pointed over at the other swimmer, she simply shook her head, rolled her eyes, and swam around me.
Silenced by her quiet rebuke, I could only think, "Oh, shit! That's Dr. Clarke! Shit!" Dr. Clarke was reputed to have one of the toughest lab courses on campus, and my luck dictated that I was to have her in the fall. I hoped she wouldn't remember me.
"All right. This mother's toast!" I thought. I returned to my lane and waited on the wall for the speed demon to return so I could have a talk with him. The bastard again seemed determine to mow on through me, so this time I scrunched over to the corner of the lane as he blazed into the wall for a turn.
I wasn't expecting him to stop at the wall and grab my ass.
"What the-?" I began. Then as the gooser stood there smiling at me, I realized that it was Pat. He was wearing a flashy body suit, a cap, and metallized goggles that concealed his blue eyes.
"Miss me?" he said, fluttering his lashes exaggeratedly as he removed his goggles.
"Yeah, babe," I said as I splashed water into his face. "This much."
A sudden "harrumph" from the lifeguard standing above us ended our splashing. "Guys, it's lap swim. Please, no horse play."
"Whoa. Butt-hairs are wound tight on that one," I noted.
"But oh, what a butt!" Pat exclaimed, ogling the backside of our 6' blonde lifeguard. "And the face ain't half bad, either."
"Anyway," I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face. "I still have a thousand left to do. Why don't you meet me for dinner at 6:30. Jarand said he'd either be back by then or not."
"Shoot," said Pat as he began pulling himself out of the pool.
Greatly daring, I couldn't resist pinching his butt in return.
Luego...
"So what's with the body suit?" I asked, munching on a fry. "It's a little gnarly don't you think? Isn't it like swimming with clothes on?"
"I don't know. It's really reflective, which is a fashion plus, and," he paused as I rolled my eyes. "It's supposed to reduce drag," Pat said, stealing yet another fry.
"You know, you could get more of your own," I said exasperatedly as I lightly slapped his thieving hand.
"But it's so much easier this way. Oops, Jay at 3 o'clock. Make that a mighty steamed Jay."
I turned and saw that Jarand really did look a little peeved.
"Eric, I need to talk with you about-" Jarand began.
"Look, Jar, we waited until 6:25, but you didn't show up, and Pat said he was hungry so we left a note. I know you said 6:30, but it's only 6:35 now, see?" I pointed to my watch, trying to ignore Pat's dirty look.
"Huh?" His anger was turning to uncertainty.
"Oh, the CD. I'm really sorry about the CD, too. I swear I'll pay for a new one, or at least something of better taste," I interrupted to joke, but he seemed confused.
"Uh, yeah, anyway, I need to talk to you alone," Jarand said with a meaningful toss of the head for Pat's sake.
"Uh-oh," Pat mouthed to me. He quickly covered and said, "Well, I've got this uh, paper due tomorrow, so I'd better get cracking. Early to bed and all that. See you guys later." As he walked away, he turned back so that only I could see and indicated that I should talk with him later to tell him what was up.
Jarand just sat down across from me and glanced from side to side worriedly.
After waiting for a while, I said, "Uh, Jar? You wanted to say something to me, right?"
"Um, there's too many people hear. We can talk tonight. Later."
"You wanna get a plate? I can wait until you finish. I don't have anything pressing tonight."
"Huh? Oh, no thanks. I'm not hungry," Jar said distractedly. "Remember: tonight, okay?" He said as he got up to leave.
"Well, we are roommates, aren't we?" I smiled.
Jarand sat back down heavily. I began to feel a little worried, and my smile faded. "Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I don't think we should be roommates anymore," He mumbled, looking down at his fingers tapping away on the table. While I sat dumbfounded, he quickly got up and walked away, never looking back.
Who'd have thought a frickin' Green Day CD was going to end our friendship?
My stomach was in knots as I sat in our room waiting for Jar to come back so that we could have our talk. "I really should have asked him what time was signified by 'tonight'," I thought morosely as the clock showed 9pm.
I had propped the little used "no interruption" signal in the bathroom to let Pat know that Jarand and I were not to be disturbed. Pat's signal was to tip his shampoo bottle onto its side; ours was to leave the Tylenol bottle inverted on the counter. We usually only used them before major exams or when Pat had someone over.
I got up to check my e-mail again, in the process straightening the rug for the twentieth time that hour. I was about to reconsider not talking to Pat, when I heard the key turn in the door.
I grabbed my package off the desk and hid it behind my back. "Hey, Jar," I said cautiously.
"Hey, Eric," He said as he stripped off his coat and turned on his computer. He hadn't even looked at me!
"Okay. This is sort of surreal. What's going on here?" I wondered as I heard the whine of the modem.
Since he seemed determined to check his e-mail, I walked up behind him and placed my gift on the desk. "What's this?" He asked, glancing briefly at the box.
"Oh, it's just to say, 'I'm sorry,'" I said, forcing an off-hand tone.
He opened it to find a new "Dookie" CD. He sat there, just holding it, and I again became worried.
"Jar, could you please tell me what's going on? Stop looking at that computer, and talk to me!" I said, agonized.
He put the CD down, and, to my amazement, he began crying into his hands. I was stunned. Although he was only a recreational golfer, Jarand was a rather well-muscled figure at a shade above 6'. Always capable-seeming, to see him cry for no apparent reason was really shocking.
"What's wrong?" I asked, massaging his shaking shoulders to ease his distress and mine. "Whatever I did. I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's not you," he managed to sniffle. "It's me. I have to tell you something, but I'm afraid that you're going to hate me."
"Whatever it is, we can work it out. Moving out is not the answer."
"I don't want to move, Er; I have to move!"
I was silent, giving him time to collect his thoughts.
"You see," he said, finally daring to look up at me. "You know when I helped you out of your wet clothes last night? Well I enjoyed it a little more than I think you realized."
Thoughts racing, I couldn't even speak.
"Eric?" He questioned nervously, placing a hand on my now still hands on his shoulders. "Eric, I'm gay," he finally blurted.
I loved the feel of his fingers caressing mine. With tears in my own eyes, I looked into his now gray-green eyes and watched his expression as I brought my lips to his hand and kissed it. "Me, too," I admitted softly.
Wonderingly, he brought his hand to my face and caressed my cheek as he had done last night. I closed my eyes and trapped his hand there with one of my own. Fingers interlocked, we moved our heads closer together. I could feel his breath, and I paused, a little scared. Encouraged by the light in his eyes, I leaned closer and closer until we finally kissed.
It was more of an exploratory thing: longer than a peck, but short of an oh-my-God-when-are-they-coming-up-for-air? moment. We tasted each others lips and lightly brushed our tongues together. Feathery, deliberate strokes.
I guess you could say it was sweet.
Luego...
"So then you pounced on him, tugging him to the floor, and proceeded to engage in a wild night of licentious debauchery, right?" Pat grilled, licking his lips in anticipation. He had quickly gotten over his disappointment that he had misjudged Jarand, claiming that if the guy is confused about his sexuality, then why should his sixth sense be able to pick out the truth? A sixth sense, apparently, is only as sure as the man it's used on.
I appeared outwardly indifferent as I said, "No, you voyeur, there was no wild sex."
"But what about the thump I heard?"
Cheeks aflame, I finally had to look him in the eye. "Well, maybe we did fall to the floor together," I admitted. "But it's only because we were caught up in the kiss, and I sort of lost balance leaning over him with my eyes closed and all. Anyway, why were you listening through the wall? I sort of regret coming over here. Maybe a love life is something that shouldn't be discussed when it's really new."
"No, no, no! I'm sorry, really," Pat pleaded, preventing me from getting up. "Just please tell me what happened. I couldn't help but hear you guys fall. It was pretty loud."
I gave the appearance of weighing my options, dragging out the moment. "Well, okay," I finally said mock-grudgingly. "We did sleep together, but not the way you're thinking. We mostly just cuddled with some pillow talk."
"So what deep dark secrets did you two reveal?" Pat asked, getting interested despite his disappointment over the lack of graphically detailed sex.
"I guess we learned that we both only admitted to ourselves our homosexuality late. We've also had this unspoken, mutual attraction since we first met. We kind of had to laugh at that: we've been living together for three years, thinking some of the same thoughts about each other, but never doing anything about it. Both of us had been so afraid of what the other would think that we just kept it buried so that it didn't interfere with our friendship. Other than the pathetic nature of our life, the moment was so romantic. We were in each others arms, my head on his chest. Just talking. I could hear his heartbeat. It was so incredible, although I think my arm fell asleep at some point." I smiled in remembrance.
Pat's smile faded, as he suddenly realized something. "Wait a minute. Clothes on or off?"
"On!"
"My God, give me strength! I knew two prudish virgins would find a way to screw it up. Look if you two can't even get together properly... I mean did you even think to paw him?" He spluttered. "You can't even call it pillow talk. Pillow talk is technically that stuff that comes AFTER sex. There was no sex. No skin, even. Hence, ergo, QED: no pillow talk," He continued, gesticulating wildly. "What?" He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he saw my grin.
"I never said we weren't gonna have sex. Just that we didn't have sex last night," I paused as my words finally registered. "Don't just stand there. Help me plan for tonight!"
Luego...
"Voila!" Tim said with a flourish as he draped a hanky over our floor lamp, dimming the light level in the room.
"Oh, Timmy. We swore we'd break the mold, but I swear you'd make a great interior decorator!" laughed Pat, coming up behind Tim to rest his arms on Tim's shoulders.
All of Pat and my planning the night before had gone for nothing since I had been stuck grading genetics tests late; my fellow TA had failed to get them to me until 6pm instead of at 3pm leaving me to juggle correcting in between the steps of my PCR protocol. Jarand had also been stuck in an emergency press conference called when a freshman who had been driven to the hospital the night before had died of alcohol poisoning. The president was ready to flay the fraternity involved and was rumored to have considered banning fraternities from campus entirely.
The short version is that I came home and fell asleep on the couch, and Jar, similarly exhausted had simply covered me up before turning in himself. Resolved to make it work tonight, we had vowed that we'd both be home and alert by 7, barring Armageddon.
Pat and Tim, Pat's latest but longest lasting beau, had tried not to laugh, but while decorating the room all afternoon, they would often stop to giggle uncontrollably for a few minutes before managing to get back to work. With some hokey sea sounds playing in the background, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, Tim's hanky-dimmed lighting, some frighteningly realistic papier mache birds, a few seashells, beach towels draped in strategic places, and coconut cups of Mai tai, the room actually looked--well it looked different at any rate. Tim might not need to hold on to his day job.
"Now, you're sure there's nothing else we can do for you two?" Pat asked suggestively. "I mean, there's still some time for you to watch those videos I rented. In 'The Ploughboys,' these young farmer boys have this position that would knock your socks off."
"Videos are too tame, Pat. I think what these guys need is a good floor show," said Tim, beginning to grin slowly. He went over to the stereo, fiddled with the CD changer, and the strains of Janet Jackson's "You Want This" came pounding out. With his chesire grin wide, Tim began to show the soulful, expressive dancing that had so caught Pat's eye in the Flotsam months ago. Getting into the mood, Pat joined Tim in striking up a seductive, undulating dance. They were in the midst of peeling off each others clothes when the door opened and Jar walked in.
"Hmm, not bad," said Jarand appraisingly, eyebrows lifted.
"Um, they were just leaving, Jar," I volunteered as I shot Pat and Tim a "get lost" glance.
"Don't leave on my account, boys."
"Oh, no you don't," laughed Pat as Tim seemed intent on doing just that. "These two need their time alone. You can show me what I want in my room. Let's go, tiger."
"Growl," trilled Tim as he gave us a mid-air cat scratch of farewell, closing the bathroom door behind him.
"What was that? Part of your surprise? It was quite, um, stimulating," Jarand smiled wryly. The song ended, and the whirring CD changer soon put forth a slow, bass-pounding tune.
"So you like dancing, huh? You ain't seen nothing yet." I got up and crooked my finger around his tie. Dragging him by the neck, I sat him down on the edge of the couch. Giving myself some room, I began to move to the beat.
I tried to imitate some of the aggressive, sexual posturing that Tim had showed me, and what I lacked in years of dance training, I made up for with feeling and a sense of abandon. It was kind of weird, how wanting to make one person happy just made you lose your inhibitions.
As Jarand sat looking a little surprised, I strutted over to him and began removing his tie. As he tried to reach for me, I firmly replaced his arms at his sides. This was strictly look, but don't touch. Understanding, he tried to stay still while I removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
His chest exposed, I lightly touched his skin with my finger tips, lightly stroking, never staying in one place too long. He groaned and exhaled sharply, closing his eyes tight in frustration.
I then brought my face close to his. Rather than kissing him, I brought my lips close to his forehead. Blowing gently, I traced a slow trail down his temple to his cheek. As I closed in on his mouth, his arms involuntarily raised to hold me, but with a smile, I gently pushed them down.
Finally, I kissed him, hands twining in his hair. Having learned his lesson, Jarand didn't try to touch me, but at some level, I could feel him ripping off his shirt and working frantically at his pants. Stepping away, I smiled as he opened his eyes, confused.
"Da dum da dum," I playfully belted out an accompaniment as I did an impromptu strip tease. When my shirt was being pulled over my head; however, Jarand showed that he could only be pushed so far. While I was temporarily blinded, he pounced on me and knocked me to the floor. I landed in a reclined position, propped up by a cushion that had been swept off the couch.
A little startled and winded, I nevertheless wanted to feel him as much as he wanted to hold me. The hardness that dug into my thigh as he began kissing his way down my face showed that while I had managed to keep his arms still, other movements had been going on below the belt. No longer smiling, I allowed Jarand his turn at the helm, submitting to his demanding lips while letting my tongue do some fighting of its own.
Breaking away, Jarand looked into my eyes and asked, "Would you, um, be my first?"
Excited but a little scared, I nodded quickly. "I think you'll have to let me lead, though." I pulled down my pants and underwear in one motion and let my 6" cock free. Watching his face, I then slowly slid his pants down. With my fingers in his waistband, I tugged it out and over his restless cock. Finally allowing myself the pleasure, I looked down between us. His cock was a creamy pale 7", pulsing in time with his heart.
Slowly, he reached behind him and pulled out a condom and a tube of some lubricant. Ripping open the packet, I couldn't resist giving his penis a quick kiss before rolling the condom on. With shaking hands, I greased up his sheathed rod.
Pushing his down flat on his back, I stood up between his bent knees and slowly began to squat down. As I felt his cock straining at my butt, I reached down to hold his cock firmly. Expecting some pain, I began to bear down and was surprised when it sort of popped in with a wet-sounding squelch. It was painful, but though I had been expecting it, I couldn't help but let out a surprised and tight, "Oh!"
"Shit. You sure you want to do this, Eric?" Jar asked.
I guess I loved that about him: the concern that practically oozed out of him despite his excitement. I simply nodded and proceeded to lower myself down onto him. It was a weird feeling. Sort of like having a big load to drop, but I wasn't planning on letting this one go for some time.
"Ooh, cramp," I said as my thigh tightened up, and I suddenly collapsed onto Jar and his rigid cock. The pain at my anus was intense. I prayed I hadn't ripped anything.
"Oh, God! You okay? We're stopping this now," Jar was bent up at mid-abdomen as he encircled me with his arms and desperately kissed my shoulder.
Tearing, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to try to slow my galloping heart and my short gasps for air. As my heart slowed and the sharp pain faded to dull, I was able to shake my head.
Eyes still closed, I could feel him deep in me, deflating a little as concern replaced desire. I could feel his pubic hairs crinkling along my bottom. I could feel his breathing on my skin, and it made me feel so cared for.
Determined to make this work, I slowly tightened my anus and was delighted to feel him respond within me. Opening my eyes, my gaze met his, and I slowly pushed his torso back down to the ground.
"No one's stopping anything until I cum. I've wanted this for too long..."
I gathered my feet under me again, and I slowly lifted myself off of him. Keeping his eyes locked to mine, I tried to convince him that I wanted this. I guess he could feel my resolve because he nodded, closed his eyes, and began to moan softly.
Without realizing it, I had come all the way up to his cock head. The pain was fading and slowly, my anus was beginning to respond to the friction. Down, up, down, up. My own cock began to rise again as I closed my eyes and bit my lip in concentration.
Down, up, down, up. Faster now. Jar began to jerk his hips in growing excitement, and I tried to match our thrusts. While we couldn't find that fabled rhythm, when his upstroke matched my down, I could feel him planted in me; his pubes teasing me.
I was almost ready to cum with excitement without even touching myself, but I was almost driven over the edge when I felt hands begin to stroke me. I opened my eyes, and groaned as I saw Jarand hunched forward, hands feverishly working me.
Down, up, down, up. His hands moved in time with our thrusts, and I finally couldn't hold back anymore. My scrotum pulled up against me, my body stiffened in anticipation, and then blast after blast of ropy cum gushed out of my jerking cock, striking me in the face and chest.
Though caught up in my moment, I noticed my anus clenching in time with my ejaculations. The grimace on Jar's face and his energetic thrusts told me that he too was cumming. When he finally lay back on the ground with a moan, I reached under me to hold onto the condom's base, and slowly, reluctantly lifted myself off his softening member.
Unable to move much, I collapsed down next to him in a heap, face down. Tensed muscles relaxed oh-so-slowly, and I summoned up the energy to roll over to face him. Finally I looked into his gray eyes, mostly black pupil save for an encircling silver iris ring in the soft light. He moved to kiss me.
He ended up kissing my chin instead which confused my tired mind. I raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Some cum," he answered with an evil grin, licking his lips.
I smiled, and we kissed lingeringly, tasting each others' sweat.
I fell asleep in the crook of his arm as his sleep-regular exhalations stirred my hair. Just as my consciousness started to fade, I heard him say, "I love you." I smiled.
Chapter 3
I opened my bleary eyes, a little disoriented. God, my thighs ached. I was sure that I wasn't in my bed, but there was barely enough light to see. I concluded I was on the floor. I was also nude.
Then I remembered.
I smiled and reached out next to me, but no one was there. Puzzled, I turned to look, but Jarand was gone. Had I dreamed it all? Shit!
No, there were still hideous faux tropical birds propped up on various pieces of furniture. And the Mai Tais were still on the table untouched in their coconut holders, if nastily warm.
Scratching my head through my mussed hair, I staggered over to the bathroom. There was a note taped to the door:
Eric,
I would have loved to have spent all morning with you in my arms, but my sister called about 9 saying that she was outside waiting to take me home for the weekend. I didn't want to wake you.
See you Monday, loverboy :-) Jar
"All morning?" I thought. It was indeed noon.
Went home? I was supposed to go home this weekend for my Dad's birthday. My flight left in under two hours.
I opened the bathroom door, and there stood Tim at the sink, brushing his teeth.
"Oops. Sorry." I blushed.
While Tim being in the bathroom was unusual enough, he was also stark naked. He bent over to spit and shook his head. "No problem. It's your bathroom."
I was still struck by the figure he cut. He and Pat were about the same height, but where Pat was dark of hair and blue eyed, Tim was stunningly white-blonde and had emerald green eyes. Years of dance had endowed him with a lightly muscled yet well-defined figure. And what nature had given him...
"Hmm. Someone's had sex! I'm sure you guys'll be real happy. I can see love in the air already." He said, eyes sparkling. "Well, Pat's still sleeping, so you two lovebirds had better keep it down." Without giving any indication that he had noticed my roving eyes, he sauntered out and closed his door behind him.
Bemused, I dashed into the shower and hastily scrubbed away the funk from last night. I quickly toweled myself down and dashed into my room to dress, pausing only long enough to think that maybe our suite needed "Don't bug me" signs external to the bathroom.
With a few minutes to spare and thanks to an extremely accommodating airline attendant, I was able to make my flight. With a few hours flight time to kill, I was finally able to register what Tim had said. Was love indeed in the air?
Not that we were rich or anything, but my family was really close. My mother and I were both summer born, so my Dad was the only birthday for which I really had to travel. My Dad had taken his father's death a few months ago really hard, and my mom felt that maybe a surprise visit would help to break the routine.
The whole time I was home, I concentrated on making my Dad think that everything was cool with me. He had enough problems, and my problems, well, I tried not to think about them. We had a fancy dinner the first night at his favorite restaurant, Cedona. Then after Church on Sunday, we spent the afternoon at Sunnydale Amusements playing mini golf and riding the water rides. He actually seemed to glow, and I cried when I hugged him good-bye since he seemed so much better than when I had left in August for school.
Sleepless on the red-eye, I was actually too exhausted to even have to try not to think.
Luego...
"Goddamn virgins!" Pat muttered, interrupting my narrative for the fifth time.
"Blasphemy! Cut it out!" I laughed, as I punched him in the shoulder for the fifth time in response. "You'll wake Tim," I reminded him as Tim's leg moved beneath the sheets. "Besides, aren't Catholics supposed to be holier than the rest of us?"
"Then it's a good thing I'm not Catholic. You don't want the advice of a more experienced man," he said quietly, pointing to himself. "Yet you two go off and fuck on the first date! There are things you need to know, okay?"
"I think I know enough from all the stories you've told me. Besides we've known each other for three years; it was only the first official date," I said playfully.
Pat's smile faded, and he suddenly became serious. He pointed to the bathroom, and we crossed to my room. "Look, I think it's fantastic that you two finally got together and that you had your first experience with a great guy like Jarand, but seriously, you really don't know everything. I know I talk a good game, but I've only ever made love to two people in my life. Look you used condoms, right?" He paused to let me nod. "But you also used this lube didn't you?"
"Sure," I said cautiously, looking at the tube.
"Well, Mr. Know-it-all, condoms need to be used with water-based lubes. The stuff you used could make the condom degrade!"
"Whew!" I whistled guiltily.
"Look, sex is great and all, but you've got to be more careful. That's all I'm saying," he put a comforting arm around me after seeing my crestfallen look. "When I have fun with a guy, we usually just jack each other off, you know. Safe, but still, um, stimulating. Besides, you guys have some weird ideas about positioning. Let me get this straight, you mounted him sideways between his legs? Using his what, knees, for balance? Whatever gave you that idea?"
Smiling cautiously, I began, "Well, I thought it might help to make things easier the first time. Given the shape of the penis and muscles of the anus, and..." I trailed off as I saw him shaking his head. "What?!"
"Virgins and science majors!" He said in disgust. "From clothed kissing to sex. Didn't the natural progression of mutual masturbation or even fellatio occur to you first?"
While my 4am talk with Pat had gotten the experience off my chest, I was still a lot more confused than I seemed. My cock was obviously convinced that I was gay. It had been erect the whole time that I was describing my night with Jar.
It felt a little liberating to have crossed that line officially. A little scary, too. Oh, sure, I had said I was a gay for a few years now, but playing straight all the time really made me wonder sometimes if I really knew what I wanted. Was I gay, or was I just confused?
I guess the real question now was: did I love him. I mean, like Pat said, sex is cool, but did we love each other? I had waited until our third or fourth date until Mary and I had lost our virginity together after the Junior Prom. Jar and I had never had a date. Did that make me a slut? Did I respect him? I laughed cynically at the turnabout imagery.
I liked Jar and had wanted him to like me for a long time. We had known each other for almost three years now. But wasn't love supposed to be all-consuming? Wasn't there supposed to be some light out of heaven saying, "He's the one!" He had said he loved me. Why did I have doubt?
We certainly were friends. But that annoying SportsCenter thing and the lack of musical taste. Isn't it written someplace that people in love are supposed to be alike?
Tossing my duffel onto the couch, I noticed the answering machine light was blinking.
"Hey, Er. Thought you'd be in. Can't wait to get back. See you Monday morning!"
"Saturday, 8:15 pm"
"Hey, Er. I kind of broke stuff to my parents. My mother cried for a bit, but my Dad and Kelly kind of took it in stride. Kelly'll drop me off Monday night. My little bro' needs a little extra adjustment time. Missing you."
"Sunday, 4 pm"
I guess it was a blessing in disguise. I wanted to see him, but I was afraid to at the same time. Why did he have to say that he loved me?
"Oh, man! Why me?" I whined, thumping my head repeatedly on the bathroom door.
On the third thump, I fell forward because there was no door there. I stumbled right into Pat's arms. As my head was in a rather unique position, I quickly deduced from the equipment down below that it was Tim and not Pat.
"We've got to stop meeting like this, guy." Tim noted impishly, propping me back up. "In the bathroom, I mean. Pat tells me that you've made this falling into guys' arms a habit. I'm spoken for, so don't you go trying any of your helpless Southern gentleman routines on me."
"Actually, I think I'd be a Western gentleman," I retorted.
"Um, yeah. Let's stick with science, okay?"
"Science?" I was a little embarrassed to admit that although Tim and Pat had been dating for a few months now, I really didn't know all that much about him. Was I just too self-centered?
"Yup. You say peptidoglycan, I say Schroedinger function. You genetics, me physics. Science." His smile faded. "Do you hate me or something?" He asked suddenly.
I was startled. "Hate you? No, of course not. Why?"
"Well, you're Pat's best friend, yet I never see you. Whenever I come to see Pat, you just leave."
About to protest, I stopped to consider how my actions might look from his point of view. "I guess when you show up, I feel like a third wheel. I like my privacy, so I just imagine you guys'd like some, too."
He frowned, thinking. His following smile was brilliant like the sun coming up. "I guess that makes sense. Why don't you come on over? The beast woke me up when he left to swim, and I've got some water boiling. We should get to know each other."
I couldn't help but watch his butt as he preceded me. It was as tight as the rest of him.
"Sit." Humming tunelessly, Tim poured us some tea and sat down next to me. "So, what's with the forehead knocking?"
"Um, I guess I'm just confused," I answered cautiously. Then it just came pouring out when I saw his sympathetic gaze. "I mean sure we spent a night talking, but then we go right to sex. Did I just want to get my rocks off, or do I really love him? You know, do I know him well enough to love him? If it is love, I want this to last. I mean, being gay's got to be about more than sex, right?"
"I guess that depends on who you ask, boyo," he replied. Seeing my disappointment, he dispensed with the flippancy. "Eric, part of being who we are is--hmm--'appreciation of the male form,' but you're right: being gay is about having the capacity to love another man."
"But how does a person know it's love? How do I know?"
"Look, Eric, no one can tell another person what they're feeling. My dad had a hard time accepting that, but, well... Never mind. Even straight people write stupid romance novels and books on rules and shit, but I think love is a personal thing. It's different for everyone. It's based on what you've got to give from here," he said, tapping my chest. Taking a deep breath, Tim paused and said slowly, "Pat tells me you've got your head so far up your butt sometimes that you're not always planted on the ground. This waiting for Mr. Right or waiting to tell my parents crap is just that: crap. It's a cop out."
I shook my head. "If it's such crap, then why does everyone talk about it that way? Why do we keep saying stuff like 'waiting for Mr. Right?'"
"Shit, Eric, I don't have the answers, okay, but I think I know this much: If you want to find love, then you've got to take some risks. Get your head out from your butt and live. No pain, no gain. No guts, no glory. You can't sit on your fanny, twiddling your thumbs, and whining, 'Oh, does he love me? Oh, but what if it doesn't last? Oh, me.' Feeling sorry for yourself is stupid. Instead of killing what you and Jarand could have before it's even begun, give it a chance to live for Christ's sake!"
In the middle of his tirade, Tim had gotten up to pace and was standing over me. I was a little shocked, then I was angry. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? He just told me we don't know each other, then he extrapolates a whole sermon from something Pat probably said in passing.
"Look, you fu-" I began heatedly.
"Yikes," yelped Tim suddenly. His pacing had knocked over the tea pot which sent scalding water onto his foot. He hobbled quickly over to the sink and placed his foot in a stream of cold water.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, looking over his shoulder. "It doesn't look too bad," I said clinically, looking at his reddened foot.
Tim turned with a pained grimace and kissed me on the cheek.
"What's that for?" I asked warily.
"That was an apology. Look, I'm sorry I kind of went off telling you how to run your life. I know I hated it when my dad tried to convince himself and me that I wasn't gay. He said- he said-" He gulped and stopped.
"Hey, you don't have to talk about it," I said, distressed. Standing there, rubbing Tim's shoulders, I suddenly had a flashback to reassuring Jarand that he could tell me what was wrong with him a few nights ago. At the moment, I had no feelings for this hunky naked guy in pain. I just wanted to help him calm down and feel better. Maybe I wasn't a sucker for crying guys. Maybe there was more to me and Jar than just physical attraction. I passed him a tissue.
"Thanks."
"Look, I'm serious; you don't have to talk about it if it's that painful, but if you do want to talk, I'm here."
"Thanks," he repeated.
I helped him back to the couch, turning off the water as we went.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He nodded. "I haven't even told Pat much about this."
Curious now, I gave him a reassuring nod, and he began. His eyes took on a distant look. "My grandmother was a ballerina with the Bolshoi. Her defection and the turmoil of moving prevented my mother from taking up dance, but dance was in our blood. My mother pushed all us kids into dance. I hated it at first since my friends had free time to play while I was stuck in the studio, but I really liked it after a while. It was hard in high school: being called gay or a fag just because I did ballet or jazz, but gradually, I realized that I was indeed gay. When I finally came out to my parents, my dad just couldn't accept it. He believed in that macho crap, and so he blamed my mother for making me take ballet and my other dance classes. He said that he had always been against dance as too feminine. He walked out that night. He didn't even say a word to me. He returned home the next day to pack his suitcase. They began talking about a divorce."
I was listening, but I was also surprised. Tim had lived exactly what I had feared: a father's rejection, a family split apart. Would I ever be able to tell them the truth?
"I think the worse, though, was when he finally did start talking to me again. He begged me to think it through. He threatened to disown me. I didn't know what to do. They finally did get a divorce. I don't see him much now. My mom and my sisters don't blame me, though. She says that they'd had problems for years that they tried to keep from us. Oh, we had known that they fought, but sometimes I just felt so responsible." He coughed and looked at me through watery eyes. "I guess I'm better nowadays. I mean, I don't feel so responsible, but I guess it still hurts. Thanks. Thanks for letting me talk."
I hugged him and patted his back. "No problem." Looking over his shoulder, I saw the clock and swore inwardly. "Tim, I have to get moving to check on my samples. They've been incubating for a few days now. Are you going to be okay? I can come back later if you need me."
"No, but thanks. Jeez, I'm saying that a lot. I think the talking helped. You go off to your lab."
I looked him in the eyes to make sure that he was telling the truth and nodded. "Hang tight. We'll talk again later if you need, and I'll try not to run off every time you come visiting Pat." I stood up, but then I thought better of it and turned back to Tim. "Friends?" I asked, extending my hand.
"Friends," he agreed.
"You were right, you know. About me," I said slowly. "About everything..."
Tim smiled a trifle smugly.
"Except maybe that crack about me having my head up my ass!"
The rest of the day, I put my brain on auto pilot. I tried not to worry about me and Jar. I'd just go with the flow. Live it instead of analyzing it. It was tough for me.
I was falling asleep at my desk, trying to churn out a few more paragraphs for my paper on Chaucer--man, English requirements are a bitch--when I heard the key in the lock. I turned to see Jarand walk through the door. He dropped his coat and bag on the ground and stood there looking at me, perhaps a little uncertainly.
Looking at him, I realized that all my worries were, as Tim said, stupid. Smiling wider and wider, I stood and walked toward him. Maybe we weren't forever, maybe we weren't an always, but we were together now.
We squeezed each other in a tight, unyielding embrace.
"I do love you," he said softly into my ear. "I wasn't sure if you had heard me last night, and I kind of felt silly about saying it over the phone, but I meant it."
"I know. I love you, too," I said fiercely. "I love you, Jar."
Chapter 4
"Not so hard, damnit!"
"Hey, you're the one that asked me to do this, right?" Pat growled, but he did ease up.
I relaxed a little more, but I couldn't help but shudder when he pressed a little too hard. My skin was really hot and sensitive, but the oily gel Pat was massaging into me was working its magic.
"Who'd have thought I'd see the day when California-boy couldn't take a little heat?"
"A little? I'm baking alive here!" I moaned self-pityingly.
"Well it serves you right. I can't believe you went golfing with him! What were you thinking?"
I was suffering from a rather severe sunburn. Months huddled indoors through a typical Midwestern winter had left me practically white. Well, actually Pat would always be whiter with his fair skin, but for me, any loss of tan was PALE. El Nino had graced us with an early thaw, and I--the aforementioned Western fool--was instantly stricken by some cabin fever.
When Jarand had noted that the golf course had decided due to the weather to open free until the regular season began, I had jumped at the chance to go outdoors. Luxuriating in the near-fifty degree weather, I had taken off my shirt early in the day. Hours later, my skin began to protest its sudden prolonged exposure.
"Well, I thought I should see what all this golfing is about. I mean the guy goes to that indoor driving range all winter long. I convinced myself there must be something interesting about the sport for someone to just hit ball after ball for an hour or two."
"I thought you said you only wanted to get outdoors anyway you could?" Pat asked suspiciously.
I rolled onto my back, wincing as my reddened skin came into contact with the sharp spearpoints of the carpet. "You had to get shag, didn't you?" I accused. "Well, trying to share a big part of his life seemed kind of important, too."
"Look, Mr. Romantic, you've been out of the dating scene for a long time, so I'll just remind you of one teensy thing: you don't have to share EVERYTHING with each other. Tim doesn't come to my early swim, and I don't go to his rehearsals. A couple is a unit, surely, but it's made up of two individuals."
"Don't call me Shirley!" I howled, rolling my eyes at his lecture.
"Huh?" Pat was a good guy, but he wasn't up on the cult movies. Some people hide their idiosyncrasies, but mine just sort of live right at the surface.
"Never mind. You and Timmy should watch 'Airplane' sometime and... Hey! What about that time you did go to Tim's dress rehearsal? And," I continued, relishing his discomfort. "Maybe you should listen more closely. Didn't I just say that I was curious about the game, not necessarily the man. Although he is quite a man," I qualified, smiling smugly.
Pat snorted and pretended to gag.
Choosing to ignore his slight of Jarand, I continued, "But we were talking about the game. It seems soooo boring on the tube, but he's so into it-"
"A-ha!"
"That I wanted to see what the hoopla's about," I concluded loudly. "It was simple curiosity. I know I can be a little clingy, but I was not being clingy this time, honest." I said, holding up two fingers. "Scout's honor."
"Dorkus, it's three fingers, not two!"
"No, isn't three for Cub Scouts, and two for Boy Scouts?"
"How would I know? I was never a scout," said Pat loftily. "Things was ha-hd in the Bronx," He exaggerated.
"I'm sure things were for some-" I led. "So it's a darn good thing you were one of those yuppie Manhattanites that went to a private school."
Pat glowered at my smile.
"What? Did I say something wrong?" I asked innocently. "Oh, I know. I'm sorry. Manhattonians."
Pat's expression didn't change a hair.
"Manhattanders?"
"I, sir, come from the Bronx as you well know."
My smile broadened.
"And I-" he couldn't keep a straight face any longer and broke out laughing. "Jerk! I've got an image to protect; people don't respect if you say you come from Manhattan." He punched me in the shoulder.
"Ow!" I yelped.
"Sorry, I forgot," Pat grimaced. "Here: let's finish rubbing in this Shiseido after sun moisturizer before you get too sensitive."
Luego...
I was content. Sure I was watching SportsCenter again, but I was lying spooned in against Jarand. His shirt prevented skin-to-skin contact, but we had learned the hard way earlier that sunburned skin has a nasty tendency to become a little selectively adhesive. It had not been pleasant having him peel himself away from my already pained body after an enthusiastic hug.
"Are you happy?" He asked out of the blue.
Jerked from a pleasant daydream, it took me a while for his question to register. The last couple of days with Jar had been amazing. We talked a lot; we learned about each other. Our nights could be physical, but they always ended with us falling asleep together. I know I had certainly learned a lot about myself.
"Er? Are you asleep?" His voice suddenly hushed guiltily.
"No, no, I'm up."
"Well?" he finally asked since I had fallen into silence again. "Are you happy? Do I make you happy?"
Hearing the catch in his voice, I rolled my head and shoulders awkwardly to look into his eyes. He was tearing a little.
"Yes, of course!" I reassured him quickly. "I have never been happier in my entire life, Jay. Never."
Instead of easing his worry, I must have said something wrong because he actually began to cry. At a loss, I rolled over completely to face him, ignoring my skin's anguish as it scraped along the couch. I wedged an arm under him and held him in my arms.
"It's okay, Jar," I repeated over and over, trying to hold back my own sympathetic, if bewildered, tears. "Am I a jinx?" I wondered aloud. "Two guys come crying to me..."
"Two guys?"
"Yeah, you last week and, oh, never mind."
As his sobs became further apart, I slowly eased us into a sitting position.
Holding his chin up gently, I tried to catch his darting eyes with my own. "You are going to tell me what's wrong, Jay," I commanded. "This is the second time in two weeks that you've done this. It's not like you."
"You're right," He managed weakly. "Actually maybe more than you know: this time is really related to that last time, too."
"What?" I was confused. "But I already know you're gay. You don't have to cry about it anymore. I love you, and I'm not letting you move out!"
"What?" Now he seemed confused. "You thought I was crying that time because I was admitting I was gay?"
"Weren't you?" I asked carefully. Maybe his pride was hurt.
"No!" He actually laughed a little. Seeing my total confusion, he wiped his eyes. "No, I was crying because I thought I'd lost you. Do you remember the morning of the day I said I was going to move out?"
"How could I forget? As soon as you told me we weren't going to be roommates anymore, I began running the events of those last few days through my mind repeatedly to see what I had done to you. I tried and tried, but-" The memory was still a little raw.
"Well, I wasn't moving out because I was ashamed I was gay. I was moving out because I thought you had found someone else. I was kicking myself all day because I had lost my chance with you. I had been too chicken-shit, had waited too long to tell you that I was gay, too, and that I liked you, and you had gone and found someone."
"Gay, too? You mean you knew I was gay all this time? How did you know?" I was stunned. I thought I had hidden it so well. What? Did my hips swish when I walked or something?
"Well it wasn't anything obvious, " He began (I thanked the Lord!). "I just kind of suspected you might be when I learned Pat was. And then you've never dated a girl up here, and you told me you didn't have one back home. And there's the way you kind of tensed up whenever someone made a crack about homosexuality. And the way I thought I saw you looking at me a few times-"
"Okay, okay. Enough!" Chagrined, I stopped the damning flow of evidence. Jeez, maybe everyone knew!
"No, everyone doesn't know," he answered my unspoken question. Startled, I watched as he lowered my upraised hands and enfolded them in his own. "It's only apparent if you're hoping and searching for any evidence like I was."
Absorbing his words, I was struck from my reverie. "But why didn't you say anything sooner? How long have you known? Why did you think I had found someone?" The questions tumbled forth into the silence.
Jarand actually blushed! "Why did you think I'd cry just because I was gay?" He manfully tried to cover.
"I asked you first. You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," I smiled weakly.
"That morning, I was going to sleep in. I heard you get up for some reason, but I tried to go back to sleep. It didn't work. Finally, I went to use the bathroom. I noticed Pat's light was on and I kind of, um, eavesdropped when I heard you two talking." He had the grace to rub his left hand on the back of his neck and drop his eyes. "I couldn't hear everything, but I heard Pat wanting to introduce you to some guys. I was kind of shocked. It was confirmation. I was going to let you know I was there, but then I heard something about you pining after someone, and I kind of lost it. I just started packing my bag to go to class, but then I began to remember it was early. When you saw me, I couldn't stick around after beginning to pack up, so I made up some excuse-"
"Your thesis advisor."
"Is that what I said? I can't even remember. I was crying now because I wasn't sure if you really loved me or if I was just a convenient substitute for this guy you couldn't have. It just came out."
"Dummy, that guy I thought I couldn't have was you," I said, understanding. "That'll learn ya from listening at doors. You've been worrying all this time?"
Jarand grinned sheepishly. "So you do love me, right?" He asked hesitantly.
"Well, now I just don't know. I thought I was in love with an honest guy-" I started to tease, but seeing that it was a sensitive subject for him, I stopped. "I'm sorry, Jar. Of course I love you. I've loved you for a quite a while now," I said firmly as I snuggled up to him and tugged him down to lay beside me.
"Your turn," He said.
"Hmm?"
"Your answer?"
"To what?"
"To my question."
"Which was?"
"Why you'd think I was crying just because I was admitting I was gay."
"Well, it always happens that way. Guy breaks down and admits unrequited lust to his friend, you know."
"But Pat's gay. Why would you accept Pat but reject me just for being gay, too?"
I opened my mouth to reply but closed it, speechless.
He chuckled. "We've got to work on this presumptuousness of yours. Life's not just one big story for your amusement, you know," he said slyly.
I grinned ruefully in agreement, and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll work on it."
Silence, then:
"Um, Jar, I think my arm's stuck to yours." I whispered, pained.
"What?" He mumbled sleepily as he rolled a little away from me.
His movement jerked his arm away from mine, and pulled my skin along with his until they separated with an audible new-textbook-opening sound. Gritting my teeth, I managed to hold a scream in, but I did let out a muffled grunt.
"Nothing," I said finally as I carefully but determinedly worked my way back into his arms. "Go back to sleep, hon." To my still hot skin, Jarand was a cooling balm, a safe place. I smiled as I slowly forgot about the pain and just lost myself in the feeling.
Thanks for allowing Eric and Jarand to tie up a few loose ends with this final installment of "Eric's Life." This final (hopefully) version includes some minor detail modifications to earlier parts of the story as well as Chapter 4.
Thank you to everyone who e-mailed with their comments. It's been a blast.
--Evan kencyr@hotmail.com