Hi. Just one warning: this story's pretty slow-paced. That's all.
Even right now, in the middle of a lecture on the map-colouring problem that's delivered like an elevator floor announcement, I'm still glad to be here. Glad to have made the decision to ditch finance -- full of professors whose eyes glaze over with evangelism when talking about The Market, and students who swallow it all without question and regurgitate it as justification for buying their BMW coupe or thousand dollar ski poles (or sticks, or whatever they are) ... sometimes I doubt my own motives in hating it all, wonder if it's actually a subconscious envy that I wasn't born rich, or "comfortable" for people who want to be euphemistic ... then I think, Nah, they're just wankers.
Actually, the whole idea that a map can be coloured with only four colours is sort of interesting. I guess I'm kind of a closet nerd.
So it's only been a week that I've been here, actually only four days, and I'm looking around the class to see who looks friendly. I don't miss anyone from my last university, but I still miss my high school friends, Jared, Karen and Kyle; even though we get together on weekends, it's not the same as hanging around for lunch or cutting class to throw a frisbee. This afternoon I'm definitely going to check out the sporting facilities here. See if they have a squash comp going, or tennis ... rowing's out, I've had enough of those early mornings to last till I'm 60 ... cross-country or rogaining'd be OK too. And see if there's anyone there who'd be fun to hang around with.
And that's the end of the map-colouring, and everyone shuffles out along the aisle.
The squash courts look pretty good. New, glass-backed, and there are a couple for training as well. There's a noticeboard with a bunch of papers stuck to it -- tae kwon do, yoga, ... two squash comps, one varsity and one social. Definitely the social, to start with; and maybe B-grade, where I can just take it easy for a bit, hopefully anyway; we'll see when I'm actually out there hitting a ball around with someone else, whether I'm being too optimistic in my evaluation of my own skills.
A flash of movement -- hey, he's cute. And playing shirtless too. I wonder how long I can pretend to keep reading this noticeboard. Actually, it's perfectly reasonable to watch him ... after all, maybe I'll play him some day, so I should check out his style. And his style is pretty smooth, the way his hamstrings tense just slightly as he stretches for a drop shot, just like they might if he was being sucked off and just about to come, his thighs on either side and straining ... I'd better stop that train of thought, or I'll have to go and jerk off. On the other hand, why not? I stay there for a couple more minutes of inspiration, hands in my pants and pushed forward so my hardon, about half way there, isn't as noticeable, watching him move some more, shoulder muscles bunching and relaxing; and then I head into the bathroom, which I'd passed as I came in, head straight into the first stall, and close the door. Shorts fall to my ankles in a second, dick through the fly of my boxers in another two seconds -- I kind of fumble with the button -- and I grab hold of it. There are some times when you want it slow and leisurely, lying back on the bed, with lubricant, and lasting for an hour; but this isn't one of those times. Quick strokes, the skin back and forth over the head, looking down at my dick sticking straight out of the slit in my white boxers, the soft material rubbing underneath my balls ... I come in about 30 seconds, all over the toilet seat that I'd forgotten to lift up. I wonder if anyone heard me grunt, just at the end there. It was pretty quiet, so probably not, even if there was anyone else in the bathroom. I wipe up the splashes of come with some paper, wash my hands and leave.
As I go to leave the gym, the desk isn't unattended any more, as it was when I came in. There's a guy behind it, curly brown hair and brown eyes, probably a couple of years older than me, also pretty cute. Maybe I'll just find out some more about how squash runs here.
"Hey." I give him a heads-up. "I was thinking about signing up for squash. Anything I should know? Five hundred dollar entry fee? Bastard coach?"
He grins -- nice dimples.
"Nope, it's all pretty easy-going here. Have you played much?"
"Only a few years, but pretty often. I was thinking I'd start with the social comp anyway."
"Grading's on Monday; put your name down" -- he scavenges around and holds out a list -- "even if you're just thinking about it. Just turn up if you want. And maybe you could think about joining the running club too -- we go for a run to the national park every Thursday."
There's a look people have, when you make eye contact, that if they're not already close friends then they're interested in you. It's not infallible, but it's a good rough guide. And this isn't it; it's just friendliness. Probably. But it's all good.
"Sure, I'll check it out."
"I'm Jack," stretching his hand across the counter.
"Gideon."
"So I'll see you around then."
I smile at him. "Yep. See ya."
I'm thinking to myself as I walk out of the gym, It really is true that my friends tend to be good looking. Jared and Karen and Kyle especially, and they're my closest friends. Jared especially especially. I know I like them because they're fun to be around, and they're good to talk to; but I wonder if it means that I'm still just shallow, really only being friends with people because they're good looking. That there's some buried-down-deep directive I'm not consciously aware of, that works behind the scenes in my brain. Maybe that's why Jack from the gym seemed like friend potential. But I really don't like the idea that I'm like a machine directed by my subconscious. I guess it's kind of weird to worry about this, which is why I don't mention it to anyone, not even Jared. But I figure everyone has their own weirdnesses, so that's just one of mine.
Next morning the schedule looks pretty much the same -- more mathematics, more theory of programming, some eighteenth century literature for variety. The first class is a lab, getting used to Unix and working up to map-colouring. It's lucky that Kyle's already done this, so at least I have a clue what Unix is, unlike the people who seem to have only played Half-Life on Windows.
The lab's about half full, so it's easy enough to get a terminal, one in the corner. So I have a good view of the rest of the room, which is getting noisier; and a gaggle of freshmen part -- maybe that's condescending, but I'm sure I wasn't so goose-like last year -- and suddenly I see a guy who makes me catch my breath, that feeling where your chest tightens and you feel warm and cold together -- he's got blond hair that's long in front and flops to either side from a centre part, amazing cheekbones, cute dimples -- and then one of the guys standing near him says, "So did you do her? How was she?"
One eyebrow goes up, and the smile becomes a smirk; and I take in the way he's sitting, legs spread, like he's totally arrogant; and the ostentatious brand name clothes, the Armani sunglasses -- he's wearing sunglasses inside! -- with the freshers around he looks like he's holding court. Total wanker.
So it's an easy opportunity for me to prove to myself that I'm not motivated just by looks: I resolve not to be friends with him. Part of me says that that's not much of a challenge, since all it requires is a lack of effort on my part, with this guy who's one person of a class of maybe eighty. So I decide that I won't talk to him either. I know it's still pretty easy, but it's something.
I look over again. Wanker.
It's late Saturday afternoon, and I'm round at Karen's place. Kyle's there too, on the sofa watching soccer. We're on the phone to Jared, deciding what movie we should see tonight. Karen and I are both on the receiver, heads together -- she smells like baby shampoo, nice. And with her hair pulled back she looks pretty good, sort of sporty and alive. I can see why Kyle is going out with her.
"How about we see 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch'?" she suggests. I've put her up to it.
"What?" says Jared. The tone of voice translates this to "get real".
"I think it sounds good," I say, like it's the first time I've heard of the suggestion.
"I reckon you do, ya big nancy-boy-girl's-blouse. Isn't that the one that used to be a Broadway musical?"
Bugger. He knew more about it that I was expecting. Not that I want to go because it was a Broadway musical, it just sounded cool.
"OK, let's use some democracy," says Karen. "Kyle, what do you think of 'Hedwig'?" she calls in a slightly louder voice. Kyle, however, is in the kitchen getting a snack. She smiles at me.
I do a passable imitation of Kyle's grunt.
"OK, I'll succumb to the tyranny of the majority. Should I just come over?"
"I was going to go home and change first ..." I start.
"God! Why didn't I realise? It's all just a plan to go to an artsy cinema so you can scope out the guys in tight shirts."
"No, it's just that I cycled over here and need to shower. And stuff." I hate being so transparent.
"OK, so how about we meet at 7pm, and then catch the train in."
"Sweet."
They all like the movie, a bit surprisingly.
I'd been a bit undecided about what to wear. Given Jared's -- justified -- suspicion about my motives for going to the cinema, I thought that maybe dress down was the way to go, just so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of thinking he was right. But then I thought, Bugger it, you're only young once, so I put on my black button-up shirt with the sleeves that stop at mid-delt, and jeans and Blundstones.
When I'd arrived at Karen's place, Jared had been dressed up too. White to my black, his shirt hugged him close, and he looked pretty fine. He smirked at me. "I couldn't let you be the only one getting attention."
After the movie we're in Luigi's, an all-night pasta place. I just order a spaghetti with pesto, since I've about done the evening's budget, and a beer.
"Y'know, the music wasn't bad. I was expecting Julie Andrews or something." Jared's taste in music runs to Guns and Roses, "the Gunners". I didn't know who they were until I met him. Then I heard all of his older brother's CDs, probably a hundred times each.
"So was that guy in the band actually a woman?" asks Kyle.
"Yeah, I thought so too, at the end ..."
We're discussing this for a while, and then Jared elbows me softly. "Dude, that guy over there is checking you out."
I look over. Brown hair, buzz cut, nice clothes, all round pretty cute. "Nah, he's checking you out."
"Well it's not going to do me any good, is it?"
Hmm, maybe he is looking at me. But I'm kind of a wuss about picking someone up just based on eye contact. Not like Jared. He can pick up a woman within about five minutes of entering a room. But I always imagined more going out with someone I was already friends with, like happened with Karen and Kyle. I look at them, the way their arms are touching, not obvious, and feel not quite envious, really more just rueful. That sort of thing doesn't happen often.
But it does give me a warm buzz -- along with the beer -- that a cute guy was checking me out.
For Sunday lunch I go round to my mum's, as I do most weeks. I wonder what the tension's going to be like: whether I'll be able to cut the air with a knife, as she often says, or whether it'll be almost imperceptible, almost the way things used to be.
She's wearing a light blue dress, and is looking relaxed. Her eyes seem especially blue today. It's a good sign.
"Hi mom." I kiss her on the cheek. "Can I smell ..."
"It's corned beef and mashed potato. I just thought we hadn't had it for a while."
I smile. I like corned beef, and the way the carrots taste sweet when they've been cooked with it. Good memories.
As we're going through to the kitchen she tells me about work, how there's a new secretary who's obviously been hired just for her looks and who's a complete bitch. Of course, she doesn't say bitch, just, "You know, the b-word."
"Banana," I say unhelpfully.
"Yes." She purses her lips, then smiles.
I decide to tell her about my work prospects, just because she's obviously decided she's not going to hassle me about it. "So I've lined up vacation work at an investment bank." Not that I'll make a career with those leeches on society, but it's OK for a few months. "They like all the maths I'm doing," playing up the usefulness of what I'm doing now. She was pretty crushed when I gave up a guaranteed high-paying job on leaving my last course; she's struggled for so long that it probably seemed to her like I was just throwing it away. "And with the scholarship over the year, I'll be doing OK."
"That sounds good," she says as she's serving up lunch. She sounds like she means it too.
"Have you seen Jared lately?" She likes Jared, understandably. He used to come around a lot when I was still living here.
"Yeah, we went out last night to a movie. Hung around for a while afterwards too."
"Anyone else go?"
"Karen and Kyle too," through a mouth full of peas and potato. Then I notice she's sort of expectant. "No-one else though." It's only a small thing, and I'm not certain, but I think she's hinting that she's interested in more of my life. I take a punt. "There was a guy there that Jared says was checking me out, but I didn't do anything about it." Get it out in the open, and at the same time reinforce that I'm a Good Boy who doesn't go around picking up strangers. Almost never, anyway.
"I know you're a good boy." She's reading my mind!
Things are comfortable after that.
She's pretty resilient, my mum, and I respect that. Not that she's technically my mum. She came out newly married to Australia from America, discovered her husband -- my dad -- was having an affair; and then ended up saddled with me, the product of the affair, when dad and his woman died in a car accident, to raise by herself on a low-paying secretarial job. Of course, she didn't have to take me, but she did. And I could imagine that in a lot of people I would have been the focus of all their resentment at the situation, but not her. That's not to say that she's perfect. I didn't know any of this until I turned seventeen, although I'd always wondered how I could look so different from her, but figured I just didn't understand enough genetics. She'd just been waiting for 'the right time' to tell me, and then I found out from a retiring teacher at my high school who thought I already knew. So that was when I told her I liked guys. Probably not the optimal way, especially judging by her reaction and my subsequent move out of home, but at the time it seemed pretty bloody fair. So there're a whole lot of topics we skirt around, but just maybe there's a bit of hope. I'm trying anyway. Sometimes it seems like it's all ridiculous, that the producer of "Footballers' Wives" decided to script my life -- "This week, Gideon reveals to Karen that his transvestite sister is bulimic" -- that it couldn't possibly be true. But it's my life, and I'm stuck with it.
And today's OK.
There'll be 7 or so parts, I guess. Hope you thought it was OK so far. Remember you were warned it was slow, though. Email to mark_410@hotmail.com is welcomed with open arms and slow-typing fingers.