Welcome.
This is the first chapter of a fictional story with some sexual content, not sexual content with some story.
Feedback, comments, and questions are welcome at romanjwrites@gmail.com
Fall: Senior Year.
"I'll give you a minute."
The door swung shut, leaving me alone in the cramped and dingy room.
I'm gonna need more than a fuckin' minute, I thought, slumping back in the chair.
I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. As I did, the tips of my fingers grazed against some stiffness in my hair:
Cum.
Thinking back to where it came from, my eyes grew hot against my hands. I squeezed them tighter to clamp back the tears that threatened.
I wiped my nose against the back of my hand, and the smell of dried blood filled my nostrils. Shaking my head, I opened my eyes and examined the blood covering my shirt. Underneath, I saw the splotches of dried cum too.
I rose to my feet and started pacing.
"Stupid..." I muttered out loud, chastising myself for the tears I was holding at bay.
But inwardly, Pete's words completed the thought: '... stupid fucking faggot.'
My rage boiled over.
The tears burst, and I cried. Loud and ugly and embarrassing. My body shook with the release after holding it back for so long. After much more than a minute, I exhausted myself and slumped down on the floor. I stared at the linoleum, numb. The fluorescent lights buzzed above.
"Stupid..." I muttered again, fishing the phone out of my pocket.
My heart pounded. I closed my eyes again and rested my head against the wall behind me.
"God, I'm so fucking sorry..." I whispered, exhaling another long, slow, jagged breath.
Then, heart racing, I opened my eyes and dialed the number.
Fall: Freshman Year.
I already knew where this was going.
The conversation felt like a tired song repeating itself over and over and over on an endless loop because it was just like dozens of others I'd already had today. But even though I didn't have any more small talk left in me tonight, I still found myself straining to listen to this girl over the blaring music simply because we'd found ourselves standing next to each other at this crowded basement party. After all, it would be rude not to go through the ritual of the usual orientation week introductions when the confused herd movements of nervous first-year students put someone new in your path.
Fuck, these all felt the same though: a casual, cool 'hi,' the shaking of hands, a 'nice to meet you,' followed by a few unimaginative questions aimed at uncovering how we each managed to get accepted to this college. Then, it would all grind to an awkward pause before another `nice to meet you' and a search for an excuse to go back to your "friends"- those of course being the people with whom you'd had this exact same exchange just a few hours earlier.
I was so tired of all this `nice to meet you' shit. And it didn't help that it felt like I was being smothered by the hot, sticky air in the packed basement. This was much more humidity than I'd ever experienced, and the air was suffocating. It's how I imagined it would feel to have a sweaty walrus laying on top of me.
It was at least a new twist on the usual script that this girl, Emily, was so adamant that she wasn't "here to end up becoming just another I-banker or corporate consultant" that she had to clutch onto my arm a few times to emphasize her point. I smiled, nodded, and responded with vague statements like "totally..." and "for sure..." as she elaborated, trying not to out myself as some kind of bumpkin for having no clue what the fuck I-bankers or corporate consultants even were.
I caught my break though, when someone else bumped into us and Emily's attention turned from me to her next new introduction. I seized the opportunity to slip away, deciding it was time for me to go.
I'd already made that decision before this encounter, but this time I wasn't going to make the mistake of telling Mike, my roommate who'd insisted I come with him to this party, before I left. Fuck being polite. I was exhausted, and I wasn't going to let him talk me into staying longer again. He could wonder where I was later. If he wasn't too busy throwing up on his shoes again, that is. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd do the girl he'd just been grinding against the honor of throwing up on her. Maybe, if I was lucky, they'd do it somewhere other than in our room and I could finally get a decent night's sleep here.
I nudged my way over to the stairwell that led up to the ground floor of the dorm, nodding to the faces I recognized as I passed. I finally had enough room to breathe again when I was a few steps up the flight towards the door. I could make out in the flashing party lights that there was someone ahead of me though, so I slowed down to avoid knocking over whoever it was in my haste to escape.
The person reached the top and opened the door to freedom, suddenly framing their figure in the much brighter light of the dorm's entryway. I immediately knew who it was. Well, technically, I didn't actually know him because I hadn't ever spoken to him yet. But I had noticed this guy earlier at the party. And around campus. And in the dining hall. And at the gym. Fact was, I'd noticed him lots of places. It was impossible not to. Every time, he seemed to be at the center of some group of people hanging on his every word and laughing uproariously. Or, if he was by himself, I'd noticed everyone else around seemed to be looking at him too.
As I climbed the stairs behind him, it was easy to understand why. He was striking. Classically handsome. Nice clothes. An air of self-assurance that made him seem fully at ease in the environment of this college right from the jump.
In my head, I'd already nicknamed him `Brochure Guy.' He seemed like the grinning embodiment of the polished image the Admissions Office projected in the materials marketing this school to the thousands of kids hustling to defy the scant odds of getting accepted here.
He glanced back over his shoulder as he was about to pass through the door, saw me, and moved to the side and down a step, holding the door open for me with one outstretched arm. This holding of doors seemed to be another important orientation ritual. I'd wondered during the past few days if we'd all suddenly, upon entering college, somehow lost certain motor skills that prevented us from being trusted to do things like open doors for ourselves.
I smiled and thanked him as I passed by his chest stretching his tight green t-shirt, then his rounded bicep, and finally his tanned, striated forearm that pressed against the door. Once on the main floor, I glanced around to get my bearings and figure out how I could get back to my own dorm. I was surprised to hear Brochure Guy speak from behind me as the closing door muffled the party's music to a throbbing bass beat.
"I hope you didn't let Emily scare you away."
I turned, somewhat confused. Up to this point, holding a door hadn't seemed to be one of the occasions that necessitated those usual orientation introductions, so I'd expected I would just pass by him and go on my way. He was smiling, a few steps behind me. Sandy blond good looks and perfect straight teeth.
"Her?" I laughed. "No, she's fine... I just remembered I turn into a pumpkin at midnight whenever I go out..."
He'd caught me too off-guard to really wonder why he'd been watching me at the party, or at least watching my brief exchange with this random drunk girl. It was my usual response, though, to answer a question with a deflecting joke.
He chuckled, a soft but deep sound, and his smile grew a little wider. "Yeah, better hope no one notices that..." and then his brow rose with an unspoken question.
"Max." I supplied.
"Max." He repeated, still smiling. We were walking together towards the door to the outside now. "Seems like Emily liked you though... It's a shame you'll be a pumpkin so soon..."
"Maybe," I shrugged. "But I think I'll have plenty of other chances to meet more strangers here... I guess you already know her though,...?" I paused silently asking another question as well.
"Pete." We stopped to shake hands, his grip firm and his eyes meeting mine. "Yeah, we went to high school together."
It still surprised me to hear that so many of the freshmen here already knew each other. Maybe it was because I was the only one here from my entire state, but I'd assumed everyone else would be coming to this college entirely on their own, like I had.
"Oh, so you're from DC, too?"
"No, Montana. I just went to school in Washington." We'd reached the outside of the dorm now, me having held the door for him this time. "So where do you live?"
"New Mexico." I answered, reflexively. Pete chuckled again.
"That's cool, but I meant here... As in, where are you headed?"
"Oh, right. I'm in Hayworth, with all the alcoholic athletes..." I cocked my head over in the direction of the freshman quad.
"Nice. I'm over in Gilman."
I was surprised to hear Pete was in one of the other freshman dorms across the quad from my own. From what I'd seen, I had assumed he was an upperclassman. That was actually another reason why I was surprised he introduced himself to me. No matter where he was, Pete seemed to know his way around here. He walked confidently around campus without the lost, confused look that marked all the first years. It seemed like everyone already knew him too, even the upperclassmen on campus early to help out with the college's orientation week activities. At the party we'd just left, Pete hadn't even had to wait in line for beer at the keg like everyone else. The two seniors- guys from the baseball team, I thought- manning the keg had handed several overflowing plastic cups to Pete whenever he or his group of admirers wanted some, clapping him on the back as they did so.
"Gilman... But doesn't that mean you're one of the party kids who should be back in there raging until at least 4 A.M.?"
We were heading across campus back to our dorms now. At least I thought we were. Pete was leading us on a shortcut I didn't know yet.
"Right..." Pete said, rolling his eyes back in the direction of the party. "It's tough to miss out on all the fun... But my dad's heading out in the morning, and he wants me to have breakfast with him early before he leaves."
"Oh, that's cool..." I tried not to sound jealous, sad, or pathetic, like I suddenly felt. Most of the other freshmen's parents had been around until today, but mine hadn't been able to miss work to fly out with me. As I thought about them now, though, I realized the past two minutes may have been the first ones since I got here when I hadn't been wholly preoccupied by thoughts of my family, of home, of my old friends, and of all the things I'd so much rather be doing there and with them.
I shook myself out of that train of thought and glanced over at Pete, realizing he'd just watched me completely zone out for fuck knows how long. We were back to the freshman quad now, at the point where we would have to diverge to go to our different dorms. The campus was small. Nothing was very far from anything else.
"Anyway, good to meet you, Pete. Have a good night."
"Good to meet you too, Max. I'll see you around..." He answered, looking me squarely in the eyes again. I made sure to smile and meet his eyes just as squarely before turning to head up to my building.
It was a brief moment.
Outwardly, I'm sure it would've appeared perfectly innocuous and friendly to anyone looking our way. But inwardly, there was a current under the surface I recognized. I'd seen it before in all the times I'd had to start over again as the new kid at a different school. It was a moment that always came sooner or later. The moment when I'd meet the other boys who'd been there before me and thought they had cemented a certain status in the pecking order before I came along:
Smartest kid in the class.
Fastest one on the team.
The guy the girls wanted.
The moment of sizing me up and assessing the threat. I'd learned long ago not to flinch in moments like these.
Look straight back,' my dad had told the ten year-old me when I was nervous about starting at yet another new school where everyone else already had their place. Don't be sorry for who you are.'
Tonight, with Pete, I saw only friendliness in that moment. Just the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It was a good sign.
And, absurdly, it was comforting to experience a brief moment here in this strange new world that actually felt like something familiar.
Back in my dorm, I entered my room, crowded with two beds, two dressers, two desks, two chairs, several stacks of boxes all labeled 'Michael Dalton,' and a large pile of Mike's lacrosse gear. I sighed as I peeled off my t-shirt and stripped down to my boxer briefs, reflecting that it was probably a good thing I'd only been able to bring two duffle bags' worth of clothes with me on the plane here. If I'd brought a whole fucking U-haul like Mike, one of us would probably have to sleep out in the stairwell.
Sitting down in my chair, I smiled as I read through the messages several friends from home had sent me. The distance between us gnawed at me.
I pulled up the message from my brother, and typed him a reply before sliding into the squeaky and uncomfortable dorm bed. It read:
`Remember what I said, Gumby: Absolutely NO SEX in my Jeep.'
`I've decided I wasn't repressed enough at home to enjoy college.'
`Say "hi" to Isabel for me. She'd rather be out on a date with me since I'm the cute one, but I hope you two have a good time anyway.'
`And I'm fucking serious about the Jeep.'
"Fuck, dad, I was just kidding around with Tom. You don't need to be worried."
I silently cursed my younger brother, wondering why he was such a moron that he had to repeat everything I said to my parents. Then again, he'd probably kept the stuff about the Jeep to himself...
"Yeah, yeah, I know... But what do you mean 'not repressed enough to enjoy college?' You sure everything's okay out there?"
"Absolutely." I assured him quickly. "It's great!... And that means exactly what it means: I had it good back home with you guys, so I don't feel compelled to act like a fucking dumbass here just because no one's around to watch over my shoulder."
That part was true, at least. I'd always had it great with my parents, in large part because they trusted me completely, treated me like an adult, and let me do pretty much anything I wanted. Like my bad habit of swearing in front of them. And, really, 'anything I wanted' had never included anything that bad. Besides, my mom swears more than I do.
"Okay, but then why'd you say that last night?"
"Just... I was at this party that was kinda dumb, that's all... Orientation's running too long at this point, so I'll be glad when school actually starts in a few days and there's more to do than just this stupid summer camp bullshit."
Several seconds of silence on the other end was dad's way of indicating that he wasn't buying my bullshit.
"... Hey, what are you doing this weekend anyway?" I went on, wanting to change the subject before my dad could ask any more questions whose answers I'd have to bend into something I thought would be reassuring enough to tell him. Thankfully, my dad went along with it.
I listened intently to him describe their plans to head up into the Organ Mountains with our dog, Wiley, as I stared at a picture of them that I'd taped up above my desk. It was a shot of the three of them- mom, dad, and Tom- in front of an Aspen grove, brilliant golden yellow in the fall, with Wiley sniffing around happily in the middle.
Why the hell did I leave?
Before I hung up, I talked to my mom and then to Tom, too. I was sure to remind him, in the loving, nurturing way that I always treated my younger brother, that he was an asshole. He then treated me to a graphic description of all sorts of mechanically impossible sex acts he had supposedly performed in my car the previous night. He went on until I, laughing, cut him off to say that he could only talk shit like that because I was thousands of miles away in New England. That was the only way he could be safe from the ass-kicking I could surely inflict on him. We both were laughing when we concluded the call in another round of our never-ending argument over whether his ability to squirm away from me with his freakish flexibility (hence his nickname, Gumby) meant that he won our fights, or if I did because he always had to weasel away from what would undoubtedly be his certain doom.
Afterwards, I felt strangely empty, as I had after every time I'd called home. I wondered what the hell my problem was. I mean, fuck, I should be able to handle this... Growing up, we'd moved dozens of times when mom's job transferred her to a new town. So why should this be any harder? Sure, I didn't have my family with me this time, but I'd never thought of myself as particularly dependent on them. My parents had raised me to be independent, strong, and able to do on my own. And that's exactly what I'd always done.
This is what I want, I reminded myself. Finishing high school, I'd figured now would be a great time for me to get away from New Mexico, where I'd lived all my life, to explore and to live somewhere different. There are a bunch of great colleges in New England, so I thought why not there? I had these postcard visions of colorful autumns with large, stately trees and idyllic winters bounding through heaps of snow. I didn't think it mattered that I'd never been to the East Coast, let alone anywhere east of Clovis. That would just add to the adventure.
But after I'd made my decision and accepted my offer at this school, the questions started. First they were from other people, wondering why I'd chosen this one when I'd gotten into bigger Ivy League schools that were more well-known, at least out there. That had been easy enough to explain. I thought living in Boston or New York or Philadelphia would be too overwhelming or too distracting after growing up in mostly small towns across New Mexico. I wanted a small college, and all the guidebooks and rankings said this was the best one. Naturally, I didn't think it wise to tell the truth that I had no idea why I picked this specific school because I didn't really know any college well enough to discern the differences between them. I figured I'd be fine anywhere. College was supposed to be an adventure. And I was happy it'd worked out for me to even get to go to any college, period.
As graduation passed and my last summer rushed by, the questions started coming from myself too. Suddenly it wasn't just the last summer, it was the last time to see a friend, last time to run a favorite trail, last time to kiss my girlfriend, last time to take Tom to a movie. The last time for everything, it seemed.
What the hell was I getting into?
The closer it got to the time for orientation to begin, the more and more reasons I found to want to stay at home in New Mexico where I could do all the things that made me myself, around all the people I cared about. Fuck, what was I thinking going, sight unseen, off to this small school in a small town where I would be thousands of miles from anyone I knew?
Cold feet, I'd told myself. I was just psyching myself out because I'd be the first one in my family to go to college, let alone to a fancy private one like this so far from home. I convinced myself everything would be so good when I got here that I'd be having way too much fun to worry about anything.
By the time I finally arrived on campus with my two duffle bags after the long plane and then bus trip, I'd built this school up so much in my mind that the real thing could never have possibly lived up to it. I'd had to, though, to justify leaving so much behind.
So now that I was actually here I was... I was what, exactly?
Disappointed? Maybe.
More realistic? Yeah, I liked the sound of that.
Wishing I'd chosen something different?
Hell no.
That would mean admitting I'd been wrong, and I was way too stubborn to do that. Besides, I could handle this, like I'd always handled everything else. There was no way I was going to choke at college after how much it'd taken my family to get me here in the first place.
Just then, Mike opened the door and sauntered in, dripping wet in his low-riding towel as he called over his shoulder back into the hallway that we'd be ready in, like, five minutes.
"Hey, thanks for waiting, Max, I really did need to shower after last night..."
"No prob," I shrugged. I wasn't going to argue. Mike had stumbled in, hours after I'd drifted off to sleep, loudly crashing into furniture and boxes as he stripped and tried to remember where his bed was. When he had seemed about to flop down on top of me, I reached out an arm to push him over in the direction of where his bed actually was. He belched loudly when he hit his mattress.
Later, as I was leaving our room to meet the rest of the cross-country team for a morning run, I had to kick his party clothes, inexplicably covered in mud, out of the way so I could open the door. Then I saw the empty condom wrapper fall out of the pile and realized where the mud had come from. At least this time he hadn't brought her back here...
Mike had now discarded his wet towel on the floor and was walking naked back and forth between his dresser and the closet as he picked out something to wear. A recruit for the lacrosse team, Mike had a powerfully built, muscular body from his thick neck and broad shoulders all the way down to his defined calves that clenched and unclenched along with the muscles in his ass while he continued to wander from one open box to the next. Clearly, Mike had no qualms about his body or nudity, but I still felt odd sitting on my bed already fully clothed while he flashed me his dick, then his ass, then his dick again as he circled around the room. It's not that I was afraid he'd catch me looking- I mean, our dorm room wasn't big, so what the hell else was there to look at in there?- but I was struck again by the thought of how strange it felt to be thrown into this kind of daily intimacy with someone I barely knew. When I caught myself smirking as I noticed his dick was half-hard (reminiscing about last night in the shower, maybe?), I decided I should probably look away before he noticed that. Standing up, though, I turned and was confronted by my own image reflected in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall by the door.
Now this was another thing. I'd never really looked at myself- all of myself- at once before. The only mirrors that had been in any of the places we'd lived in growing up had been small, mid-chest-and-above ones over the sink in the bathroom. But now, having this huge mirror here installed by my school like it was some kind of life necessity, I was seeing myself constantly. And it still threw me off for a second each time.
I took in my dark brown hair that waved and curled a little at its tips that were still naturally glowing a bit lighter now from all my time outdoors this summer. I had a smooth, broad forehead with thick eyebrows arching over dark brown eyes, a straight nose, square jaw, and an almost constant smattering of stubble over my cheeks and chin. My neck was long and met my rounded shoulders with a hint of my collar bone lying beneath the old t-shirt I was wearing. The shirt clung tightly to the muscles in my chest and arms, and I frowned slightly when I looked at its frayed edges.
I was thinking back to the mini-fight I'd had with my mom about this shirt as I was packing for school the week before. I wanted to leave it behind because the shirt was old, faded, and cheap. I worried that wearing something I'd bought three years ago at a Walmart at this fancy school would make me stick out like a sore thumb. Mom had laughed that off, telling me not to be a dumbass. She said I had nothing to worry about because I looked good in anything and that anyone who formed their opinion of me based on my clothes was a dick whose opinions weren't worth shit. Mature person that I was, I'd responded by being a dick to my mom. I told her that her opinion about my looks was hardly unbiased and whatever she thought on this topic was worth shit.
Mom and I had had more and more little spats like that as the time to leave grew closer. They were unusual for us. We'd hardly ever fought, and even now I could already see these ones for what they were. We were both having a hard time with me going so far away. It was easier for both of us to squabble with each other than to name it.
I checked back over my shoulder and saw that Mike was finally clothed. He'd been exclaiming about how hungry he was, and I'd sarcastically been telling him that's what happens when you sleep through both breakfast and lunch. We continued to needle each other back and forth as we stepped out into the hall to join the rest of the people from our floor and head, en masse, down to the dining hall.
As we were funneling through the bottleneck of the narrow doors into the building, I heard my name:
"Max! Hey, what's up?!" I turned and saw Pete standing to the side in a group of people waiting for us to pass so they could exit out through the same set of doors. I barely had time to catch his warm smile and bright hazel brown eyes on me as I passed by and tossed a quick "Sup, Pete?" back over my shoulder before I was fully inside.
Was he always this friendly? I mean, we'd barely talked last night. And if he was like me, he'd met way too many new people in the past few days to ever keep all their names straight. Of course I knew why I had no problem remembering Brochure Guy's name, but I wouldn't have been at all surprised if he'd already forgotten mine.
From behind me, I felt a hand quickly clutch my elbow. It was Lauren, from down the hall.
"Max, you already know Peter Lyons??" She squeezed my elbow painfully tight in her eagerness. "You just have to get me to meet him..."
Wait.
Brochure Guy is that Peter Lyons kid I'd heard so many people talking about? The Peter Lyons whose last name is on several buildings around campus. The Peter Lyons who's the tennis whiz the athletic director had bragged was one of the school's top recruits for this year. The Peter Lyons who's the closest thing to a celebrity in our year because his father is a Senator, a former governor, and one of the college's trustees.
Huh.
Pete is the Peter Lyons.
To be continued....