Crosscurrents
By: Adam Phillips
(© 2005-2010 by the author)
I spent some time in the aftermath of the "porn event" reflecting on the things a guy could pull off if he'd display a little audacity.
I'd always been a ringleader and instigator, but I didn't expect that to allow me to pull off a gay pornfest with a room full of straight jocks. Athletes aren't known as the most enlightened cohort on the planet. Granted, soccer isn't American football, so I wasn't dealing with long-on-brawn-but-short-on-brains Neanderthals who regularly put on pads and pound each other's bodies into the turf as part of the game plan. Still, getting fifteen straight guys to sit through a 90-minute video featuring guys fucking guys struck me as just a bit of a coup. In hindsight, I couldn't believe I'd had the balls. But I was in "what-the-hell" mode when I'd thrown it out there.
It wasn't even about sex, per se. It was about what people thought about sex, how people reacted to the idea of sex…a certain kind of sex. I wasn't out to seduce anybody or to convert anybody; I was out to get some people to rethink. More than that, though, I was out to confirm even more solidly for myself that my current thoughts about sexual orientation were right. Because those thoughts had some implications for how I felt about myself.
I had been prepared to take a lot of shit over that little get-together, but I had no intention of backing out of it. I had no illusions that I could turn straight guys, and I had no desire to make that happen. I had a point to make, as much to myself as anybody: namely, that I wasn't the only guy in the ambiguous gray area of the sexual spectrum. And even beyond the "ambiguous" guys I'd suspected were out there, I'd read that a lot of "completely straight" guys are capable of responding sexually to men under certain conditions, and some of them aren't even consciously aware of that.
It was a point I was driven to make with others because I wanted--needed--to remake things in my own head. My head had fucked up things with Matt. I was so blinded by my own assumptions about sexuality--so spooked by my own fears and prejudices--that I spent the last year we had together refusing to trust my best friend, who had never ever brought anything to the relationship but love and friendship. I couldn't accept my feelings for him, so I assumed that he couldn't accept them either.
I had amends to make for that.
Of course, it was too late to fix things; there was no way I could mend what I'd ruined, no way I could undo the hurt I'd inflicted on Matt. But I knew why I'd done what I'd done; it was all about the shame. So I'd told myself I was finished with shame. And though I wasn't fully conscious of it at the time, my program for putting it behind me had two components: accepting myself--in public, if it came up--without apology; and satisfying myself that I wasn't the only "guy like me" out there who was fluid, sexually. While I was at it, I thought it wouldn't hurt to drive that point home to some other guys about themselves. If at least a few other ordinary jocks "like me" were also at least a little like me sexually, then that would mean I wasn't the freak I'd thought I was when I'd first had to face my feelings for Matt. It would also mean that if they had to own up to that kind of stuff with themselves, maybe they wouldn't think of me as such a freak. That was a larger concern than I was willing to admit.
As for the first component of that program, in just a couple of months time I'd become pretty militant about not apologizing for myself. I didn't get in anyone's face about my sexuality, but if it came up, I wouldn't lie. And I wouldn't tolerate any expressions of hatred or disdain for gay people. I'd speak out when I heard that kind of thing. Coming out as bi to my teammates when I was standing up for Kyle had been a good start, I thought.
Regarding the second component--showing myself that other guys like me could go there--in theory there shouldn't have been any need. The night with Matt on the beach showed me something. It should have anyway, if I'd have accepted it for what it was instead of trying to reject it. And then there were the things my dad had told me about his own college experiences. I was ready to let the evidence from Matt and my dad weigh in, finally, as I considered these things. Reinforcing that anecdotal evidence, I reread the articles Dad had made me read about sexual orientation. But it was the sexual encounters I'd had with Dean and Greg and Brad that began to confirm both the research I'd read and my own emerging beliefs about the matter. I'd seen it in three guys now. Four, if I counted Matt.
I threw down the challenge about watching the gay porn to check out these perceptions. Four isolated incidents was one thing, but what better way to test my ideas on a larger scale than to watch the reactions of a whole team of guys watching a video of naked men doing sexual things with each other?
I had expected some of the guys to have a sexual response to the video, but even so, I was surprised by the way things turned out: None of them said anything about needing to vomit. I'd been prepared for a pretty high level of disdain and disgust during the video. I knew that most guys were just straight, period; and that meant beautiful men did nothing for them. So I'd thought that the expressions of repulsion would ring out pretty loud once the scenes got explicit.
To my amazement, I got none of that. Not even from Shane. Granted, the large majority of the guys there seemed bored by the video; that didn't surprise me. But the lack of loud protest surprised me. And the sheer number of guys who did have a positive response caught me off-guard. I sensed that a lot of these guys caught themselves off-guard, too: A fair number of them were rubbing their cocks through their pants while they watched. I doubted that all of them had anticipated being aroused by a gay sex video.
That's what gave me the balls, after the video had been shown, to make my offer of no-strings-attached, first-hand, confidential experience with man-on-man sex. Well, that and the fact that I was horny.
I didn't expect anybody to take me up on it. A lot of the guys had rolled their eyes and looked at me like I was nuts. I was expecting at least a couple of them to go on rants against me or to tell me to fuck myself. But that didn't happen.
In the aftermath, I spent a few days thinking through all the possible implications of that. And during that time, evidence of a more direct sort started coming to my door. Literally.
Not that I hadn't done my best to make it happen: After the initial offer, I'd gone around hitting on the majority of my teammates over the next few days, checking out whether or not there were any possibilities there. I didn't push hard; just enough to let them know, one-on-one, that I'd be willing if they were. Most of them flatly rejected me. Two of them got angry with me and told me to "knock it the fuck off," but nobody said anything hateful to me, and I didn't lose any friends over it.
Another telling point was that most of them didn't indicate they thought of me as "bisexual." The prevailing attitude seemed to be that I was over-hormonal, with a twist thrown in. That alone suggested to me that the general disposition among my friends was to concede that not all sexual encounters were relevant to the label a guy got tagged with.
I'm sure they were uncertain about the label because it was well-known that I was getting sexually acquainted with the female segment of the student body at a fearsome rate. I wasn't the only guy on the team doing that, but the fact that I was one of a pretty notorious group of womanizers made the whole attracted-to-guys issue cloudy and unclear to them. I overheard a couple of teammates talking about me once:
"Fuckin' Sharpe, man. Did you hear he hooked up with Dane Prescott's woman Friday night? All night long, man. He tossed Trey out for the night and I could hear 'em through the walls, for four freakin' hours. I couldn't get to sleep, they were so goddam loud."
I hung back so I could hear the rest.
"Does Prescott know?"
"Not yet. And get this: He fuckin' hit on her in the lobby of Prescott's dorm while Dane was in the damn bathroom. That's how they hooked up."
"No shit?"
"No shit. And the next night he banged Alicia Montalvo all night, and Sunday night he put it to Lauren Keyes. Trey had to fuckin' sleep somewhere else all three nights."
"That's cold. How does that bastard do it? He's not king shit. I mean, okay, he's smart and he got some game on the field, and I can see what the ladies like, but c'mon…he can just walk up to a girl and she has to have him?"
"I don't know, but whatever he does, it still seems pretty slutty to me."
"You're just jealous."
"Fuck that, man, he sticks it in guys, too; makes me wanna fuckin' vomit just to think about it. I'm not okay with his whole bisexual deal."
"Dude, he's not bisexual. He's prolly pretty much like all of us, but just extra horny, and…well, you know, with a kink thrown in."
There was a pause. "Yeah, I guess so. But if I got as much pussy as he does I wouldn't be looking at guys, that's for damn sure."
"That's what I'm saying. I think his kink is he'll fuck anything, even if it has a dick!"
The guys started laughing, and about that time I rounded the corner and grabbed the locker space next to them. They knew they'd been busted, but I let them off the hook: "I think I resemble that remark," I said with a grin, and the three of us cracked up. It looked as though I wasn't the only one who didn't think the labels counted for much.
In any case, those experiences were paradigm-shifting for me. They gave me a take on sexuality that has stayed with me to this day. People talk a lotabout "gay" and "straight" and "bi" and the possibility or impossibility, the likelihood or unlikelihood, that they'd ever "cross the line" on an occasion or two. Would-be know-it-alls pontificate all the time about what "gay" and "straight" men can, and absolutely can't—won't—do. It clearly gives them some kind of comfort to be able to keep a death-grip on their beliefs about this stuff.
They can fuck themselves, though, these know-it-alls. I've seen otherwise. Theories about what straight guys will or won't do...they don't mean much when you've had a few of those straight guys' dicks in your mouth or your dick up their asses.
I learned that during those first months of college, and I learned it as a direct result of the things I did to test out my gut sense that I was right about the "slipperiness" of sexuality. I've had no subsequent experiences that made me rethink any of my conclusions, and plenty of subsequent experiences that reinforced them.
I didn't know whether was it comforting or not to have all that confirmed in the flesh. On the one hand, it validated the more complex, nuanced understanding of sexuality I'd developed. It helped me to accept that in some respects I wasn't wired all that differently from some other guys who seemed at first glance to be only about the women. On the other hand, it also more firmly reinforced that I'd fucked up royally with Matt.
That was a bitter thing to have driven home. I'd ruined what we'd had over a myth, because I'd let that myth blind me to a truth that I should have seen clearly. I'd let that myth make me unable to see Matt's love staring me right in the face. I knew that what Matt did on that beach trip wasn't an indication that he was ready for us to become gay lovers…but I also saw that it was his love for me that enabled him to do what we did that night. The truth of the matter became clearer and clearer the longer I thought about it. It wasn't Matt's disdain for me that I'd pushed away; it was his love for me. He'd made himself vulnerable to me in an extreme way because he loved me and wanted to give me what he thought I wanted.
And I'd taken that love and rejected it.
And him.
I'd be damned if I was going continue to hold onto those toxic stereotypes. My experiences during those first months of college helped me ditch them forever; other people in thrall to them could embrace them all they wanted, as far as I was concerned. But they had cost me my best friend, and whatever it was we had between us. So I was finished with them.
I tried to be, anyway.
********
Jason Anderson, a senior left midfielder, broke his left ankle at practice. He was out for the tournament, which meant, essentially, that his college soccer career was over.
To replace him on the field, Coach Miller brought Trey into the left midfield position as a starter; it was a position he'd play for the rest of his college days, and he never rode the bench again.
Trey was easily my best friend on campus. I admired his relentless optimism, his good nature, his athleticism. Now that he was on the field all the time, we developed an intuitive feel for each other's moves that made our teamwork especially effective at midfield.
It was a thing of beauty, and on occasion it took me back: Just like high school, I found myself thinking once in a while.
But it wasn't really true. For one thing, in high school that intuitive connection happened for me in football. And for another...
No matter. All comparisons or references to the past aside, my relationship with Trey, on-field and off-, was solid and heading toward tight. It seemed to me that the onfield chemistry between us intensified our friendship, and vice-versa.
********
We didn't make it to the quarterfinals that year. Still, it had been a good enough season for me. I'd showed my stuff, earned and kept a starting position, and gotten myself a cadre of teammates and friends. Beyond that, I'd made huge steps in standing up to my inner demons.
With soccer out of the way and Thanksgiving break imminent, I was on my own for staying in shape. I knew 'd train harder with a workout partner, so I guilted Trey into hitting the weights and the cardio with me. He bitched and moaned and acted like he'd planned to loaf the rest of the year, but he went along with it anyway.
We'd just finished a long run late one night and were talking about our Thanksgiving plans as we walked into our dorm room. His family, like mine, would be going to his maternal grandmother's place, and there'd be lots of relatives and eating and football.
"Yeah, that's pretty much what we do as well," I told him, continuing the conversation as we stripped down.
I was caught up in the moment and hadn't really thought about seeing him naked; it was something I saw every day and shouldn't have been a big deal...
…except for the fact that I could never see him naked without wanting him. Badly.
We stood there, both of us naked and facing each other. His arms were by his sides, his towel dangling from his left hand, as he listed all the relatives who'd be coming over and described all the food they'd be having at his family's feast. I tried to listen, but the only input coming through clearly were the visuals one. I tried looking somewhere else as he talked, but my eyes had zeroed in on his package, and I couldn't make myself look away. In no time, I was hard.
I made a discreet attempt to be casual about it as I covered my crotch with a hand, but then I realized that I'd just be calling attention to it. So I threw my towel over the back of my neck and just stood there staring at his dick as he finished his story.
Eventually his head came down out of the clouds, and he noticed my erection in mid-sentence: "We won't even get off the sofa until the Cowb..."
He looked up at me. "Jesus, Sharpe," he said, pausing in mid-sentence when he saw where I was staring. "Fuck, man, you're..."
Tongue-tied, he tried again. "Shit, is...I mean, is that, like...is that about me?"
I felt myself blush but covered it over with bravado and a leer. "Well, it's not about your Thanksgiving dinner, that's for damn sure."
He turned crimson. I grinned and opened my mouth to speak, but, recovering, he cut me off before I could say anything. "Hey, it's all good with me. Who could blame you? I've broken hearts in four states."
"How 'bout I give you the opportunity to break mine?" I said. I grinned and dropped to my knees in front of him; he jumped back.
"You keep the fuck away from me," he said. Breaking into a jive delivery and gyrating his body, he laughed and said, "Back off these N-U-T's, 'cause you gets none o' these," paraphrasing the old Snoop Dogg song.
"You're a fuckin' buzzkill, that's what you are," I whined.
"You'll thank me for this later," he grinned. "You already fucked up one good friendship with your faggotry."
Shocked that he'd be so upfront about my failure with Matt--an obviously sensitive topic with me--I glared at him for a second, but his face was so full of mirth, I had to laugh.
"If you talk real sweet to me between here and the showers," he said, "I may let you soap my back."
I put on my best "wounded" face, sighed, and said, "I guess it's better than nothing."
********
He actually did let me soap his back. Of course, I was hard the whole time. He seemed to be enjoying my misery. "Damn, Sharpe," he said. "You're around so much and have so many women in and outta the room, sometimes I forget that I get you worked up."
"Don't sound so damn smug about it," I said. "You're not all that; I just haven't gotten any in a couple of days." I was soaping the lower part of his back while I talked, and deciding to push it, I let my hands glide lower, until I was running them across his ass.
He spun around to face me. "Nope," he said, grinning. "We not gonna do that. I think you've had enough." He put a hand on my chest and gently but firmly pushed me back under my own shower head. Then he turned his back to me and started washing his hair.
"Can't blame a guy for trying," I sulked.
"Damn straight," he said. "It's like I said: Anybody could lose control looking at me."
While he was busy laughing at himself, I smacked his ass hard with my right hand.
He jumped, and that caused him to slip and fall hard on his ass.
"Dammit!" he roared. I extended him a hand, and he pulled himself up, glaring at me, until the hilarity of the situation overcame him.
"Watch your back," he said as we toweled off. "I owe you for that one."
********
When we were back in our dorm room, I sat down at my computer to check my email, clad only in my towel.
There was one from Matt.
I'm flying down Tuesday night of Thanksgiving week. I can't stay for the whole weekend because we have a game Saturday. I'll be glad to get home for awhile though. I hate all this snow.
You didn't answer my last email and you don't need to answer this one. I was just telling you in case we ran into each other I didn't want you not to know.
Matt
I closed my eyes and sighed. I had no idea what that meant or why he sent it. Was he trying to tell me to stay away from him? If that was the case, he didn't need to worry.
Trey heard the sigh and looked over at me. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't say anything. I watched him step into a pair of light blue boxers, but my mind was miles away, and I wasn't really seeing him.
I shook my head at his question. Grabbing a pair of boxer briefs from my dresser, I put them on, hung the towel over my chair, and climbed into bed.
"No, really, Andy, what's up?"
"Nothing," I said. "Just an old friend and an old situation."
He'd already put on a pair of boxers. He walked over and sat on my bed. "Is it the guy from high school? The one..."
"Yeah," I said before he could get it all out.
"Is there a problem?"
I stared at him for a long time. Finally I sighed and said, "Yeah, I'd say there's a big fuckin' problem."
"Talk to me, Andy," he said. "You been needin' to talk about this for a while, seems to me."
I nodded, took a deep breath, and began.
********
"I'm sorry," he said. I could tell he meant it.
I'd run out of words to say, having pretty much told him the whole ugly story, and after a few moments, that was the first thing I'd heard from him.
I tried to smile.
"That's gotta hurt like a motherfucker," he added. "But dude...I mean, yeah, you fucked up bad. But from everything you told me, he doesn't hate you. He said so the day he left town. Be real, Andy, you're just fuckin' kicking yourself and it's not doing either of you any good."
I frowned. "Easy for you to say. Look what he sent me." I went over to my computer and motioned for him to follow.
He read the email, and looked up at me. "So?"
"So he's telling me to stay the fuck away from him, that's what."
He chewed his bottom lip for a moment. Then he said, "I dunno, but it sounds to me more like he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable; it doesn't sound like he's telling you to stay away from him."
"Doesn't matter, anyway," I said, refusing to accept his theory, "because I don't plan on seeing him while I'm home."
"Andy..." he began.
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, never mind. You're one stubborn bastard, you know? Even when you're dead-ass wrong. But I can't stand seeing that look on your face. Get your ass over here."
He stood up from his bed and beckoned me over. When I was in reaching distance, he pulled me into him, hugged me tight, and gave me the obligatory man-slap on the back. "I'm not Matt," he said, stepping back to look me in the eyes, " 'cause I'm for damn sure not givin' up my ass, but you're all right, and you and me...that's good. You feel it, don'tcha?"
I smiled. "Yeah. I feel it."
"All right," he said.
We talked quietly for a while on several other topics and eventually turned out the lights.
I lay on my back with my eyes wide open in the dark. Thinking. Feeling. Wondering what Matt was doing right now. Wondering, for the billionth time, if he ever thought of me, and if he did, what he thought of me.
From the other side of the room, I heard Trey's voice. "Stop," he said gently. "I know you're lying there driving yourself nuts. Let it rest, Andy, and get some sleep."
"I'm not..." I started to protest.
"Yes, you are," he said. "Think of something else, man, and go to sleep."
"Aight," I said, reluctantly. "And...thanks, man."
"For what?"
"I just..." I paused. "For even giving a shit, I guess."
"I do," he said. "And you don't have to thank me for it. You're...well, you've fuckin' started to mean a lot to me."
I worked on keeping my breathing steady, so he wouldn't hear what those words had done to me. " 'Night, Trey," I replied, finally.
"Yeah. 'Night."
And as my mind shifted its attention from Matt to the deepening friendship I was experiencing with Trey, I found myself relaxing. Before too long I was deep asleep.
********
As soon as I'd dressed the next morning, I went to the computer and composed an email. I wanted Matt to know I wasn't afraid of running into him while we were in Dallas. And I wanted him to know I wouldn't be pressuring him to let me back into his life. I felt I could move on from that painful void, thanks to the deepening friendship I was developing with my roommate.
I won't be home until Wednesday. But it wouldn't bother me if we ran into each other, and you know I wouldn't make a big deal out of anything.
I pressed "send," and the instant I did, I was pissed at myself. What a stupid, lame, uncommunicative email.
But it was too late. I wasn't sending him another one to say more. Anything additional that I sent would let him know how fucked-up I still was. I had too much pride for that.
********
Several of us from the soccer team were in my room the next Monday night, studying for a World Lit exam we'd be having the next morning. We finished up around 3 AM. One by one, the guys said their good-nights and headed off to their own rooms.
Jordan Steen stayed behind, making small talk with me and Trey. We'd been shooting the shit for a while when Jordan said, "Hey, Andy..." He paused, looking nervously at Trey.
"What?"
"I...listen, could I talk to you for a minute in the lobby?"
I looked over at Trey. "Okay, I guess." Trey smirked. I scowled at him. Jordan stepped into the hall first, and after he was out of the room, Trey asked, "Gonna swallow or be swallowed?"
"Fuck you," I said, giving him the finger.
"In your dreams, buddy."
"What's your point?" I asked, grinning at him as I backed out of the room.
There was nobody in the lobby when we got there, as we'd both expected. The TV was on, though. Jordan sat down on one of the sofas. I pulled up a chair and sat down facing him.
"What's up?"
He was wringing his hands absently as he said, "I'm fuckin' nervous about this, but you...well, were you serious about that...that offer you made at Brad's?"
I smiled. It wasn't an innocent smile. "About doing stuff with me?"
"Yeah," he blushed. "Your offer still stand?"
"Maybe," he said. "What do you have in mind?"
"I just always wanted to see what..."
"What it was like, just once, with another guy," I finished for him. "And let me see, you're not gay, you just wanna know what it's like, and I seem like a guy you can trust, and would I please not tell anybody? Does that about cover it?"
"Fuck you," he said, glaring. "If you're gonna give me sh..."
"I'm not," I said. "If anything, I'm lettin' you know I've heard it all before, so it must mean you're pretty normal. You're for damn sure not the first guy on the team I been here with."
I paused to let that sink in. Then I said, "So what do you want?"
"Would you...like, could I...well, I heard that guys give blowjobs better than girls, and I haven't hooked up with anybody but my fist since August, so I'm hurtin' pretty bad for it if you...if you wanna help me out."
"Hmm," I said. "I could prolly do that," I said. "But I don't get with guys who won't reciprocate, so you gotta do me too."
He frowned. "I never sucked cock before," he said. "I don't like guys."
"Take it or leave it," I told him. "It's not that bad, Jordan, but if you wanna pass on the whole thing, I'll understand."
He thought for a while, then said, "No. I'll do it. But do I have to swallow?"
"No, I said, "but you have to let me finish inside. After I'm done, I don't care what you do with it. Spit, swallow, rinse with the damn stuff as far as I'm concerned. But I get to blow in your mouth, or we got no deal. For what it's worth, I'll swallow every fuckin' drop of yours."
He closed his eyes and groaned in response. "Okay. But where?"
"Let's go. My room," I said.
"But Trey..."
"Trey just remembered that he has an errand to run," I grinned.
He followed me back to the room. I opened the door, and Trey grinned wickedly as he watched us enter.
"Hey," I began.
"Half an hour you got," he said. "I'll watch some TV in the lobby. But I'm not getting' kicked out of my room for the whole night again, so at 31 minutes I'm back, and if you're still at it, your little encounter becomes performance art. Won't bother me," he said.
"Wouldn't bother me, either," I laughed, "but I wouldn't do that to Jordan, so I promise to get it done in a half hour."
Jordan blushed and looked over at Trey, whining, "Trey, please don't t.."
"Oh, shut up, Jordan," he said. "I'm not gonna fuckin' tell anybody. The guys are all bored by Sharpe's gay shit anyway...well, that is, when they're not takin' him up on his little offer."
He opened the door and waved on his way out. "Be good, kids," he said, "and try not to get pregnant, Jordan."
I couldn't help it; I cracked up. When I recovered, I looked at Jordan's face; he was clearly annoyed. "What a jerk."
"Nah, he's a good guy," I said. "And you can trust him not to tell, so I wouldn't be trashing him if I were you."
"I guess," he replied, his eyes darting nervously around the room. He sat down on my desk and asked, "How we gonna do this?"
"I don't know what all you mean," I said. "But I can tell you this much: It's gonna be with the lights on. I wanna see your stuff, not just taste it. And we're both gonna be naked." I reached for his t-shirt and began pulling it up over his head. He resisted for a few seconds, then let me remove it.
Once I had him naked, I began stripping down myself, and said to him, "Also, you're suckin' me off first."
"Why?" he moaned.
Irritated, I replied, "Because, Jordan, once you've blown your damn load, you're likely to get buyer's remorse real conveniently, and you'll wanna leave me stranded with blue balls...and that's not gonna happen."
"Okay," he said. "But you're gonna have to tell me how to do it."
"I'll give you a few pointers," I told him, "but you're a smart guy. I bet you can figure it out."
********
Jordan's nervous-Nelly approach to the whole thing was pissing me off: He'd get started in on me with a good rhythm and then stop, apparently trying to wrestle down some remorse. So as I neared the final bend in the road, I grabbed his head and pulled him all the way into my pubes, forcing him to deep-throat me. I took control at that point, deep-fucking his face. I wasn't gentle, but as far as I was concerned, he deserved it.
He gagged at that first thrust. I pushed his head away from my cock and made him look up at me. "If you don't like it like that, quit being so damn tentative, and quit thinking so much. Yes, you have a cock in your mouth. Fuckin' deal with it, it's already done. C'mon, Jordan, show a little enthusiasm, okay? I'm not gonna ever get off if you keep pulling me out of your mouth and worrying about whether it's makin' you gay. Just get after it, all right? You'll get yours next, I promise."
He glared at me, but he also stopped trying to quit every thirty seconds. He continued to gag a fair amount at first, but eventually he seemed to figure out how to breathe through his nose, and at that point he let his throat relax enough to swallow me whole.
When I was almost home, I pulled his head hard up against me, forcing his face all the way down on me, and I fired my spunk down his throat. I could hear him breathing furiously as I mashed his head into my pubes, but he took my aggressiveness like a pro, stayed relaxed, and let me empty myself into him.
I pulled out of him and, looking at his face, I wasn't sure what I saw. As he struggled to get control of his breathing, his face seemed to relax. The look he gave me showed me he wasn't too pissed, even though I'd pretty much shoved my cock down his throat at the end.
"That was okay," he said after he'd recovered some. "Didn't taste your stuff, it was all down my throat, thank God. And you pissed me off a little, fucking my face like that."
"That's what you get for being such a wuss," I said. "You'd get me close, and then you'd fuckin' stop, like you were late for dinner somewhere or something. It made me mad, and I realized if I didn't take control we'd be doin' this all night."
"Sorry," he said, looking into my eyes. "I told you I never done this."
"It's okay. I hope it didn't freak you out too much when I got rough."
"Fuck that," he said. "I told you it was okay. But it's your turn now, and I expect the same treatment."
"With pleasure," I said, reaching for his cock.
********
"How was he?" Trey asked ten minutes later, as we both stripped down for bed.
"Okay," I said. "He's pretty damn squeamish and he didn't suck cock worth shit, but I've always liked his dick in the showers. And he gets real thick. Real thick," I grinned.
"God, shut the fuck up!" he said forcefully. "Like I needed to know that? Now whenever I look at him, I'm gonna...aw, forget it. I'm just saying, too much damn information!"
"Hey, you're the one who asked," I said. Since he was standing there naked, I added with a leer, "But I don't give a shit how thick he is, your dick is ten times sexier."
The embarrassment that showed on his face was priceless, but he recovered with style. "Oh yeah? This bad boy, you mean?" He grabbed his cock and shook it at me, laughing.
"Yeah," I said. "That's the cock I'm really holding out for."
He eyed me seductively, jacking slowly on his cock, teasing me. I watched, spellbound, as it began to harden.
I took a step toward him and dropped to my knees. "Trey..."
He stepped back, reached over to his bed, grabbed a clean pair of boxers he'd laid out, and pulled them on as he said, "No way, Andrew. I already told you that's never gonna happen."
I groaned. "Then quit fuckin' teasin' me with it!"
He laughed wickedly. "But it's so much fun!"
"Asshole," I said.
"You don't get none o' that, either!"
"You are such a bastard," I told him.
"Yeah, but you love me anyway," he replied, climbing into bed.
I clicked off the light. "Yup," I said, climbing into my own.
" 'Night, Andy."
"Good night, ya damn cock tease."
I heard him chuckle, and two minutes later, I heard the slow regular breathing that told me he was asleep.
Thinking about the sight of his hardening cock, I jerked off and shot a huge load for the second time that night.
********
Trey had to leave the room for a while four more times before Thanksgiving. Two of those times Jordan came back for some more alone-time with me. And the two other teammates who "just wanted to know what it was like"--two guys who hadn't ever stopped by before-- weren't interested in just a quickie blowjob. Seems they were both wondering what it felt like to have a dick up their ass. Seems that once in a while they'd both fingered themselves a little while they jerked. Seems that on the basis of that they'd each thought that something a little bigger might really work for them. Seems they both needed to assure me over and over that they "weren't gay." And seems like I didn't much care what they were; I helped them satisfy their curiosity.
After my final "team-building" experience before Thanksgiving, Trey walked in at thirty-one minutes. Jason, my victim for the evening, had left a few minutes before. I'd showered and was getting ready for bed; as he walked in, he sniffed the air and said, "Goddammit, Sharpe, it smells like fuck in here. How am I supposed to sleep?"
Smiling, I asked, "It's gonna keep you awake?"
"Did you not hear me? It smells like fuck in here; goddam right it's gonna keep me awake. I been striking out lately, and now I gotta smell y'all's damn funk all night long."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "All you have to do is say the word, Trey, and I can take care of whatever hurts you got."
"How 'bout you just open a window and light a goddam candle instead?" he scowled. I laughed and did both of those things.
"I'm just sayin'..." I told him.
"I know what the fuck you're saying," he replied. "Now leave me the fuck alone."
He stripped down to his boxer briefs and crawled into bed. That's what you get for freezing me out, I thought. I couldn't help smirking to myself.
But what I said out loud was, " 'Night, Trey."
He snorted and rolled over as I turned out the light.
********
I was lying in bed the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving, listening to an "oldies" radio station that played music from the Fifties through the early Nineties. I'd grown up listening to a lot of that stuff because my dad had such a huge collection of pop and rock albums from his adolescence.
I was done with classes for the rest of the week, and I'd gone to bed early. I had nothing to do, and a lot of my friends had already left. I'd be driving home in the morning after taking Trey to the airport, so I had nothing to think about, nothing to do, not that many people to socialize with. And I felt ambivalent about going back home. I wanted to see my family, but there were memories there, and I didn't really care to revisit those.
The track list wasn't doing much for my mood. They'd just played Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over," and then, in an apparent attempt to have it both ways, followed it with Billy Joel's "And So It Goes."
In every heart there is
a room,
A sanctuary safe and strong,
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along.
I'd been in love. Twice. At the same time. And it was hard to imagine a new one coming along. I hadn't thought much about Angie recently, although when I did, there was still some lingering soreness. But whenever my mind returned to Matt, the flare of pain was so acute that I wanted to flinch and step away from myself. I couldn't do that, though. Whenever those thoughts came by for a visit, my stubborn heart made me stand there, helpless in the jagged-edged rubble of all those memories, forcing me to relive times and places as they played themselves back to me.
That's what I was doing when Trey walked in. The lights were out and it was dark, and since it was only eleven o'clock, I knew he thought I was somewhere else. When I said, "Hey, Trey," he let out a yelp, and then said, "Fuck, I didn't know you were here. Sorry if I woke you."
"It's okay," I tod him. "I just been listening to music."
I got up and turned on my desk lamp so he could see; then I sat at the foot of my bed while he began undressing. "What time do we have to leave?" he asked me.
"Your flight's at 9 AM, right?"
He nodded.
"We should be there a half-hour early, and the highways are gonna suck if we wait too long. Just to be sure, we need to leave no later than 7."
"Okay," he said. He got into bed into and pulled the sheet over himself. I went over to shut off my audio system, but he said, "No, leave it on, I feel like some mellow shit and sounds like that's what they got going."
We lay there in the dark, talking again about the impending holiday. I was appreciating the distraction from the dark mood that had descended on me, when he said, "So...you gonna try to see Matt?"
I didn't answer him.
"Because I think you should."
"I can't," I said after a full sixty-second pause.
He didn't ask me to elaborate. My two words just hung there, unexplained and isolated from reason or common sense.
I finally mumbled, "I'm not ready. We're prolly done as friends. I'm sure we are. I need to know it for sure one of these days, I guess...but not over the holiday. I don't want to bring everybody down while I mope for four days."
He got out of bed and made his way over to my bedside. "I guess I understand about not being ready," he said. "And he's not my friend and it's not my life story so I guess I can't say. But I don't think you have anything to be ready for. I think what you're doing is wasting valuable time you could be using to make it up to him for being a shithead."
"I don't think so," I said. "I think I'm just delaying the inevitable. When he sees me again, he's gonna tell me we're done. And the worst part is that I don't even think he's pissed or hurt any more. He's just done. I think it's that bad."
"There's no way you could know that," he said. "Not from those emails. Not from anything he said to you last summer. No way. In fact, everything he's ever said to you sounds to me like the opposite of all that."
"You're wrong," I said. "But I appreciate what you're doing."
He held his arms out. "Come here."
I got up out of bed and stood next to him. He reached for me and I let him hug me, resting my head on his shoulders as my bare chest melted into his. I took deep, steady breaths to keep my faithless, betraying eyes dry as I wrapped my arms around him.
"It's gonna be okay," he whispered, patting my back. I ran my hands absently up and down his back. My dick registered how good his skin felt to touch. Still not completely self-aware, I slipped my hands down his soccer shorts and onto his bare ass.
I felt his body tense. "Andy, no," he said. "That's not gonna do either of us any good."
His words brought me into full awareness. I took my hands out of his shorts and stepped away from him, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I wasn't thinking."
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I probably shouldn't have tried…I mean, I get the kind of mood you're in and I should have realized it wouldn't help for me to…"
His voice trailed off, and he began to study my face. He sighed. "It's just that you seem so damn miserable. I hate that. And you're doing it to yourself."
"Don't worry about it, I'm not gonna fuckin' die. The email: It just threw me a little," I said. "It happens sometimes when I think back…or get fuckin' emails like that from him. But I'll shake it off, it's no big deal. I mean…well, he's ancient history, and it's pretty much what happens to everybody who used to be friends in high school, right? So fuck all that."
"I know you," he said. "It's only been a couple months, but I know you." He slapped my shoulder. "You're talking all big, and what you're saying is true, but it still fucks with you. I can tell."
"It's not your problem," I said, "and I got no business puttin' my hands on your ass."
"That's right," he said.
We stared at each other for a few minutes. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Finally he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, what the fuck. Hell, you fuckin' done all them other guys. I should have a heart and let you have the best." He smiled at me and pushed his shorts to the floor.
I scanned his naked body and felt my cock begin to harden. His cock, by contrast, hung limp.
That disparity illustrated the basic problem inherent in all this.
I can't say I wasn't touched: He'd seen that I was hurting over Matt, and he cared enough for me to try to give me a little comforting distraction, even if it meant doing something he wasn't particularly interested in. Even if there was risk attached to it.
But it wasn't that simple.
As he stepped out of his shorts, I said, "Look, I appreciate this more than I can tell you…I mean, I get what you're doing and…well, fuck, dude, that’s above and beyond the call, you know?"
I sat down in my desk chair. "I'm not saying I don't want it," I continued. "You fuckin' know I do. You're so damn hot and of course a part of me wants to get with you.
"But let's be real," I said, referencing his dick with a nod of my head toward it. "You don't want this. It's obvious, right? I'm not really…well, since you're naked it's totally visible that you're not looking to get with me. It's not who you are, and I don't need to be…"
"It's a night," he said, "not a fuckin' life commitment. You feel like shit, I haven't gotten off today, and you been in my face about wantin' me ever since you came out to me."
"Yeah, but that's just me fuckin' with you, and you know that," I said. "I'd never make a move on you, I know you don't…I know you're not interested. I'm sorry I grabbed your ass. I just…well, you caught me in a moment. My guard was down. It won't happen again. You're too important to me."
He nodded, but I could see the gears turning in his head. After a few seconds he said, "I know. You've never let it get in the way, and respect you for that. I know how much you want my incredible body when you see it." He grinned when he said it, trying to lighten the mood.
I scowled at him. "Look, dude, don't give yourself that much credit," I said. "You're fuckin' naked all the time, seems like, between here and the locker room. It's not any big deal. I like your body, I can't deny it. But I think I can keep from raping you, asshole."
He nodded. "I know. But wouldn't it feel good to let your guard down with me all the way one time? And have it be okay?"
"You're not interested," I repeated. "And that's cool, Trey. You don't need to do this."
"I can't believe you, Andy," he said, his voice beginning to hint at exasperation. "You been hittin' on me for fuckin' weeks. I don't care if it was a joke; you've been pretty damn relentless. And I knew that even if you were joking, you'd be all over me if I ever said yes. And so now I am saying yes…and you're telling me no?"
"I don't need no pity fuck," I said.
"Who said anything about fucking? I was just talking about letting you give me a blowjob. I think I'd like one of those about now," he said, laughing.
I rolled my eyes. "You can say all the words you want. There's one part of you that don't lie," I said, directing my stare at his dick, "and that part's telling me you don't want a blowjob. Not from me, at least. So…"
"I bet with a little attention from you down there, it would get more interested."
He smirked at me.
"Why do you wanna do this?" I pleaded. "You're the one who…"
"I know what I said before," he told me. "Tonight I'm saying different. As a one-time thing. Stop overthinking and take advantage of it before I change my mind."
I stared at him, considering.
"Let me help you forget about Matt tonight," he said. "Get your clothes off and come to bed with me."
I raised an eyebrow and said, "What'll you do?"
"Come back over here," he said. I walked a few steps toward him, and he moved toward me, closing the gap.
He put his hands on my shoulders. "You keep saying you want to give me head. I'm thinking I've been a moron to fuckin' put you off; I mean, a blowjob's a blowjob, right?"
He paused for a minute and added, "We can kiss, too," he said. "I know you like that, and I think I can do that. But I can't suck you, Andy. I know it's not fair if you're gonna be doing it to me, but...I just can't, okay?"
I backed away and began to consider his offer, his refusal to let me give him an out. "Okay, I'm not saying yes, but if we ever did do stuff together, I wouldn't need you to suck me off. But I'm not saying yes. I'm just saying."
"Good, then," he said, as if he'd already sealed the deal. "The other thing is, I might not be any good at this," he said. "Don't expect too much. That's the biggest reason it makes me a little nervous. You're the best friend I have here. If I can't do any of this…I mean, I'll try, you know? I want to. It's almost like it's something coming between us. Feels almost like if we don't do it at least once it's gonna become this big thing. And now's a perfect time: You're feelin' down and I'm feelin' horny, even if Little Trey ain't showin' it. We can maybe help each other out, right? I'm just saying that if I have to back out after I start, I don't wanna fuck things up between us."
"If we ever did that," I said--attempting to make it at least seem hypothetical, though by now we both knew it wasn't--"nothing's gonna fuck things up. I know that I don't really get you worked up; I got the wrong set of equipment where it counts. But if we ever did it, I bet I could make you feel good anyway, and if something didn't work for you…you know, if something freaked you out…we could stop right there."
"Sounds like you've made your decision," he grinned.
I wouldn't answer.
"C'mon, Sharpe," he said. "It's just tonight. It's just you and me. It doesn't have to be a big deal. I'm not saying I'll be any good at it, but why not tell yourself 'what-the-fuck' and go for it? That's what I'm doin'. "
I sighed, conceding to myself that he was right: I had made my decision.
I felt like I'd been here before, though.
"Well…okay," I said, trying to reassure myself. "It doesn't have to be some big fuckin' romance, right? I mean, I always figured if you ever gave in, I wanted to make it mainly about you just relaxing and enjoying the sensation. We don't have to kiss if that's weird for you. And I promise I'll let you finish in my mouth and I won't even gag."
He laughed nervously and asked, "You gonna swallow?"
"Hell, yes," I said, grinning. "That's the best part."
He sat down on his bed and swallowed hard. "Fuck," he said.
He stroked his chin and stared into my eyes. "I'll be honest: It is weird," he said. "I mean, I don't care about you liking to swallow. It's flattering, actually. The weird part is the kissing. I know I said it was okay, but it's extreme, right? Still, I guess if I'm gonna let you suck my cock, what's the big deal about letting you stick your tongue in my mouth?"
"I'm just saying," I replied. "You don't have to…"
"Let me worry about that," he said. "I'll try for the whole deal. I can't suck you, but maybe just about everything else. Well, short of fucking. Let's not go there. But you know, I don't care where your mouth goes, and if you promise you won't be pissed if I have to stop doing something, I wanna try to do as much as I can, okay?"
"Wow, that was a real smooth offer you just made," I said. "I'm licking my lips in anticipation of your epic failure."
"As a matter of fact, no woman can resist," he grinned.
"I ain't no woman," I said.
"I can see that through your shorts," he quipped.
I stripped them off; my cock wasn't limp.
"Wow," he said. "You like me; you really, really like me." He laughed wickedly; I threw the shorts in his face.
He cocked his head in the direction of his bed, coaxing me to toward it. We climbed in, and taking my shoulders in his hands, he eased me down and onto my back. Lying next to me, he kissed me tentatively on the cheek. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
His lips made their way to mine. His first kiss was feather-light, but lasted a half minute or so, his lips touching mine, and pulling back, over and over. I was too nervous to enjoy it. I found myself wishing I could read his mind. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were wide. The deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face concerned me.
"Well?" I asked.
"I…yeah, that was okay," he said somewhat unsteadily. "I should try that again." This time, he moved his body over mine, holding himself up by his hands. He took a deep, slow breath; I watched him make himself relax. He smiled at me, a little embarrassed. "Sorry. I'll be fine. I can do this. I want to."
He brought his face slowly down to mine. Just before he kissed me, he smiled and said, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Just enjoy it, okay?"
How could I not smile back? His brought his lips closer to mine, and when they met, I sighed and finally gave myself over to the sensations and emotions of having my roommate kiss me.
As the minutes ticked by, he got bolder. We began to get comfortable with the idea of doing this; as we did, our kisses became more intense; before too long our tongues were introducing themselves to each other.
We made out for a good fifteen minutes, and it wasn't only his face that was into the act: I lay back and enjoyed the sensation as he put his hands all over me. At one point he took my dick in his hand and stroked me gently, exploring my cock, smearing my precum around, clearly looking to take my mind off Matt that evening.
As much as I loved his kisses, I wasn't entirely comfortable with having him touch my cock. I didn't want him to think he had to do that. So I turned him onto his back and began to kiss him again as my hands travelled up and down his torso, caressing, looking for sensitive spots.
After we'd kissed for another ten minutes, I said, "I want to suck you, okay?"
"Yeah, it's good," he said. "This part was fine, too," he said, lifting his head to kiss me one more time.
I sat up, swung my legs to the floor, and stood. I went to the foot of the bed, grabbed him by the lower part of his thighs, and dragged him toward me. When his hips were at the edge of the bed, I raised his legs and pushed them back a little to give me a clear shot at his stuff. Then I knelt down, and began kissing his balls.
I'd waited all semester for this, never believing that I'd have the chance. I knew it was unlikely to happen again, and I wanted to make it as complete an experience as I could. His cock had thickened up a little, but he still wasn't hard. I thought I could fix that, though. I licked my way up his shaft and began to focus my attention on the head of his dick. As I began flicking my tongue against the sensitive patch of skin just below the head, I heard an appreciative whimper in response, and it wasn't too long before he was hard and thick.
I fondled his balls gently and alternately licked his shaft and sucked on it. Before too long his whimpering got more frequent, and as I kissed my way from his nuts up to the head of his cock, I discovered that a clear bead of precum had collected at the tip. I licked it off and swallowed him whole in one easy motion. He groaned and said, "Unnhh...feels good."
When I'd gotten him half-delirious with pleasure, I stopped sucking him and positioned myself down below his balls. I rolled his hips a little more forward, and before he'd had a chance to recover from the blowjob I'd been giving him, I began tonguing his asshole. He tensed his body at first, but I wouldn't stop. Gradually, he gave in to the sensation, groaning.
I fucked his asshole with my tongue for a while, but even though I could tell he was enjoying it, he kept moaning protests. "Andy…don't, man. I…unnh…I can't…I don't want that." His body was telling me otherwise, but mentally it was clear that a rim-job was outside his comfort zone, so I decided I shouldn't press my luck. I returned my attention to his cock.
But first I stopped to look at him. There was nothing about Trey that wasn't perfect. His cock wasn't as long as Jordan's but it was thick and powerful-looking. It rose up proud and lay tight against him. I couldn't even pull it down perpendicular to his abdomen; it wouldn't go that far down.
"Stand up," I said.
He looked at me, puzzled. "I wanna see it like this," I told him. "I wanna see your hard cock when you're standing up."
He laughed when he finally understood the visual image I was wanting.
He stood; his cock pointed straight up. "You got it all interested," he said. Just out of curiosity, I went to my desk and grabbed a ruler. Measured from the base to the tip, he was just under seven-and-a-quarter inches. That was plenty bigger than average, but I was surprised. Just eyeballing it, I'd have thought it was bigger. It was his girth that made it impressive.
I knelt down and took his dick in my hand, rubbing my face against it. The warmth of him...the smell of him...intoxicated me. And this was Trey. My best bud on campus. The guy who stood up for me when I came out to the team. The guy I'd first told all about me.
Here he was, wanting to let me have him like this. Being okay with it. Even after all those assurances that it wouldn't happen.
I kissed all around his dark brown pubes; I pushed my nose into them and breathed in the smell of him. His distinctive scent combined with the musky, male smell of his crotch and urged me on. He put his hands in my hair as I explored him with my face. "You're so beautiful," I said to him.
"I never ever expected my college roommate to be licking my junk and telling me I'm beautiful," he chuckled.
He continued to caress my hair as we got into a rhythm with each other. His hips thrust back and forth and he began fucking my face, moaning, stroking my hair, my shoulders.
I kept him on edge, and drew back from the edge, for thirty minutes that night, varying my approach, alternating between tongue and lips, testicles and taint, pubes and penis, exploring all of his mid-region with all of my head, smearing his scent all over my face, right under my nose, around the perimeter of my lips.
I had him on his back and was licking his nuts--he was stroking himself--when he reached the point where he couldn't take it anymore.
He gasped, "I gotta finish; put me in your mouth." I dragged my tongue up the underside of his shaft, causing him to shudder. Then I swallowed him. He stopped for a minute and flipped me onto my back; straddling my chest, he brought his cock to my face. I opened my mouth, and he jammed it in and began fucking my face passionately. After only a minute, he groaned and began pumping semen into me. Eight warm, thick jets of cum shot against the walls of my mouth.
He tasted so good and sounded so hot as he moaned, I almost came without even touching myself. But I tried to keep my attention on his pleasure as he was coming down from his orgasm. I let him stay in my mouth until he needed to pull out. When he did, I lifted up to try to kiss him, but just as quickly he moved down the bed and gripped my cock.
"I owe you this much," he said, and he began jerking me off.
When he could see I was ready to cum, he smiled and said, "Bring it, Andy; cum for me." It didn't take long. My breath hitched and my stuff came flying out. Before I was done, it was all over my chest, and a big glop of it dripped down onto his fingers.
While my cock was still spasming in his firm grip, he leaned in and kissed me one final time on the lips.
When my dick had finished pumping, he took his hand off me. We lay there for a few minutes; then he got up, went to the sink, and turned on the faucet. After a few minutes he came back with a warm washcloth. He cleaned my cum off his hand, then gently brought the washcloth to my torso and, with a tenderness that almost made my eyes moisten, wiped my chest clean.
He got up, rinsed out the cloth, and hung it on the towel bar by the sink. Then he came back and sat down on his bed. "I think I can't sleep with you, okay? But this was good." After a pause, he said, "Are you all right?"
I smiled. "Yeah. It was perfect. Thanks, Trey, I been fantasizing about this ever since we did Candy."
He blushed and chuckled a little. "Sorry I couldn't take you in my mouth."
"Don't be stupid," I said. "You jerked me off. I didn't even expect that much."
"That was kinda fun, actually. I liked being able to make you feel that."
I sat up and put my hand on his shoulder. "You're the best."
"Yeah. I am," he said. "Don't forget it."
"I won't be asking to do this again," I told him.
"I know, and I appreciate that. But I'll be pissed if you don't at least keep hittin' on me." I raised a questioning eyebrow and he laughed. "That's been a fuckin' ego trip," he said, "a guy like you wantin' me."
"What do you mean by that?"
He said, "I may not be gay or bi, but I'm not fuckin' blind. Everybody thinks you're pretty fuckin' awesome. Me included, and even that homophobe Shane. So it's pretty damn flattering to have you want me like this."
"Just don't fuckin' rub it in," I said.
"That depends on whether you start being an asshole or not," he said.
There was a lag in the conversation. It was time for us to get some sleep.
"Any regrets?" I asked. I had some misgivings about how he'd handle what we'd done; I didn't want things to get weird now.
"None at all," he said. " 'Night, Andy."
Sighing, I let myself relax completely. He'd said what I needed to hear. " 'Night, Trey. And thanks."
"Thank you, dude. That was one hell of a blowjob."
I snapped off the light, climbed into bed, and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
********
Thanksgiving was its usual food-and-football-fest. In spite of my earlier ambivalence, it was great to be back home. We spent Thursday morning and early evening at my grandmother's, an hour north of Dallas. I caught up with the extended family and tried to impress everyone with the G-rated version of my college experiences, both academic and social.
When we got home, I spent time with my brother and sister. I'd missed them, and I could tell they'd missed me too. Danny and I went to a party that night. It was being thrown by his best friend Nate, whose parents had deserted him over Thanksgiving for a cruise. He'd gone over to his grandmother's for Thanksgiving and had planned this event for all the kids who'd be bored Thanksgiving evening. I hadn't been invited, but Danny had insisted I come along, and I got treated like the guest of honor. I saw a lot of old friends and acquaintances from high school--a number who'd been younger teammates in football and soccer--and had to spend time telling them about life at college. Not all of these stories were G-rated, but when I talked to the football guys about some of the racier stuff, I stuck to sharing my heterosexual exploits.
We had a little too much to drink, and I slept in late on Friday. For most of the day I watched TV and did some studying. I spent some time with my dad doing some yard work he'd put off, and I talked in the kitchen with my mom while she was preparing dinner.
After dinner, out of guilt, I picked up the phone.
And promptly set it back down.
After the sixth attempt, I finally dialed the number and let it ring.
Pamela Price answered. When she heard my voice, she greeted me warmly and made me spend the next ten minutes telling her about school. Finally she said, "You probably want to talk to Matt. He's up in his room. Want me to tell him to pick up?"
"I'd appreciate that."
Before she did, she said, "I know you've been busy with family. I know he'd love to see you, though."
Hedging, I said, "I'll talk to him and we'll see what we can work out."
"Great," she said. "It was good talking to you; tell your mom hi for me, okay?"
"I sure will," I told her.
I heard her call to Matt and tell him to pick up.
"Hello?"
Just the sound of his voice made my heart jump into my throat.
"Hey," I said.
"Andy," he replied. His tone was measured, cautious. I wasn't sure what to make of it. There was a pause, and then he said, "Good to hear from you. What's up?"
"You know," I said. "Thanksgiving break. Too much food, too much football. Too much party."
"You went to a party?"
"With Danny. Nate was having some big deal at his house. There was liquor. I got a little wasted."
"Hell, he shoulda invited me. I just stayed home and watched cable porn."
I chuckled. "You doin' okay?"
It took him a while to answer. "Yeah, I'm doin' good. Handling my classes, getting by in sports. Feels weird to play fullback, but whatever."
"You like it up there?"
"It's okay. It's not Texas, and I hate the cold. But I like it, I guess. I'm seeing a girl pretty serious. Her name is Danielle."
"Good," I said. "Somebody to keep you from missing home."
"I wouldn't say that," he replied.
Something about that reply made me uncomfortable, so to avoid that frying pan, I jumped into the fire. "Your email," I said. "I didn't know what you meant, really."
I waited for what must have been thirty seconds of silence. It felt like thirty years.
"Nothing," he said. "I didn't mean anything. I didn't know whether you'd expect me to be down for the holidays. It's a long distance and a lot of kids from that far away just stay on campus, since the break is so short and winter break is so close. I didn't want you to, like, run into me somewhere and catch you by surprise, and you not knowing I was gonna be home."
I frowned. "That wouldn't have bothered me."
"I didn't think it would, but I just wanted to let you know. We haven't really stayed in touch much."
My heart began to flood my mind with feelings I couldn't even put into words. The awkwardness of the conversation actually hurt. The whole encounter was just wrong. It wasn't…well, it wasn't Matt-and-Andy. Not like it used to be. Not like it ought to be. I was confused about what he meant, what he felt, why he'd emailed me in the first place, and it didn't feel like anything I could make right, but the feelings were spilling out ten times faster than the words, and I couldn't let that happen. I didn't know what he wanted from me, but whatever it was, I had to keep a lid on the box, the one I kept inside me that contained everything we'd been. The one that held all the memories, all the feelings; all the regrets; all the pointless hopes.
I tried to come up with a decent response. "I guess not. I've been crazy busy. You know how it is."
Another fifteen seconds of silence passed before he said, "Yeah. I know how it is."
I had no idea what that meant, but I felt accused of something. What was there to say in response? I didn't know. He didn't seem to want to talk to me and wasn't exactly holding up his end of the dialogue, but for some reason this entire disaster of a conversation felt like my fault.
"I should have called you earlier," I said, looking for something to say that would end this phone call with some grace. "We could have hung out a little."
"I'd have been okay with that," he said. "We've been…we been friends for a long time."
Before I could choke the words back, I heard myself say, "We still are, right?"
I was instantly furious. Have a little fucking dignity, I told myself. I had no right to come to him with any kind of entreaty or expectations after what I'd done to him our last year together.
"We still are," I heard him say. There was no emotion in his voice, though.
"I guess it's too late to go do something," I said, hoping he'd have better sense than to disagree.
"Yeah, Mom's taking me to the airport in the morning. I have to leave the house at five. We have a game tomorrow evening. I should just stay here and take it easy tonight, get to bed early."
"Oh," I said, as a relieved kind of sadness washed over me. "I kind of figured."
"It was good of you to call, though," he said. "And you could email me some time when we're at school if you want, or call."
What I wanted wasn't particularly relevant, though. Matt was just being typical Matt. If it would make me feel better to call him when I got back to school, he was giving me permission to call him. But from his tone, it seemed clear to me that his heart was no longer in it--in us--and I'd be damned if I had so little pride that I'd impose my attention on someone who didn't want it.
"Yeah, I'll prolly do that," I lied.
"Okay, then."
"Well…have a good December," I said.
"I'll be home for break, obviously," he said.
"I will a little," I told him.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I'll be here once finals are over and through Christmas. My roommate's family has a place in Colorado they always go to after Christmas, and they invited me to spend the rest of break with them."
"Sounds like a good plan," he said. "Let's see: Dallas, or skiing in Colorado? Dallas or skiing in Colorado? Not much of a decision there." He chuckled a little bit, and I gave him a courtesy laugh.
"Maybe I'll see you a little at break before I go," I offered, hoping he'd recognize this as the formality it was. I didn't want to saddle him with any kind of obligation.
"Yeah, that would be good," he said.
"Anyway…talk to you later, Matt."
"Talk to you later, Andy."
I hung up. Up until now, I hadn't decided whether I'd be accepting Trey's invitation. It was worth cutting short the Christmas visit with my parents, though, if it meant I could avoid having to face the rotting corpse of what had once been the most important relationship in my life.
© 2003-2007 by Adam Phillips
Posted: 10/01/10