Crosscurrents
By: Adam Phillips
(© 2005-2011 by the author)
I spent a lot of time on studying and a lot of time on soccer that first semester in college, but sex occupied as much of my attention as those other things. More, maybe.
I scouted out and got with all the available ladies I could in September and October. Then, on the heels of outing myself to Trey, I decided to make a stand for the other side of my sexuality. After that, having made my point in November--both to myself and to others--about the sexual availability and malleability of some straight guys, I turned back to females in December. It's not that I consciously chose to vary the gender of my sexual partners according to the calendar; it's just the way it happened.
I needed at least an orgasm a day to keep myself from serious frustration, especially as finals approached. When I got back from Thanksgiving break, I resolved never to take care of that frustration by myself. So with an air of calculation and a deviousness that would have made Machiavelli blush, I set about the task of getting others to do the job for me when it needed doing. Between that last Sunday evening in November and the last day of the semester--December 11--I "dated" six different girls once or twice. There was usually fun and flirtation and enough romance to seal the deal, but there was always seduction and sex.
Sex was my aim; it was never about the relationship. That was too messy. I made it my mission to score on the first try; I'd have myself two or three times off the girl; then I'd move on.
The drill during those final days was as follows: Go to class and study until your brain bleeds during the day; drink like a fish; fuck until the tension drains away; study all night; sleep a couple of hours; then get up and do it again, amen. During finals week I replaced "go to class" with "take exams" on the daily schedule, but the routine was essentially the same, until finally I reached the eleventh of December. On that crisp winter Friday, I took my last exam--a two-hour philosophy final--at nine in the morning; then I went back to my room to pack. By evening I'd be home in Dallas.
Trey had just put the last of his stuff into his car when I got to our room.
"Damn, I'm itchin' to get outta here," he said when he saw me.
"All ready to go?"
"Yeah," he said. "You gonna grab some lunch?"
"I was. I gotta pack up but I'm in no hurry," I told him. "Wanna come along?"
"Yeah. You up for Chinese?"
I thought for a minute. "Sure. August Moon?"
"Too much atmosphere," he said, turning up his nose. "How 'bout Wok Express?"
"Suits me fine," I told him.
"You have to drive, though."
"Fuck that, man, I was up all night. Why you want me to drive?"
"My car, dumbass. It's full. You gonna ride on the luggage rack?"
I grimaced. "Good point. We can take mine, then. Or…nah, let's just walk; it's close enough," I told him. "I need to clear my head after that fuckin' philosophy exam."
"Let's go, then," he replied, heading toward the door.
We talked about our first months at college as we walked. The semester had sped by, but we'd ridden it hard and wild. There'd been lots of memories made already, and we'd both had solid academic success. Laughing and joking with each other, we relived some of the high points.
As we neared Wok Express, Trey grew quieter and began slowing his pace. Right before we got there, he stopped and looked at me. "I've always had a wing man, long as I can remember," he said.
I turned to face him, thrown a little by the sudden shift in tone.
More than that, though. More than thrown:
I was touched.
Too much, maybe.
I gripped the reins of my feelings. "Me too," I said quietly.
He smiled at me and blushed a little. "I guess I have one again, right?"
"Get your ass over here," I said, reaching out to him and pulling him into a bear hug. "You're damn right you do." I slapped him twice on the back to keep it manly, adding, "And I do too."
He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
"Relax," he said, as he felt me tense up. "I ain't afraid of it."
"I like more than that," I said with a leer, trying to mask my vulnerability.
He laughed and pushed me away playfully, and as we started walking again, he said, "You need to take what you're offered and quit being so damn pushy and greedy,"
"You need to quit bein' such a damn cock tease, then," I joked.
"We'll table that discussion until Colorado," he said, winking at me.
That jolted me to a stop right as we hit the asphalt parking lot. I locked eyes with him, searching. I couldn't find what I was looking for, but then, I didn't even know what I was looking for. So I said the first thing that came to my head: "I thought you said it was a one-off."
Mischief danced in his eyes as he replied, "I don't know what you mean."
"Are you sayin'…"
He smirked. "I'm not sayin' anything you can't figure out."
My head was reeling. My dick got the message, though. It sent a signal back to my brain: Press "Play," stupid. He's fuckin' with you, but he's testing the waters. Bring it.
The whole conversation--the whole topic--made me feel weak, and I didn't want him to see that. So without a pause, I leered at him. "You carryin' both cards these days?"
"Fuck, no." He backed up a couple of steps. "What, we're talking about sex now?"
Yeah, right. I laughed to myself. I could play that game better than he could.
Poker-faced, I replied, "I wasn't; were you? Sounded to me like you were askin' me to visit you over the holidays."
"I thought we already had that covered," he said, running a hand through his hair.
I wrinkled my brow and said, "I dunno, Trey, I thought you wanted to spend some time with me on the up-and-up." Then, to give the accusation some claws, I added, "Sounds to me like you have different reasons for it than I was thinking."
I watched his face fall and heard worry in his voice when he said, "Look, I didn't mean to make you…or…you know I'd never try to…I mean, you're still planning on showin' up, right?"
I kept my game face on, scowling a little as I watched him twist in the wind.
He frowned. "C'mon, Andy, I thought we had this settled. You're comin' to Colorado, right?"
My eyes drilled into his as his discomfort level moved into the red zone. Finally I let loose the grin I'd been suppressing. "Yeah, I'll be there," I laughed. "I was just fuckin' with ya."
I watched relief and annoyance mix together and bloom on his face. "Asshole," he muttered.
"Asshole? Me? Who started it, with all that 'Oh, I'm not talking about sex' bullshit? You fuckin' deserved it."
"Okay already," he said. "Anyway, I'm glad, 'cause I'd hate to have wasted all this money." He pulled a plane ticket out of his jacket and handed it to me. "Call us when you get into Denver. We'll pick you up from the airport."
I looked at it in disbelief. "Fuck, Trey, I'd have bought it myself. What do I owe you?"
"You owe me gettin' your ass up there," he laughed. "If you bail on me, then you can pay for it."
"You're gettin' the raw end of this," I said. "It doesn't seem fair."
"Don't you worry about that." Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he turned to face me and brought his right thumb to my lips. I raised an eyebrow but didn't back away. He exerted some gentle pressure; I took the hint, and when he pushed his thumb into my mouth, I wrapped my lips around it and sucked on it.
"See? You're a real perceptive guy. Once you're up in Colorado, I don't think we'll have any trouble makin' things even out for the plane fare." He grinned wickedly and pulled his thumb away; wrapping his left hand around it, he stroked up and down, closed his eyes, bit his lip, and groaned.
"You lookin' for trouble, boy?" I asked him.
"Could be." The mischief sparkled in his eyes again. "Anyway, you're the one who said it was a one-off; I never said it."
I felt my dick spasm in response; I opened my mouth, but my speech machine had crashed and was in the middle of a reboot. After twenty more paces, we reached Wok Express and I'd gotten my tongue back. "I wanna see you do that shit with your hands in the restaurant," I said as I pulled the door open and motioned him through it.
He walked in and asked me, none too softly, "Is that a dare?" He wrapped his right fist around his left thumb.
I looked around; he'd already attracted some attention from the diners. "No!" I half-whispered.
"Dang, Andy," he said, still grinning. "You got a long way to go on this whole getting-comfortable-with-yourself thing."
I was about to smack him upside his grinning mouth when a lady came to seat us.
********
The traffic on I-35 was annoying, but driving home to Dallas did me good. I could feel the tensions of finals week drain a little with every mile I covered.
I was overwhelmed, though, by the hugfest that greeted me when I got home. Mom and Dad were effusive; Beth was her usual affectionate self; even Danny pulled me into a death grip. "I can't believe I missed your worthless ass so much," he told me after the hug, his voice breaking as he said it.
"Awww, don't cry, little dude," I taunted. "I'm back. You can see my worthless ass for a full eighteen days."
He laughed and rolled his eyes. "That'll be more than enough; trust me. I guess I forgot what a jerk you are."
I hugged him one more time."It's so good to have you home, bro," he said. He wouldn't let go, though; I had to pry him loose. "Knucklehead," I said as I pushed him away, tousling his hair. He grinned at me; the love and admiration in his eyes threatened to make mine water.
After we'd all spent an hour laughing, talking, and catching up with each other, Dad said, "Andy, pick out a restaurant; we'll celebrate your return by taking you out for a family dinner."
I hesitated only a second before responding: "How 'bout Fogo de Chăo?"
Beth rolled her eyes; Danny's grew as wide as his matching smile. My father smiled too; Fogo de Chăo was a relatively new churrascaria, a Brazilian steakhouse featuring endless tableside meat service with grilled meats of all kinds. In other words, a guy's culinary paradise. It would set my dad back a wad of cash, too, but I knew he'd spring for it.
Mom and Beth were good sports; meat-heavy meals weren't at the top of their list, but the salad bar at Fogo went on forever. They'd find plenty to eat that they liked. We piled into my dad's minivan and headed out.
As we ate and talked and laughed, I felt myself easing back into my family. I'd forgotten how good it felt to be with them; during Thanksgiving, I hadn't really let myself unpack emotionally.
We had a great time at the restaurant, and when we got home, Danny and Beth helped me unload my car. By eight o'clock, I was moved back into my old bedroom upstairs.
I lay back and watched TV absently, utterly relaxed. I stared at my four walls; the decorations, the posters. Somehow home hadn't really registered with me over Thanksgiving, but lying in my old bed that evening made me feel as though time had slipped a cog and I was still in high school.
I looked around at the posters and pictures on the walls. Everything was just as I'd left it: Alexi Lalas. Troy Aikman. Tupac Shakur. Tyra Banks.
Andy and Matt.
It was The Picture. The pair of pictures, actually. The ones Matt had framed and given me when I'd turned fifteen. Two identical poses: Two boys, naked above the waist, arms draped over each other's shoulders. In the newer one, the mutual love between them was as plain as the noses on their faces.
I sighed.
How could I have possibly stopped seeing that? How could I have spent a year doubting that, pushing away from that? How could I have spent a year driving Matt away?
A tear fell down my face. I wiped it off, angrily, and tore my eyes from the picture.
********
I spent my first full day at home obsessing over him. I knew I'd have to see him during break some time. I was dreading it, but I'd hate myself if I let the entire holiday go by without speaking to him.
We'd gotten each other Christmas presents every year for as long as I could remember. Things were now officially fucked up beyond all repair between us, I felt, but I wasn't going to be the one to put the last nail in the coffin. If he wanted to be done with me, he was going to have to say those words himself. I was confident that he would, eventually, and I didn't want to make myself too available to hear them…but I couldn't avoid him forever. And I had to come through with a Christmas present, if only to show him that he still meant something to me.
I set out that morning to get my Christmas shopping done; Matt was on the gift list.
I was clueless. I needed to get him something that would tell him that in spite of how he felt, I'd never push him away again. I knew it was too late to matter; I didn't expect to be forgiven for the way I'd treated him that last year in high school. I needed to show him, though, that I hadn't forgotten what we'd meant to each other and that I still…
I still what?
That was the problem: I didn't know what came next.
I didn't know what came after coming to my senses and regretting what I'd done to him. I didn't know how to relate to him after I'd destroyed what we'd had. I didn't want to let him see me hanging on like the pathetic loser I was, but I couldn't be the one to end things. Over and over again during those first days of Christmas break, my mind kept repeating, mantra-like, that same incessant, desperate conviction: If he wanted out of whatever abortion of a friendship this had become, he'd have to be the one to end it; he'd have to inflict the hurt; he'd have to be the one to shove the blade into my gut.
I dreaded it, but I deserved it. I knew I had nothing to bring him that he wanted or needed anymore. I'd treated him like dirt…and for what?
For the treachery of loving me even when he knew my darkest, scariest secret.
That seemed unforgiveable to me, but I had to hang on for as long as I could. As hard as I was trying to prepare for the eventual loss, I couldn't be the one to make it happen; I couldn't make myself let go.
I also knew that Matt didn't have a cruel bone in his body, and I began to hope that he wouldn't tell me our friendship was over unless he needed me to get out of his face. Since we were going to school in two different parts of the country, he'd have no need to go to those extremes. I figured he could tolerate me over holidays and wouldn't see any need not to preserve the fiction with me; I also had no doubt he'd be getting me a Christmas present. It would be less messy for him to go through the lifelong motions we'd established with each other than it would be for him to make the end of our friendship explicit and official.
I planned on taking advantage of that. If I could keep from hearing him tell me we were through, I might be able to avoid breaking down over it.
I tried to keep the grief associated with these thoughts at bay as I shopped, but I couldn't come up with any gift idea that successfully straddled "perfunctory" and "cares-too-much." So I set my mind on getting the family's gifts and put Matt's gift out of my mind for the moment.
I was up in my room, almost finished wrapping the family's presents, when I heard a knock.
"Hey, Andy."
I smiled; it was my little brother.
I opened the door. "Sorry, Dan. Not shuttin' anybody out; I was just wrapping Christmas presents."
"Cool; what did you get me?"
I had to laugh. Danny's smiles always lit up his whole face. "I bet you're a real lady-killer these days, right?"
He blushed. "I don't know about that," he said, "but while you were away, I got my virginity cured."
"Way to go, Little Bro," I said, hi-fiving him. "Do I know the lucky girl…or guy?"
"Girl," he said emphatically. "I don't pull your shit."
I felt the blood drain from my face; Danny's eyes got wide, and he said, "Oh shit. I…I'm sorry, Andy, I didn't mean it like that."
"How…how did you know?"
"About you and Matt, you mean."
"Well, yeah," I said, relieved that he wasn't referring to my college exploits.
"I…Mom and Dad were talking once. They didn't know I was there. When I cleared my throat, they kind of shut up. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
I frowned. "What were they saying?"
"Mostly worrying about you. Wondering if you and Matt fixed things, wondering if it was hurtin' you, stuff like that."
"Danny," I said, "I'm not gay."
"Duh," he replied. "I don't know much about the thing about Matt, though; I mean I heard them talk a little bit about you guys hooking up one time and about problems. Matt's not gay, is he?"
"No," I said. "He's even straighter than I am. I just…"
"You're bisexual," he said, matter-of-factly.
"Yeah."
"And you and Matt have always been best buds."
"Yeah."
"And the bisexual thing got mixed in with the best-buds thing once, and you let stuff go too far."
This was excruciating. I didn't want to have this conversation with my kid brother. "Danny…"
The sting must have shown on my face, because he didn't let me finish. "I'm sorry, Andy, I'll drop it. You know it doesn't matter to me…and anyway, hell, I'm mostly in love with Matt myself, he's so awesome. So I guess I kinda get it. Or at least if I were bent just a little in that direction I would. I'm not, but I don't care if you are."
He walked over to me, and we hugged. As he slapped me on the back just before we released, I asked him, "Does Beth know?"
"Yeah," he said. "I told her. You don't need to keep secrets from family, man, and it's best to get that shit out there and be done with it, right? Did I do a wrong thing?"
"No, it's good," I said. "It's fine."
"She won't bring it up; it's a non-issue for all of us. I mean, are you kidding? After Mom and Dad brainwashed us all these years?" He laughed, and that made me laugh.
He wasn't done, though. "But what's the deal between you and Matt? Can I ask that? You don't have to tell me, but if you wanna…well, I mean, like, did he freak and push you away?"
I sat down on my bed. "It's a long story. I don't mind telling you. I really oughta tell somebody. Pull up a chair."
********
I told my brother the whole ugly story. He listened intently, occasionally asking questions. When I was done, I was wrung out; he looked at me thoughtfully as I waited for him to respond.
It wasn't the response I'd expected.
"You're a total shithead."
Wow.
I frowned. "Like I don't know that."
"No, that's what I mean. That. Right there. You're such a shithead, you're even getting it wrong about why I'm calling you that. You think you've fucked it up totally and killed it. You still don't get it, do you?"
"Don't get what?"
Danny rolled his eyes. "I'm not even gonna tell you, because you won't listen to me. But you're an idiot if you think he wants to be done with you. It's like you haven't learned a damn thing, and you're doing it all over again."
I felt the anger flare through me. "Look, Dan, I don't mind you knowing this shit, but don't act like you know our friendship better than I do. Sometimes you can't fix things. I can't ask him to forgive me for a whole year's worth of disloyalty."
"I was right here, Andy, living in this house, watching and listening and seeing y'all. Spending time with y'all. I know him almost as well as you do."
"Almost doesn't count."
"So let's say you're right. You're not; you're fucking stupid. But let's say you are. You gonna stay stuck in this stupid thing you got going with him, pretending to be friends because you don't want to hear him tell you to fuck yourself?"
I stared at the floor. "Yeah, that's about it."
"You're an idiot," he said. "Remember that you heard it here first when I get proven right."
"Whatever." I stood up and walked toward my closet. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Not yet," he said.
"What else?" I asked, exasperated.
"I got an idea for the Christmas present."
"What is it?"
"Let me draw something for him."
Danny was incredibly good; he'd sent me some photos of the paintings and drawings he'd done this fall. His talent was almost frightening; I couldn't believe my dumb little brother had the technical mastery, the emotional depth, and the sheer artistry that his artwork suggested. I was a little leery, though.
"What would you draw?"
"Something about you and him."
I flinched. "I dunno, Dan…
"I'm not gonna make it all homo, Andy, and I won't make it feel like your nuts are hangin' out. Dude, give me a little credit. It'll be nice. He'll like it. It'll be a low-temperature kind of thing, something that captures what y'all have been all these years."
"Been for each other, you mean."
"Hells, yes, it's what I mean."
"But I can't…I…"
"Goddammit, Andy, just trust me. Trust me to do it right. You've seen my stuff; I know my shit, don't I?"
"Well, yeah, but what does that…"
"I know my shit with emotions, too," he said. "I can put shit in there you don't even know how to say. And keep it safe, you know; not give away too much. Just something capturing your friendship. Not anything that gets all deep or says too much of what you're trying to hold back. I still think you're an idiot, but I wouldn't fuckin' betray you."
I considered it. I couldn't find anything at the stores, and in a way this would be a gift from Danny as well. If it got too intense, I could attribute that intensity to him so I wouldn't have to own it.
"Well…okay," I said.
"Outstanding," he replied. "You gotta buy the frame; and you're gonna spend some money on it, because I don't want one of my pieces in some cheap-ass ugly frame."
"Deal," I told him. "And…thanks, Danny."
"No, need," he said. "I…well…I love your dumb ass, and I wanna do this for you. And for Matt. Trust me, he'll love it."
"Okay, Little Bro," I said.
I hoped I wouldn't regret it.
********
On Wednesday evening he came into my room and said, "I'm done; come see what you think."
Stomach churning, I followed him to the storage building he'd converted into his studio.
I opened the door and my eyes fell upon the canvas immediately. It was a large pen-and-ink drawing:
Two young football players, jerseys numbered 8 and 88, the numbers they'd chosen to wear in honor of their childhood gridiron heroes…
Two young football players
smiling, looking into each other's eyes, and high-fiving,
no doubt celebrating the numbers on the scoreboard in the background: Home, 35,
Visitors, 3.
I stared at it in awed silence for three full minutes.
There was a quality to it; I couldn't define it or put it into words. I just knew that somehow Danny had seen deep into me and had found a way to represent my jumble of feelings without conveying the pain, the uncertainty, or the ambivalence.
The drawing was restrained but powerful. It didn't say anything I didn't want it to say, but the affirmation implicit in it was undeniable. A viewer didn't have to read too much into it; there was plenty of deniability there. But to my eyes, the drawing--as a gift, anyway--said, "I'm not done with you. As long as you give me something to hold onto, I'm not done."
I knew it couldn't possibly mean all that to Matt when he saw it, but I knew he'd see that I was sorry for what I'd done to us, and that I didn't regret what we'd been for each other. The future looked doubtful for us; but I knew that we both had been too shaped by each other to deny the importance of our past.
Danny's drawing captured all of that.
I closed my eyes tightly and then wiped the rims before anything could spill out.
"It's perfect, Dan," I said quietly. "Thank you."
"Damn right it is," he said. "So tomorrow I'm goin' with you to buy the frame, and you're gonna fuckin' buy the one I tell you to."
"Okay, Da Vinci," I said, tousling his hair.
********
The days eased by. Having nothing to do had never felt so good. I looked up a few friends from high school and hung out with them on occasion--most of them were on break from school like me--but I spent most of my time at home with the family. I emailed Trey a few times, promising him again that I was coming to Colorado on the 28th.
I didn't call Matt, though.
Not for a while, anyway.
On the afternoon of the 19th, I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
Dialed.
Waited.
"Soccerboy," I heard the voice on the other end say.
I felt my heart melt down into a pathetic, ridiculous puddle.
"How…" but I realized how before I could continue the sentence.
"Can't hide from Caller ID, buddy."
I smiled. "Right. Figured it out before I even finished asking. So tell me: They make you into a Yankee yet?"
"Fuck, no," he said. "I'm just in it for the money and the education." He paused. "How'd your semester finish out?"
"Good," I responded. "I aced the exams. Preparation powered by women and booze. Well, and a little studying. How about you?"
"Same drill, mostly," he told me. "But powered by a woman. Singular. And booze and studying."
"Yeah, you mentioned her before," I said. "Is this real serious?"
"I dunno; probably not. She's real sweet, though, and I wasn't interested in seeing anyone else after a while. We're a good fit."
"Where's it going?" I asked.
"Nowhere, really, I don't think. I'm just enjoying it in the now, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah. You have a picture?"
"Sure. Do you?"
"Dude…I'd have to have twenty."
He laughed. "Such a stud."
I took a deep breath; it was time. "Hey," I said, aiming for "nonchalant" in the delivery. "I wrapped you up a little something."
"A present? For me? Well, if'n that ain't the coincidence; because I just happen to have somethin' wrapped up for you."
I chuckled, but my tongue stalled out. It couldn't figure out which emotion to voice; there were too many to choose from.
He didn't seem to have that problem. "How long you been home?"
"Eleventh," I said.
"Really."
The clipped, emphatic sound of the word put me on my guard.
"Why? When did you get home?"
"Eleventh."
Eight days ago.
That said a paragraph's worth, and neither of us needed to add a word.
Thankfully, he wasn't interested in going there. I didn't want to hear him tell me why he hadn't bothered to call.
"You know how the 24th and 25th get," he said. "Family stuff. Let's you and me exchange presents now. Come over and give it to me."
"Now?"
"Yeah. Then we can hang out some. You can tell me about your semester, if you want. I can tell you about mine. We can maybe go over to the Rec, play some racquetball. Then grab something to eat; I'll even buy."
"You don't have to do that," I said. "I mean, we can just exchange the gifts."
"No, it's okay," he said. "What, I got something else to do? Anyway, couldn't you use a break from your family by now?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling to myself. "Okay. I'll bring your present and we can go to the Rec. Just like old times, right?"
He didn't answer.
When he finally spoke up, his voice seemed tentative and cool. "Something like that, I guess."
Thoroughly rattled, I opened my mouth to get us past this awkward place. "Give me ten minutes."
"Okay," he said. "See ya then."
"Yep."
********
I hauled my package out and walked to his front porch.
I'd hardly had a chance to ring the bell when the door opened.
"Hey, Soccerboy."
I stood there, staring into his eyes for the first time since July. How was it possible that he'd gotten more beautiful in five short months?
He had, though.
Or maybe it was just me.
I ached to hug him, but I couldn't. And that hurt so bad, I had trouble staying in the moment. I had to look down at my shoes; I wasn't sure I could do this.
I heard him laughing. Not just a chuckle: He was cracking up. I looked up and saw him staring at the gift I'd brought.
I frowned. "What's so funny?"
"Bring it in," he said. We got to the middle of the living room and he was still laughing. He'd settle down and then start up again. "Wait right here."
Thirty seconds later he came back with a package that was almost identical to mine in size and shape.
"Awww, man," I groaned. "We…"
"Yeah," he said, as he cracked up again. "I…well, I know you like my artwork and I thought you prolly didn't have any. What's your excuse? You can't even draw!"
"Everything at the store sucked," I said.
"I know thass right," he said with a smile.
"And yeah, I can't draw worth shit…but Danny can."
Genuine excitement sparkled in his eyes. "You paid Danny to draw something for me? Shit, he's good! Better than me."
"Are you kidding? I didn't pay him a dime! You think I'd spend any money on you?"
"Right," he said. "I know Danny, though. He didn't let you get by with no cheap-ass frame."
"You got that right," I admitted. "So maybe I did spend a little bit."
His voice turned serious. "Let's see it."
He took the package with him to the sofa, sat down with it, and began tearing off the paper. I sat down next to him.
Drumming my fingers on my knee, I watched him as he tossed the wrapping aside and began to look at the drawing.
He stood up, propped the frame against the sofa and backed up so he could see the whole thing.
He stared, wide-eyed, and smiled momentarily. Gradually, though, the smile faded and was replaced by a vacancy I couldn't read.
He shut his eyes and turned forty-five degrees to the side so that his back was to me.
I heard him sigh and take another deep breath. Then he turned to face me.
"It's amazing. Danny's incredible. I…"
He trailed off, staring again at the drawing. Finally he looked at me and said, "He got it all, didn't he?"
Before I had a chance to respond, he said, "Sometimes it hits me how much I took those days for granted." The wistfulness in his voice was unmistakable.
"I'll never forget those days, Andy. Never. You were…you were the best part of all of it."
"Mostly," I said to the floor, under my breath.
"Yep."
I looked up sharply. His face was still blank; unreadable.
I hadn't meant for him to hear; it just slipped out of me. I was relieved that he had the grace not to say more.
He flashed me a weak smile and said, "Okay, open yours."
I placed the wrapped frame against the sofa as he had. "I'm not as talented as Danny," he said, "but I think you won't hate this."
I tore off the paper, looked into the canvas…
And froze.
Three months before, a photography major back at school had taken a photo of me coming off the soccer field after a game. In that photo, I'm bare-chested and my jersey is hung around my neck. My gaze is directed out from the picture, seemingly toward someone standing behind the photographer. My face is wearing an amused grin.
I was staring into Matt's canvas at a stylized, detailed pen-and-ink drawing of that exact same moment.
"What…how did…"
"Your mom," he said, smiling. "I asked her for a photo of you that she liked a lot. She sent me that one. You must have emailed it to her."
"Yeah," I said, still staring at the portrait.
The drawing was representational, but it wasn't a clone of the photo. In a way, the drawing seemed to catch more of the essence of the subject--me--than the photo did. It seemed alive in a way the photo didn't. And that hadn't come from Matt's technical ability; it had come from the hours, the days--the years--we'd spent blended into each other's moments and motives.
It made me feel a little naked, to be honest. It crossed my mind that Matt knew ever so much more of me than I'd realized.
He was being modest about himself regarding his talent, though; he might not have had Danny's raw aesthetic power, but his emotional range was every bit the equal of Danny's.
And that's what riveted my eyes to the drawing…and what disturbed me.
It was impossible not to see the love that poured out from the artist's pen onto the canvas.
"Oh, God," I moaned, unaware that I'd said anything, caught up in my thoughts.
"I…don't you like it?"
I looked over at him. "No…I mean, yeah, of course I do! I was just…"
My gaze locked onto his, and before I knew it, the meld had forced an involuntary confession from me:
"I…I don't know how to talk to you anymore."
Anger flashed in and out of his eyes. "Whose fault is that?"
Before I'd had a chance to react, he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. We're beyond all that, right? I just…I made this because I wanted you to know I'll never forget how good it was. How important you were to me."
Were.
I'd have been less hurt if he'd hit me with a tire iron.
I couldn't let him see that. I took a deep breath and said, "It's so beautiful, Matt. I can tell how much care you put into it. Thank you."
We stared at each other as if we were strangers. After a moment, he nodded and smiled. "Let's leave these here and go play some racquetball," he said. "Did you bring your stuff?"
"Yeah," I said, relieved.
We spent an hour and a half at the Rec, enjoying each other's company in a superficial, keep-it-light way. After we'd showered and dressed back in our street clothes, we headed to Chili's and I let him buy me dinner. We talked about some of our adventures over the last semester.
As I talked, I grew bolder and finally told him about sucking it up and and owning up in public to the other side of my sexuality; that surprised him.
"Why'd you do that? I mean, it's a good thing, right? But if you were doing women…"
"I was doing guys, too," I said.
Something about that made him angry. I knew his face too well not to see it. But he didn't acknowledge it.
"Oh."
I waited for him to say more.
"I mean, I can see why you would need to own up to it if you were gonna be doing things with guys."
He hesitated for a moment; a frown appeared and faded out. Then he asked quietly, "How many?"
"What?"
"How many guys?"
Before I could answer, he said, "Never mind. I don't want to know."
I scowled, but his face seemed to contain an implicit request. "You know that doesn't bother me…that you like guys that way, I mean."
"I like girls, too," I said, much too defensively. "More, really."
"Give it a rest," he said wearily. "I know this. I always knew it. But it doesn't matter. It wouldn't matter if you didn't like girls at all. Not to me."
"I know that now," I said.
"Good," he said. Emphatic. Accusing.
I needed to man up and say more.
"Doing guys wasn't the only reason." I looked into his eyes. "It was about not being...I...it was about not being..."
I couldn't continue.
"Ashamed," he finished for me.
"Yeah," I said. "Ashamed. Because I...well, being ashamed, that already...aww, Matt, it already…"
"Ruined one relationship," he said.
The frost in his voice made my blood run cold.
I shut my eyes and let the hurt have its way with me until I was ready to talk again.
"Yeah," I replied, staring into his eyes.
He nodded.
We stared at each other silently. Finally he said, "Well, if it got you past being ashamed, there's that at least."
"It did."
"I was never ashamed of you."
It felt like a gunshot.
********
I kept it together enough to make it back to his house and load his picture into my car. We said our goodbyes and wished each other a good spring semester. It was clear that the time we'd just spent together was enough for the remainder of the holiday.
He hadn't told me to stay away from him, or that we were done, or that he didn't care about me anymore. It was clear, though, that neither of us was in any kind of shape to do more with each other for the holidays than we'd already done. I hadn't expected it to be otherwise, and I didn't see that it would ever be otherwise. So I tried to set my mind on other things and to push my feelings for Matt into the background.
Again.
For the most part, I succeeded.
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day neutralized the sting I'd gotten from the time spent with Matt. The Christmas Eve midnight Eucharist at church, the family and food and presents the next morning, the trip to my grandmother's for the extended-family celebration, all of it brought me a deep and genuine peace.
********
I flew up to Denver on the 28th; Trey's family picked me up from the airport and took me back to their place in the mountains. The cold was bracing; the scenery was inspiring; and the company was just what I needed. Trey's parents were delightful people, and they seemed genuinely happy to have me as a guest; Trey's brother Jake was seventeen and seemed to hang on my every word.
I was good with that; the kid was twice as hot as his older brother, and that was saying something, because Trey himself was sex appeal personified.
That first night, as I climbed into the second twin bed in Trey's room, he said, "I saw you checkin' out Jake's ass as he carried your stuff upstairs."
"Busted," I grinned.
He sat on his bed and started pulling off his shoes and socks. "You keep your damn hands off him," he said, smiling.
I was offended. "Dude; you think I'm an idiot or some disgusting pervert? I'd never do that, and it makes me really mad that you'd think I would."
"I was kidding, Andy, lighten up," he said. "Anyway, I meant you should keep your hands off him because I got dibs on you while you're here."
He stood up and pulled the t-shirt over his head and off. Looking over at me to make sure I was watching, he groped himself and slowly stripped off his jeans.
I felt my dick respond appreciatively.
By this time, I'd sat up in bed. Now dressed only in a pair of black Calvin boxer briefs, he walked over to me, grabbed one of my hands, and placed it over his crotch. "You want this?" he asked, leering at me.
"Damn right, I want it," I said.
"Well, get after it, then." He pushed the Calvins to his knees; his cock was as hard as I'd ever seen it. I got up from the bed, reached over to him, and pushed his shorts to his ankles. He stepped out of them.
"Get naked," he said.
"Why? You gonna return the favor?" I laughed.
"After a fashion," he said. "I won't blow you, but I won't mind takin' care of you with my hand."
"Awesome," I said, stripping.
"I'm ready for ya," he said, gripping his dick and pointing it at me. I knelt down in front of him and put my hands on his ass. "By the way," he added "I haven't blown a load in a week." He winked at me.
"Jesus," I moaned.
"Yeah, you're gonna get a big fuckin' load. How you like that?"
I couldn't answer. My parents taught me not to talk with my mouth full.
********
I had a great time with Trey and his family. They taught me how to ski, kept me fed and entertained, enjoyed the stories I'd told them of my experiences as Trey's teammate and roommate, and generally extended to me more hospitality than I could have asked for. It was especially fun to get to know Jake a little better. He was a laugh a minute, and it was obvious that his experience with what he referred to as "beer, bongs, and bitches" wasn't far behind mine and Trey's.
We celebrated the coming of the New Year by watching the ball drop in Times Square. Trey's dad broke open the champagne, and all five of us got hammered and happy. A couple of hours after Trey's parents had gone to bed, the three of us fired up the hot tub on the back deck. We'd changed into swim trunks, and Trey had gotten each of us some heavy bathrobes to wear out into the cold. As Jake and I made our way toward the hot tub, Trey went to fetch some towels. Jake stopped at his room and came out with a bong and a bag of what looked like high-quality weed. When we got outside he sat down on one of the deck chairs. "Damn, it's cold out here," he said as he got the bong going. "Even so, Trey and I usually go buck naked in the tub when we smoke out here; the water's nice and hot." He raised an eyebrow and added, "So feel free to go for it; it feels great…unless you're ashamed of your size, of course," he laughed.
"Not likely," I said, looking into his face as I dropped the bathrobe onto a deck chair and stepped out of my trunks.
His eyes went straight to my package. "Wow. I'll say," he mumbled. It was my turn to laugh. "Uncut, too," he said. "I never seen that before."
He stood up. "I can't measure up to you," he said, "but I ain't ashamed to let you see. Anyway, if you seen Trey, you seen me, we got pretty much identical equipment, soft or hard." He faced me as he stripped; once he'd stepped out of his trunks he stood straight up and presented himself for my inspection. "See?"
Damn. He was beautiful. And he was right: His dick looked exactly like his brother's. "Nice enough," I said, smiling, "if you're interested in that kinda thing."
"I'm not, but I get no complaints from the women," he said.
I watched with amusement as it started growing. "Shit," he said, blushing a little. "I'm such a damn exhibitionist; I better get it underwater before I embarrass both of us."
"You can't embarrass Sharpe, Jakey," I heard Trey say as he came through the back door. He grabbed the bong. "Anyway, he already knows what it looks like hard." Flipping the deck lights off, he climbed into the tub; only the tub's own lights remained on.
"Oh, yeah?" Jake asked. "How come he knows what my hard-on looks like?"
"Because he's seen mine."
I didn't like the sound of that; I wasn't interested in having Jake hear about my encounters with his brother.
I didn't need to worry: Trey told him the story of the two of us tag-teaming Candy at the beginning of the year. I laughed as he poured on the detail, because it was obviously getting to Jake. He kept biting his lip, and from the right-arm action going on, it was clear that he was stroking himself.
Trey rolled his eyes. "You gonna play with yourself in front of my roommate, pervert, I'm okay with it, but you better not fuckin' deliver the payload underwater, or I'll tell mom just whose jizz that is swirlin' around in here."
"Shut up, asshole," he said, "and hand me the bong."
He took a big hit and said, "Tell me more, man. I wanna hear about all y'all's sex experience at college. Them college women really put out, right?"
"Ask Sharpe," Trey replied, laughing. "I'm strictly amateur compared to him."
The two of us took turns recounting some of our more memorable encounters with women. Jake chimed in with some of his sexual escapades. He was every bit the player at seventeen that I'd been.
I loved getting high with them, and all the sex talk had boned us up. When it was time to get out, Jake said, "Okay, Andy, get a good look. We'll quiz you on the differences." He climbed out of the tub and walked over to his bathrobe. Trey followed, and stood beside him; if there were any differences between Trey's hard cock and his brother's, I couldn't see them.
I was the last one out, and I was as hard as they'd been. "Damn," Jake said. "You could cause some serious damage with that. And where'd the hood go?"
"You mean this?" I said, reaching down and pulling my foreskin back over the head of my cock.
He laughed. "Yeah. That's a neat trick."
"I got others," I said.
"I'll let you keep those to yourself," he said, wrinkling his nose.
********
I spent two weeks there and loved every minute. I sucked Trey off again that night, and every other night I was there. He never left me hanging; after he came, he always finished me off by hand. On the last night of my visit, after I'd blown, he put his hand to his face, grinned mischievously, and licked all the gooey mess right off his fingers.
I looked at him, incredulous. "Whoa, dude. You just licked my jizz off your hand?"
"Not bad," he said, grinning, "but I'll pass on seconds. I don't think it's something I'd get regular jollies from doing." He grabbed a towel and headed toward the shower.
I lay back in bed while he was gone, thinking about things. I wasn't sure what I was doing with Trey or how to describe my relationship with him. He'd gotten closer to me than anyone since Matt, and he was the best friend I'd had next to Matt. Getting to go down on him was something I'd fantasized about almost since the day I met him, and here I was, doing it nightly. I knew we weren't really compatible sexually, but it seemed to me as though he liked being with me. He never reciprocated when I sucked him off, but he seemed willing enough to get head from me. I wondered where all this was headed, what the next semester would bring between us.
I needn't have.
When he came out, he put a pair of boxers on and sat down on his bed. "How do you feel about what we've been doing?" he asked. I looked at his eyes; they were mirth-free, and I could tell he was serious.
"I really like being up here with y'all," I said. "The visit…it's been great. I love your family, man."
"Yeah, me too," he said. "But I was talking about what we've been doing late at night."
"You mean the blowjobs," I said.
"Yeah."
"Do you feel bad about it?"
"Yeah," he said.
I winced. He looked at me and quickly added, "It's not the gayness that bothers me. I told you that already. I don't know what you are, but whatever you are, you're okay with me."
"What is it, then?" I asked.
"You're my best friend on campus," he said. "I like you a lot. You're a hell of a guy."
He paused.
"And fuck, man, you give the best blowjobs I ever had. There ain't one girl who's ever made me feel so damn good when she's eatin' my cock."
"What's the problem, then?" I said.
"The problem is those two things don't go together, because I'm straight."
I felt my defenses rise. "I thought you said this wasn't about the gayness."
"It's not," he said. "It's like this: Any other time when we're hangin' out, I think of Andy the person. And your friendship...well, shit, man. I really love you, bro."
"I love you too, Trey," I said.
"I know. We're tight, and I'm not ashamed to own up to it."
He grimaced, then shrugged. "This other…the blowjobs…I…I'm using you, and it's making me feel real guilty."
I frowned. "You're not making me do anything I don't wanna do," I said.
"I know."
"So why do you think you're using me?"
"Because when you suck me off, I'm not thinking of Andy the person any more. You're this guy who loves dick, gettin' me off."
"I don't know what you mean," I said…but I was afraid I did.
He sighed. "When you...when you're going down on me, I don't have any…I mean, you know, I don't have any desire for you sexually. You don't turn me on. I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but it's not about you. I'm just not wired that way."
"Okay," I said. "I think I knew that. I don't need you to desire me. I just like being your friend. And...the blowjobs...I like your dick," I said, feeling my face blush. "And I like making you feel good. I like being able to get you there. You don't need to want me."
"I do need to," he replied emphatically. "I do need to want you if I'm gonna dump a load of cum into your mouth. Otherwise it's not about me giving you anything; it's just about using your mouth and about taking advantage of your desire for me. You're just an object when we're doing this and it's makin' me feel real shitty. Like I'm using you as a goddam sperm bank."
He looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I kept comin' to you for it. It was fuckin' selfish. I want you to be my friend, not some fuckin' upgrade from my right hand."
I looked away from him. The words hurt a little. I knew he didn't like guys, but I'd thought there was a least a little sexual reciprocity going on.
"So it's been grossing you out. Sorry, man. Why did you keep asking for it, then?"
He sighed. "You're not hearin' me. You give great head. I loved it. It felt good. I wanted it. And shut the fuck up about grossin' me out. You didn't. You don't.I don't have to be bisexual to know you're a good-lookin' guy; hot, even."
I watched him as he seemed to struggle for the words. "It's that…Andy, if we're gonna fuck around, I should feel it a little bit emotionally. Through the sex, I mean. You gotta understand, I feel a lot for you emotionally when we're together…except when you're sucking me off. And then it's like there's this disconnect going on. All of a sudden I'm just about getting off. And what you're thinking, how you're feeling, that's not even in my head."
I was about to tell him that it didn't bother me, but he kept going. "Once I'm…I'm done, then it's like I care about you again. Then I feel bad, like I'm taking advantage of you. I'm not all sexed up anymore, and I start thinking about your needs. That's why I been givin' you the hand-jobs."
"You're good at it, too," I grinned.
"Yeah? Well, I like makin' you feel good too. But it doesn't do anything for me sexually. It's just me trying to be a good guy to you again. It's like the friendship kicks back in. But it makes me feel guilty that I just used your mouth as a cum dumpster. I can't keep doing that."
I frowned. "You don't treat me like a slut, Trey."
"Yeah, I do," he said. He looked away from me and took a deep breath. "I know you have feelings for me. And you...I mean, the sexual things and the emotional feelings blend together, right?"
I nodded; I couldn't look at him, though.
"No, Andy, that's a good thing, don't feel ashamed. That's what sex is supposed to be. That's what keeps it from being cheap and sleazy." He walked over to my bed, sat down next to me, and put an arm around me. "But, see, I don't getthat blend myself when you and I are doing sex things. I feel closer to you right now, talking to you like this, than when you're suckin' my dick. And that's just wrong. That's why...that's why we can't do this anymore, okay? I'm afraid it'll end up hurting our friendship. I mean, seems to me if it keeps on going you're gonna start wanting more from me than I can give you, and I'll start resenting you for expecting something unreasonable from me...and I'm not gonna do that. I'm not gonna be that guy."
He was right. It embarrassed me a little, but I couldn't deny it.
The conversation was too deep and naked for my comfort, though, and it was threatening to make me look weak and needy. I had to save some face.
"Thanks," I told him. "I don't want you treatin' me like that. If you're not into it with me, we shouldn't do it. But, dude: If you hadn't told me, I'd never have known." I grinned. "You coulda had no-strings blowjobs all semester. So that was pretty stand-up."
He didn't smile back. "It wasn't stand-up," he said. "I let it happen too many times. You mean too much to me to let it keep happening. You're worth more to me than a nightly orgasm. So we're done with this, okay? We can't do sex stuff any more."
"Yeah, I know, I get it," I said. "I'm fine with it. I mean, it's been awesome, and I'll admit to having pretty strong feelings that get brought out when I'm going down on you. But I'm fine with stopping, especially after what you've said. I just hope you don't have the wrong impression of me."
"What do you mean?"
"I hope you know I'm not in love with you, Trey."
He looked at me for a moment. "Well," he said, "to tell you the truth, it worried me a little."
"Doofus," I said, grinning. "Like I'm gonna have the bad taste to fall in love with your lame ass."
I watched as his face registered relief, then hilarity.
"Hey, you coulda done worse," he deadpanned.
"Yeah," I said sincerely. "But you should know this: As far as falling in love with guys, I doubt that's ever gonna happen. With you or anybody else. I had my moment, and I fucked it up."
"It's still fucked up between you and Matt?"
"Pretty much," I said. "He likes what we had; he doesn't wanna burn my pictures. But it's all in the past for him." I sighed and tried to dodge the memory of my last encounter with Matt.
"I dunno, Andy," he said. "But it's not my place to pry. I'm just glad it's okay between us."
"It is," I said. "And that's not gonna change."
"Solid," he said, smiling. "But like I said last month, you can still hit on me if you want; that's kinda fun."
I laughed, and he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
They took me to the airport the next day, January 8, and I spent the last nine days of Christmas break at home, careful to avoid Matt.
© 2003-2007 by Adam Phillips
Posted: 10/22/10