Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (14 page)

"Lemme see if I can break this down here. You have a problem with me because people think I'm straight and a nice guy?” I stared at him. “If people don't like you the way they like me, chances are there's a reason for it. And if that many people out there think you're a prick, of which I'm one, maybe it's not our perception that's screwed up. Maybe you're really a prick."

"You...” Tristan picked right up where he left off. “...meanwhile, get to stare at their world from within, moving amongst them and never having to accept responsibility for your nature."

"Accept responsibility for my nature?” I raised my voice. “Who the hell are you trying to kid? You come in each week with a new poem, but I haven't noticed that you've grown as a person from the first piece we heard to the most recent. How can you teach me about my nature when you don't even understand your own?” My voice was getting louder yet. “And I'll tell you something else that's been bothering me since the first day of class.” I was now the only one in the room talking. “I'm sick of listening to your fucking
orgasms
!"

I had a whole lot more to say than that but noticing everybody staring at me was enough to make me shut my mouth for the moment. Besides, after what they'd just heard, anything else would be ... well, it'd be bad. Even Tristan looked a bit shook up by our exchange.

"Are you done yet?” he asked, all too aware that everyone else was wondering the same thing.

"No.” I stood up. “I'm not.” I stared hard into his eyes. “You can be a better person ... if you want to. You can be a positive role model ... if you want to. You can't have me, though, because I don't want you. I refuse to be your victim."

With that, I turned and headed for the back stairs because there would be far fewer people—no one, actually, which is why I usually took them. All I wanted to do was go back to my room and listen to some Enya or Vangelis. That would calm me down. I also wanted to take some Tylenol because I had one mother of a headache, and I was sure it wouldn't go away anytime soon once I sat Alan down and explained what had happened.

"Hey!"

Ryan caught up with me near the music hall, which was, for the moment, far enough away from the student center and Tristan to actually get me to slow down. I'd had a feeling earlier that something good was going to happen today. It apparently got lost in the translation.

"I've got shorter legs, remember?” Ryan tried to catch his breath. “I didn't get a chance to tell you that I've had a few people come up to me this morning asking if I'm that guy who hangs around with you on campus. When I said I am, they either threatened to kick my ass or they...” He stopped. “You don't want to know what they wanted to do with my ass. I mean, what did you do to piss that buttmonkey off so bad? Did you critique one of his poems, force him to listen to some Robert Tepper or what?"

"Buttmonkey?” Okay, I was missing the point. And, just for the record, I love Robert Tepper's music and own both of his albums. “I want to tell you, but not here."

"What are you going to do?"

"Honestly? I don't have a clue.” I felt defeated, he looked defeated, but did that mean we were defeated? “I know there's something I can do, but the idea just isn't presenting itself at the moment."

Maybe Alan could help. I knew he'd want to kill me, but maybe he'd come up with some way to get even with Tristan first. Unfortunately, my soon-to-be ex would be on his way to class right now, and I didn't think I could risk talking to him with so many people around.

"I'll tell you this, though.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I promise you that it ain't over until the fat lady sings."

From within the music hall, the loudest and shrillest note I'd ever heard pierced the winter air. No, this didn't bode well at all.

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I decided to hide out in the library until I knew Alan would be back at his room studying or plotting. Instead of going to my regular spot, though, I chose a new one on the third floor in a relatively unpopulated area. It wasn't nearly as comfortable or scenic as the old one, which is why no one else was there; but I didn't really need comfort and scenery to get my homework done and stay out of the public eye. There was nothing fancy about it at all, just a few rows of long white tables and hardback chairs. Best of all, there was no Tristan. It might have only taken a few words to get him out of my sight, but it was going to take a whole lot more to get him out of my life.

I took out a notepad and tried to scribble down some plot ideas for next week's short story, but my mind kept spinning. The longer piece for the end of the semester was pretty much worked out, only I had to keep coming up with this weekly crap. What could I write about? Someone who looked like Tristan dying in some horrible way? A pitchfork? Leaf blower? Can opener to the head? Fatal rug burns? No. They had all been done before, most recently by Rueben. I needed something original. I needed inspiration. I needed...

"Hey, Andy!"

I froze. All I needed to register was that the voice sounded familiar. It couldn't be ... but then it probably was. Isn't it a saying somewhere that if someone keeps mentioning something or someone that it or he will actually happen or show up? Maybe I was just getting it confused with events in
Poltergeist III
. Hmm ... Tristan/
Poltergeist
... Could there be a connection here? Shitty sequel/shitty person, and hadn't I just left him half an hour ago?

I slowly turned around, jaws already beginning to grind, when my whole day changed. It was Aydin, my exchange student friend from Turkey. I hadn't seen him since before he left for his European vacation during the Christmas break.

"Hey!” He moved towards me, and that's when my day changed yet again, all in less than fifteen seconds. I saw Tristan coming right up behind him with a magazine in his hand. Could he be any more persistent? What was it now? Was he going to diddle someone in the bathroom again? Get a lap dance? It was just sex sex sex with him!

"How was your trick ... trip?"

"It was fantastic!” Aydin grinned, probably mentally reliving some of the phenomenal experiences I'd missed and would probably never experience myself. Bastard. “I keep calling to see if I can stop by, but my phone must not be working because you can never hear what I'm saying.” Oops. “Do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure."

He sat down on the opposite side of the table and faced me. Tristan, meanwhile, sat down at the next table right behind Aydin and also faced me. I was trying my hardest not to look at him, but I didn't dare not keep an eye on him at the same time.

"So, where did you end up going, anyway?"

"We started off in Rome."

"Very nice!” I saw Tristan, out of the corner of my eye, open one of the magazines and fold the page over so that I could see it if I wanted to. I didn't want to. I really didn't. All I had to do was look, though, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. There was no way, no how. Absolutely not. No reason to. Aw, shit! I couldn't stand it. What the hell was he up to? I snuck a peek.

"You saw the Leaning Tower of Penis?"

I think my heart skipped a beat, but it was more because of my faux pas than the sight of a naked and very erect man on the page staring back at me.

"You mean Pisa?” Aydin gave me a strange look, and I shook my head a little too quickly. “Yeah ... Yeah, we got to see it. Spent a day or two there, and then we were off to Germany. They have so many castles there!"

"Well.” I stole another glance as Tristan turned the page. “The royalty there probably felt more protected with so many deep throats around them."

"Moats.” As if he needed to correct me. “And there was an island we went to somewhere near Munich that had a castle and all sorts of animals made out of flowers.” Another page.

"An engorged royal oral arrangement?"

"What?” Okay, there was no way he could have misheard that one.

"A large floral arrangement?” I looked at him with as even-keel a look as I could muster. “I'm sorry. I'm not enunciating very well today. Truth be told, I'm a little jealous at how well-traveled you are.” Another glance. “I've never been out of this anus of the world."

"Anus?"

"Airspace. Area. Take your prick ... pick.” I smiled, pretending I hadn't said anything wrong.

"It didn't sound like you said..."

"I said airspace ... or area.” I confirmed it and really wasn't looking for an argument at this time.

"Take my pick?” He understood me. “Right. London was the best, though. They all had such cool accents."

Tristan turned the page.

"Did you get to see Big Ben's dong?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean...” I closed my eyes and tried to get a grip on my cool, as opposed to something like I had briefly glimpsed in its fully erect glory. “Did you get to see Big Ben and hear him go dong ... well, ding-dong?” Aydin still looked confused. “Like a cock. Clock!"

"We stopped in a pub there just so we could hear it when it went off. It doesn't really make the sounds you just described, though. There was no ‘ding-dong.’”

"You know what that was? I...” I'd better pull something out of my ass. “You're going to laugh. I was thinking about an old rhyme we used to say in grade school: King Kong plays ping-pong with his..."

Aydin was giving me one of the strangest looks I've ever seen.

"You probably didn't have that saying in Turkey, did you? No,” I answered for him, “probably not."

"One thing I really wanted to do, though, was ride their busses.” Up went another picture.

"The double-pecker?"

"Decker.” He smiled. “That was it."

"Well.” I watched as Tristan unfolded the larger center-fold area. “I hope you did your wanking around before you drank."

"Sorry?” Aydin frowned, and another page was turned.

"I said I hoped you did your walking around before you got spanked.” Shit!

"We did so much walking around that I went to bed exhausted every night."

The centerfold had a picture on the opposite side, and a rather mesmerizing one at that.

"I don't think I could have lasted long walking on that long, hard cemennnnn ... t. Cement.” There had to be a better word for it. “Concrete. Sidewalks."

"I know what cement is.” Aydin acted as if I was insulting his intelligence. This whole conversation had to be insulting his intelligence. Oh, but what he didn't know was what was going on behind him...

"Of course you do. I mean, you have television in Turkey, so I'm sure you must have cement, too. It's not like you lived in a third world country. Whew!” I exaggerated a sigh. I was sinking quite quickly now. Oh, hell, I was sunk! “How were the hotels?"

"Reasonable.” Aydin didn't seem as enthusiastic as he had been when we first started the conversation. I think he knew something was going on or that the stress had gotten to me and I was cracking up, but he was being very polite about it. “The travel agent booked us into some decently priced places."

Tristan flipped the cover of the magazine over.

"I can imagine that after a long day of constantly walking around it was nice to come back and spend some quality time bouncing around on a great big head ... bed."

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Tristan was a dead man! He just didn't know it yet. I walked Aydin downstairs, since he had a class to go to, and by the time I returned to the third floor to teach the blond bitch who his daddy was, he'd disappeared.

At this point, I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. My life was crumbling around me, and it seemed that, no matter what I did, nothing stopped it. Nothing stopped
him
. I decided to head home, since I could feel just as sorry for myself there as I could here.

The dorm was quiet, which I interpreted as the calm before the next storm. I'd only ventured out a few feet from the stairwell when I noticed something hanging on my door. I half-expected to see some form of graffiti or a copy of the classified section taped to it. This, however, was a plain brown lunch bag with a slit cut out at the top. Great, something for me to collect hate mail in.

I pulled it down and kicked the door open. These assclowns were going way too far! This was the last straw. I carefully opened the bag and peeked inside. There were four small envelopes, each one numbered, so I tore the first one open.

"What the...” I couldn't believe what I was looking at. Was this some sort of a joke?

"You don't like it?” I turned around and found Alan standing in the hall. He walked in then closed and locked the door behind him. After that, he just kind of stared at me.

"It's a valentine.” I still wasn't sure I was getting the joke—or insult.

"I know. If you look at the bottom, I signed my name to it."

"And the other three?” My voice had become a whisper.

"Well, I wanted to put the bag up on your door last Monday and put a new one in there each day, but I didn't get the chance. Since I was a bit late, I just put all four in it today when I hung it up.” He peered into my eyes. “I hope you aren't disappointed."

"How can I possibly be disappointed when I didn't expect anything?” Maybe I should have asked how I could have been disappointed when I didn't exactly deserve anything. “You told me you thought Valentine's Day was just another Hallmark holiday."

"True, but you aren't just another ... anybody. You're my boyfriend, and someone very wise suggested that I show some initiative.” He sat down on the bed and motioned for me to sit next to him.

"I can't accept these.” I remained standing. “Something happened today that makes it kinda dangerous for you to be seen with me."

"Kim already told me.” The little minx. “Ryan called her, and she called me because she couldn't find you anywhere. She told me about the ad in the paper and who put it there. You have good friends, Andy, and they're worried about you. I am, too, so talk to me."

"Alan.” I slumped down on the floor. “This guy won't stop. Every time I think I've gotten him to lay off, he just shows up again or does something else to make it harder for me to ... to breathe."