Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (16 page)

"Again,” I explained, “she means penis."

"Are the two of you speaking English?” Ryan was experiencing a grandiose amount of frustration. “Crotch-rockets ... giggle sticks ... Apparently I no longer speak the same language, and quite frankly, I don't even know how to act around you two."

"The same way you always have.” I tried to put him at ease. “Nothing has really changed."

"Yeah, it has.” Ryan looked back and forth from Kim to myself. “Between this and the phone calls I've been getting since that ad came out..."

"What phone calls?” I asked.

"At least fifteen guys have called my home asking me to do something called ‘phone’ or wondering if I'd like to get together and play with our Curious George Custard Cannons."

"Ew.” It was all I could think to say.

"Now, why didn't I think of that one?” Kim mused out loud.

"I wonder how they got your number.” That should have been Kim's and my original response.

"Tell me about it.” Ryan eyed me. “I thought it was some guy from the phone company until he described exactly where it was he wanted me to put the receiver. I don't think that's even legal in west Michigan.” He tried to relax. “My parents are giving me looks I've never seen before, and the whole thing is starting to freak me out."

"Too much drama, honey.” There was a sparkle in Kim's eye. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was somehow aroused. She couldn't be, though, could she? Nobody got horny in the middle of so many personal crises, did they? “I don't think I want to be alone tonight. Maybe I'll give Alan a call."

I knew it.

"Incidentally.” I decided to follow her lead in changing the subject. “What was it Alan did for you that was so nice?"

"Incidentally, that's none of your damn business!” Had the two of them worked this out just to frustrate me? “Maybe I'll just show up in a nice little number tonight and let him help me forget Tristan and the rest of my problems exist."

"I don't think he'd appreciate you showing up like that,” I told her matter-of-factly. Actually, I don't think he'd appreciate
me
showing up like that.

"Why? Girlfriend?” She scoffed at the idea. “He never mentioned one before, and even if he has one, he'll get over her soon enough once he sees me."

"No, it's not that he has a girlfriend.” Telling her was going to be so much worse than I thought. “You're just not his type."

"Do you and I need to step outside!” She started doing the head-wiggle thing. “I just got done telling you that you do not interfere with me and my inches of throbbing pink Jesus."

"Oh, here we go again...” Ryan threw his hands up in defeat.

"Kim, I've talked to him. He likes you just fine, but he's not interested in you romantically."

"How do you know that?” she demanded. “Did he look at you and say, word for word, ‘Andy, I don't want to have sex with Kim. She's not my type.’ Did he? I didn't think so. How do I know? Because my name is Kim, that's how. So, how do you know?"

"Because I've been spooning with him for a few weeks now."

Ryan dropped his pencil and Kim froze.

"Jesus Christ, Andy.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Is there anybody you haven't slept with?"

"I didn't sleep with him,” I clarified. “We spooned."

"Mother
fucker
!” Kim lunged, and Ryan grabbed her as I jumped back. “I am flypaper for dickheads this semester, but I can at least rip yours off!"

Ryan finally managed to push her back down in the chair, but that didn't stop her from looking at me with the intent to do bodily harm.

"What did you do that for?” Ryan accused me.

"What was I supposed to do? He came down to my room and..."

"Not that!” He gestured towards Kim. “Why did you have to tell her the truth? We're not supposed to tell women the truth. The more pathetic we make ourselves look, the smarter they think they are and that equals happiness."

"I thought it would be easier if she heard it from me."

"Well, guess what?” He had a point.

"What the hell is it with me and always being attracted to men who turn out to be gay?” she snarled.

"This isn't the first time?” I knew gay men had a name for women this phenomena happened to, but it escaped me.

"God, no,” Kim answered, like I was crazy to think that for even a moment. “This shit has been happening to me for years. Can't these Hershey Highway riders just come out and tell me before I start thinking that there might be something there? Do they think I won't understand? Am I that big of a bitch that I would do something to ruin their lives just because they want to run off with some other guy and play hide the—"

"
Hell
o!” Ryan cut her off before she could complete that little statement.

"Sweetie? Having any kind of sex phrased as ‘hide the...’ is enough to scare someone off.” It wasn't like that, though. “And just for the record, it can be very tender, sensual, hot..."

"Yo!” Ryan piped up again. “I think Tristan kind of covered the whole what-gay-sex-is-like thing in class.” He looked at Kim and then back at me. “I'm speaking for myself on this one, but I don't need to know about
anybody's
sexual experiences, no matter what their preference. It's a private matter and should stay that way unless one is specifically asked."

"I can respect that,” I told him, and he relaxed a bit. “I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I was never open-minded in thinking about what gay sex might be like and that led to a number of really embarrassing moments with Jordan.” And how. “It turned out okay once I loosened up, but I had to learn the hard way.” They both looked at me. “I mean, I wasn't loose and it wasn't hard. Well, okay, obviously something was hard, but the other stuff wasn't difficult ... once I relaxed. Nobody is ever naturally loose enough the first time.” I didn't think I was explaining this too well. “Lucky for me he was experienced...” That didn't sound too good. “...in that he was a good teacher."

"Which part of ‘I don't want to hear about your sex life’ didn't you understand?” Ryan asked with deadpan sincerity. “For that matter, how did we get on this subject anyway? What are you going to tell me about next? Nipple clips?"

"I wouldn't recommend those,” I told him with complete sincerity.

"I don't want to know about it!"
Ryan stopped just shy of screaming at the top of his lungs.

"I just miss warm fuzzies.” Kim took the floor again.

"Warm fuzzies?” It seemed as if Ryan's linguistic night-mare was far from over.

"Yeah,” I explained it to him, “it's when the sight of a guy makes you tingle all over and his touch just sends a warm wave through your entire body and you can feel it for entire minutes afterwards."

"Again, straight guy here.” Ryan turned back to Kim. “Can't somebody talk about some girly parts or something? Listening to you two is enough to make it shrivel and hide for the next two weeks."

"Here.” I got up and went to the other closet where I kept my storage trunk. After a few moments of rummaging around, I found what I was looking for. “These might help get you back in the mood.” I tossed the package of nipple clips onto his lap.

"Andy!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Eager chatter about upcoming trips for spring break floated through the air even though it was still a few weeks away. Plane and hotel reservations had to be made in advance, tanning booths had to be booked and old stories of last year's trips and conquests had to be reinvented. Straight people were so weird sometimes.

Meanwhile, the world for the rest of us went on. The talk I'd had with Ryan and Kim several days earlier had gone well enough, and at least they'd agreed to help me combat Tri—the Lord of the Loins, as Kim now referred to him. I also continued to spend quality time with Alan and ask tons more questions about him. Since he thought he was in love with me, I might as well discover all there was to know, which I'm confident he enjoyed.

Yeah, I'm not buying it, either.

While he was intelligent, multi-cultural, well-mannered and rarely dressed in clothes without an expensive name attached to them, the boy had never eaten a hot pretzel with mustard from the mall or a Coney dog, fries and a Coke from National Coney Island. I mean ... please. Also unlike me, he had an annoying younger brother and an ex-military father who would probably come after me with a shotgun if he ever found out that his son had a boyfriend. That was certainly more than enough reason for me to live up to that middle name I professed to have.

While I'd only recently “come out” to myself and a few others, Alan had been out to himself since he was old enough to know the main difference between boys and girls. He'd always known he was attracted to guys and never questioned it, though he did keep it to himself, which was a wise choice considering his military father. Girls had always been and still were attracted to him, and he did date them from time to time, but he never let it get serious. His plan was simply to wait until he was far away at college before investigating his options.

Alan also learned about me, but not because he asked. I was just so overjoyed with being alive, having a boyfriend and being able to talk about how I felt that I didn't think I needed to be asked. When he did steer a conversation to something other than my being quiet, he stuck to the basics. While my music appealed to him, the posters in my room didn't, my shoes were a $14.99 K-Mart special, jeans and T-shirts made up my entire wardrobe, the only phrase I could remember in Cantonese was how to call someone a “butthead,” I seemed to generate heat and sweat a lot when he slept next to me in bed and I was unable to disguise the blank look on my face when he said something I didn't understand, like the entire Tommy episode. What a fiasco that was.

I was in his dorm room one afternoon while his roommate was in class, and his humidifier—a.k.a. the pitcher of water near the heating vent—toppled over onto my jacket. Exactly how that happened isn't important, but the fact that it did caused me some distress, since Alan lived two buildings away from me and it was still freezing outside. Being the chivalrous person that I'd come to expect, he offered me a jacket out of his closet, something I could have sworn he said belonged to Tommy.

"I am not wearing someone else's jacket,” I informed him.

"What are you talking about?” he asked, mildly irritated at my rebuff.

"I thought you said I was your first? Now you suddenly pull something out of your closet that belonged to Tommy? Who's Tommy?” I stared at him. “I'm not in the habit of wearing an old flame's clothes. I'd rather freeze."

"You're a boob.” It was Alanspeak for I was acting retarded. “I said it
is
a Tommy, not that it
belonged
to Tommy, and why am I explaining this to you, anyway? You're joking, right? You do know what a Tommy is?"

Apparently, this was something I indeed should have known, so I decided to come clean.

"Of course.” I chuckled and tried desperately to associate meaning with what he was talking about. “Like someone isn't going to know who a Tommy is?"

"You almost got away with that one.” He crossed his arms. “I think it's because you've actually started to mask that look on your face that so blatantly tells me you have no clue what I'm talking about. If you'd said someone isn't going to know
what
a Tommy is instead of who, you might just have pulled it off."

"Semantics.” I shrugged my shoulders.

"You haven't figured out that there's no such thing as static psychotherapy but you understand semantics? Darwin would love you.” He went to the door. “I'm going to go grab some towels. When I get back, I expect that you'll have your story straight."

And with that, he left the room and I dove for the phone. Kim might know the answer!

"If you're male, straight, cute, hung and naked, I'm available."

"Miss Kim!” I spoke quickly, “I need your help and I need it fast.” The wrong thing went through her mind. Typical. “Not that kind of help. This is Andy. Don't talk, just listen. I'm over at Alan's and I need to know what a Tommy is?"

"It's a seventies rock opera by The Who.” She sounded as if I should have known that, too. Apparently, I should know everything. But to think, there was a designer clothing line based on a rock opera. Maybe it was just expensive and that's why he liked it. “The only reason I know that is because we had some white neighbors on the block who..."

"That's nice. Let's do lunch. Kiss noises!” I hung up a moment before Alan came back into the room. He looked at me and I grinned.

"You have something you want to say?"

"No, not really.” I paused dramatically and tried my best to act impressed. “I just think it's really great you're familiar with the whole seventies period and the nostalgia of it all."

"Okay ... what?"

"The whole Tommy thing. Like I wouldn't know it's a rock opera by The Who.” He must have thought I was really stupid. “I figure you saw the movie and then the line of clothing came out and, of course, you had to have it because it's popular."

Alan was giving me a pitying look, but his phone rang before I could ask him if he had anything to say. I picked it up. “Hello?"

"Don't you ever hang up on me like that, you mutha—"

"Sorry, you have the wrong number.” I hung up and looked over at Alan. “Someone who wanted ... someone else.” He was still staring at me. “What?"

"If you didn't have any idea what a Tommy was, why didn't you just ask?” He walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “A Tommy is a Tommy Hilfiger, the fashion designer, not a rock opera by The Where."

"Who."

"What? Never mind. It's not important.” He sighed. “Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

"Yeah, I have to get back to my room so I can grab my extra winter jacket while this one dries, then I've got to get to class."

"My boyfriend.” He hugged me. “The moron."

"You've called me a boob and moron all in the last five minutes. God's going to punish you if you keep saying things like that.” At least I got the last word in.

"He already is,” Alan muttered.