Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica (25 page)

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When they awoke it was still Stuart, and for Stuart, still John. “No regrets?” Stuart asked from the pillow.
 
“None at all,” said John. “And you?”
 
Stuart answered with a chuckle and a grin. Then he said, “Well, since we don’t regret that, why don’t I say something we might really have regrets about. But here goes anyway. I’ve never had sex with anyone before you. And I fell for you the moment I saw you, over my shoulder, dressed in oilskins, as I was sharpening my hoe. Fell for you like falling down a hole…Perhaps I’d better stop now.” From the change in his voice it was clear that doubt had undermined his resolve.
 
“No,” said John. “Go on.”
 
“I’m in love with you. There. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
 
“Yes, it does,” said John. “Quite, quite stupid. And wonderful at the same time. And brave. Because it’s what I woke up wanting to say to you, and almost had to bite my tongue. I love you too, Stuart, however silly that sounds after just one short night. I love you too.”
 
They lay together in silence for a few minutes, then Stuart said, “How often do you usually…? I mean, you know.”
 
“Wank off?” The change of subject came like a kind of comic relief, and John laughed in his surprise. But now he felt embarrassed by what he was going to have to say to Stuart. To Stuart—to whom he had just said, for the first time in his life,
I love you
. “Well, maybe twice a day.” He paused. “Is that excessive, do you think?”
 
“Hell, no. I mean, what I mean is, it’s the same with me. Sometimes, actually three or four.” A frown furrowed his brow for a second. “Maybe you think that’s a bit over the top?”
 
“No,” said John. “I sometimes do three or four as well.”
 
“In which case,” said Stuart, “it looks like there’s no time to be lost.” And he ran his hand exploratively down John’s chest and belly, combed his fingers through his light forest of pubes, and seized his morning-massive hard-on; then John, a second later, did the same to him. And a few moments later they surprised each other, and themselves, with spurts of unprecedented power, Stuart’s hitting John’s neck and chin, and John’s leaping clear of his new friend altogether to land on the floor beside the bed.
 
 
They didn’t share a bed again for some time. But their coffee breaks and lunch breaks on the farm were transformed now, as they sat in the lee of a hedgerow in the sunshine, with their Thermos flasks and sandwiches and open shorts. They learned how to fuck each other, as they relaxed into the sureness of each other’s love, jeans rucked around their ankles, as they lay in the long grass. And when there wasn’t time to push their pricks into each other’s holes, they would compete to see which of them could project his spunk jet farther out across the lettuce field with the help of the other’s hand.
 
The start of the university term parted them. But vacations saw them united once again, sleeping over at each other’s parents’ houses and recounting half-guiltily their adventures with other young men as they lay in bed between fucks and sucks and kisses and companionable wanks. Then, as the years passed, other young men faded away and Stuart and John became a pair, first love being transformed, in their special case, into something more enduring. Now, twenty years down the line, they are still together, living just a few miles from the field where that famous stoolball match was played. But as to which team won that memorable event, Marlpits Farm or Stocks Mill, neither can remember for the life of him.
 
TO THINE OWN SELF
 
Cari Zable
 
 
 
 
 
 
M
y sister was eclectic. She called herself bohemian, I called her a dilettante, but we said
eclectic
to other people. There was no trend, style, or phase she wouldn’t adopt, and she dropped them just as fast as she latched on to them. She was a blank canvas that loved to be painted, and she didn’t care if it involved piercings, tattoos, dye jobs, or new wardrobes. Whatever it took to look official, she went there. She could always have it undone.
 
How? We had money; it was that simple. My sister and I were the only beloved children of a Colorado energy baron, and he made up for missing our birthdays with money. We both went to school at the local university, mostly because of convenience and not for any particular program, but he bought us a three-story, four-bedroom house to live in while we were there. Were we spoiled? Fuck, yeah. Did that make us unique at this school? Hardly.
 
Kacie was two years older than me, and graduating in the spring. My sister took all of the personality our parents had to pass on and consumed it, leaving no paltry shreds of ego for whoever came next. That was me, opposite in every way. I was quiet, had exactly no friends instead of a battalion of followers, and actually cared about getting a job after college. I was premed, and embroiled in my last round of weed-out classes before getting to more interesting subjects.
 
Not wanting to be an unprepared victim of my grueling course load, I spent most of my time studying. Kacie spent most of her time hosting. Honestly, if salons were still in style, that’s what you’d have called it. She’d bring groups of people connected with her latest fetish over, provide beer or wine or weed or whatever they preferred, and they’d sit around and talk for hours about their interests. My sister is a faster study than I am. She read up on contemporary feminist philosophy one weekend and elicited spontaneous applause that Monday with her passionate defense of a woman’s right to choose. She picked up skateboarding in less than a day. She plowed through the complete works of William Shakespeare and was able to wiggle her way into a lead role in our campus theater’s production of
Hamlet
. She was to be Ophelia, and instantly our living room transformed from grunge-kid bungalow to rehearsal central.
 
It didn’t really bother me. I never got to know Kacie’s friends. Why bother? They’d be gone before the month was out anyway, or in this case, once the curtain fell. This time was different, though. This time I watched them. Him, rather.
 
I liked the theater. I couldn’t act, but I liked going to plays and I’d always loved Shakespeare. (It was my complete works Kacie stole to memorize from.)
Hamlet
was never my favorite tragedy, but I liked it enough to hang out in the kitchen with my textbooks and laptop and watch them run lines through the doorway. Sometimes a lot of cast members came over, and then usually there was less rehearsing and more partying. Usually it was just the major players though, and that meant Hamlet.
 
Hamlet, otherwise known as Blaine Cavanaugh, was a theater major, also graduating in the spring. He was like Kacie in some ways: bright, articulate, brilliant at what he did; he was also whipcord slender and undeniably handsome. His hair was dark and hung to his shoulders, his skin was Irish pale, and when he was happy, people flocked to bask in his glow. He and Kacie got along like a house on fire, although he always had a faint smile on his face when he spoke with her, as though he could see right through her and found it amusing. At least, that was what I liked to think.
 
The show was a couple weeks away from opening night and a lot of the actors were over at the house one evening, lounging and laughing and drinking wine. I was in the kitchen as usual, studying but also surreptitiously throwing glances out toward Blaine, who, along with Kacie, was the center of attention. I was happy to observe and not interact, but occasionally someone came into the kitchen for something. At those times I tried to look busy, and rarely lifted my face from my books.
 
This time I tried to do the same, only the intruder wasn’t cooperating. After grabbing a bottle of wine off the counter, he took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. “Hey.”
 
It was Blaine. Of course, it would be him. Damn it, I didn’t want to talk to him, I wanted to watch him: voyeuristic but true. However, it looked like I wouldn’t be able to escape talking. “Hey.”
 
“Are you Kacie’s brother?”
 
“Yeah.” Realizing that he probably wanted a name, I added, “Tyler.” I still hadn’t looked up from my books.
 
He walked over to the table where I was sitting and held out a hand. “Hey man, thanks for being so cool about letting us take over your place. I’m Blaine.”
 
I finally looked up and took his hand. “I know.” Green eyes caught mine in their pull, and I found myself staring at him, unable to tear my gaze away. In other words, acting like an idiot. “I mean, Kacie talks about you all the time, and I’ve seen you here before.” I let go of his hand before my palm started to sweat.
 
“It was rude of me not to introduce myself sooner.” Wait, he had manners? What benevolent deity had made this man? “What are you studying?”
 
“Organic chemistry.”
 
“Holy hell, you’re a brain!” He laughed, and I felt my heart leap into my throat. “That’s awesome, man; I could never get my head around that stuff.”
 
I was about to reply with something witty, I hoped, when Kacie called out, “Blaine, what’s keeping you?” She walked into the kitchen and quickly surveyed our little tête-à-tête. “Are you talking with Ty? God, isn’t he cute? Always studying.” She ruffled my hair with a long-nailed hand. “He’s such a little smarty. Come on back into the living room, Blaine; let’s go over the scene again.”
 
That was my sis, speaking about me in the third person—even when I was right there—in as belittling a tone as she could manage, and then promptly forgetting about me. I turned my head back down to my book.
 
“It was nice to meet you, Ty.”
 
Was he still talking with me? Even when the queen bee herself was in the room? I lifted my eyes again and looked at him. Yes, he was still addressing me. “Nice to meet you too,” I mumbled. He gave me a final smile and left, and he took all my attention with him.
 
I liked guys. I’d known this for several years, but never really acted on it. Why? Because it would cause me too much fucking angst, and I didn’t need that, not while I was trying to get through school. Maybe once I was in med school I’d try dating. Hah, right. Still, I liked to admire, and I had just found my new crush. Well, I’d already had a crush on him, but he sealed the deal when he talked to me.
 
He came over almost every day to hang out with Kacie and their theater-buddy-actor folks. I expected him to ignore me now that the ice had been broken, but he didn’t. He always said hello, he always said good-bye. I found myself looking forward to his visits, and was more and more willing to put my textbooks aside and actually talk to him. We had a few things in common: a love for bad kung fu movies, coconut ice cream, and ultimate Frisbee, to name a few. I was no good at ultimate Frisbee, not being very athletic, but it was still a hell of a lot of fun.
 
Needless to say, Kacie was less than thrilled with our interactions. I think she had ideas about making Blaine her flavor of the month, but he wasn’t cooperating, wasn’t pleading to be fucked like most of her men. As for me, I was supposed to be the cute, dweeby little brother that she trotted out every now and then just to prove that yes, she was really human and not a fembot. Whenever she could, she monopolized Blaine’s time and attention.
 
It didn’t bother me. At least, I tried not to let it bother me. After all, they were acting in a play together; they needed to spend time together to get it right. But for the first time in a long time I was reaching out, trying to break down one of my walls of perpetual cynicism, and let myself genuinely enjoy someone’s company, and she kept getting in the way. Talking to her about it was out of the question. Kacie didn’t talk to me, she talked over me. Her message was clear:
Leave Blaine alone
. I didn’t want to, but…
 
And, finally, I didn’t leave him alone, during a rare quiet moment a week before opening night, when Blaine had come over but Kacie wasn’t there to meet him. Gotta love those impromptu advisor meetings about why you might not graduate because of being a fucking slacker. “I don’t mean to distract you from working with Kacie,” I said apologetically after explaining why she wasn’t home. “I can mind my own business while you’re over. You don’t have to feel obliged to talk to me.”
 
Blaine looked at me with a weird expression on his face. “What makes you think I feel obliged?”
 
“Well…” I shrugged uncomfortably. “I know I’m not the sort of person you usually hang out with. You don’t have to just to make Kacie happy; she doesn’t care.” That was the understatement of the year.
 
“You think I only talk to you because of your sister?” He smiled a half smile. “You have the self-esteem of a gerbil, Ty. I like hanging out with you. You’re good company, and you don’t try to impress everyone with your perfection every second of the day, even though you could.”

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