The Halloween Surprise

by Seth King

  The

  Halloween

  Surprise

  Seth King

  This Halloween, the full moon has a few tricks up its sleeve…

  Harry f*cking Young. Mr. Perfect, himself. Hot, smart, and with a British accent to boot.

  He’s the guy everyone on campus wants.

  Except me.

  Because I’m his roommate, and he’s straight, and living with someone so scorching and off-limits is becoming pure torture…

  On Halloween night, I head to a gay costume party to blow off some steam.

  Soon I hit on a tall, masked stranger…

  And find Harry’s eyes underneath the mask.

  That’s right: all along, my “straight” roommate was hiding something.

  And soon it becomes clear that the person he really wanted all this time was me.

  On one hand, Harry is perfect, and anyone with a pulse would jump at this chance. Duh.

  Then again, you can’t hook up with your roommate and live to tell the tale without ruining your dynamic forever, right?

  From the looks of things, I’m about to find out…

  And either way, this will clearly be a Halloween to remember forever.

  For good, or for bad…

  Copyright © 2019 by Seth King

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  “If you’re looking for trouble, you’ve come to the right place …

  If you’re looking for trouble, look right in my face.”

  -Britney Jean Spears

  for Martin

  as it always was

  even after all these years

  Prologue

  Harry Young

  I wake slowly. My head pounds and my mouth is dry in a way that can only mean one thing: hangover. But I keep my eyes closed and roll over a little, desperate to cling to the last few moments of semi-sleep. That’s when my leg falls against Ashley’s leg.

  But wait – no, this doesn’t feel right. My only booty call – err, ex booty call, Ashley – ditched me and moved to Atlanta. So this cannot be Ashley. In fact, this leg against mine is firm and solid and somewhat muscular…

  That’s right, not to generalize or assume, but this feels like a man’s leg.

  My eyes still closed, I shift a little and come up against a chest. It is firm and flat, the unmistakable chest of a male. Then I hear someone breathing, deep and raggedy, definitely nothing like Ashley’s soft snore. But this cannot be, can it?

  Oh, wait.

  Yes, it can.

  I am in bed with a man…

  A man I had sex with last night.

  And that’s not even the most shocking detail…

  I wince as the night starts flooding back to me, faster and faster like an ocean tide rising before a storm. The flashing neon lights of the club (the first gay club I’d ever visited, actually), the tinkle of ice in my glass, the breeze on the sidewalk when I abandoned all caution and decided to leave the club with him…

  I wasn’t wasted or blacked out, not by any means – which might be even more confusing. Because it means that everything I did, I wanted to do. I was a willing participant – hell, if anything, I was firmly in the driver’s seat.

  So, flirting with a guy – I wanted that.

  Leading him out of the bar – I did that.

  Suggesting we take off our clothes – I said that.

  And everything we did on the couch, and in this bed, everything that came next, before we fell asleep – I wanted all that, too.

  I feel him move against me, then hear his breath start to quicken.

  I finally open my eyes. Fuck. However I feel about this, whatever I’m going to do about it, I’m going to have to decide soon – because he’s about to wake up. His dick hardens against my lower back, and in the mirror across the room, I see his eyes start to flutter.

  Well, too late – he’s already waking up.

  Oh, and one more tiny little detail.

  Did I mention the fact that he’s my roommate?

  Fourteen Hours Earlier

  Halloween Night

  Josh Nash

  “Trick-or-treat!”

  I put on my best “excited to see the kids” face and grab the basket of Dollar Tree candy by the door. Since we live in an off-campus housing complex that is only semi-affiliated with our school, I figured we’d get some trick-or-treaters, but I had no idea we’d get this many. How am I supposed to get ready for tonight when I have to be running back and forth to the door all evening like a butler?

  Of course there’s my roommate who could potentially help, but…well, let’s just say this isn’t really his thing. Nothing is his thing, apparently, besides working out in the third bedroom he turned into a gym, and bringing home the occasional girl to bang the shit out of in his bedroom.

  And do I listen sometimes, as creepy as that sounds? Sure. I may be his roommate, but I am still human – and I’ve never heard anyone as…well, shall we say, adventurous, as Harry Young outside of BDSM porn.

  But it’s not that creepy of me – I mean, after all, his headboard backs right up against mine, so it’s not like I could escape the sounds, even if I wanted to.

  And if you got one look at him, you’d listen in, too.

  But don’t get me started…

  I hand out some candy to three middle-school-aged girls dressed as an angel, a ghost, and some new TV character I don’t recognize, in a red wig and long black stockings on her arms and legs.

  “Stoppp, Madison,” the angel suddenly says, grabbing candy out of the ghost’s bag and taking it for herself. “He gave us one piece each, you can’t take another one, you greedy bitch.”

  “Fuck off,” the ghost says coolly, before taking out her iPhone and scrolling through her notifications.

  I roll back on my heels. Tweens – they just don’t make them like they used to anymore, do they?

  I end the drama by giving each of them their own handfuls of candy before closing the door in their faces. Then I put on a Halloween playlist and start putting together my look for the night.

  Okay, so it’s just a thong and a pair of lense-less nerd glasses, and there isn’t much of a “look” to put together. But like Cady Heron said in Mean Girls – Halloween is the only night a gay like me can dress like a total slut, and nobody can say anything about it.

  It actually works on a larger scale, too – there’s a reason they call Halloween the Gay Christmas. With gays, it’s kind of like the slut rule, but with being flamboyant, as a whole – we can dress as crazy/freaky/flamboyantly as we want, and everyone just assumes we’re dressed up for the holiday. (Trust me, every other day of the year, we are not extended such generosity. Society may be moving forward, but I still have to nervously check out my outfit in the mirror before I leave my house, every single time.)

  Oh, and plus, I just got dumped, and have a fabulous post-breakup diet body to show off tonight, so…ka-ching! Sluttiness and freakiness all the way around.

  As I wait for my friend Ryan to text me with our plans for the night, I glance at Jamie Lee Curtis screaming like a banshee on Halloween on my TV and smile. I genuinely do just love the shit out of Halloween. Maybe a little too much, but whatever – we all have our nuances. And after the month I’ve had, I deserve it…

  I actually start celebrating during the first few cool mornings in August and September, when I’ll start taking out some autumnal decorations and dotting
them throughout my house.

  But once October hits, it’s all over: my house becomes an explosion of pumpkins and ghosts and little Styrofoam gravestones, and not a second passes when my TV is not showing some Halloween-related movie. I also take a trip into the South Carolina hills to gawk at the leaves, even during hotter years when the foliage has barely begun to transition and I’m hyping myself up to stare at a sea of green forest. What can I say? Like I mentioned before, they do call it “gay Christmas” for a reason!

  After a few little Disney princesses beg for candy and then head down the stairs, my best friend Ryan finally texts me:

  Ryan: SOS, 911 – I can’t decide on a dress for tonight!!!

  Josh: Excuse me, I thought there was an actual emergency, like climate change or a tsunami or something

  Ryan: This IS an emergency. A fashion emergency. I’ve gotta look hot so I can find a husband tonight!

  Josh: …A husband?

  Ryan: Come on, it’s cuffing season, duh. I’d rather walk off the edge of the Talmadge bridge in my highest heels than spend Christmas alone again.

  Ryan: And ahem, not EVERYONE has a gorgeous movie star roommate they can go home and jack off to if they don’t happen to land any dick tonight.

  Ryan: And Happy Halloweenie, btw!

  Josh: Ugh, don’t remind me about Harry right now, he’s working out in his home gym, and his grunts are making me wetter than Niagara Falls…

  Ryan: Omg, just the mental image of him working out…

  Ryan: ***endless gay moaning***

  Josh: Shut up, weirdo

  Josh: Okay, back to the important stuff, which is fashion.

  Josh: What about the really eighties-looking dress we found at Goodwill? With the poufy sleeves? You did say you wanted to be Alexis Carrington from Dynasty this year…

  Ryan: Meh. I decided it’s too dowdy. I’ll look like a grandma. I really need to look like a slut tonight.

  Josh: Hmm. We can fix this.

  Ryan: How?

  Josh: How about this…

  Josh: Cut off the shoulder poufs, slice a few inches off the bottom of the gown, then cut a slit all the way up your left leg. Maybe try that?

  Ryan: I knew they called you the Halloween Queen for a reason. That sounds skanky and perfect. See you soon!!!

  Ryan: BTW, how are you doing??? It’s officially been one month since your breakup…

  Ryan: :((((((

  Josh: Thanks for the reminder, you shady bitch. I was trying to enjoy myself. Bye. I’ll drop by your place to pregame soon. Hope you don’t look too dowdy!

  Ryan: Trust me, I won’t, thanks to you. I’ll come out to the gate to get you, my complex just installed some crazy new security system. Just look for the whore in the red dress. Xoxo!

  ~

  I’m heading to the bathroom when I pause and see something that makes me stop breathing: the door into the gym is cracked. My heart pounding, I creep closer. And then I am staring at another crack: my roommate Harry’s crack as he bends over to pick up a weight.

  And it is the best crack I have ever seen.

  Goddamn – a straight man with a perfect ass is kind of a waste, no?

  I mean, I know everyone is entitled to be who they are, of course, and that includes a straight dude choosing not to partake in anal play or be with men or whatever. But also, on the other hand…I mean, hello! Prostate stimulation is the eighth wonder of the world, as is just getting to spend the night with a big, round bubble ass in your bed. I almost feel bad for straight men, really. A whole lifetime of never getting your bum played with sounds more like a death sentence than a life to me, TBH!

  I think about this is I stand in the doorway, admiring Harry’s ass. My (regrettably straight) roommate Harry Young is the kind of guy that will ruin your life just by walking into the room. He’s so hot he doesn’t even have to talk – he just stands there, and people smile at him like he just solved a math equation while rescuing a dozen puppies from a forest fire. Being around him feels like holding your breath: you’re suspended in silence.

  I could go on and on, as Ryan often points out. Harry is exactly six feet tall – I saw that on a football program thingy he left on the counter once – and two hundred pounds. (I would guess he’s lost maybe ten of that since his appendix surgery earlier this month, but he’s gaining it back quickly.)

  He’s got a smooth, jacked body, and hair straight and black, so black it shines blue sometimes. But his smile is best, so big and confident he could book a Crest commercial…or no, maybe his pecs are best, two perfect mounds between his biceps…or maybe his ass is best, rounder and thicker than anyone I know who isn’t employed as a go-go dancer at the gay bars…

  Basically Harry looks like nobody I’ve ever seen. His dad is from Singapore and met his mother in boarding school in England, meaning he also has a sort of half-British accent, a kind of crispness and formality to the way he speaks. It’s as if God was like, Hey, this dude isn’t hot enough already, so let’s throw in a panty-dropping accent just for shits and giggles!

  Anyway, he’s unique and beautiful and sexy and just…

  Okay, Josh. Calm down.

  He’s also the running back (whatever that means) of the football team, meaning we…don’t have much in common. Like, putting it mildly. While I do shots in the kitchen with my gays, pre-gaming for nights at the gay bars, he pumps iron in his little gym he built in the extra bedroom, and comes out for the sole reason of making those gross protein shakes. Actually, he’s kind of a dick. Well, I guess he’s not a dick, in general – he just doesn’t speak to me for some reason.

  He used to, I guess. Until the Night Of Horror, when he barged into my room asking if I knew where the remote was, and I happened to be getting it doggie from my occasional hookup, Austin…

  Yep. My own roommate walked in on me getting fucked.

  Ever since then, there’s been a thaw. Or…maybe it was that, or maybe it wasn’t, but something definitely changed. He’ll say one or two words to me in the morning, then bolt. I guess I don’t try, either – I just stopped caring. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to speak around him, even if we were on speaking terms. He’s too hot, and it just makes me too nervous.

  But still, I’m in no hurry to leave just yet, standing here in the doorway. This view is just too good right now, even if I’m being a total creeper. I mean, those compression pants, those wing muscles under his arms, that bulge…

  Let’s just say that I often see porn comments full of vicious and racist stereotypes about certain body parts as they relate to race, and I can say with certainty that this stereotype is false. And-

  “Are you watching me?”

  I freeze. It’s Harry. He’s turned his head, and is now staring directly at me.

  I was caught red-handed.

  “Oh, um…”

  “Well, are you?” he asks.

  Something in me disassociates. I don’t respond. Instead, I push open the door, driven by something I can’t describe. He stares at me as I walk forward, sink to my knees, and pull down his athletic shorts. His cock springs to life, and I shove it all the way down my throat as he starts to moan my name and grasp at my hair…

  “Um. Hello? Earth to Joshua?”

  Oops. I got carried away by another Harry fantasy. Sue me.

  “Oh,” I say, still standing outside the door. “Uh, sorry, no, I was just seeing if you knew the door was open…”

  I can’t figure out the look in his eyes. Finally he glances away. “Oh. Yeah, it was getting a little hot in here, I needed some air, sorry.”

  I just blink. Harry has a somewhat odd way of talking to people: he doesn’t look for approval and he’s not easily impressed or surprised, and people don’t know what to do with that. Including me. As I watch, frozen, he lifts two weights above his shoulders, making his arms and back bulge in his teeny tank top. God, if he only knew the effect he had on me…

  “Anyway,” he says, “thanks. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish th
is workout before I go out tonight.”

  I pause.

  “Wait, you’re going out?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  Because Harry Young does a lot of things, but he does not go out.

  He sets down the weights, stands, and stares at me in the mirror.

  “Perhaps. I’m just doing something silly. Hey, what are you doing tonight, anyway?”

  I just gawk at him. “Um…”

  “What?”

  “It’s just that, uh, you’re talking to me.”

  “And? I speak to you plenty.”

  “Sure you do…” I murmur.

  “What was that?”

  God, the way he talks, the way he stands, the way he puts his arms on his hips – he’s almost scary, in a way that has nothing to do with Halloween.

  “Nothing, nothing,” I say. “Anyway, there’s this costume party at some rich gay guy’s giant condo on the river. You know how the gays go all out for Halloween. Or, actually, maybe you don’t know that…sorry.”

  He gets a weird look and turns away again. “Oh, well, okay. Have fun.”

  “Thanks?”

  But then he looks back. “Hey, by the way, what are you gonna wear?”

  “…Me? Why?”

  His lips part, then something in his face changes. Then he swallows, and his face goes blank again. “Because if someone who is dressed as a devil or a demon or a ghost appears in my living room at three in the morning, I’ll need to know I won’t need to call the police or beat someone into submission…”

  I feel myself slump. Okay, so he does have a point, even if it’s more words than he’s ever spoken to me before, and even if I was hoping he’d want to see my costume.