Academic Pursuits

by Harper, Lou

  “Bryan Grant is bendier than a Chinese gymnast.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know he was gay.”

  “Neither does he.”

  Jo gave me a skeptical look. “So how do you know?”

  “I just do. It’s a gift. Except, as you know, when they’re British.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about Bryan?”

  “Positive. He’s most definitely gay, but can’t admit it.”

  Jo leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and squinting her eyes. “So what are you gonna do—ambush him in a bathroom and blow him?”

  “Goodness, no! That could be a disaster. See, Bryan’s not like Hollins at all.”

  “You mean Bill.” She smirked.

  I ignored the comment and went on. “Bryan is an earnest and smart guy. When someone like him digs himself so deep into denial, you can’t just yank him out.”

  “But then what are you gonna do? I know you have something up your sleeve.”

  She knew me well.

  “It’s not quite like that. Bryan has to make his own way out. All I can do is open the door a crack and drop some breadcrumbs.”

  Jo looked at me from under a forehead full of confused wrinkles. “Explain the breadcrumbs part?”

  “I met Bryan’s parents briefly before the Christmas break; they seemed like good people, but in a traditional, square sort of way. That’s the environment Bryan grew up in. The only openly gay man he knew growing up was his mother’s hairdresser.”

  “Oh, that’s such a stereotype!”

  “Tell me about it. His idea of homosexuals comes from stupid TV shows and their stereotypes.

  “Okay, so you set out to change Bryan’s view of gays. I don’t see how it’s different than what you did with Bill Hollins.”

  “Bill’s a simple guy. All I had to do was show him that it feels good to get your dick sucked, no matter who does it. Bryan on the other hand, over-analyses everything; if I did the same thing, he could go into a major freak-out.”

  “Are we at the breadcrumbs part yet?”

  “Getting there. Bryan and I took the same history class last semester. We just happened to sit next to each other and started talking. I figured him out pretty quick, but didn’t know what I could do about it, or even if I should. I was taking that Bio 101 class, too, at the time and asked him to tutor me—him being pre-med. You know how much I suck at the sciences. He got my final grade up to a B from a certain C.”

  “You took that class for pass or fail! It didn’t matter what grade you got as long it wasn’t an F.”

  “I didn’t tell him that, and so we spent many hours together in the library. You know how it goes: one minute you’re discussing mitosis; the next you’re chatting about yourself, your family, who you had a crush on when you were fourteen.”

  “So all you did was talk?”

  “Yeah. It was all about presenting being gay as an ordinary fact, as opposed to an intimidating theory. Empirical evidence irresistible to a clever guy like Bryan. I was extra careful not to make any overtures toward him. Of course, I can’t help being naturally desirable.” I pretended not to hear Jo’s snort and continued. “I’m pretty sure by the time Bryan went home for the Christmas break, the thinking process in his brain and the biological one in his nether parts were in full swing.”

  “So what now?”

  “It’s up to him. If I’m right, he should be ready to bust that closet door open.”

  “I guess that means you’re going to O’Riley’s on Friday?”

  “But of course! Aren’t you? Marcus seems to be pretty sweet on you.”

  “He’s sweet on everyone with two X chromosomes. He’s a cock with a person attached to it—not unlike you.”

  “Now you’re hurting my feelings.”

  “You have the nerve to talk about feelings? I can’t believe you kept this secret from me all this time!”

  “I’m a very discreet person.”

  “Discreet, my ass.”

  “Yeah okay, first I couldn’t tell you what I was doing because I didn’t know I was doing it, and later…I dunno. It’s a very delicate undertaking, you know?”

  “Are you implying I’m not delicate?”

  “That’s not the first word that comes to my mind when I think of you.”

  “Mmpf.”

  “Do you remember the time when you told little Tommy Custer there was no Santa Claus?”

  “He would’ve figured it out eventually anyway. I just saved him the trouble.”

  “He was five!”

  “So? When I was three, my parents explained to me that Christmas was a pagan ritual appropriated by Christianity, and I turned out fine.”

  I swallowed the retort on the tip of my tongue. “Just don’t say anything to Bryan, okay?”

  “You’ve got my word.”

  My phone made a chiming sound.

  “Oh blimey, I gotta run to class,” I said, and quickly shoveled some food into my face.

  Jo laughed. “It’s cute how even your accent starts to sound British before you go to Professor Woodford’s class. You’re such a pathetic Brit-junkie!”

  I didn’t protest because one: she was right, and two: my mouth was full. I waved goodbye and picked up my food tray, still chewing.

  I rushed out the door and slammed straight into a wall of man. I bounced straight off, losing my balance in the process. He grabbed me by the shoulders and steadied me.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!” I yelped, looking up.

  Roger Hunt’s dark brown eyes looked back at me from a face full of consternation.

  “You need to slow down before somebody gets hurt,” he said.

  His hands were still gripping me by the shoulders.

  “I’ll take that under advisement. Now if you excuse me…”

  I gave him a glare and pulled against his iron grip. He let his hands fall aside with what seemed like reluctance. He opened his mouth to speak, but I was already late for class.

  “I gotta run,” I said and split.

  ***

  The class with Professor Woodford was yet another hour of sweet agony. I sat in the last row, slumped down in my chair, and really tried to pay attention. It didn’t help. By the end of the class, I was hot and bothered again.

  I wobbled out of the classroom and straight into Bill Hollins. Seeing him only made things worse: Bill didn’t have the accent, but I couldn’t look at him and not think about his beautiful, milky-white ass. If I didn’t have a wank soon I’d explode.

  “We need to talk,” Bill said solemnly.

  “All right. I’m free for the next hour. How about you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Let’s go to the Fox Hole,” I suggested.

  The coffee house sat at the edge of campus, with the added benefit of not having one of those cutesy, coffee-related names. I would’ve patronized it for the name alone, but they had good coffee, too.

  Bill agreed, and we took off. I tried to think unsexy thoughts, but my boner refused to go away.

  “Get me a large latte,” I told Bill as we got there and I tottered off to the bathroom.

  Fortunately, it was a single stall deal, and I had full privacy. I locked the door with one hand and unzipped my pants with the other. I tried to finish up the fantasy with Professor Woodford, but instead the image I conjured up was of me balls deep in Bill’s ass, while the good professor was spanking my own buttocks with a wooden ruler, telling me what a “naughty lad” I’d been. As fantasies went, it was weird but effective—I came hard and fast. With the distraction out of the way, I was ready to face whatever Bill was stewing about.

  I found him sprawled in a big blue armchair. Fox Hole went for the bohemian style: not a single piece of furniture matched, and neither did the coffee mugs. A stack of board games sat in a corner, and a motley assortment of student artwork decorated the walls. It was a comfortable, relaxed place where students and faculty alike could spend hours between classes. I looked around but di
dn’t see anyone I knew.

  I put my ass down on a couch across from him. Now with my brain having enough blood supply again, I could see he was troubled.

  “Bill, what’s wrong?”

  “I was thinking what you’d said about not being gay, and it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  Since I’d first met Bill, I’d learned he wasn’t a fast thinker, but once he sunk his teeth into a problem he wouldn’t let go till something shook loose. Our interrupted post-coital conversation had happened days ago, and he must’ve been chewing on this problem since. I had half a mind to let him believe he was a full-fledged part of the rainbow pride to save myself some trouble, but it would’ve been unethical.

  So I decided to use an analytical approach. “Let me ask you this: back when you were on the football team, during those manly huddles on the field, or those steamy showers in the locker room, have you ever had a raging hard-on, or the urge to fall on your knees and suck your teammates’ cocks? Maybe two at a time?”

  “No!” he protested, with sincere horror on his face.

  “There you have it.”

  The wheels were turning in his head, at their own pace. “Have you?”

  “Well, obviously, I wasn’t on the football team, but I used to have a extremely elaborate fantasy about the whole lot of them ravaging me in the shower.” I didn’t tell him about the best part of the fantasy: the coach catching us and joining in the fun—Bill was already staring at me funny.

  The cute twink manning the counter that day sashayed up with our coffees. He gave me a more than friendly smile. He wasn’t my type—too young, too skinny—but he was without question appealing. I couldn’t help but take a parting glance at his pert little bum as he strolled away.

  “You just checked that guy’s ass out,” Bill said, half amused, half disbelieving.

  “It’s what I do, Bill, check guys out. Tell me, before me have you ever gotten aroused by another man?”

  His crunched up expression was a clear no. I looked at him with the smug self-satisfaction of a man who’d made his point. However, Bill wasn’t done yet. He was like a dog with a bone.

  “I think what we did was pretty damn gay,” he proclaimed.

  “We haven’t done anything a straight couple with a little imagination and a few toys couldn’t accomplish. And trust me, plenty of them do.”

  Bill sipped his coffee, digesting the information, and I wondered why I was working so hard to keep him in the hetero herd. I was fond of Bill and his manly rump, but didn’t want him to get too attached, and I didn’t want to mislead him either.

  “It was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he said at last in hushed tones, fighting valiantly to hang onto his natural pale coloration and losing.

  “No offense, but how much sex have you had?”

  “I fooled around with girls in high school,” he said defensively.

  “High school girls?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “They were probably as clueless as you. You should’ve fooled around with their moms.”

  “So you really think I’m totally straight?”

  “I think you’re for most part a hetero guy, with a great potential for kinks. You just need to meet an adventurous girl. Remember, the key for good sex is communication. You need to be forward about what you want.”

  I let Bill mull my suggestion over, and so we finished our coffees in a comfortable silence. My mind was on Bryan Grant. I wondered if he was ready to slip out of the closet yet, and what I was to do if he wasn’t.

  Bill’ voice roused me from my contemplations. “Jamie, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-two. Why?”

  “You sound so confident about this stuff.”

  “I told you about boarding school; I’ve been fooling around with boys since I was twelve or so.”

  “Ah. That makes sense. So how come you’re still in your junior year?”

  “After high school, I spent a whole year backpacking around Europe.”

  My eyes clouded over with the reminiscence.

  “Your parents let you do that?” Bill asked, surprised.

  “Well, in theory I was staying with my mother’s distant relatives in Düsseldorf, but the Krugers couldn’t have cared less what I did. With a Europass and a Youth Hostel card, Europe is your oyster. You should try it sometime.”

  “Sounds fun.” A hint of longing colored his voice.

  “Happiest year of my life. Unfortunately, in exchange for my parents letting me have a year off, I’d agreed to go to my father’s alma mater when I got back.” I shuddered.

  “Which was what?”

  “We shall not speak its name. It was a very conservative private university. The administration didn’t even permit a gay and lesbian student group.”

  “That’s why you transferred?”

  “Not quite. You see, there was a little…scandal. Let’s just say at least one of those sanctimonious assholes is a complete hypocrite. All parties involved agreed it would be best if I moved on. I also changed my major, while I was at it.”

  “What was it before?”

  “Business. I picked it to make my father happy, but nothing I do will make him ever happy, so I gave up trying. On the other hand business made me miserable, so I switched to English. How about you, Bill?”

  “I haven’t declared a major yet.”

  He got that expression on his face indicating he was chewing on a new bone—metaphorically speaking. I hoped I hadn’t put another flea in his ear. I didn’t want his family coming after me with a shotgun because he ran off or something. I figured them for the sort who exercised their rights to bear arms.

  When the time came, we walked back to campus together. Before we parted ways, Bill turned to me.

  “Jamie?”

  “Yes, Bill?”

  “Are you free tonight? Can I come by?”

  “Huh?”

  “I really need help with that homework assignment,” he explained. “But maybe we could do stuff afterward?”

  “And by stuff, you mean sex?”

  He nodded. Eagerly.

  Okay, I didn’t see that coming. Well, gift horse, etcetera.

  “Sure, come by after five.”

  Chapter Five

  Magnolia Boulevard stretched from the suburbs of Louisville all the way to downtown. In an east-west direction. One section of it ran parallel to the main campus, although a couple of blocks south of it. Informally, everyone called the surrounding area University Town, or U-Town for short. The apartment buildings around there were largely occupied by students. Locals—some of them faculty—tended to reside in the single-family homes on the western border. The post office marked the western edge of U-Town. The block with the restored old movie theater did the same to the east.

  Those ten or so blocks were chock-full of restaurants, bars, and stores catering to all the everyday needs of college students. Next to the local bakery, a small market provided fresh produce daily. Living there proved especially convenient for students without their own transportation. If you went into any of the stores there, the students-to-locals ratio came to about half and half.

  O’Riley’s was a pub a few blocks outside of U-Town, and the ratio inside skewed sharply in favor of the locals. It would have been a dark, smoky joint if not for the smoking ban, but the smell of long-gone cigarettes still lingered in the furnishings. The place had a lot of character, for sure. The bar and booths lining the walls had to be decades old. A motley crew of framed photographs and stuffed wildlife hung on the walls but you could hardly make them out in the dim light. I suspected the lights were kept low to conceal the general disrepair of the place.

  When I arrived, fashionably late, Marcus and company were already there, occupying the largest booth in the corner.

  “Hey, Jamie!” he greeted me, as I pulled up a chair.

  I said hi to everyone. Aside from Marcus and Bryan, I saw a couple of guys and gals I knew only in passing. After flagging down the waitress
, I asked for another pitcher of beer and a clean glass.

  “Is Jo coming?” Marcus asked expectantly.

  “Nah, sorry, man, she’s got a date.” I lied, but so what?

  He looked disappointed for about two seconds, then started flirting with the waitress. She gave him a look like he was a wad of gum stuck to the sole of her shoe. I didn’t blame her; Marcus was a bit of an ass.

  “So, Bryan, how’s it going?” I turned to my object of interest.

  “Good. Busy. How about you—still an English major?”

  I laughed. Bryan knew it was my second major. “Yeah, so far. How about you—still wanna be a doctor?”

  He nodded seriously.

  “I wonder which one of us will graduate first,” I joked.

  The setting didn’t favor my plan of drawing Bryan out. Wedged between Marcus and a blonde girl who was trying to chat him up, too, Bryan started to clam up—a predicable reaction from an introverted guy like him getting too much attention. With the exception of Bryan, they were an obnoxious bunch. Too noisy, too full of themselves. By the time the band started playing, I knew the evening would be a bust. I caught Bryan shooting a few promising looks at me, but there wasn’t much I could do about them. It was pretty clear Marcus was trying to fix Bryan up with the blonde. He probably thought he was doing his “shy” friend a favor. The road to hell was paved with well-meaning friends.

  When Marcus’s many advances were all rebuffed by the waitress and a couple of female patrons, he suggested taking the party elsewhere—to some “hip” place he knew. He didn’t exactly invite me, but I could’ve tagged along. I passed. I knew there would be another chance to give Bryan the last push from the parting look he gave me, but tonight wasn’t the night.

  However, the night didn’t have to be a total loss. I scanned the room for a possible hook-up and cursed under my breath as I spotted wide shoulders clad in blue and black plaid. Okay, this was Missouri; people wore plaid shirts like it was in fashion—the man could have been anyone. Then he moved and I saw his face—it was Roger Hunt, all right. This guy was my personal albatross. Sexy, distant albatross. Either that or a stalker.

  I smiled at him, but he blinked and looked away as if he hadn’t noticed me. Fine, I could take a hint. Although, something made me wonder if it wasn’t the first time that night he’d been looking at me. I hadn’t been paying any attention before. Was this guy stalking me? I watched him as he said something to his companion, whose eyes darted to me, then quickly away. They were talking about me. I scrutinized the other guy—definitely not gay.