by Walker Cole
The restaurant starts to empty. We feel lazy and aren’t in any rush. An Asian waiter comes over to ask if we need anything else. He frowns at us. He must have been the one in the bathroom. I wonder if he thinks we’re high right now. Orgasms do tend to make me feel a little sleepy. My cock still hasn’t shrunk down all the way either. It’s a little uncomfortable in my pants
A waitress drops by with the check. Leo reaches for his bag and says, “This one is on me. You pay for enough things.”
“I am silently protesting this and want it to be noted.”
“It is noted,” he says, searching under the table for his bag. “I can’t find it.”
“Where did you leave it?” I ask. “Under the table?”
“Yeah, for sure,” he says, a little more panicked this time.
I move my feet to look under, and there’s nothing there.
I call the waitress over and ask if she’s seen it. “Sorry guys, I haven’t seen anything.” The waitress tilts her head sympathetically at us.
“I’ll pay. Leo, I think there’s a police station down the street. Let’s go report it,” I say.
“Yeah, like that will work,” he says.
“Come on,” I say, and drag him out by his hand.
The police station takes a position similar to Leo, in that, it seems extremely unlikely for the bag to be recovered. We leave with a case number and a lingering frustration.
“Fuck,” Leo says.
“That really sucks, I’m so sorry,” I say. The evening has taken a sour turn.
“Goddamnit,” he says.
“Come on, let’s go for a midnight walk to take your mind off it.” I nudge him and take him towards Central Park. I take his hand and squeeze it. “Did you lose anything important?”
“Yeah, my camera and a spare lens. It’s covered by insurance but it meant so much to me. Fuck having to deal with that crap.”
“Yeah.”
Then Leo stops dead in his tracks. “Fuck,” he says again, his face turning completely white. “The pictures of you are on there—the ones we took when we first met.”
“The naked ones?” I ask. “You didn’t delete them?”
He shakes his head. “Shit, Colt. You’re on ESPN every other week, someone will notice you in the photographs.”
“Do thieves like sports?” I ask stupidly, already not thinking straight at all.
“How the hell do I know? But with the level you're at in your field, this isn't good,” he says.
“Are you sure the pics of me were in that camera?” I ask desperately.
Leo lowers his head. "I'm sure, Colt."
“Shit, Leo! Why did you not delete those photos?”
“They were so hot, I had to keep them,” he says. "It's not my fault some asshole robbed my stuff."
“Shit.”
“Maybe nothing will happen,” he says.
“Maybe?” I ask. “Maybe everything just went to absolute shit and my life is over.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
“I’m really not. You don’t understand. You can’t.” I stop walking under a lamppost and look across at a skyscraper, the lights at the top of it are turning off one-by-one.
“Let’s go back to my flat,” Leo says and hugs my side.
“To do what?” I ask.
“Jeez, Colt. You need to, like, chill out.”
“My life might be fucking over. I can’t just ‘chill out’.”
“Come on,” he says. “You need to sleep so you can process this. You’ve had a long day.”
Leo drags me back to his flat. I’m inconsolable. I think about Nancy and the things she’ll say. Fuck her. And what about Maria? I really, really don’t know what to do or who to call. Leo turns on the TV, and it’s on ESPN; oh joy, they’re doing a special on the upcoming college football season and my face is in the top right corner of the screen. “Fuck,” Leo says, and changes the channel. “Let’s get you in bed.” He pushes me towards the bed, and I fall in.
“This is your fault,” I say. “This is all your fault. I told you we had to be careful. But you didn’t listen.”
“You don’t mean that,” he says, and hands me a white pill from an orange bottle.
“Now you’re trying to drug me?”
“It’s a Xanax. You need it.” Leo puts my hand to my mouth and I swallow it. He takes my clothes off for me and then lays down next to me, stroking my hair and cooing to me. “It’s okay,” he says. “We will solve this.” Leo’s room seems to get warmer, and as it does, my head becomes heavier. Leo’s fingers trace around my neck and ears, making my skin tingle. The pictures will leak. I’m fucked.
Leo wakes me up with a coffee. There are a few seconds where I entirely forget that there are pictures of my naked body floating around and possibly being leaked to the press at this very moment. “I need to leave,” I say.
“What?” Leo asks, “Don’t you want to be with me?”
“This problem is bigger than us,” I say.
“That feels like total shit to hear,” he says.
“It’s my life that we’re talking about.”
“And don’t I fit into your life?”
“You do but—”
“But what?” he asks, and crosses his arms.
“I’ve just got to go, okay?” I say, and leave his flat, wishing I were still asleep, or perhaps, still under the effects of that Xanax, feeling Leo’s lovely fingers trace across my head.
* * *
I ride the train out of Penn Station. I’ve got work this afternoon, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to look anyone in the face. It’s not that I feel ashamed; it’s just that everyone else will expect me to feel ashamed and it sucks. I used to love riding into Cold Spring—when the buildings start disappearing and the countryside slowly takes over the view. Now I just have thoughts of riding away from Leo.
I call up the university administration and tell them that I need to meet with our PR guy. They sound worried on the phone and ask what it is regarding. I lie and say it’s for a standing appointment. I’ll go and see him after practice. I don’t know what will happen, but there’s one thing I know for sure... With all these celebrity leaks, if there are naked pictures out there, they always end up in the worst hands.
* * *
Practice starts as I arrive. On my way in, I spot two sports reporters trying to take pictures of me and my players as we all arrive. This is supposed to be our best year yet; that’s why they’re here. We’ve got the right talent and the coaches to really do something special. My mind is elsewhere, with Leo and the photos. Some of my scouts have reports for me, and I go over some strategies with our starting team. As hard as I try, I can’t fucking focus. “Come on, Jackson,” I call out and clap at my quarterback.
I stand on the sidelines and watch the assistant coaches take the offensive lineup through some drills. Our first match is in a week. I check my phone to see if I have anything from Leo but there’s nothing. I think about texting him and then catch myself. I’m furious at him, why should I reach out and speak to him? I yell out to some players who are slacking at the back of the pack. I’ve been into football for as long as I can remember, and now there’s something that could take this all away. Will the university back me up?
* * *
The administration building is so quiet. Some of the walls are made up of rough carpet, and I run my fingers along them on the way to my meeting. I knock on the guy’s door and enter.
“Hi there,” I say, and shake his hand. He’s overweight and balding a little. The smile he gives me is wide and fake.
“I'm Trevor. Now, what can I do for you?” he asks and motions for me to sit down.
“There might be a personal issue, incoming,” I say.
He cocks his head. “I don’t quite follow.”
“Something might leak to the press.”
; “I understand,” he says and makes his fingers into a steeple beneath his chin. “Go on.”
“A personal matter,” I say, still not finding the words.
“An affair?” he offers. “We dealt with an affair last year, the soccer coach strayed from his marriage. I’m sure you remember.”
“Something like that,” I say.
“So there are photos of you and this woman? Taken by someone?”
“Yeah, like that,” I say.
“I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me here. It’s the only way to protect you and the university.”
I nod, and scratch at my face. Trevor doesn’t say anything. He just keeps waiting for me to speak. I think about Leo’s face. I wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment. He said we would fix this. Trevor still hasn’t spoken. He must be doing some kind of bullshit power technique. I start to think that perhaps Trevor doesn’t have my best interests in mind. His shirt has the university emblem on the pocket. I stare at it, and then stand up. “I think,” I say. “That on second thoughts, the matter is resolved. Thank you for seeing me.”
He catches me by the door. “I know it can seem scary,” he says. “But if you explain to me everything that’s happened, then the university can take action and no one will get in trouble.”
“What do you mean, take action?”
“Well,” he starts. “If there have been transgressions, there are steps which the university should take to protect itself—and you, of course. To protect you as well.”
I raise my voice and the vein in my neck starts to protrude. “I’m keeping my job. That’s my team out there,” I say, and point outside.
“Please, Mr. Smith. Calm down.”
“I get the feeling that you’re trying to threaten me,” I say and look down at Trevor. He takes a few steps back.
“No, no. You have the wrong idea. Don’t you remember the soccer coach? His name escapes me, but he took a sabbatical.”
“Yeah, and then he never returned,” I say.
“But that was his choice,” Trevor stresses.
“I don’t see why what I do with my personal life is any of the university’s business.”
“There are sponsors, and the administration's image, of course.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
“Mr. Smith. This is the last time I’m going to ask you. Calm down.”
“Nah, I’m done with this. I’ve done nothing wrong. Forget I said anything.”
“Mr. Smith?” he calls after me, but I’m already down the hall. I need Leo. Why did I leave him? He’ll know what to do. He’s good at calming me down, probably better than anyone I've ever been with. When I’m around Leo, I’m the real me—and that’s what I think this situation needs. Even if it’s all his goddamn fault.
* * *
Leo
I draw a tick on the paper in my hand. There are hundreds of pawnshops in New York. I made a map of the ones within a thirty-minute walk from the sushi restaurant where my bag was stolen.
I don’t think I’ll see Colt again. I know how these scandals go. The guy always retreats back to his family, the wife sobs about it on the local news, and they ask for people’s prayers.
I wish Colt was checking these pawnshops with me. Most of them have been on sketchy streets. Colt always makes me feel safe. I’d go anywhere with him. God, I feel so fricking terrible about this whole camera thing. Did I even say sorry? Colt’s right—it’s all my fault. Fuck. I just want him to punish me or yell at me or anything.
I’m stressed, and when I’m stressed, I always want a good ass-fucking. There’s nothing better to clear my mind. When I’m down on my knees in front of Colt, that’s when I just go cock-crazy. Kissing, sucking, slurping. I don’t even feel like I deserve to be thinking dirty thoughts about him. Celebrity photos leak all the freaking time. I know Colt’s only a minor celebrity but still. What the hell was I thinking?
Fuck. I just want to bounce on Colt’s dick. Bouncing is the best. Feeling a nice dick stretch me out and then bouncing up and down, watching their face as they grit their teeth. I hate how everyone jokes about cum-faces being unattractive. I think it’s one of the most attractive things in the world. It’s the person’s most personal face—it’s so private—and they’ve let you in to take a look at it. Unlike these private photos of Colt that I let out into the wide, ugly world.
This pawnshop is full of stereos and guitars. In the window, there’s a neon sign saying ‘BUY AND SELL.' I tell the guy my camera model and ask if anything like that has come in. He shakes his head and offers me some wedding rings and says that he’ll give me a real good price for them. I cross it off the map. I check my phone to see if Colt has messaged me or anything. He’s not much of a texter. He’s old fashioned like that.
After three more shops it starts to rain, and I head back to my apartment. The rain gets heavier the closer I get to home. Big, fat rain drops slap against my face. I try to think of what I’ll say to Colt if I ever see him again. People are running down the street to get out of the rain, but I don’t have it in me. I just trudge along, listening to my shoes squelch.
I spot Colt waiting outside my apartment. There isn’t an awning or anything, and he’s soaking wet just like me. He looks less angry now, and sadder. I run up to him. “Colt,” I say. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, like, ever.”
“I had to see you,” he says. “I’ve been feeling like such a freak because of this whole thing. And when I’m with you, I don’t feel like a freak at all.”
I smile at him and push back some of his slick, gorgeous hair. “You’re soaking.”
“Yes. Soaking is correct.”
“Come on, let’s get you dry,” I say, and get my key.
Our bodies leave a trail of puddles in the elevator as we make our way up. I don’t know how to be with Colt, whether he wants me to hold his hand or kiss or do anything at all physical. I know he wants to be with me, because he said so with own damn words, but is that it? Does he just need to spend some time in my company?
We walk through my flat and he turns to me. “I haven’t forgiven you,” he says. “I know it’s both of our faults, really. But I’ve got all this anger, you know? It’s just unfair.” He looks so defeated.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Just deal with it however you need to.”
“It doesn’t help that you’re being so fucking understanding about the whole thing. This isn’t how Nancy and I used to sort things out. I just feel like yelling at your face.”
“It doesn't look like you two ever really sorted things out. But if it’ll help, you should yell, Colt,” I say.
“That’s what I mean! Stop being so understanding.”
“I don’t know what you want,” I say.
Colt slumps down in a chair. “I don’t know what I want either. How are we going to deal with this? I spoke to the PR guy at the university.”
“Jesus, really? That seems like a really bad idea.”
“It was. He was totally trying to screw me before he even found out what the meeting was about.”
“Did you tell him?” I ask.
“No. I didn’t trust him. He was this shifty dude. Kept saying things like ‘protecting the university’.”
“What a dick,” I say, and sit down opposite Colt. “Let’s just plan for the worst.”
“How the hell do we do that?”
“Well, you come out as a bisexual dude, or whatever.”
“That would end my career,” he says.
“Would it really? Times are changing, you know. It’s not like we live in the south.”
“Cold Spring might as well be Texas, as far as this is concerned,” he says.
Colt walks through to the bathroom and strips. I take off my clothes out in the main room of my apartment. I know if I see him naked and sad I’m going to jump all over him. I don’t know if that’s what he wants righ
t now.
He pokes his head around the corner. “Hey,” he says. “Are you going to join me in here or what?”
The hot shower quickly steams up the bathroom. Colt is naked under the spout and his eyes are closed. He’s brushing his hair back and forth, and rubbing his hands under his armpits and down around his crotch. He doesn’t use any products, and I love it that way. He never smells dirty to me; he always smells sweet, like strawberries or something. I don’t know how he does it. I reach out and touch his stomach; he doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay closed and he continues rubbing his body all over. He looks calm now. Maybe this is how he deals with things. Long, hot showers.
I keep touching Colt’s stomach. If you push the skin around, you can make out the muscle shapes underneath. He could probably lift me up with one arm. I reach down to cup his balls. They feel heavy like usual. This surprised me the first time I felt them; I thought maybe he just had to cum really hard but nope—he’s just got some big balls.
Poor Colt. How the hell do I comfort him?
I hold his penis. It’s hanging quite far down. I thought he was a show-er, instead of a grower, but it doubles in size somehow. Moving that much blood would make me lightheaded for sure. His cock’s skin is smooth, and his shaft is squidgy but solid, like all penises I suppose. But this one feels special. I bend down and give it a kiss. Colt still has his eyes closed. “We’ll fix this,” I say.
“No,” he says. “We can’t.”
I hush him and rub his arms. This whole time I’ve wanted Colt to be with me, looking after me. But maybe, he’s the one that needs looking after. Maybe he wants me to take control and guide him. I’ve never thought of Colt as someone who could give up control. Like, it doesn’t seem like that would be in his genes. I say again, “We’ll sort it out.” He just shakes his head now. The water drips off his eyebrows and nose and chin. He breathes slowly.
I start to think; maybe he wants me to make a move on him. Is that the craziest thought I've ever had? I turn him around, and he complies. He still hasn’t said more than a few sentences in here. I run my hands down his strong, thick back muscles. My fingers arrive at his ass. It’s plump with muscle. I spread his cheeks to see that he shaved his asshole. “When did you shave this?” I ask.
