by Todd Gregory
Last night I dreamed about Kenny. He’s so cute, really, the way he smiles and his eyes light up and I like that he doesn’t want to push me about…doing more than kissing. I want to, of course, I’m curious, and now that I don’t have to worry about people judging me and…
…I still haven’t found a church here in San Felice. I know there are several, but I don’t know who to ask about which church might be more open to having me go there.
I don’t want to be judged by a priest who will hate me and my sin.
But how can it be a sin? How?
God made me this way. I don’t believe—the more I am away from it—that God could be so cruel as to give me these feelings as a test of my soul. I cannot believe that God would do this to me, would send me to hell for sinning.
We are all sinners. None of us are free from sin.
But how can love be a sin?
I don’t like questioning my faith, I don’t like questioning my teaching.
I don’t like questioning God.
David and Jonathan loved each other, didn’t they?
I know that the devil is a liar, that he is seductive, his tools are pleasure and passion and beauty. I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything anymore.
I still love God. I still love Jesus and the Holy Mother.
Why can’t I love Kenny? Why do I have to choose?
BRANDON “You got in late last night,” Dylan says to me over brunch.
“Keeping tabs on me?” I smile back at him.
“No.” He starts to turn a bit red, which means he’s lying. “I just happened to get up to go to the bathroom and I heard you come in around three. Where were you so late?”
We’d gone to a house party just down the beach, thrown by some theater people Jordy knows through Blair Blanchard, a bunch of singers and actors and dancers who were all amazing looking and had great bodies but boring as hell. All they wanted to do was gossip about other people they knew and name-drop people they’ve worked with, and after a couple of hours of that I was fed up and bored and needed to get the hell out of there, so I slipped out and went to the Meat Rack. There’s an honesty about the Meat Rack that you don’t get from phone apps or bars or parties, where you pretend to be interested in someone and you have to make conversation with them and act like you want to have a relationship and pretend that you care about them and have to listen to them drone on and on about the boring things that interest them so you can get their pants off and fuck them and it’s hard to make a clean escape because they always want your phone number or some stupid promise to call or get together again when it was just sex.
Sometimes you just want sex.
And at the Meat Rack there’s none of that stupid game playing and dancing around, there’s no talk or exchange of names or anything. It’s about fucking and sucking and getting off and you don’t have to go through the stupid shit. You’d think gay men would know by now that there’s nothing wrong with having sex for the sake of having sex, and why do they always have to make something more out of it? Why do they lie to themselves and give in to the whole puritan bullshit about sex?
I got sucked off twice and I fucked two guys in the Meat Rack. Sue me.
“I got bored at the party.”
“Where did you go?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” Jordy is catching the ferry because he has business in the city for the day, but he’ll be back tonight. He is rummaging through his shoulder bag, making sure he has everything he needs. “You two are going to play nice while I’m gone, aren’t you? And don’t forget, Blair and Jeff are arriving this afternoon. I’m going to try to make the same ferry, but if they get here before I do or I’m delayed—”
If I don’t cut him off he will micromanage everything and we won’t remember half of what he says. Jordy is a bit obsessive. “We’re adults, Jordy. I know what room they’re using and I’m sure they know how to use a kitchen or get food themselves.”
“I was over-explaining again, wasn’t I?” He gives me a weak smile.
“Go on already, you’ll miss your ferry.” I get up and shoo him out the front door. I turn back around and smile at Dylan. “Now we have the whole place to ourselves, what do you want to do?”
He looks nervous, like I’m going to rape him or something. I feel like telling him I don’t need to rape anyone, but why not let him be nervous? “I think I may lay out by the pool and read.”
I pick up the pitcher of mimosas and pour the last of it into my glass. “Do you want me to make some more?”
He frowns at me. “You drink a lot.”
“And you’re pretty judgmental. Do you ever have any fun?”
He turned redder. “I’m sorry if it comes across that way.”
“It does.” I smile back at him, batting my eyes. “You judge how much I drink, you judge my sex life—I’m surprised you don’t judge me for going to the gym and working out.”
“There’s nothing wrong with keeping yourself in shape.” He’s turning even redder. “Jordy said there was a gym—”
“We can go over later if you want,” I reply, yawning and stretching. I have my bikini on under my board shorts and I am not wearing a shirt. I know stretching makes my muscles flex and my abs tighten, and the shorts creep down a bit so the top of the bikini shows. He’s looking, and when I catch him he looks away.
It’s almost too easy, really. He could make more of an effort.
“Yeah, that would be great.” He frowns. “I’m pretty confident, but some of those guys at the party last night—”
“They’re professional dancers. Their bodies are their business.” I shake my head. “Don’t compare yourself to them. They take hours of classes per day to stay in shape and be ready to go onstage. Dance is incredible exercise, you know.”
He smiles. “I hate doing cardio.”
I smile back. “So do I, that’s why I like to go dancing. Dancing is the best exercise.”
“But you must live in the gym! Your body—” He cuts himself off.
It’s all I can do not to smile. I decide to treat it as an innocent remark. “I work out a couple of times a week,” I reply. “It’s really about eating, making sure you’re feeding your muscles and your body. We don’t, as Americans, really look at food the right way, you know?”
He looks relieved. “No, we really don’t.”
“Of course, food should be about taste and flavor and satisfaction,” I go on, trying to remember Jordy’s trainer’s words, “but we tend to think of food in terms of rewards—‘oh, I did this so I get to have some ice cream,’ that sort of thing. And it’s okay to eat stuff that’s not good for you every once in a while. If I crave something I just go ahead and have it. If I don’t, I’ll keep wanting it more and more and when I finally do give in—because I will—I’ll binge on it rather than having a moderate amount. It’s really about eating smart, you know?”
“I’d love to have arms like yours.”
Seriously, this is going to be too easy. “Doesn’t your fiancé have a great body? I mean, he’s in the military, isn’t he?”
He nods. “But he’s more lean than big. I’d rather be bigger. I mean, I want to be lean but I want my muscles to be bigger.”
“I’ll be glad to help you get bigger, Dylan.” I smile back at him. “Anything to make one of America’s finest happy.”
“That’s…that’s really nice of you.” He hesitates. “I—I owe you an apology. I haven’t been very nice to you.”
I hold up my hands. “It’s okay, really.” I finish off the mimosa. “No harm, no foul.”
“I just heard some things about you. I was warned.”
“Warned?” I keep my voice calm, but inside I’m seething. Someone has been talking shit about me? I don’t care what people think or say about me as a general rule—it’s usually the truth, and you can’t bitch about what’s true—but if it’s going to keep me from reaching my goal of fucking this kid, getting him to che
at on his fiancé, yeah, something has to be done about it. “Who warned you? What did they say?”
“A friend.” He won’t look me in the eyes. “When I told her I was coming here, she warned me about you. I’m not going to tell you her name, so don’t ask me, but she did tell me about your reputation.”
“And what reputation is that?”
“She told me that you’ll fuck anything that moves and you don’t have any feelings and you don’t care who you hurt.” He says it all in a rush, like he’s been waiting to get it all off his chest and feels relieved now that he has, but he also looks sad.
“Wow” is all I say.
“I—I’m sorry.”
“No, really, it’s okay.” I keep my face expressionless as I carry my plate and glass into the kitchen and rinse them off in the sink. He comes up behind me and puts his hands on the back of my arms.
“I’m sorry I told you. Are you okay?”
This is going well. “I don’t want to know who said that about me.” I could probably swoop in now, make him feel sorry for me with some sob story about my parents’ many divorces and how I don’t think my parents love me and how no one has ever understood me and so I try to get approval, get my self-worth, by using my body and see getting laid as valuation and make him feel so sorry for me he’d give in because no one would ever know because we are alone here in the house and who would believe me? No one would believe me no matter what my reputation is because he has his own reputation, and even though people are always so willing to believe the worst of other people, it would be my word against his and there would always be those who would doubt, who would think I was lying, trying to spoil something noble and pure.
No, I would need proof.
So, this is going to be a long game.
I’m going to have to be patient, but I am not only going to fuck this little bitch, I am going to break him and his precious Marine up, I am going to make sure that everyone knows he’s nothing special. Fucking him isn’t enough.
I am going to make him fall in love with me.
And I am going to break his heart.
And it’s going to be fun.
PHIL I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
I start laughing. I can’t help it.
“Seducing Ricky Monterro wasn’t enough of a challenge for you, but you’re going to waste your time with Dylan Parrish?” I manage to get out while still laughing so hard that it almost hurts to breathe. “Oh, Brendan, just come home to San Felice and do me this little favor. I know Fire Island is fun, but what’s the point of being there if you can’t have any fun?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to have any fun. I just have to be sneakier about it, is all.” Brandon leers at his phone. “I’m pretty sure I can have a three-way with Blair and Jeff—they certainly were hinting about it last night.”
“You and your couples.” I wave my hand.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Are you still sucking off Joey?”
“It’s starting to get boring for me.” I didn’t answer the door when Joey came by earlier. He can beat off for a while. I hate being taken for granted. And it’s not like he can complain, either. Straight boys and Grindr hook-ups make life so much less complicated.
“How about Ricky Monterro? Amy progress there yet?”
“Oh, that.” I’m starting to get a little impatient, and Kenny was most definitely the wrong choice. It’s been days and they’re still mooning around and haven’t done anything besides kiss. I wouldn’t believe them but they’ve both told me that—I’ve kind of become a father confessor figure to them both, but no matter how much I try to push them to finally get on with it, they both are adamant about taking it slow.
Like virginity is the ultimate prize or something.
But I have got to be patient, I can’t be too obvious or rush anything. It’s driving me crazy.
“Slowly but surely,” I say. “You’d think they weren’t young men. I should take them in for testosterone shots. I’ve never met two guys who were less interested in getting laid.”
“Well, maybe when I come for the Baby Bash I can help push things along.”
“So. You are coming?”
He nods. “Dylan and I just booked our flights.”
“He’s coming with you?” I raise my eyebrows. “Good work, Brandon. Are you going to try to get him drunk so you can take advantage of him?”
“I don’t need to fly him to San Felice to do that,” he says. “We’re on Fire Island, remember?”
“So how are you getting laid without him knowing it? The Meat Rack?” I start to laugh. “Are you having to sneak out of the house so he doesn’t know? Oh, Brandon, seriously, give this up and come to San Felice already. Ricky would be so worth your time, you have no idea.”
He winks at me. “I can do this, I know I can.”
“I’ll bet you can’t.”
“You want to bet me?” He’s amused, I can tell. “If I sleep with Dylan, what do I win?”
“A night with me.” I laugh with him. “If you fuck him—and have proof—I’ll be your sex slave for a night. But what do I win if you don’t?”
“But I will win, Phil, you can be sure of that.”
“But if you don’t? What will you give up?”
“I won’t have sex for the entire semester.”
I roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to do that, either, and how would I ever know for sure? No, that’s not good enough. Not if I’m putting up my body.” I laugh at him, as he is seriously thinking about this. “What is my body worth?”
“Your body?” He leers at the screen. “I cannot tell you how many times I’ve thought about being with you again, Phil, the way we used to be, do you remember?”
This isn’t funny anymore. I don’t like to remember that. “Well, I guess that’s your motivation then, isn’t it? But what do I win, if we’re betting?”
“The pleasure of laughing at me? Knowing you won?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, of course, Brandon, that would be a fair bet.”
He smiles at the screen again. “Then it’s done.” He disconnects the call.
I put my computer to sleep and lie down on my bed.
Now that it’s come up, I can’t help but remember.
He transferred here two years ago, just after I finished my second year in the house and was already climbing the ladder to my end goal of being president. When we first met…I knew I wanted him. It’s hard to describe, really, what Brandon is like. He’s about six foot three inches tall, with a long torso and these deep-set blue eyes underneath a thick brow, a huge smile with a slight but sexy gap between his front teeth, dimples, tanned, and that body. My God, that body. He is lean and strong, with enormous biceps and thick pecs and a flat defined stomach and a gorgeous ass and the legs. Oh, the legs. He was a jock in high school and played football and basketball and baseball, and seriously, the smile is a game changer. The moment I saw him looking at me, I knew he wanted me, too. At that point in time I wasn’t having sex with any of the brothers, it was a rule I’d come up with when I was a pledge. I knew that some of the brothers weren’t completely comfortable with gay guys, so I thought if I kept it out of the house it would help me. I had decided when I pledged I was going to be president my last year, and I was working toward that goal.
But I was willing to make an exception for Brandon.
I didn’t have my own room then, and neither did Brandon. We neither one of us had lived in long enough to merit our own rooms.
So, how to do it? How could we get together without anyone knowing?
He would send me text messages about what he wanted to do to me and would send pictures of himself in bikinis, in his underwear, never really showing me everything but leaving very little to the imagination. My roommate that semester, Dan Rolke, had early morning classes and I would wake up after he left so I could lock the door and pull up the pictures Brandon had sent me on my computer, so I could sit there in my chair and lube
myself up and imagine him on top of me, imagine what it would feel like to have his body on top of me, his lips on mine until I came. I’ve never wanted anyone so much in my life.
Finally Dan went home for one weekend and I had the room to myself, and I let Brandon know that this was his chance. He was also sleeping around a lot—I was well aware of what he was doing and who he was doing it with, and it’s not like I was being celibate myself, but that Friday night after the house began to quiet down after the party—we always have parties on Friday nights—he knocked on my door around one in the morning and I let him in. He smelled a little of sour beer and pot smoke and he had some coke with him and we shut the door and I kissed him and led him over to the bed and he held some poppers under my nose and I was writhing as he took my shirt off and started working on my torso with his mouth and tongue and then he somehow had my pants off and he was sucking me and the blood was pounding in my head and then he was naked and we were lying together on the bed and he let me fuck him and it was amazing, no one’s ass had ever felt like that before or since, and he worked with me as I fucked him and it was like we were having some kind of contest, a battle to see who would come first and I wasn’t about to lose, no I wasn’t, and I somehow managed to not come even though everything was aching and my balls were screaming for release, but I kept fucking him and then he came in an impressive eruption and I just kept fucking him, fucking him and trying to get all the way inside him, and I loved it all so much and then finally it happened and we cleaned each other up and curled up in each other’s arms and went to sleep, and in the morning he fucked me, and that was how we spent the weekend, only getting dressed to go get food and shower and then come back to my room, and when the weekend was finally over my cock was sore and my balls ached and my ass felt like I had been reamed and he felt the same way and I told him the truth.
“We’re never going to do this again.”
“I didn’t think so,” he replied, kissing my neck. “We’re too alike, aren’t we?”
“I want to be president of the house, and that won’t happen if I’m involved with a brother,” I said to him, moaning a little bit as he worked his mouth down to one of my sore nipples, bitten and bruised so much that even the feeling of his breath aroused it, “and you’re right, we’re too much alike and we would only end up making each other unhappy. One of us would cheat and then it would get ugly.” I touched his lips with my index finger. “I know we could have the kind of relationship where we could do as we pleased, but I don’t think you’d be too happy knowing I was with someone else and I know I could never be happy knowing you were with someone else.”
