by Todd Gregory
“So why are you being so cold?” His bare leg touches mine briefly but he pulls it away quickly like it’s burned. The feel of his skin…no, I can’t think like that.
“I’m sorry.” I know I don’t have a right to be angry. I know I don’t, I know that what he does is none of my business, I have a fiancé I love and I’m committed to, I don’t care who sleeps with whom. So why?
“Do you have feelings for me?” he asks, his voice still quiet, almost shy.
“No!” I say it louder than I should. People are looking over at us with strange looks on their faces, and I can feel myself blushing in embarrassment. “I mean, I like you, Brandon. You’re a nice guy and I hope we can go on being friends.”
“That’s all you feel for me? Friends?”
“Brandon.” I put my hand on his leg. His skin feels hot to my touch, the muscles taut and hard. There’s a bit of razor stubble but it doesn’t bother me. I know I should take my hand off him but I let it lie there. “I’m engaged. I love Marc more than my own life. We could never be anything more than friends.”
He nods, and looks away. “I know. I know and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say anything. But—but I’ve never felt this way before.”
I can’t believe he is saying this to me in an airport, where other people can hear. “I don’t want to talk about this here,” I whisper back to him. “We can talk about it later, when we get to San Felice.”
“You promise we will talk about it, though?” He’s slumping down in his seat, looks despondent. “You have to promise me.”
“Okay, I promise,” I reply, not sure how I feel, not sure what’s going on with me, can’t be certain what I’m thinking.
I can’t have feelings for him, can I?
This wasn’t the way I felt when I met Marc.
Marc and I were introduced by Joni. He is the older brother of one of her friends at her high school. He was already in college, almost twenty, and I was only seventeen when we met. Marc was so good looking. He was in ROTC at Cal State–Fullerton, so he shaved his scalp bald and worked out three or four times a week. He was a wrestler in high school and played football, too, and came out to his family when he went to college. His family wasn’t okay with it yet—well, his parents weren’t but his sister Yolanda, Joni’s friend, thought it was cool. She was the one who wanted to find her brother a boyfriend, and Joni was the one who came up with the idea of setting us up together. The four of us went out together to dinner at P. F. Chang’s and then to see a superhero movie, but I don’t remember much about the movie other than there were a lot of explosions and fights and violence and lame jokes and stuff. All I could think about was sitting next to this good-looking guy with the really dark skin and the big brown eyes who made me laugh and our legs were touching and then he reached for my hand and I looked over at him and he was smiling at me, and that was the first time, and then the next time we went out it was just the two of us. And he was understanding, he got it that I didn’t want to have sex right away, that it meant more to me than just getting off.
It was so romantic.
We did all kinds of romantic things, and there were times when it seemed like I was living in some romantic movie. We had picnics at the beach, he came to my school dances, and everything was great. Oh sure, there were some racist assholes who tried to hassle us and called him names and called me a race traitor, but we never backed down from them and Marc also taught me how to defend myself, even though I believed in non-violence and always had, but like Marc said, it was okay in self-defense, and the thought of being beaten or something wasn’t exactly appealing, and Marc told me that being gay, we should never forget there are people out there who hate us and want to hurt us, but that reality—that reality was something I didn’t want to think about but had to. And when the time was right we finally did it. Marc got us a really nice room at a nice hotel and had champagne and roses and chocolate there for me, and when we made love, it was exactly that—making love. It wasn’t fucking.
And when he told me he’d enlisted because he couldn’t afford school anymore and didn’t want to take out loans and was going to be shipping out, I thought my heart had been ripped out of my chest.
He asked me to marry him and I said yes.
I miss him. I miss him every day and worry about him, and every time my phone rings or I get an email I feel this little tick inside, a tug at my heart, and in the back of my head I wonder if this is going to be the one telling me he’s injured or dead or missing. His emails to me and our FaceTime together is so not enough, it’s just not, and I am sick at heart every day. And I know I love him, I love him with all of my heart and soul and that’s why this whole Brandon thing doesn’t compute, doesn’t make sense in my head.
I can’t love two people at the same time. It’s not possible.
That’s not the way we’re wired.
That’s not the way I’m wired.
But if I am going to be honest, and I am always honest with myself, the other night dancing at the Pavilion…I started feeling something for Brandon, maybe it was just a physical attraction—he does like to show off that body, and I don’t blame him—but dancing with him, we just seemed to connect on a physical plane, and I felt so close to him. When we got back to the house after the bar closed I ran up to my room because I didn’t trust myself to be around him anymore, I didn’t know what I might do if I didn’t get away from him, and that wasn’t a good way to feel, I didn’t like feeling that way.
I can’t do that to Marc.
So I ran up to my room and showered and got into my bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the waves outside, but I couldn’t sleep. My heart was pounding and my…I was aroused, and I opened up my laptop and pulled up some of the sexy pictures of Marc I keep there just for that reason and I put some lube on my hand and stared at the pictures and thought about how hot and sexy Marc is, but I kept getting images of Brandon in my head, in that skimpy little bikini out by the pool, rubbing suntan oil into his chest and on his muscular legs, and the way he smelled and how he felt rubbing against me on the dance floor and I didn’t think about Marc at all anymore, all I could think about was Brandon and how it would feel to have his arms around me and to be in bed with him on top of me and in between my legs and entering me and I wanted him, I wanted him so badly I wanted him to just get nasty, I wanted him to pull my hair and pinch my nipples and slap my face and call me names as he fucked me, I can tell how big he is his bikinis leave nothing to the imagination and he was hard when we were dancing I could feel it behind me and I wanted him I wanted him so bad I wanted him to treat me like his little bitch, I wanted him to control me and dominate me and beg me to fuck me and…
When I was finished I was ashamed of myself.
And then I got back into my bed after cleaning up and just stared at the ceiling, wondering how awful a person I was to even think that way about another man while Marc was risking his life for his country, living in a tent in a horrible place on the other side of the planet while I was on Fire Island fantasizing about getting fucked.
And then I wanted some water and opened my door just in time to see Brandon come out of Jeff and Blair’s room.
And smirk at me.
Maybe that was why I overreacted so much? Because I’d just…
“Do you want to get some McDonald’s?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I nod. “Sure, I’m starving.”
“Can’t make a habit of it, though.” He gives me a weak smile, wags a finger at me. “Junk food is called junk for a reason.”
I smile back at him. “Just this once we’ll be bad.”
My heart is thumping as we stand up and gather our things.
He must never know how bad I want to be.
PHIL They’re waiting for me as I pull up to the curb outside United’s baggage claim at the airport.
I put on the flashers and pop the trunk of my car, hopping out and running around to hug Brandon. He looks amazing, he alwa
ys does, but the deep tan sets off his blue eyes beautifully, makes them almost seem luminous. He hugs me back tightly and says, “Phil, this is Dylan Parrish. Dylan, this is Phil Connors, our chapter president.”
He’s short, which I wasn’t expecting, and cute if you like that pasty white-haired borderline albino type. I give him a hearty Beta Kappa secret handshake and beam at him. “Welcome to San Felice! We’re all very excited to have someone so famous joining us this year. I hope you’re going to feel at home with us.”
So sweet I almost gag on the sugar, but as president I have a role to play, and this weird-looking little troll’s support or vote might be important sometime in the upcoming year.
What on earth does Brandon see in him?
I help them put their bags in the trunk and then close it and jump back into the car before one of the fascist airport police gives me a ticket. Brandon gets into the back, so Dylan gets into the passenger seat. I look at Brandon in the rearview mirror and he has the nerve to wink back at me.
Well, once he sees Ricky he’ll forget all about this thing.
I put the car back into gear and pull away from the curb. The airport is actually close to the campus. The fastest way to get to the fraternity house is to turn left when you leave the airport, swing around to the north, and head back west to the campus. But I decide to take the long way, where the traffic is almost always worse—to the west, to give Dylan the ocean view. I’m sure he’s been to San Felice before, but it seems like the presidential thing to do.
I ask them about Fire Island and Dylan starts talking in a rush. The sun is hanging in the western sky and he just can’t stop talking about how lovely Fire Island was and have I ever been there, do I know Jordy, he’s such a nice guy and so on, and not once has he ever mentioned the fiancé. I notice the diamond ring on his left hand and glance back in the mirror at Brandon, who hasn’t said hardly anything at all except the occasional agreement or a noncommittal couple of syllables in response to something Dylan has blurted out in his nonstop vocal diarrhea outburst.
Is it possible Brandon has fucked this creature?
He certainly has a shit-eating grin on his face back there as Dylan keeps blathering on.
“I read your piece on Out about monogamy,” I interrupt him when he stops to breathe again. Thank God for the training I’ve gotten from listening to the alumni. “And I see your ring. It’s quite nice. You must miss Mike.”
“Marc,” he replies, his face turning red. “His name is Marc.”
“I’m sorry!” I say quickly. I notice he gives Brandon a look over the headrest before turning his attention back to me.
Yes, there’s something going on there.
“It’s okay, it’s an easy mistake to make,” and now he’s off to the races, telling me all about Marc and how much he loves him and how he’s off in Afghanistan but they’re planning on getting married once he finishes his tour, and then he’s going to stay on in San Felice until he graduates and then they’ll figure out if he’s going to live on base and follow Marc around the globe wherever he’s assigned—Marc is apparently planning on a career in the military, how dreary—or get a job and make a home for him in the States.
Finally we’re swinging past the campus on Junipero Serra Street, which has the campus on one side and the other side is wall to wall hotels and fast food joints and bars and restaurants and the occasional grocery store and drugstore and everything you can think of. “Are you boys hungry?” I ask as I stop at the red light at the intersection where you turn to go into the campus, with the huge Spanish mission–style campus administration building glaring at us.
“No,” Dylan says.
Brandon doesn’t say anything so I drive on, making the turn onto King Fernando Street, or as everyone calls it, Fraternity Row. Most of the houses are on this street, sororities on one side and fraternities on the other. I pull into our parking lot and park in the president’s spot. I show Dylan to his room and give him his key, and then Brandon follows me down to my suite.
Once the doors are closed behind us, I pull out my baggie of weed and start rolling a joint. “What on earth do you see in that little boy?” I ask as Brandon stretches out on my bed. “You haven’t fucked him already, have you?”
He takes the joint from me and lights it. He exhales and coughs, sips from the can of LaCroix he took from my refrigerator, and smiles at me. “The challenge, of course. You don’t think he’s attractive?”
This is some good pot, from Humboldt County, sticky with purple hairs. I take a hit and pinch it off. It’s too early for me to be incoherent. My entire body relaxes as it takes control, and I feel like I am melting into my chair. “God, this is good shit. And he’s a three a.m. fuck at best, Brandon. Admit it, if he wasn’t the poster boy for monogamy you wouldn’t give him a second look.”
“You’re such a bitch.”
“It’s not mean if it’s true.” I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. I love getting high. It evens me out, calms me down, keeps me from being wound too tightly. Maybe I smoke too much, but it keeps me from ripping people’s heads off and shitting down their necks, so there’s that. Plus I prefer it to the Xanax, which just always makes me feel like going to sleep. Of course I wake up feeling even so there’s that, but smoking pot is just better. It makes me mellow, it allows me to recogize the things that wind me up and make me crazy. “Wait till you meet Ricky. They’re not even in the same league.”
“Oh, yes, Ricky, that reminds me.” He says slowly. I open my eyes and look at him, sprawled over my bed, his shirt riding up so I can see the trail of hair on his stomach leading down to the waistband of his shorts. “I may help you out there after all. Since I’m here and all.”
“What changed your mind?” I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“You said yourself it was taking Kenny too long. Can’t I help out a friend?”
I laugh. “You forget who you’re talking to, Brandon.”
He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at me. He makes a kissy-face toward me and shrugs. “Kenny’s sister Joni is the one who talks shit about me to Dylan. I’d probably already have had him if she wasn’t cock-blocking me.” He makes a face. “So, I’ll pay her back by fucking her brother’s boyfriend. It’s not my fault her brother is a stammering virgin.” He smiles lazily at me. “I’ll teach Ricky all my little secrets about how to drive a guy crazy in bed. So, really, I’m doing Kenny a favor.”
“I doubt he’ll thank you for it.” I get a can of LaCroix from the refrigerator for myself. The flavor explodes in my mouth. Another thing I like about getting stoned, everything tastes better. I decide there’s no point in telling Brandon that Kenny and his sister hate each other.
Everything is working out so well I can almost relax.
The party’s tomorrow.
It might just be the best party ever.
I’m fastening my seat belt.
Bumpy doesn’t even being to scratch the surface of what this party will be.
DYLAN I love champagne.
I don’t like alcohol. I mean, I’ll drink it, but what’s the point of it other than to get drunk? And the few times I’ve been drunk…well, I’m not a fan.
But I love champagne.
I was maybe twelve when I first tasted it, at a cousin’s wedding. After that first time I’ve never turned it down, and I can’t believe Brandon remembered me saying that casually, when we were at the Pavilion that night in Fire Island and he asked me what I wanted to drink. I told him to get me a vodka and cranberry and mentioned I really only liked champagne. And now, the afternoon of the party he’s gotten a bottle of champagne for me.
I can’t get over how wrong Joni was about him.
I’m a little ashamed of myself, too. I was jealous, even if I won’t admit it to him. I was jealous that he was with Jeff and Blair. All I can think of is kissing him, of being in his arms, of being with him the way I shouldn’t want to be. He is kind and caring, nothing like the narcissist Joni said he was. H
e knocked on my door and was gone by the time I opened it to find the bottle of champagne—Veuve Cliquot—with a bow and a card.
The card simply said, I hope this is okay; maybe we can toast you moving in here tonight? xo Brandon
It brought tears to my eyes. What a sweet, incredibly thoughtful thing to do.
I put it in my little refrigerator and closed the door.
Joni texted me that she’s on her way up from LA with her friend Madison. She didn’t say it, but I got the distinct impression she’s expecting the two of them to stay in my room while they’re here in San Felice. I don’t know how I’m going to share the champagne with Brandon with her here. I don’t know if I trust myself to go up to his room with the bottle. But if I know Joni she’s going to be all over me all night long like white on rice, and I’m not going to get a moment’s peace from her and Madison, who I don’t even know, and—
Whoa. Joni’s my best friend and I haven’t seen her all summer.
What is wrong with me?
I lie back down on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
Marc is who I love. Marc is the man I’m going to marry.
Brandon is just a nice guy—
—but I can’t stop thinking about him on the dance floor, when I was grinding back on him and I could feel how hard he was and I could smell his sweaty skin and—
Stop it!
—but I can’t stop thinking about him, his broad shoulders and his thick arms and those legs, and how he felt through his shorts, and I can see him climbing out of the pool in his tight little yellow bikini wedged between his butt cheeks and the water streaming off his balls, and my hand is creeping down into my shorts and I am closing my eyes and as I stroke myself I can’t help it, I can’t summon up any image of Marc in my mind, all I can think of is Brandon, Brandon with his crooked grin and the way his leg felt brushing against mine yesterday on the plane and I can feel it, I’m going to come and it’s spurting out of me and all over my bare torso and the pain, oh it’s so exquisite what is wrong with me…
