by K. Z. Snow
Like when my father came into my room as I played with two action figures on my bedroom floor. I’d put their arms on each other’s shoulders. I always liked having my superheroes touching rather than battling one another.
Dropping to a squat, my father had eyed the figures. “Why are they standing that way?” he’d asked. “Shouldn’t they be fighting?” He hadn’t liked that they were hugging. I could hear the suspicion and disapproval in his voice and see it in his face. But I liked seeing “my men,” whether soldiers or superheroes, being close. Very close.
Clearly, my attachment to Rolf Schroeder hadn’t been the first or only hint I was gay. My attraction to boys wasn’t an occasional, fleeting thing, and it had started long before I’d met Rolf.
“I’m really sorry,” Rider said, yanking my attention back to him. “I know this Nancee Anderson thing is disgusting. If you want to distance yourself from me, I’ll understand.”
“We’re roommates,” I said stupidly. “How can I distance myself?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” The thought of that, of an awkward division between us, made me even sicker than the thought of Rider with Ms. Anderson.
“So, is that what you want?”
“No.” I didn’t have to give it any thought. What I wanted was to salvage our newfound closeness. After some hesitation, I asked, “When did it start?” Rider deserved a chance to explain fully, since I’d more or less forced the issue.
“Late September.”
“Have you… have you been having sex with her?”
“That depends on how you define ‘having sex.’”
“Come on, Rider, don’t pull a Bill Clinton on me.”
For the first time since we’d begun the conversation, Rider smiled. Kind of. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to talk about.”
“Then only say what you feel comfortable saying.”
He pulled his hair over one shoulder so it fell down the side of his chest. Without thinking, I stroked the silky length of it. His sliver of a smile returned, but only for a second.
“I like it when you touch me,” he said softly. “It puts me in a whole different place.”
My face warmed. I liked it too. And yeah, it also put me somewhere else—a private, beautiful world where only the two of us existed.
After taking a deep breath, he finally answered my question. “We made out, usually in a rear corner of the classroom after she locked the door, because she doesn’t have a fifth-hour class. Sometimes we met after hours in the library. All teachers have keys to the library. Then she started inviting me to her campus apartment. But I only went twice.” He glanced at me. “You know she stays here, like, four nights a week—right?—and then goes back to her house in Marinette for the weekend. Where her husband is.”
“I think I might’ve heard something like that.” The phrase made out kept ringing through my brain. Rider was a great kisser. “But weren’t you worried about someone seeing you? Wasn’t she worried?”
“No, not really. She always made sure we were hidden—you know?—and staff apartments have their own entrances. A lot of students show up at the complex for all kinds of different reasons. Like I said, I only went there twice.”
Falling silent, he lowered his head, looked at his restless hands or maybe at the floor. All I could do was sit there and let him work his way through his thoughts. This Rider was as new to me as last night’s Rider, and I realized that if he didn’t care about me, he would never have allowed such rare glimpses into the secrets of his life.
“Anyway,” he said, mumbling now, “after a month or so, she really wanted to have, like, full-on sex, but I had a problem with… you know….”
I did a mental hustle to connect that dangling thread to its severed end. “I think so” was all I said, because I didn’t want to embarrass him by being explicit—a problem with getting it up—or embarrass myself by being wrong.
“Yeah,” Rider conceded, as if I had said it out loud. “’Cause I wasn’t into chicks, although I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself. So she tried… helping me along.” He flicked me a self-conscious glance. “Know what I mean?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. Nausea crept up on me. Hand jobs, blow jobs… and then what? I wished I could scour the images from my mind. They were like a disturbing porn flick I couldn’t unwatch. Nancee was probably a “sexpert.” I was the furthest thing from it. All Rider and I had done so far was rub against and stroke each other in a clumsy, desperate rush to find relief.
“But it didn’t work,” he said.
Finally, a ray of hope! “Really?”
“Yes, really. If I thought about some cute guy doing it, like you, I shot too soon. If I thought about her, or didn’t think about anybody, I fizzled out.”
The ray brightened. “Me?” I whispered.
“What’s so surprising about that? You know I’m crazy about you.” He coasted a hand back and forth over my thigh.
Crazy about me? No, I didn’t know that. I wanted to melt at his feet. “So you never went all the way with her?”
“Nope.”
“Then why does she bother with you? I mean, if that’s what she’s after.”
Rider helplessly lifted and dropped his hands. “Man, I don’t know. Maybe she sees me as a challenge. I have a feeling she’s used to getting her way.”
“You really are a virgin?” I tried to keep a note of triumph out of my voice.
“Yup.”
“So if you can’t… if you don’t… you know… why have you kept seeing her?”
Rider covered his face with his hands for a moment. “’Cause she’s really persistent, Jake. You have no idea. I thought if I blew her off she’d flunk me. Or worse. Maybe accuse me of something.” He dropped his hands. “But I know I can’t let fear keep me stuck in this mess. Especially now that you and I have gotten together.”
We looked into each other’s eyes. Almost unconsciously, I took Rider’s hand.
“Do you think she’s fooling around with any other guys?” I asked.
Rider shrugged. “Hard to say for sure. I can’t see how she acts in her other classes, so I can’t spot her MO.”
“What is her MO?” I asked out of perverse curiosity. If Nancee had ever targeted me, which I was pretty sure she hadn’t, it would’ve gone right over my head.
“Looks. Smiles. Casual touches that aren’t so casual, like brushing up against a guy when she walks past him or talks to him, or leaning over his desk to let him cop a look at her cleavage. Giving out higher grades than he deserves. Asking for favors, like helping move furniture around her apartment. When she thinks she has a chance of reeling him in, she starts leaving suggestive notes on his essays and quizzes. But nothing too obvious, nothing she can get in trouble for. Once he’s hooked, she graduates to e-mails and phone calls and text messages.”
“That’s how it went for you?”
“Yeah. If she’s gone after other guys, I assume it’s been the same routine.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered. She’d never done any of that with me. My waif image must’ve been unappealing to her, or maybe made me seem hopelessly innocent and therefore immune to temptation.
Rider shifted to face me. “It’s got to end, Jake. I’ve known that for months, but you’ve given me the incentive to act. I want her off my back. I want to be who I really am.”
“You don’t think she’ll retaliate?” Hell, Rider knew her better than I did. I had no clue what Nancee was capable of.
“I don’t care,” he said conclusively. “Not anymore. Being with her is all kinds of wrong.” Smiling, he brushed a curl off my forehead. “I know the gay is here to stay. And I want to enjoy it rather than shun it. Living in fear and denial isn’t living.” He dipped forward and kissed me. My eyes drifted closed as I fell into the kiss. Rider shifted his face to the side of my head. “You really get to me, Jake,” he murmured against my ear.
Goose bumps erupted all over my body.
Rider got off the bed and went over to his desk. He lifted his laptop and returned. After sitting beside me once more, he pulled up his e-mail account and hit Compose.
“Should I leave?” I asked, wanting to compensate for my earlier snooping, trying to let him know I truly did trust him and respect his privacy.
“No. Stay there. I’m not going to hide anything from you anymore.”
She used the name nanonfire for her e-mail account. How subtle. I watched as Rider stared at the screen, my stomach churning. Would he be able to go through with this, or was he having second thoughts? I got my answer when his fingers began a manic dance over the keyboard.
I’m sorry, but I won’t be seeing you anymore. You need to leave me alone starting now. I haven’t been happy with this from the start. Couldn’t you tell? Now that there’s someone in my life I deeply care about, someone my own age, I can see what a huge mistake our relationship has been. It isn’t what I want, never was, and it shouldn’t be the kind of thing you want either. I’m moving on. You should too, but in a different direction. Think about that.
RLH
“What does the L stand for?” I asked.
“Lafcadio. The first name of a writer and Japanophile. My paternal grandmother admired him.” Rider smiled musingly and a little sadly. “Maybe just because his surname was Hearn.” Without the slightest hesitation, he hit Send. “I hope that does it.”
Hoping too, I squeezed Rider’s hand.
Chapter Six
MAYBE A half hour later, Tim, Carlton, and Brody strolled into our room. The five of us adhered to a kind of code. A locked door meant Try again later; either I’m gone or I want to be left alone. A closed but unlocked door meant Knock first; I’m sleeping or busy. An open door meant Come on in.
“Good news, masters of the virgin universe,” Brody announced, sweeping an arm in Tim’s direction. Smiling, Tim tossed a sheet of paper on Rider’s desk, where Rider was doing calculus homework. I sat cross-legged on my bed, reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings for English class.
“Thought I’d give you guys a heads-up,” Tim said with a smile. “Since you’re all so pathetically needy, I decided to do the article. It’ll be in tomorrow’s edition.” He briefly laid a hand on Rider’s back.
Whenever Tim thought he’d said something that might hurt someone’s feelings—not everybody got his dry sense of humor—he’d give them a reassuring touch or toss them a smile. I guess it was the RL equivalent of an emoticon. He hated the thought of people misinterpreting his words, of being wounded or offended by them.
That was one of things I loved about Tim. Each of my friends, I realized, was like a family member I’d chosen myself. I loved Brody for the way he played mother hen to the rest of us. I loved Carlton for his openness, his lack of barriers and filters. I loved them all for making me laugh and for taking me into their hearts. Among the five of us, not a single red spark of meanness existed.
Guess I was in a loving mood.
Rider chuckled as he read Tim’s article. He got up and handed me the paper.
Lark or Lifestyle?
No Bangin’ for These Bolger Boys
Five fine young residents of Bolger Hall have decided to give up the favorite pastime of teenage boys everywhere—chasing tail—and now call themselves Ben Raphael’s All-Star Virgin Order, aka BRAVO.
“We’re proud of not being horndogs,” said one anonymous member of the group. “So maybe one or two of us aren’t virgins, strictly speaking. But we’ve decided that from now on, we’re saving ourselves for our special someones, whoever and wherever they might be.”
While looking, will these chaste chums allow for kisses? Cuddles? Will they go as far as third base, if not all the way to home plate? They won’t say. It appears the gorgeous girls of Ben Raphael will have to find out for themselves.
I gaped at Tim. “You’re really going to run this in the paper?”
“Yeah, what the heck. We’re short on features this week anyway. Plus, it’ll get Brode to shut up. His voice is starting to haunt my dreams.” Tim came over and lifted the paper from my hand. “I’m on my way to the office right now.”
“So who’s the ‘anonymous member of the group’?” I asked.
“Eh, Brody and I came up with that.”
“Doesn’t making up quotes violate your ethics or something?”
“Jake, we’re talking about a student newspaper here, not the Washington Post.”
“Hey, aren’t you hooking up with some girl today?” Carlton asked me.
“Shit, that’s right.” Between my homework and all the crap that’d gone on that morning, I’d forgotten about Della. Good thing I still had plenty of time to freshen up and schlep to Hammond Hall. It wasn’t even noon yet. “But we’re not ‘hooking up.’ We’re just going skiing.” I powered off my e-reader and got on my feet.
Tim put his hands on my shoulders, looked into my eyes, and solemnly intoned, “Be brave, young man. Be brave. We’re counting on you to do us proud.”
I reached under my bed and pulled out a small bucket of grooming aids. “I can’t believe I’m your first success story.”
Carlton sat on my bed. “We can’t either, dude.”
“Okay listen, here’s how you keep the mojo going,” Brody said, all revved up like a coach before a game. “You don’t give it up, no matter how much she wants it. You give up just enough to tantalize her. It’s all about your presence and your pacing. First date, maybe some snogging—you know, smooches and feels. Second date, act like you’re struggling nobly to control yourself, then maybe cave in enough to let her give you a beej. I swear, she’ll be going around telling her friends that the All-Star Virgins are the real deal, and that’ll get them salivating—”
Rider grinned. “Now there’s a romantic image.”
“How much you wanna bet I’m right?” Brody said. “Especially with Tim’s article running tomorrow. Pretty soon we’ll be desired by half the female population of BR, and envied by the male population, and admired by everyone else.”
I glanced at Rider. One side of his mouth ticked up. He knew damned well I didn’t need step-by-step instructions from Brody. I had no intention of stringing Della along, much less losing my virginity to her. Although I wasn’t entirely sure what constituted virginity among gay guys—and there was little doubt I now stood among their ranks—I was sure if I ever became a penetrator or penetratee, it would be with the complex boy full of hidden dimensions who’d won my heart when I was fourteen.
I COULD easily have been attracted to Della Belizaire if I were inclined to be attracted to girls. She had twinkling eyes and an open smile and wasn’t the type to play games. Conversation came easily with Della, and she was refreshingly direct.
We got to know more about each other as we strolled from Hammond Hall to the outfitters’ shop. I viewed our date as an opportunity to make a new friend, not garner a bizarre kind of acclaim or score some pussy, so my conscience didn’t nag at me about manipulating Della. I wasn’t manipulating her. The way I saw it, this All-Star Virgin Order gig could help me overcome my shyness and build my self-confidence. I’d been socially awkward long enough.
Della insisted on paying for our gear rental since she was the one who’d asked me out. As the minutes flowed by, I decided I really liked her. I also realized I’d never be able to like her the way I liked Rider. If she did want a physical relationship, I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. There were only two options, one courageous and one cowardly. But to choose the first, I’d have to trust her without reservation.
The groomed cross-country trail began just outside the outfitters’ building and made a wide loop through the woods that surrounded the campus. Della whooped with joy as we began shooshing over the snowpack.
“Don’t you love this, Jake?” she said over her shoulder. Della was from Afton, Minnesota and “grew up being a freak for winter sports.”
I did love it. Sunlight dappled th
e track. Snow sifted from the pine boughs and tickled my face. But it was the rhythmic choreography of poles and skis, of pumping arms and gliding feet, that engaged me the most. After a while, I felt like a woodland sprite, reveling in my domain.
Last year, Rider and I had once gone skiing while it snowed. The plump flakes fell heavily, partially obscuring us from one another. Because the temperature was moderate, I hadn’t worn a hat. Later, Rider told me I’d looked like a dryad drifting from tree to tree, and it was the most magical thing he’d ever seen. (One of our sophomore courses was classical mythology; we were both really into it.) When I’d pointed out that dryads were female, he’d said, “Doesn’t matter. The image fits.”
“Does that make you a satyr?” I’d asked facetiously.
“Could be,” he’d answered with a smile.
Now, as I thought about that exchange, I wondered if there’d been a hidden meaning in his words. Had he felt about me the way I felt about him? Had he been testing me to see if I was receptive?
Of course I hadn’t been. It had never occurred to me that this boy I worshipped found me special in any way.
After Della and I had circled back to the outfitters, we decided to warm ourselves at the café, a cozy room off the main dining hall where people could pop in and out for beverages and snacks at all hours of the day and night. Della steered us toward the loveseat in front of the gas-fed fireplace, although we could just as well have sat at a table or in individual armchairs.
Uh-oh.
“What’s going on with your roommate?” she asked after shaking out her hair and taking her fist sip of some herbal tea.
The question caught me off guard. “Rider?” My heart raced. I was afraid she knew something she shouldn’t have known.
“No, the make-believe one.” When I blushed, Della laughed. She definitely had Tim’s sense of humor. “I swear, Jake, I’ve never seen cheeks as pretty in pink as yours. It’s like you’ve got carnations blooming under your skin.”
