All characters are over the age of 18.
This one has a bit of something for everyone. First time, college, coming-of-age, straight sex. Later chapters will introduce bisexual and group/poly action, a transgender character and some cross-dressing, alcohol and some light experimentation with drugs. If any of that isn't your cup of tea, you might want to skip this one.
I expect at least 6 or 7 chapters, but could go longer depending on how y'all like it. This first chapter is a bit vanilla and will have a slow build to properly set the scene.
Where do I even start?
As Ms. Parker from sophomore creative writing taught us, starting at the beginning is the way to go.
Not too wordy,
she'd say,
but just enough to hook them in the first page
. I could put on paper what I'm doing right now and get a probably one-season Netflix series, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Okay, the beginning, kinda. My name is Jack Thornton. Good, masculine name, right? My dad, Jack Thornton senior must have thought so. Thank god he never called me
junior
or any other related bullshit, just Jack. His name is actually John, which I was surprised to learn could get 'shortened' to Jack. What the hell is that about?
Not shorter, hello
...
Yeah, I know, already getting off track. My dad was as much of a man's man as you could imagine. Tough, but loving in a gruff sort of way when he needed to be, usually one of the smarter guys in the room without the need to announce it or get in a pissing match. Always had the right answer if you took the time to ask. A kind of gentle giant that epitomized the opposite of the toxic masculinity playing out on any number of social media platforms when I was in my formative years.
I always worried about disappointing him, not living up to the obviously high standard to which he'd comported himself all of his... shit, how old is he? I don't even remember the year my dad was born. Seventies I think? How is that even possible, the seventies were a bizarre time after Vietnam and the gas crisis and all the... and, I'm off track again.
G
et it together. Alright. Jack Thornton the second, junior, whatever.
Me
. I always had the feeling I wasn't the picture my parents had in their minds of their first and only son. I was born just before cell phones and Facebook and Instagram. But by the time I knew anything, they were ingrained in everything. How could anyone grow up 'normal' in that kind of environment?
I was always the kid that played it safe, that didn't take risks. I saw my friends do stupid things and go down in flames nine times out of ten. Putting yourself out there always seemed like such a gamble, a game not really worth playing.
I knew that everyone was dealt a different poker hand. Somehow I wasn't blessed with my father's confidence or ability to walk into any situation and seem like I knew what I was talking about. I did alright in school though, even managed a high three-point-something GPA.
By the time I was sixteen, I realized I also hadn't inherited many of my dad's genes. He was 6'2", I was 5'8". He had broad shoulders and muscles everywhere. I got my mom's good hair, but her waifish physique as well. I'd been told by a couple of girls I was good-looking in a k-pop boy band sort of way, which I took to mean a bit feminine and well-dressed. I guess I was both of those things.
Whatever. Use what you've got.
I swam on the school team and managed to bulk up a little, but only enough that I didn't look unhealthy. Swimming was the one thing I managed to succeed at, my slight build and naturally nearly-hairless body gave me an advantage that I used as best I could. I even won a regional gold medal at the end of my junior year.
That one win gave me an incredible confidence boost, something I'd never felt before. Alongside one of my best friends getting a girlfriend that was way out of his league, I vowed to enter my senior year a new man, reinvented.
Suave, confident
. For the most part, I felt like I pulled it off for a few months. Fall and winter holidays passed and I had made more friends, got invited to a few parties, and worked up the nerve to ask a girl I was crushing on to senior prom. She even said yes. That was the spring of 2020. Then...
FUCKING. COVID.
My mom has an autoimmune disorder that normally isn't much of a problem, but for our family made quarantine a very real and serious thing. I put my university plans on hold, and instead virtually attended the local community college. By spring of 2022 when things began to get back to normal-ish, I had an associate's business degree and what felt like the worst case of cabin fever ever.
Being home, insulated and alone for two years sent me right back into my comfortable, introverted shell. It's like a habit you're trying to break but don't really want to. Going to my community college graduation ceremony though, again full of people and laughter and happiness... it rekindled my resolve to start
living
, to start putting myself 'out there', whatever that meant.
Seeing the COVID impacts in the rearview mirror, I brought up the idea of going away to college again. June was late to start classes in the fall, but I got on like ten provisional admissions lists and was eager to go literally anywhere else. By late summer, I had three spots to choose from.
Much to my parents' displeasure, I chose a liberal arts college out west. I could read the objections in their facial expressions... "They don't have the same values in California, it's going to be so different and uncomfortable for you, what are you even going to study at a place like that?" They were of course, absolutely right. But I
wanted
to stretch myself, meet people who thought differently, and maybe get through a winter without dealing with Michigan snow and ice and freezing bullshit.
They were dumbfounded when I said I didn't want them to take me, that I could handle the trip by myself. Mom even got out of me that I didn't yet have a place to live, owing to the last-minute admission. She glanced at me like a complete stranger when I said "I'll just find something when I get there." If she had pearls, she would have clutched them.
Okay, getting closer to the interesting part of my story.
So, on a sunny Saturday in early September, my parents drove me to the airport. I had a suitcase packed with every warm-weather piece of clothing I owned. It wasn't a lot. With a few tears from mom and a bear hug from my dad, I stood on the curb and watched them drive off. It was surreal, knowing I wouldn't see them for months, and that I was flying off to someplace without even knowing where I was going to sleep that night. I felt like I was microdosing adrenaline as I walked into the airport. The flight was uneventful, which was fine with me.
I stepped out of the terminal at LAX and grinned like an idiot. The warm coastal breeze ruffled my hair, and the palm trees lining the street immediately transported me to
vacation
, even though I was here to live and study.
To exist.
"This is gonna be alright," I said aloud to myself, still smiling. Finding the taxi line, I waited for my turn. The driver knew the college, and we were quickly off and weaving through traffic.
My single suitcase and backpack in tow, I made my way toward the student union. Having studied the campus brochure and map obsessively over the last few days, I knew right where I was going. The place looked just like the brochure, even the happy young adults playing frisbee in the quad to the soundtrack of someone strumming a guitar.
I was the only person I could see wearing pants, which I noted would change at my earliest opportunity. Two higher priority goals dominated my thoughts,
food and shelter.
