Intimacy

Introduction:

It's funny- a lot of times when people meet us they think Jeff is the gay one and I'm the straight one. He's not effeminate, but he is an art history major with a David Bowie obsession. He dresses like he's ready for a party at Andy Warhol's Factory at any moment. He even LOOKS gay- practically hairless and very slender, with pouty lips and high cheek bones. Hell, it took two years of being his best friend before I really believed he was straight.

When I first met him freshman year, I did everything I could to get into his pants, but he resisted the smoldering looks, the hand on his thigh, the friendly wrestling, showing up at his place in my skimpy running shorts dripping in sweat from a long run. After a few months I'd resigned myself to the fact that all the beer, the weed, and the blow in the world wouldn't make him the least bit... flexible. And by the time I'd figured it out, we'd somehow ended up best friends.

I don't really have a type. But if I did, he would be it. I mean, I'm into all kinds of guys, but what really gets me off is a smooth, toned, slender guy, masculine without being macho. I also like guys who are a little smaller than me- I like feeling like I'm in control, like I'm driving the car. When I decided to move in with Jeff junior year, I knew it would be torture to watch him walking around the apartment in his boxers every morning, but I didn't know I'd start to fall in love with him. If I'd had any idea, I would've suggested he find another roommate.

I can't afford to lose him. At this point, he's probably the best friend I've ever had. I tend to be a little closed off from people until I know them pretty well, but Jeff was good at drawing me out of my shell. I mean, it's not like I don't have a lot of friends, but I'm not really close to that many people. He just has this way of listening to you, like you could tell him anything and he wouldn't blink.

Jeff knows I think he's hot. After I've had a few drinks and he has his hand on my thigh, I can't help but look at him with unabashed lust. I think it gratifies him to feel wanted, to feel sexy, to know I'd fuck him, let him fuck me, in an instant, even if he's not interested. I think he likes the power he has over me, the fact that he knows I can't refuse him anything he asks.

He likes to tease me though, to push his crotch into my ass while I'm cooking something on the stove. He comes and sits close to me when I'm watching TV, just close enough so I know how his skin feels against me, long enough for me to smell him and imagine wrapping my arms around him, pushing him down and straddling him. Sometimes, when I say something that pleases him, he grabs my face and kisses me on the cheek- in that guy-friend, joking kind of way. It just makes me obsessed with the thought of actually kissing him, fucking his mouth with my tongue, taking control of him, punishing him for teasing me.

He's become more affectionate, too. When we go out to bars together, he sits close to me and touches me in these little unconscious ways until I'm so worked up I have to go find somebody to fuck. I've been a generous lover lately, so the boys I take home will scream and moan loud enough for him to hear them. I want Jeff to hear how good I make them feel. I want him to know that even if I want him, I don't need him.

When we first got to be friends, it was fine, but lately it makes me feel helpless, and I've started to resent him.

Chapter 1:

When I get back to the apartment on Saturday night, Jeff isn't there. We'd gone to a party together, but I'd lost track of him. I'd been dancing with this guy, Craig, and was hoping maybe I'd take him home. I had just met Craig a few months ago. He was a transfer student from Cornell- a junior, like me. He's a little bit femme, but definitely cute. We've made out a few times, but I haven't fucked him yet, and I'm dying to. Last night, dancing with him was like getting a lap dance. He'd bend over and slide his ass up my legs, and then gyrate his little butt against my crotch. When I slid a hand around to his chest he'd start bucking his hips against mine, making my dick thicken up inside my jeans. I wanted to slide my dick into his ass and listen to him make those breathy moans all night.

I went to get a drink, and I lost track of Craig, and then I couldn't find Jeff anywhere either. There wasn't anybody else interesting there, at least nobody I hadn't had already. So I went home, alone, on a Saturday night. In bed by two am, with a nasty case of the spins.

So it's Sunday morning, and I'm hung over and feeling like shit. I'm in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee for me and Jeff when I hear Jeff's bedroom door open.

But it isn't Jeff that walks out. It's Craig.

I try to not act shocked. There are any number of reasons he could be leaving my straight best friend's room. At 10 AM. On a Sunday.

Craig walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Morning, Alex," he says. "How you doing?"

"A little hungover," I say. "What are you doing here?"

"Your boyfriend took me home last night." Most of my friends refer to Jeff as my boyfriend, which I used to think was funny, but has started to get a little old lately.

"Really?" I ask. I'm too tired and shocked to try and pretend I'm not.

I mean, Jeff has been known to get fucked up and make out with a boy once or twice, but as far as I knew he wasn't all that interested in the male anatomy. I mean, he's never mentioned anything to me about it before, and I'm supposed to be his best friend.

"Yeah," says Craig, "and let me tell you, straight boy ain't so straight."

"How was it?" I don't want to know, but I can't help asking.

"You ever seen his cock?" Craig whispers conspiratorially.

"Not hard," I say.

Craig makes a gesture with his hands. It looks... big.

"Really?"

"Honey, you have no idea. I'm gonna be limping all day."

I resist the urge to punch him. I pour Craig a cup of coffee, and change the subject, because I'm starting to feel nauseous, and I'm pretty sure it's not the hangover. Craig has a study group to get to and he leaves before Jeff wakes up.

I'm fully dressed and starting on my homework by the time Jeff crawls out of his room. He looks like shit. I don't know what to say to him; I don't even know if I can look at him. I feel like he's betrayed me, which he hasn't I guess, but I can't believe he went home with some guy. I can't believe his first time wasn't with me.

If it were anyone else, any other straight guy, I'd be congratulating him and asking when I'd get a turn. I try to tell myself it's not a big deal, and there's no reason for me to be upset, but it isn't working. I can feel a tight little knot in my chest, and I can't look at him. Jeff doesn't look at me or talk to me either. I can't imagine what he'll say, what he'll tell me, how he'll talk his way out of this one.

He drinks his coffee and has his cereal, and goes to take a shower without even looking at me, without saying a word. The article I'm reading isn't making sense, and I have to re-read every paragraph three times. He comes back into the kitchen with his laptop. Our Sunday afternoon tradition- doing our work together at the kitchen table.

I can't believe how disgusted I am with him. Rationally, I know he was just wasted and curious. Craig had asked me if I wanted to blow some lines with him at the party, but I had a paper to write and I needed to get some sleep, so I declined. I'm sure that's how he lured Jeff home. Hell, it's probably responsible for a few of the straight guys I've managed to bag. It's not Jeff's fault. It's not like he'd been planning it and keeping it from me. But that's what it feels like for some reason. Like he's cheated on me. I don't know if I'm more upset that it wasn't me he went home with or that I had no idea he'd be open to it. I mean, we've been friends since the beginning of freshman year. If he wanted to experiment, why the fuck did he do it with some fucking slut he barely knows?

He's staring at his computer screen, and I'm staring at my article, but it's clear we're not getting any work done.

"Did you see Craig this morning?" he asks, finally naming the elephant that's taken over the apartment.

I nod affirmatively. He looks at me, and neither of us know what to say.

"How was it?" I ask, finally. I don't know if he expects me to be bubbly and gossipy the way I am when he brings a girl home. I'm not though. I'm curt, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

"I don't know," he says.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It was weird, ok? I don't know what to say."

"Did you like it?" I ask, my voice full of bravado.

"It was fine," he says. "It was just sex. I was totally coked up out of my head, anyways."

I'm embarrassed at the relief I feel when he says that. We stare at each other, and it's the first time there's actually been an awkward silence between us, maybe ever. The silence just gets more and more awkward, so there's no comfortable way to end it anymore.

"Craig said you're hung like a horse." It just slips out of my mouth, maybe out of nervousness. There are twenty different ways I could have said it. Admiringly, sexually, light-heartedly. But I know the way I say it is completely degrading. Like Craig and I have been talking about him behind his back. Like Craig's my best friend, and Jeff is some slut we've been dishing about. I can read him like a book, and I know how to push all his buttons. I want him to feel as humiliated as I felt this morning when Craig came out of his bedroom. But when I see his face drop and the blush spread across his face, it's not as gratifying as I'd hoped it would be.

We go back to doing our work, but I can't pay attention, and this paper is due on Tuesday and I've barely started the research, so I go to the library, and when I come home, Jeff is already asleep.

The next few days are weird. I'm avoiding him, because every time I see him now, it's like all my circuits fire at once, and I can't function.

Wednesday night, I'm at home watching TV. Jeff comes in and sits at the opposite side of the couch and we watch together in silence. He gets up during the commercials to go to the bathroom, and when he comes back he sits close to me.

"This is fucked up," he says. I turn to look at him and he's staring at the TV.

"Yup," I say, and I'm relieved my voice doesn't crack.

"If I'd had any idea it would upset you this much, I never would have went home with him. I never would have even talked to him."

"It's my fault," I say. "I don't really know why I got so upset. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Jeff lifts my arm and puts it around his shoulder, and snuggles in close to me. The first time we sat like this was when his ex-girlfriend dumped him, but now we sit like this sometimes when one of us is having a rough day. With his body this close to me, all is forgiven. In spite of myself, I run my fingers through his hair. He lets me.

"Alex," he says, "I'll do anything to fix this. You're my best friend."

"Let me fuck you," I say. It's out of my mouth as soon as I think it, and I immediately regret it. He pulls away and looks at me.

"You know I would, right? Let you fuck me." Hearing him say it makes my gut churn, and I force myself to push the image out of my head. "I know, Jeff."

I know he isn't pissed at me, and he knows I didn't really mean it, and I know he really would let me fuck him if he thought it would fix anything. We both know it won't though. He's still straight, even if he did fuck Craig, and it would just make everything more complicated. I'd still be in love with him, and he still wouldn't be in love with me.