Reflection

Good morning.

It was a simple, everyday kind of text. I got it while I was in a common area waiting for my next class. It would be a nice message to get normally, but I didn't recognize the number.

I'm sorry, who is this?

Whoever it was replied in about ten seconds.

Cam from last night. You told me to get back to you later.

I didn't know any Cams, and certainly hadn't met any last night.

I think you have the wrong number.

Wait, you aren't Terri?

That gave me pause, because that was one letter off from my real name. I'm named Terrence, but have gone by Terry for as long as I could remember. My dad even calls me "Ter-Bear" sometimes. I've never spelled it with an i before, probably because it looked more like a girl's name spelled like that.

No, I'm not.

Aw man, he gave me a fake number?

Looks like it. Sorry about that.

It's okay. Didn't mean to bother you.

No worries.

It was odd, but wrong numbers happened all the time, so I didn't think much about it and forgot it soon after. My economics class was starting soon, anyway.

*****

My name is Terry Stihl-Ortiz. I'm 18 years old and have just started my second semester in college. I made the decision to live on campus, and it's been a fun experience so far. It's nice to be living independently, though I do miss my family a lot.

We're a pretty tight family of four (well, five if you count our borzoi Arthur). My mom is my rock, my dad is one of my role models and I love my baby brother to pieces. We all have strong relationships with each other, even though on the surface we don't look like the average family.

My actual, biological father ran off before I was even born. Mom has never told me his name and I've never asked. He was just some deadbeat and he didn't matter. When I was about two, my mother Claire Stihl met her soon-to-be-husband Luis Ortiz, and they fell in love. Luis is technically my stepdad, but he's my real dad in all other ways. He's my family and we love each other. A few months later Mom and Dad had a kid of their own, a baby boy named Luka. My little half-brother is fourteen now and just started high school.

As close and happy with each other as we are, there's a part of me that kind of cringes when I look at a family picture, and I have to force a smile whenever a new one with all four of us is taken. It's all because of the way I look.

My mom and I are white, but Luis is Mexican-American, as one may have guessed from his name. Luka has a complexion between his two parents, but I'm an outlier. If I were to guess I'd say I took after my biological father, because I don't look that much like my mom. She's a bit tanner than me and has blonde hair with brown eyes. I'm fair skinned with dark brown hair and my eyes are green. I can't get a tan, either; every attempt I've made ends up as burns or freckles. The result is that when the four of us are together I stick out like a sore thumb. I don't look like I belong. On more than one occasion people have asked my parents if I'm adopted. They always laugh it off, but to me it's humiliating.

I've asked my mom to let me bleach my hair before. I wince whenever someone says I have pretty eyes. My biological father was a jackass for what he did to Mom and I hate being a reminder of that with how I look.

I've told Mom and Dad as much and they've both told me point blank that I was being silly. I still remember what they told me one time when I was eight. I realized how different I looked from them and ran to them crying.

"God gave me you and I love you just the way you are, sweetie," my mom said, petting my hair. "You don't have to change one little bit."

Dad put his hand on my shoulder. "She's right, Ter-Bear. You're my son. That's just the way it is."

My dad was my hero growing up, and I still look up to him today. He's a high school physics teacher, at the same school I went to. He was by a landslide the best teacher I've ever had. He's so funny and smart and kind, and could talk to kids and make them feel like he's their friend. I've always wanted to be like him. That's why I studied hard and got straight As in high school. It's why I was studying for a Thermodynamics degree.

On that subject I had just finished my Thermodynamics 1 class and was walking back to my dorm when I got a notification. I fished out my phone and saw I had gotten a comment on my most recent Instagram post.

I've had the profile for a few years and I post some selfies and pictures to it on occasion, but I mostly use Instagram to follow other accounts. I did have a few followers, though, mostly just friends. One of them had commented on my most recent selfie.

Wow @generalt.s.o., you're following Felix Helix? I didn't know you were into that kind of stuff.

They followed that with three smirking emojis.

I was confused because I had no idea what they were talking about, but sure enough, when I went to my following list Felix Helix was the most recent one added. I clicked on the profile and was shocked at what I saw.

Felix Helix was an Instagram model with half a million followers. He just seemed to post thirst traps. To top it all off, his profile had a bunch of pride flags and said he was bisexual.

I felt myself turn red as I quickly tapped unfollow. I never followed this account, I never even knew about it. It must have been a glitch or bug or something like that. Part of me considered going back to the comment and explaining how it was an accident and I didn't know who Felix Helix was and didn't even swing that way in the first place, but I figured any denial on my part would just make things worse.

The only thing I could do was shrug it off and keep going. I had studying to do.

*****

That evening I was eating dinner with my dorm mate and best friend Brady. He's a black man with vitiligo, that skin condition Winnie Harlow has that causes large patches of unpigmented skin. I didn't know about it when I first met him, but he was really cool about it.

"Think of it like a shiny Pokemon. It's just an aesthetic difference, but it's rare, so people want to make a big deal about it."

Brady was also gay, but from the beginning that didn't cause any problems. Our college was relatively small, so it was nice to find such a good friend so early on.

I asked him a question without thinking about it too much.

"You know Felix Helix?"

He snorted.

"Yeah, I do. He's not really my type, but damn is he hot."

I thought back to the pictures of him I saw and found myself agreeing with Brady. There were a few shirtless pics and I remember him having nice pecs and good definition in his arms.

Wait, was I really looking that closely? I was on his page for about ten seconds.

Maybe I was jealous. I do what I can to stay in shape, but no matter what I do I just can't develop muscles. I can get some tone, but no bulk. I'm about 5'11" and pretty athletic, doing well on the swim team back in high school, but I often wished I didn't have to be so damn skinny.

Brady's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"And do tell, how does a straight boy like you know about Felix Helix, hmmm?" He was clearly teasing me now, so I chuckled lightly.

"I just randomly came across his Instagram account today, that's all."

"If you say so."

He went back to eating and for some reason I kind of wanted to press the matter further, but what was there to even talk about?

I returned to my dinner, part of me feeling like there was something I was missing.

*****

I almost had a heart attack when I saw the graffiti on the urinal's divider wall.

General T.S.O. loves dick!

I was in the middle of peeing in one of my school's bathrooms when I saw those words, written in cursive lettering. Whoever put it there had used one of those opaque white markers, so it stuck out very clearly. Anyone who used this bathroom would see it.

T.S.O. were my initials, and ever since I learned about General Tso's Chicken I always connected it to my name. I didn't even like the food much, I just thought it was kind of cool. It was very, very likely that whoever wrote it was talking about me. General T.S.O. was the name I used on Instagram, TikTok, I even had a gmail with it. Anyone who knew me would be able to make the connection.

Panicking, I tried rubbing it off with my hands and it wouldn't budge. I even tried a wet paper towel and the letters stayed mostly intact. I felt an anxiety attack form and bolted from the bathroom.

I spent the next few minutes looking for a custodian, and when I found one I told him that there was graffiti in the bathroom. He told me he would look into it and all I could do was find a place to sit down. My head was spinning. Who would write that about me?

I was so embarrassed about the whole thing. It was 2023, it's not like folks can bully gay people like they used to, but more than that it wasn't true. Why would somebody write lies about me in the bathroom for anyone to see? I wracked my brain, trying to think about anyone who had a reason to try to hurt me and I came up empty. I wasn't gay. Why was somebody trying to tell people that I was?

And why was this giving me so much anxiety?

I didn't have answers to those questions. All I could do was sit and breathe until my heart quit thrashing around in my rib cage. When I finally calmed down I looked at a clock and I saw that I was late for my Circuits class. Flustered and stressed out, I grabbed my things and went to class, hoping the custodian would clean up that horrible lie before anyone else saw it.

*****

Thankfully the graffiti was gone when I looked in that bathroom the next day, but it still made my stomach churn when I wondered who read it before it was erased.

Insulting a man by calling him gay was a cheap insult from twenty years ago. If you want to go after someone, there are plenty of better options nowadays. But with me specifically that cut deep, and it was for a stupid, irrational reason. One so stupid and irrational that I never even said it out loud to anyone.

When I was about twelve I heard from one of my cousins that the real reason my biological father left my mom was because he was gay. He was only dating her and having sex with her to keep up appearances. Apparently that cousin heard it from his mother, my aunt and Mom's sister.

I really don't like putting stock into gossip and hearsay, so a few days later I got mom alone and asked her if it was true. She sighed and told me that it was.

"I don't know where you heard that, but that's what he told me. Still, I don't want you thinking about it. It's completely irrelevant to you and our family now. And if you ever use it as an excuse to be mean to gay people you're going to have to answer to me, got it?"

Mom and Dad have always taught me and my brother tolerance. They told us that some men liked men and some women liked women and it was just the way things were. It was just another thing people didn't have any control over, like skin or eye color. I promised my mom that I only wanted to know what the truth was.

I was fairly sure I already looked like my father, so I made it my life's mission not to act like him, too. I studied hard and worked my ass off. I also really wanted to find a girlfriend so I could show my mother that I knew how to treat a lady, but nothing ever came up. It always felt like there was something else I was dealing with that was more important than finding a girlfriend.

Deep down, I've always had an inferiority complex about how I was born. Knowing how responsible my mom is, I probably wasn't planned since she only would have been about 19 at the time. I know my mom loves me, but there's still a small part of me ashamed of the fact that my birth meant she left high school being dealt a losing hand.

I figured the only thing I could do was prove myself. I could get straight A's, become a swim team star, be a kind and loving person, and I could show that the only thing I have in common with my father is my DNA. I know how stupid this all sounds, but knowing that irrational fears are irrational doesn't make them go away.

Even so, I thought I was past all this. I thought I was done living in my deadbeat dad's shadow and constantly comparing myself to some jackass I'd never even met before. But that graffiti really hurt my feelings. It might as well have said "Terry is just like his loser father."

Still, this was all just me internalizing things, right? I had never told a soul these thoughts before, so it's not like anyone would know how much that would hurt me. It was just a coincidence. Someone was just being an immature bully and there was no reason to read any deeper into it.

There was nothing to worry about.

I was fine.

*****

Stretching my arms, I yawned as I left my dorm. It felt so good to finally be out and about. It was 10:30 PM on a Wednesday, so there wouldn't be many students around, but I'm sure I could find something to do.

I went to one of the more popular outdoor common areas of campus and found a delicious-looking Asian boy around my age standing there, looking at his phone. He was kind of short, had bleached hair, and wore these tight jeans that hugged his little ass wonderfully. I could feel my member thicken just looking at him. When I got a little closer I could see that his backpack had a few pride flag pins on it. Seems like I'd found my mark.

I walked up next to him and he looked up from his phone. I flashed him a grin.

"Hey there. What's a pretty boy like you doing here all alone so late?"

His cheeks, which were already slightly red, flushed just a bit more.

"I'm, uh...waiting for my Uber to get here. I had a few drinks tonight."

"Oh? Does that mean you're older than you look? Or have you just been really naughty?"

He giggled. "No comment."

I tapped the tip of his little button nose. "You are just adorable. Did you know that?"

"Well, I try."

Very gently, I put my hand on his chest.

"It's such a shame that you're leaving. I would love to get to know you better."

The boy looked down, then at me, then back down, and then pulled out his phone.

"I do have...five more minutes before my ride gets here. I'm sure you could get to know me a little bit in that time."

I grabbed his hand, glad the two of us were on the same wavelength.

"Sounds like a plan."

In a few seconds I had him pinned against a nearby tree and the two of us were making out. I was cupping his cute little face and he kept running his hands through my wavy chocolatey hair. My cock was so hard I thought my pants would rip.

"You are so fucking sexy," I hissed in his mouth.

The kid was panting. "Oh-oh my God! Where have you been all my life?"

Instead of answering I just dove in for another round.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end and he eventually pulled away long enough to look at his phone and make a sad face.

"My Uber just got here."

I kissed his cheek.

"Give me your phone and I'll put my number in. You can get back to me tomorrow."

As he handed me his phone I asked him what his name was.

"Cam."

"That's a cute name. It suits you." I finished putting my number into his contacts and labeling it with my name.

Terri

"See you later, Cam."

"Yeah. See you later, Terri."

He walked off and I felt like I was on top of the world. I put my hand on my bulge, gave it a little squeeze, and-

*****

-I woke up with a start, my hand on my steel-hard cock.

"What the fuck?" I muttered.

I couldn't recall the last time I had a dream so vivid. I could remember every sensation, every feeling, it was like it was real. But it couldn't be real, I would never do any of those things. I remembered how I acted in the dream, so cocky and flirtatious. That wasn't who I was at all.

I vaguely remembered a few other details. The guy the dream version of me made out with was named Cam, and when the dream-me put his name in Cam's phone he signed it as Terri. Why did that sound so familiar?

Suddenly it clicked. Cam was the name from that wrong number a few days ago. And he said whoever he was looking for was named Terri. I guess my mind just got bored and conjured up its own story about what led to me getting that good morning text. But why did my brain have to come up with something so realistic, so intense?

So...not me?

I realized my hand was still wrapped around my dick and my dick was still the hardest it had been in recent memory. I took my hand away, feeling very strange. My brain must have been in such a jumbled state, to make a dream like that and get turned on by it. I had another moment like the one I had at dinner with Brady the other day, like this was part of something bigger, but all I wanted to do was lie down and go back to sleep. It must have just been my hormones going all crazy. Even though I was 18 and long since done with puberty.

I drifted off again, the image of Cam still stubbornly burned into my mind's eye.

*****

My college has a decent gym, and I would go there to work out most mornings. Brady would come with me sometimes, but at the moment I was alone.

Well, not exactly alone. There were other people working out, too.

I was doing sit-ups and every time I was upright I caught a quick glance at the other patrons. There was a girl on the squat rack and a guy doing military presses. I try not to be rude and stare at other people in the gym, but it wasn't staring, since I was only looking at them for a few seconds at a time.

And up. And down.

Squatting girl was really pretty. She was black and tall and curvy.

And up. And down.

Did I know her? I was pretty sure she was in my Calculus class.

And up. And down.

I hadn't talked to her yet. Maybe I should go over and introduce myself to her.

And up. And down.

Mr. Shoulders was getting really sweaty. His tank top was almost transparent at this point, plastered to his skin.

And up. And down.

The muscles in his broad back rippled and flexed with every rep. He was so shiny and toned.

And up. And down.

He had nice thick legs, too. Thick and strong. Fuck, I wished I looked like that.

And up. And down.

I wondered what Cam was up to. Did he work out?

And up. And down.

Wait, I'd never actually met Cam. He was just a character in some weird dream I had.

And up. And down.

Nevertheless I imagined the Cam from my dream doing cardio. He would get all sweaty and tired and sore.

And up. And down.

He'd probably try too hard and tucker himself out. Luckily I'd be there to give him a nice sports massage after. His skin would be so warm and soft.

And up. And down

-

My abs gave out and I fell back, reeling.

Wait...what the fuck just happened?

I was just doing my sit ups and my thoughts became increasingly intrusive and inappropriate.

I was laying there, panting, trying to form one cohesive, reasonable thought until I saw the light change through my closed eyes. When I opened them Mr. Shoulders was there, looking concerned.

"You okay, bud?" His voice sounded so warm and kind.

I blinked a few times before I answered, feeling all frazzled.

"What? Oh, no, I'm fine. I guess I just wasn't paying attention. I'm okay."

"Alright then."

He walked off and I put my head back on the ground.

Why was I like this? What was going on?

Suddenly it felt like there was a part of my brain that turned back on and rushed in to reassure me.

Nothing was going on. Everyone has strange, intrusive thoughts. Whenever people are somewhere high up a part of their brain imagines them jumping. They called it the call of the void. It was just my mind being silly.