Requited

Fourth Year

"Did you miss me, Baxter?" Says Ash.

It's the first night of the last year of college. Ash has come in hot. She's come in like a warm front. A smoking hot front. Cumulonimbus clouds are gathering. They're heavy. A storm is approaching. She's wearing a white dress that falls down, low, off one shoulder. She's not wearing a bra. Every time she moves, I hold my breath slightly, a little unsure if this will be the time the dress will slip down a little too far.

"Yes," I say, "I missed you."

"Did you kiss any other girls over the summer?"

"No." I say truthfully.

"Are you sure?" Thunder rumbles in the distance.

"Yes, I'm sure. Did you kiss any other guys?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head and opening her eyes wide. An innocent look, that only half suits her. She looks away and when she looks back, there's an evil glint in her eye, "but I kissed a girl."

I feel a confused flutter of possessiveness, but it's quickly replaced by a strong, deep pull of forceful arousal. She knows I love the thought of her being with a girl. I feel a little short of breath, "And," I say, "did you like it?"

She rolls her eyes at me and smiles slowly. Lightning flickers in her eyes, as she leans in close. She presses her body up against mine, and runs her hand up my inseam, "Let's go back to my place, and I'll tell you

all

about it. I'll tell you every...juicy...detail."

And just like that, she has me right where she wants me. She has me, literally and figuratively, in the palm of her hand.

* * * * *

Fourth year is different. It feels different. It feels like a holding pattern. It feels like I'm waiting. Waiting for next chapter. I feel like I'm treading water. I finally moved out of the dorm. I'm living in an apartment with Mark and Riley. They are great guys. We have a great time together. Our place is exactly what you'd expect from student accommodation. We have a couple of old, mismatched sofas and the bookshelf in my room is made of a few bricks and a few planks of wood. It doesn't matter though, we are all chilled and live together without any drama. We eat a lot of pizza. We drink a lot of beer. Ash often says, "Ew," when she walks through the door.

I do the work I need to do for my course, and I attend the precise number of lectures I'm required to attend. I spend the rest of my time networking and making contacts. I spend the year with one foot in college and the other, out in the real world. I can't wait for the year to be over, so I can get out there and start the rest of my life.

Things with Ash are good. They're great. It's just that they're different. I guess, we're different. Our fights aren't as explosive as they used to be. Our make-ups aren't either. We seem to have mellowed. I think it's a good thing. A great thing. I'm not sure Ash agrees.

"What's wrong, Baxter? It's like you don't give a shit about me anymore?"

"Of course, I do. We're getting on great, aren't we?"

"I don't know, I just feel like you don't care like you used to. I feel like you're not really feeling me, you know?"

"Come here," I say, pulling her into my lap, "I'll feel you."

She laughs and curls up in my arms.

* * * * *

One recurring sticking point we have, is our plan for next year. Ash has proceeded headlong with her plan to get us living on the west coast. She doesn't mention it directly, she just hints. I've told her I want to stay on the east coast in plain English, she just hasn't heard me.

"Maybe we should just try the west coast for a while and then see how we feel. I spoke to my dad yesterday and he has a whole bunch of contacts for you. Do you want me to put you in touch?" She says.

It's the first time she's addressed it directly. I'm getting the distinct impression that she's planning to move me across the country without my consent. It's starting to bug me. It's starting to annoy me, to be honest.

"Ash, I've told you before, I want to stay on the east coast. My family and friends are here. I want to stay here."

"Bax, you can't stay on the east coast. Then you'll be here, and I'll be there? How will that work?"

"I don't know." I say, "I don't know if it will work."

It turns out, that was the wrong thing to say.

She breaks up with me right before spring break. I head straight over to Andy's and sit at his desk, while he packs for the vacation. I feel calm as soon as I get there. I always do. The second I see him, I feel better. The second I see him, I don't want to leave. I don't want him to leave, either.

"Don't worry, West, you and Ashleigh will get back together. It will be fine."

"I'm not worried." I say and I mean it.

This break-up feels different. It doesn't have the charge or the sting our break-ups usually have. I don't feel the sharp rip of rejection, or the hot need to prove that I've been treated unjustly. I feel resigned. I feel tired. I feel so, so tired.

Andy is wearing his faded blue t-shirt and jeans. His jeans hang low on his hips. When he reaches up to get a sweater from his top shelf, I see a small sliver of his back. I watch him as he moves around the room. Back and forth, from his wardrobe to the case he has lying open on his bed. I watch him as he bends over, folding his clothes on his bed before packing them. I think back to first year, when I folded that t-shirt for him. When I touched it and it felt like I was touching him. It's on his body now and I want to touch it so much, it hurts. I want to touch his jeans too. I want to run my hand up his leg when he bends over like that. I want to run it up from his knee, all the way up. I want to run my hand up and I don't want to stop. I want it so much, my face feels hot. The room is swimming. I want it so much, that right then, I don't think there's anything in the world I wouldn't give to touch him.

Even if I could only touch him over his clothes, I'd give anything to touch him. Anything.

"You okay?"

"Sure." I say, taking my sweater off. "Just a little warm."

He closes up his case and we head to the door.

"Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to stay for a while?"

"Nah," I say, butting my shoulder against his, as we walk, "I'm fine."

He slings his arm around me, like a brother. He pulls me towards him for a second, before letting go and giving me a big smile.

"I'll see you after the break," he says, "and don't worry about Ash. She'll take you back. She always does."

Why doesn't that doesn't make me feel better?

* * * * *

After Andy leaves, I head back to my place. Mark and Riley left earlier in the afternoon. I'm getting a bus home early tomorrow morning, so I'm home alone. I pack and then raid the fridge. I find an apple and some yoghurt and two hotdogs. I eat it all and try not to wonder how long the hotdogs have been in the fridge. I tidy my room and file the lecture notes that have been stacked in a pile on my desk. It's still early. Too early to go to bed. Most people have already left for their vacations. I scroll through my phone, looking for someone to call. I feel restless. Twitchy. I flick on the TV and try unsuccessfully to find something to watch. I get up and look in the fridge again. There's nothing there now, other than ketchup and a jar of mayonnaise.

I decide to head out. Just for a walk. That's what I tell myself when I head out. As soon as I leave our apartment, I walk straight to the number 22 bus stop. When it arrives, I get on. The 22 goes all the way across town. I look out the window as the bus drives. I see the familiar sights of school whiz by. I see the dark shadows of trees and the soft warmth of the streetlights. I keep looking out until we get to where I'm going. I don't know this part of town well. It's no-where near any of the places we usually hang out. That's why I'm here. I get off the bus and take a right. I walk until I get to the bar. I stand outside. I deliberate for a minute. I think about heading home. It's not the first time I've been here. I've been here before. Last time, I stood outside, and I didn't go in. This time, I do. I open the door and walk in.

It's a small place. Dimly lit and a bit dingy. It smells a little like nachos, which turns my stomach and makes me question my decision to eat those hotdogs. There are four or five tables and a few guys sitting, eating and drinking. I find an empty seat at the bar and sit down. I haven't made eye contact with anyone. I'm just sitting, but I can feel my heartbeat in my chest. It's not racing or anything. I can just feel it.

The barman comes over to serve the guy next to me.

"Hey," the guy says, "can I buy you a drink."

I look around to make sure he's talking to me, "Uh, sure. Thanks."

I must do something strange with my face, as he lowers his voice and leans in, saying, "You, you know this is a gay bar, right?"

"Um, yes, I know that."

"Okay," he smiles, "so you're in the right place?"

"Yeah," I say quickly. My voice sounds a little strident, "I, uh, I mean I'm not gay, but I am bi."

"Okay," he says, nodding thoughtfully at me.

Our drinks arrive and I take two big sips and let out a long breath, "That's the first time I've ever said it out loud."

He looks at me and smiles. He has brown hair and blue eyes. He has a nice face. He's older than me. In his late twenties or early thirties, I'd say. He gives me a nod, almost as if he's proud of me, "That's worth drinking to."

We both take a couple more sips of our drinks, then he turns to me in his seat and says, "How does it feel, now that you've said it out loud?"

"It feels like a relief." I sigh deeply, and then I sigh again. The big breaths I take, feel cleansing. Freeing. "A huge relief."

We chat for a while. He tells me his name is Matt and he's in marketing and lives nearby. I tell him about school and the types of jobs I'm applying for.

"So, West," he says when our second drinks arrive, "what made you decide to come here, tonight of all nights?"

"My friend did, I guess. My good friend. My best friend, actually."

Matt makes a face. A little sympathetic grimace. "Oooh, got a crush on your straight friend? Don't worry, guy, we've all been there."

"Uh, no."

"You don't have a crush on your friend?"

"No," I clarify, "he's not straight, he's gay. I definitely have a crush on him. A monumental crush. Worse than a crush."

Matt's looking a little confused. "So, what's the problem? Does he have a boyfriend?"

"Nope. He's single. He just, I just, I mean, I don't know that the problem is. I guess he's just not into me, or something."

Matt is looking severely confused now, "Hang on a minute. I'm trying to piece this together here. Are you saying this guy has no idea you're bi, is that right? If I'm the first person you've ever told, then he has no idea, right?"

"I guess not."

"Well," says Matt, snorting a little, "if you ever want anything to happen, you're going to have to tell him. That's step one."

"I don't think he's into me. He's never done anything. We've been friends for years, and he's never done anything. I mean, like, we've slept in the same bed before, and he's never done anything."

"If he thinks you're straight, he's never going to."

"Well, I guess I haven't really explained Andy to you very well. Seriously, Matt. He's hot. My God, he's so hot. Everyone wants him. Everyone. He's so hot, everyone wants him, and he gets to decide who he wants. That's how it works with Andy."

"Look, dude, I don't care how hot this Andy is. He's not going to do anything. If he's gay and he thinks you're straight, you could both live to a hundred and he's never going to do anything. You'll have to take my word on that."

He studies me intently. I can feel his eyes search my face.

"And what's more, I think you know that. I think, deep down, you know that. I think the real question is why you haven't told this guy that you're into guys. If he's your best friend, why haven't you told him?

That'

s the question, I think."

I'm quiet for a while. My third drink is finished. We've been talking for a long time. "Thanks, Matt," I say, "you've given me a lot to think about. You've really helped me a lot."

Matt gives me a big smile and dips his head at me. His smile gets even bigger and he looks over at me. He turns his body, so he's facing me. There's a change in his eyes. A glint. "Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?"

He's flirting with me, I realise. I feel a little shocked. This guy is flirting with me. I'm sitting here, in a gay bar, and a very nice-looking guy is flirting with me. I feel a quick, deep rush of excitement. I feel it in my dick and my balls. "Anything?" I say.

He raises his eyebrows and nods again, "Anything."

"Okay," I say, standing up, "can I kiss you?"

He laughs a little. His eyes are laughing a lot, "You know, normally, I'd have a lot of reservations about letting a bi guy experiment on me, but you're sweet, West. Really sweet, so have at it."

He stands up, too.

I look at him for a second. I feel nervous. I feel just as nervous as I did, when I had my very first kiss. I press my fingers to my lips to stifle a giggle and then without thinking, put my hand behind his neck and pull him toward me. I feel the prickles of the short, shaved hair on his neck as I lean in and press my lips softly against his. Softly. Chastely. I look up at his face. His eyes are closed. I lean in again and this time I kiss him properly. I kiss him with tongue. His mouth is warm and wet, and he tastes like beer. I feel the roughness of his facial hair against my top lip, and I like it. I like it a lot. His body is leaning against me. He feels heavy and solid. I like that, too.

"Well," he says, when I pull away, "what do you think?"

"I like it." I smile, looking away and running my fingers over my lips. For a second, I don't think I have the guts to say it, but I do, "Can I see if you liked it?"

His eyes widen like saucers, but he's smiling. He's trying not to laugh. He opens his hands, as if to say, "Go for it."

I reach down and stroke him. I do it quickly. Tentatively. The second I touch him, my fingers clench around him involuntarily. He's hard. His dick is heavy and solid, too. "You're rock hard." I whisper in amazement.

"Are you?"

I give a slight nod. He looks down at my dick and then he looks up at me. He's waiting for permission. I give another, more deliberate nod. We turn our bodies towards the bar so that no-one can see, and then he reaches down and touches me, the way I just touched him.

"Holy shit!" He laughs, "My God. Andy's not going to know what hit him."

* * * * *

I think about Matt on the bus on the way home. I think about him over the vacation. When I think about him, sometimes, I get a strange sense, that I was meant to meet him. That meeting him was a big deal. That somehow, the fact that I walked into that bar, instead of just standing outside, is important.

When I'm not thinking heavy things like that, I think about kissing him and touching his dick. It was interesting. I liked it, there's no doubt about that. It was definitely good. It felt familiar in an unfamiliar way. It felt very similar to the way it feels when you kiss a new girl. The kissing is the same, but the mouth is new. It felt a lot like that. It did feel different, because he was a guy, but it didn't make as much difference as I thought it would. Still, I liked it. I get hard every time I think about touching his dick. I really, really liked that. I liked the feeling of it in my hand. I liked touching it. I liked the girth of it, and I liked knowing that I knew exactly what it felt like for him, when I rubbed my hand up and down it.

As much as I think about Matt, I think about what he said. I think about him saying that Andy is never, ever going to come onto me if he thinks I'm straight. I think about that so much, after a while, I feel as though I'm going round in circles. Matt said that I knew this. He said I knew it on some level. I think about that a lot.

Did I know? Do I know this?

I mean, I must on some level. It's obvious that it's hugely risky for a gay guy to come onto a straight guy. Obviously, it is. On top of that, Andy's a very respectful guy. I doubt he'd ever want to anything to make anyone uncomfortable. I know he cares about me. Even if he doesn't say it, I know I'm important to him. I know he wouldn't want to upset me or make things awkward between us. It's just that over the years, I've dropped so many hints. I've dropped hints that have embarrassed me the next day. I've dropped hints that still make me feel mortified when I think of them, years later.

I mean, God, I actually asked to jerk off with him. What was I thinking?

I still feel hot when I think of that. I made a complete ass of myself.

Surely, Andy must have noticed all that? Surely? But, Andy's oblivious. The other day, I got to his place and Tyler was all but sitting on his lap. He'd had an alleged bad day and apparently, needed a cuddle. His word, not mine. It was gross. Really gross. He curled up, burying his head in Andy's chest and Andy just sat there, patting him absently on the back now and again. And still, I don't think it's occurred to Andy that Tyler has a huge thing for him. I honestly don't think he's ever noticed.

So, let's assume, for arguments sake, that Andy is oblivious and hasn't picked up a single one of my hints. Not just the wanking, let's assume he hasn't noticed the fact that I move mountains to be around him. Let's ignore the fact that I'm always the one inviting him to things and going around to his place to spend time with him. Let's forget that I never miss an opportunity to touch him. Let's forget about that. Let's even forget that I tell him I love him, every chance I get. Let's just park all that.

Let's focus on something else Matt said. Let's focus on the fact that he said, "The real question is, why you haven't told Andy you're bi." Maybe, that

is

the real question. Maybe, that's what I need to spend some time thinking about. It is a very good question. Pertinent. I tell Andy everything. Other than this, I've told him everything about myself. The good, the bad. I haven't held anything back. It's not like I think he'd judge me. Obviously he wouldn't, I mean, he's into guys too. There's no way he'd judge me. It's also not like I haven't had plenty of opportunities to tell him, I have. He's told me all about how hard it was to come out to his dad.

I could have dropped it in casually. I could have just said, "Hey, I can relate. I'm struggling with it myself."

That would have done it.

Just last term, I had a perfect opportunity. I was at Andy's, and Tyler was having a go at bi guys, basically implying that bisexuality was nothing more than a gateway to coming out as gay. Tyler had some very strong feelings about it.

"I'm telling you," he said, "it's either pervy curiosity, or it's just a good old-fashioned case of being a closeted queen."

"Ugh," sighed Andy, "that's bullshit, Ty. You know that's bullshit. You're trying to wind us up. Bisexuality exists and is valid, you know that. Don't be an ass."

I sat there, thinking about saying something. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest.

Just say it. Just say it.

I thought.

I practised saying, "Well, I like guys and girls." I said it over in my head a few times. I didn't say it out loud though, instead, I just said, "Ash kissed a girl over the summer."

"Eeeek," shrieked Tyler, sarcastically, "

Well,

in

that

case, I stand corrected."

Later, when we were alone, Andy said, "Did it bother you?"

"Huh?"

"Did it bother you that Ash was with a girl?"

"No, I mean, a little. I think she mainly did it to entertain me."

"Wow," he said softly, "well, I hope you were entertained."