-- Thank you so much to everyone for the incredible feedback for the rest of the 'Rory and Sebastian' series. It's been really humbling. A couple of things I thought I should explain about the series, before it goes ahead to the next chapter - just in case there are any misunderstandings! As some of you may have guessed from comments made by the characters earlier in the series, chapter 15 was not the end of their time together. But, Rory is out of the picture for a bit and Sebastian, as a normal teenage guy heading off to college, is going to have a few experiences without him. Because that's the way real life goes. This chapter is much more sex-based than some of the others, but I hope it makes a temporary nice change. A couple of commentators also made a few remarks about how much Sebastian drinks. It's a fair point, and I totally get it, but as an American raised in the UK/Europe, I can say to you that it's a cultural difference. Rugby culture and the UK's college culture is much more heavy-drinking-friendly than the US's; it's a generalization, but Americans tend to drink less, but more regularly, and the British (and especially the Irish) less frequently but they have much bigger tolerance for large amounts of it. That could be a reductive generalization, obviously, but it's the cultural perception, anyway, and so, no, Sebastian doesn't have a drinking problem. It's just the culture he's in. In any case, thank you so much for all your feedback and I hope you enjoy this installment! --
I made it to University College, London, two and a half months after Rory and I broke up. We had some contact with each other in those months, but it was mostly awkward and fleeting. As time passed and the freshness of the shock receded, it was difficult not to be annoyed at both Rory and myself for what had happened. There were times when I was silently furious at Rory because he had been prepared to throw our relationship away, with no question of negotiation, over what had been one mistake. And, by many other couples' standards, not even a particularly big mistake. Had everything that had come before counted for nothing? Did one kiss, launched on me by someone I barely knew, really count for more than everything that we had meant to each other before that?
On the other hand, there were also times -- usually when it was daylight and I was working out, running or feeling more upbeat -- where I could begin to understand Rory's rationale. I could see that by firmly putting the distance between us because of what staying together would do to his neuroses, he was, at last and at least, taking some kind of possession over them. He was managing his life to make sure those neuroses didn't spiral out control; he was controlling them, so that they did not control him. That was what I had always wanted for him; wasn't it? It was just that, in the fantasy, I was with him when he reached that stage.
A couple of talks with my big brother, Evan, who had split up with his high school girlfriend, Sarah, and who were now back together, even gave me hope that this was the kind of thing that would work in the long run. Perhaps Rory and I needed this time apart? It was at times like this that I wished I was religious, like Rory was, so that I could believe everything was part of a wider plan -- that I could believe there even was a plan.
Anyway, at the end of September, I arrived in London and launched myself into the messy socializing orgy of freshers' week -- a 'get to know one another' carnival of drinks' promotions, mixers, club nights and fancy dress parties. It's ridiculous, garish and exhausting; it's also amazing fun. I was in my element and, in the rush of new acquaintances and new location, the dull empty ache that I had learned to live with -- the absence of Rory -- receded from my consciousness into my unconsciousness. Most of the time, at least. It probably isn't be true to say that I no longer missed him; I was simply no longer aware of it - constantly. It came back, though, every now and then.
On the fourth night of freshers' week, I had sex for the first time since Rory. He was a cute guy called Patrick, who I never hooked up with again. He was taking biophysics, but he seemed too good looking for a scientist. He was thin and pretty-handsome, with soft blond hair and a bright smile. We started hooking up in the middle of the club and he took me back to his room. I remember lying, flat on my back, naked, with Patrick riding me for all he was worth. He wasn't a virgin and he had given good head in our foreplay. But even as I held my hands around his waist and enjoyed the feeling of his warm, lubed-up hole expertly sliding up and down on my sheathed rod, I couldn't help but find the situation slightly ridiculous.
Patrick had his back arched and from time to time, he'd put his hands behind his head or run them over his own chest, and coo. Or purr. Like a porn star. It was like he had this manufactured idea of what sexy was; it wasn't natural. It was a bit forced. Still, I finished and after a few moments, I got up and got dressed. I pulled on the ridiculous bright yellow t-shirt I'd been wearing for whatever party-theme it was that night and said a friendly goodbye. I'm usually pretty good at not feeling too awkward in those kind of situations. Hey, it happened; get over it. Even if Patrick did seem a bit awkward once he spunked over my chest and stopped his writhing and moaning. I pulled on my shoes, tossed the used rubber and the tissue I'd used to wipe Patrick's jizz off me into his trash can and made my way back to my halls. The sun was coming up over London as I got in. I removed my t-shirt and collapsed, face down, on my sheets and tried to sleep in preparation for the next night's round of partying.
*
After Patrick I did not hook up with anyone again for three more weeks. I settled in to my course (history with international relations) and made friends. I joined the rugby team and began practicing again, right away. College necessitated another round of 'comings out,' if you want to call them that. It always threw me by how surprised people got when I told them I was gay or how often they came out with bullshit or dumb-ass things like 'Oh, I would never have known. You don't act gay, at all,' to which I would reply, 'Well, wait until you see me having sex. I'm pretty gay then.' Or, 'Oh, that's such a shame!' or something equally retarded. Sorry, I know I shouldn't use that word. But, seriously, people -- wise the fuck up.
One day, I was in my bedroom talking to a girl on my floor that I'd made friends with called Helen. She was Irish and very pretty, with light brown hair and blue eyes. She was complaining about a guy she'd hooked up with who wasn't calling her back and our first paper of the semester, which she was struggling with.
"Who's that?" she asked, pointing at a picture pinned on my noticeboard.
I glanced up from my chair. There were some photos of my family on there, too, and my high school rugby squad. But she was pointing at a photograph of me and Rory. It had been taken in December, at Daniel's new year's eve party. I had my arms around his waist and he was smiling. I didn't look too great, but he looked amazing. His big brown eyes were grinning out at me, in his navy cashmere sweater and beige chinos. I remembered how he smelt that night. At quick thud of anguish at the memory; quickly suppressed.
"That's my ex-boyfriend," I answered. I didn't like the way that sounded. "That's Rory."
"He's cute," she said. "Good for you, Seb!"
"Oh, you know me. Always the charmer!"
"How long were you two going together for?"
"Just over eight months," I said.
"Why'd you break up?" she asked. "Uni?"
For a second, I contemplated telling her the truth, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. I couldn't bear to have her think of me as 'that' guy and I also didn't want her to think Rory had done anything to push me into cheating.
"Kind of, yeah, but the whole thing was my fault. He's wonderful."
"He's gorgeous."
"I know. He doesn't, but I do."
