Dear Reader,
This work is longer than usual and will have fewer "juicy bits" than something typically categorized as
erotica
,
and as such I would call it more a romance. My aim was to capture the bewilderment of a young gay man having his first experience in college. My
hope
was that this work would speak to others who may have had experiences like this, or may have only dreamed of them.
I should have been so lucky to have had someone like Mark looking out for me....
(This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.)
Ceci n'est pas un roman à clef.
The beginning of my freshman year in college at a gorgeous Catholic university, with its immaculate buildings and grounds in full end-of-summer glory, is still one of my fondest sets of memories. Yes, I was shy outwardly, but not within myself. I seemed to have known forever that I was gay, and though I had had a religious education up until then, I had been taught to think carefully about things, rather than simply feel guilty or fearful. It really was a diverse and liberal education by all accounts, and I was lucky. While the early 90s in those environs was not exactly the time to be "out and proud" outside of a parade or demonstration, and I felt the need to be closeted, I nevertheless was internally quite happy with myself, and I had no shame fantasizing about boys. All the time. Constantly.
And fantasizing was about all I had - the internet at the time was for Those Computer Geeks Who Knew; there were no chat rooms brimming with local collective anonymity to help gay boys meet; there were no cell phones to use for flirtatious texting or photo (ahem) sending. Thinking about it now, I feel kind of lonely for myself! But like I said, I'm lucky to have been at ease internally for most of my life, and I don't have regret about the experiences that made me who I am now.
Moving into the all-male dorm to which I had been randomized with sixty-some other freshmen was as new an experience as I could get. I had never spent significant time away from home, and had always gone to co-ed schools. My only sibling is my younger sister, so suddenly having 250 "brothers" was intimidating, fascinating, and intoxicating all at once. There was an excitement that was almost palpable, that crackled in the air with shouts and hand-slapping and the moving in of boys and their things. And they all seemed nice, and happy that I was there. In retrospect, it was all of the best things about a fraternity without any of the trappings of pledging or rushing or whatever - I was in from the start, and there was an unspoken understanding that we were all obligated to care for each other.
I was reasonably popular toward the end of high school, had a large, close group of friends, and I got along easily with a lot of different people who didn't necessarily get along with each other. But I was also no stranger to being picked on or outright bullied in my more distant past, and I was often nervous to avoid situations where that could happen, or where I might set myself up for it. Be yourself, but don't stand out too much. Go along, but don't be the fool. Imagine kissing him, but don't let him suspect that's what you're thinking.
I had been mailed (with a stamp) the names of my two roommates: Mark Harden whose family lived about an hour from the University, and Rick Schultz, who was from farther afield in Texas. I was in the middle, growing up about a four-hour drive away. The three of us were to share a single large room, and since Mark lived close, he and his dad had measured the room and pre-built a loft for his bed. It was already installed when I arrived with my things, which left Rick and me to decide between a lower and an upper bunk. I wanted these guys to like me, so I was fairly passive about making any decisions or asking for anything, and I ended up with the top bunk. I had never slept that high (and briefly thought about the injuries I might acquire) but Rick probably hadn't either; the quickness with which he picked the lower bunk when I offered him the choice made me suspect he might be thinking similarly.
There weren't pictures and videos of Mark and Rick on the internet to look at, so when I met them in person, it was the first time I was seeing them. Mark was buff. Beefy, in fact. Scarily so. He seemed nice enough, but I also felt that if I weren't crazy about his prefab loft and choice of where his bed and desk were, there'd be little I could do about it. He kind of spoke in grunts and loudly, but he didn't seem overtly hostile. His hair was a short sandy blond with some curl, and his eyes were a bright pale blue; he was also pretty tan, but I could tell his skin was really fair - the kind that turned pasty in the winter. Rick was quieter with a low, soft voice, darker, smooth features and a lot of freckles, black straight hair, and deep brown eyes. He seemed shier than I felt, and he perpetually wore a dark, fitted baseball cap. Between the two of them, I didn't imagine us three getting into deep conversations, sharing too much about ourselves. Maybe that was okay, though, since there was part of me I wasn't comfortable sharing with them.
During the move-in and orientation days, Mark often came and went, since his family was so close and could easily come down for the day. Other parents, including Rick's and mine, stayed in hotels for at least a day before their travels back home. Rick's dad was an alumnus and decided to stay for several days, and since my parents had to get back home, and Mark and his family weren't around, he invited me out with Rick and his sister when they'd get dinner. He was excited to be back at his alma mater, and he was the gregarious story-telling sort - the kind who seems like a riot to his kid's friends, but not to his kid. Me: buy me dinner and tell me hilarious stories of getting in trouble at this school? Yes please! Rick: heard them all before, don't embarrass me dad, thanks.
I thought that because of this early friendliness with his family, Rick and I might end up hanging out, but his course of study and quiet shyness would ultimately dictate otherwise. We would be "intimate" in one regard, though: I'd never slept closer to another person, or for more time. That first night, the steel frame bunk with its flaking white paint groaned and rocked whenever Rick turned over, or moved even slightly. "This is going to be a long year, Tommy boy," I thought.
We got into the routine of classes, eating, hanging out, studying, and sleeping pretty quickly. I had hour-long classes at 8:00 and 9:00, and an 11:15 class. There wasn't enough time to grab lunch between the last two classes, since the dining hall opened for lunch at 11. This meant I had nothing to do for roughly an hour, and that is how I discovered that for me, falling back asleep in the mornings tends to lead to a sex dream. Unfortunately, like actual sex, thinking about it too hard seemed to prevent it from happening, so by the second week when I was rushing back to my dorm to jump in bed and get to sleep, I often couldn't. Instead, I would settle for fantasizing about any of an entire menu of cute boys I had met. To this day though, if I snooze or turn off my alarm and fall back asleep, there's a moderate likelihood of subconsciously having sex with someone unexpected....
The guys from our dorm tended to eat together in one of the two large campus dining halls, and while I started out going over with Mark or Rick, I soon had a group of friends who had similar majors and classes, and who were also more "my people" - nerdy, non-partying types with quirky interests and habits. My group of friends in high school weren't the drinking sort, so I was relieved to find those in college who weren't part of the sometimes-terrifying drinking culture. For really the first time in my life, I was being exposed on weekend nights to guys (and some girls) so blotto they couldn't walk. Though thankfully our room was never used as a "party room," Mark had quickly turned into a partier, and it was nice to be able escape to quieter places with friends who had more intellectual fun.
Though I had what I thought was a good background in high school chemistry and was planning a career in science, I quickly found out that I was out of my league in my general chemistry course. Several of my tightening group of friends were in the same class, and they would occasionally help me out, as I struggled for the first time academically. Mark was also in the class, and I'd glare at him as he sat with headphones on, obviously paying no attention. I stared in disbelief one day when the professor called on him: Mark took off his headphones annoyedly, the professor asked his question again, Mark answered it without thinking, and then went back to listening to his music. I was even more upset when I found out he was acing tests and simply bored - "Yeah, I had all this a couple years ago, it's boring shit, Hind-lick!"
Most guys had accrued nicknames fairly early on, and having the same last name as the physician who invented the maneuver to save people from choking, I attracted some rhyming doozies. Of course butt licking was funny to a dorm full of guys. Mark pulled "Hardon" somewhat obviously, but also got "Big Hardon" and just "Hard," all of which got my attention. (Was it big? Hard to tell. No, you can't ask, stop thinking about it.) Rick was too quiet for nicknames.
One night I sat on our room's floor, chemistry book open, staring at problems I lacked some fundamental knowledge to solve. Mark was at his desk in his usual t-shirt with some beer logo on it and soccer shorts, doing some work, but not chemistry because that was so easy for him. I growled angrily.
"Chemistry givin you trouble, Hind-lick?"
