Wrestling This (5 page)

Being gay, there seemed to be too many obstacles to get through.

I had half a mind to call Margie to see if she’d go back with me, but I remembered she seemed to have a new beau—one she drove to our secret rendezvous Friday night. “It’s not like you can just flip a switch.
Hey, I’m straight. No wait, now I’m gay
,” I jested with myself.

One Republic came on and because they reminded me of Eric, I skipped over the song. I pulled the bed linen closer to my chin and welcomed the comfort of the sweats I had on under the covers. The clang of keys rapped at the door. I looked at the clock—five-thirty—practice usually went to six.

“All right,” said Dylan with the door only partially open. “Out of bed. I know you’re not sick.”

“Huh?” I inched up.

He shut the door. “Eric told me all about it. I know your depressed ass too well. I suspected something, but didn’t want to pry.”

I perked up. “Why? What did he say?” The black cloud over me lightened.

Dylan sat on the edge of my bed, leaned in, and felt my forehead. “Yup, you’re a liar.”

I pushed his hand away. “What’d he—”

“Maybe you should ask him yourself? You’ve been avoiding him.”

I kicked back the sheets. “Dylan, I can’t. This gay thing is just too hard.”

He glanced at my crotch. “What’s hard?”

I kicked him. “Dylan, what the fuck?” His crudeness would undo him. “You’re so rude.”

He stood. “It’s a joke. Laugh.” He leaned against my desk. “Look, no one said relationships were easy. If you guys want to make a go of it, you’ve got to at least meet halfway. The kid’s scared shitless. If his dad knew...if the rest of the team knew....” He shook his head. “I’m glad I’m straight.”

“I think you’re bi.” I sat on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not bi. Am I?”

It didn’t matter. “Dylan, he left me on the side of the road like an abandoned dog.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“He panicked when he saw us.”

I froze
. Us?
“Wait.” I put my feet on the floor. “What are you talking about...
us
?”

Dylan crossed his arms along his chest. “Um, Margie and me.”

I shot up and rushed him, stopping short a foot away. “You’re dating Margie? That was you?”

“I didn’t think you’d mind now that you have...had...Eric.”

“She went out with
you
?”

“Hey,” he pushed off from the desk, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

I shook my head and didn’t answer.

“You don’t think I’m good enough for her?”

“Why did you go to our rendezvous and not back here?” I asked.
Does it matter?

“I didn’t know when you’d be back. I didn’t want you to walk in on us.”

“Like I did Friday afternoon?” I asked, recalling him meeting me at the door.

“No, that was someone else.” He grinned, slyly.

“What? You’re fucking two girls?”

“Look, let’s drop it. Margie and I were just out on a friendly date. Nothing happened. Besides, we wanted to check in on you. I had her drive there.”

“You what?”

“I figured you’d go there. I just wanted to make sure—”

“You’re kidding?” I got a bad feeling. “What do you mean ‘
we
wanted to check in’? Did you tell Margie about Eric and me?”

He walked toward the window. “No...no.”

“Dylan?”

“All right, just a little. It snuck out.”

I charged him, throwing him against the wall. “Who the fuck are you to—”

He tried to fight me off but me being stronger, I slammed him to the ground. His foot hit my desk chair and it fell over.

He groaned.

I jumped on him and pinned his hands above his head, leaned in close to his face. “If you ever—”

The door slammed open, hitting the wall.

“Quin?” Dylan’s Linkin Park poster slid off the wall. “Dyl?”

In the doorway, Eric stared at us.

I
followed Eric down the front stairs of Broward Hall. He’d bolted from the room.

At the bottom step, he stopped and turned. “If you’re into Dylan instead of—”

“I’m not.” I didn’t know if Eric knew about Dylan squealing on us. “We were...were sparring.”

“In your room?” He walked off.

I chased after him, my bare feet slapping against the pavement. “Eric, I’m sorry. Okay, we were arguing.”

He stopped. I nearly bumped into him. “Does he like me?” Eric asked. “He’s not in love with one of us. Is he?”

I hadn’t considered it, but the thought made me want to laugh. “Unlikely. I don’t think Dylan’s capable.”

Eric seemed to agree and nodded.

We laughed.

“Look,” Eric said, “I’m so sorry about Friday night. I...I panicked. Can we go someplace and talk?”

I looked down at my naked feet, and we went back in.

The guard waved us in—Dylan had signed him in when bringing him back from practice. When we got to my room, I apologized to Dyl. He’d already forgiven me, plus said we were fighting over his treatment of Margie and it seemed to put Eric at ease. I threw on some socks and my Adidas. Dylan offered to leave us alone, but I just needed to get out of there.

Eric and I went for a jog. He had on his track pants and running shoes from practice.

In a slow pace around the Greens, our competitive streaks were at bay. We strode side-by-side and talked.

“People were starting to notice we were no longer enemies,” he said, after telling me about the team gossip. “When I saw Margie’s car, I just got nervous. I shouldn’t have acted like a prick.”

We rounded the administration building with a Seminoles banner flapping in the breeze in front of it.

“And, I left you stranded on Duval,” he said, shaking his head. “What an ass.”

Ineffably, I fumbled for words and my pace slowed. Eric’s hold on me rendered me tongue-tied. He jogged ahead slightly. Finally, I uttered, “I’m falling hard for you.”

He slowed by a concrete bench, and when I neared, we both stopped. He turned around. We were a few meters apart. I wanted to jump in his arms. Images from Margie’s movies flashed, but instead of doing it, I muddled forward.

“What are we going to do about this?” I asked, more to myself than to him.

“I know what I want to do,” he said.

W
e found our way to the Ragans Hall gym.

After locking the door, he kissed me, ripped my shirt off, and pushed me against the wall—arms up overhead, hands locked in a hold. We held that position for a time, grinding and kissing. Eventually, I let go, gripped his silky-smooth hair, and pushed him down.

He licked his way to my sweats, where he yanked them off and took what popped out of them into his mouth.

I writhed, elbows trembling against the wall. I throbbed inside his mouth.

He moaned and worked a finger into my ass.

Next, bent over the weight bench, he spread me apart, spit between my butt cheeks, and his warm tongue loosened me, flicking against my pucker, driving me crazy, making my cock drip onto the matted floor.

“I’ve got a condom,” he said. “Don’t worry.” I heard him rip it open and spit a tear of the package onto the floor.

“I’ve never done this before,” I said, yet ready.

“I’ll be gentle.”

He fingered me loose and when he finally pushed his head into my hole, I thought I met my maker. Stars flashed and for a moment I thought maybe anal sex wasn’t my thing. “For the love of—” I yelled.

“Sh. Sh. It’s okay. I’ll pull out if—”

“No!” I focused on the heat of his palms on my waist, the beads of his sweat falling on my lower back, his breath in scattered moans. I wanted to please him. I wanted to be his everything. Something came over me—
love?
—and with a force, on both our parts, that I swore shook my soul, he slid in. “GAWD!” I yelled.

He put a hand to my mouth, and I bit into it. “Atta boy,” he said. “I’ll go slow.” He put a hand to my mouth, and I bit into it. “Atta boy,” he said. “I’ll go slow.” Instead, he went faster.

He’s out of control.

He rocked, uttering muffled profanity.

“Harder,” I mumbled into his hand, and bent into him. I wanted him to fuck me so he’d never forget this moment. I knew I wouldn’t.

It didn’t take me asking twice for him to buck like a bronco upon my back, and I grunted and groaned giving him the ride.

With his hand now removed from my face and my Red Sox cap falling off from his force, I grabbed at it and shoved the crown of it in my mouth. We couldn’t be too loud. The lobby wasn’t all that far away, but I could barely stifle the cries of my ecstasy. Curse words met my hat, and drool seeped out of the corners of my mouth. I could sense Eric nearing orgasm—his panting, the quickening of his pace, holding back his elation—and it excited me further. My hand found its way between my legs.

Tightly, he hugged me, chest on my back, biting into my neck, and never refraining from fucking. His mouth worked its way up to my ear, and he whispered, “Babe, I’m going to come.”

“Uh huh.” I cringed, nearly biting a hole into the hat. My hand beat my cock into a fury—faster than it ever had. “Me too.” The hat fell to the floor. Having his girth fill me felt blissful, the pain subsided.

Eric bit my shoulder and climaxed with a groan in the back of his throat. And I shot too.

We fell off the bench. I landed beside him on the floor.

He draped an arm around me, and we lay there for a few moments. I couldn’t move. While exhilarated, my ass throbbed—numb and wincing.

We caught our breaths.

“I kept your underwear, you know?” he said, after a time.

My smile met his. “What?”

“That night, in here, when I ripped them to shreds, I shoved them in my pocket and still have them in my drawer.”

I laughed.

“You think it’s funny?” he asked, frowning.

“Well...yeah.”

He turned, looking dejected.

I nudged him with my shoulder. “Because I did the same with yours. They’re shoved under my mattress.”

O
ver the next few days, I rode a never-ending high.

Even the B grade I got on my Biology mid-term didn’t send me into a self-flagellating spin like normal: “Why didn’t you get an A?” or “You could have done better.” And when Dylan told me he and Margie were going on another date—this one more-than-friendly—I congratulated him. What did I care?

I couldn’t stand being without Eric. While we texted each other non-stop, I needed more intimacy. Our two-hour meet—strewn with testosterone-laden boys flinging each other around on mats—didn’t cut it.

Finally, on Wednesday, I asked Eric out to dinner, my turn to treat.

With neither one of us too keen on being somewhere close to campus, we found ourselves opting for Primo Italia again. The newness of man-to-man intimacy still had us in our own proverbial closets.

After practice and freshening up at our own places, Eric picked me up. I’d have driven, but no car for me—not until I can pay for one myself, according to Dad.

“A 5-series, huh?” I grunted, as he navigated the BMW down Old Bainbridge. I recognized the sedan’s model the last time, but didn’t bring it up.

“It’s three years old.” An annoying jingle shot out from the radio, and he turned down the volume. “Not too many sophomores have wheels like this. My folks say I should count myself lucky.”

“My old man could write a check for a brand new one, but he wants me to earn it.” I hoped I didn’t come across as snotty or jealous. I wanted Eric to know I identified. “Not that you haven’t earned it. I’m just—”

“I’m happy we’re away from campus.”

Grateful, he changed the subject. “Me too,” I said.

The streets were slick from the late afternoon rain. The sun hadn’t yet set but people had their headlights on—a Florida rule to do so whenever you need your wipers.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of...of being seen together.” Eric turned his wipers off. “I doubt anyone suspects anything between us, but it’s just all so new. You know?”

I cleared my throat. I hadn’t told him about Margie, but didn’t want to ruin the evening. “It’s not like we can hold hands walking through the middle of campus.” While I would love to be able to show my affection freely, I knew we couldn’t.

“Part of me wants to.” He reached across and on my knee put his hand.

I clasped it. I, too, wanted nothing more than to show the world, if only in a subtle way, who I loved. His wanting something so simple humbled me. “Same here.” A sense of pride stoked the warm sensation in my gut. “It would be nice to be open, and be able to engage in the small but important things that heterosexual couples can do. I understand the hiding that gay people have endured. I guess that now includes me...us.”

“You guess?”

I gripped his hand tighter. “I know.” Owning up to being gay felt right.

We drove the half hour there—me in bliss and Eric equally as happy, as noted by the grin on his face. The sunset colored the sky shades of purple.

Five minutes out from the restaurant, under the cover of night at a stoplight in some backward Florida town, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Fear mounted. I looked out the window. With no one around, I then relaxed and put my head on his shoulder. When the light changed, my apprehension returned. A few cars loomed ahead, and I sat upright.

“Almost there,” Eric said.

Let’s put our just-good-friends hat back on
, I thought. But, I didn’t care. I had his company. Still buoyant from our quasi-public display of affection, I walked into the restaurant feeling confident in his presence. While Margie and I would have held hands on our way in, and I would have held open the door for her—touching her shoulder in the process—none of that happened here.

Even a casual gesture of affection could welcome judgment. Yet being kissed on the cheek at that stoplight on the corner of Fifth and Pleasant in
God-Knows
, Florida had my heart swooning more than the hot sex we’d had in the gym.

Could there be a real life for me as a gay man and for us as a couple?

I
nside Primo Italia, Sandy—the same waitress from the last time—recognized us. “You gents got another night off from studies? If you’re not too careful, I may just have to tell your professors.” She winked.