Текст книги "Every Frat Boy Wants It"

Автор книги: Todd Gregory

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

PART FOUR

SPRING

Chapter 12

-y little brother snored and shifted on my bed.

_I sat there, watching him for a minute. He's so damned sexy, I thought.

I'd first met him at the New Year's Eve party.

I'd driven up from Palm Springs on December 30th, Blair was going to come up the next day. The feeling I'd had that day after the porn video shoot hadn't left me. I couldn't quite figure out what was different, but something about me was changed. I didn't know if it was from having sex on camera, or being photographed in the nude with a hard-on, but I didn't feel the same anymore. I wrote about it extensively in my journal, trying to work my way through it, but I never could quite put my finger on it.

I just felt like a different person. I didn't feel like Jeff anymore.

And the worst part about it was my feelings for Blair had changed.

I still loved him, but somehow when I looked at him I didn't feel as intensely as I had. It was like I'd gone numb somehow, which didn't make any kind of sense. We'd had sex several times before we came back to Polk-in the shower, in the pool even, as well as a couple of times in the bed-and once in the living room on the marble floor under the gaze of his father's picture-but somehow things were different. It still was great sex, I still got into it, but now it was like I wasn't really a part of it. It felt sometimes like I was watching and completely detached from the whole thing. I couldn't really explain it any better than that.

I think Blair sensed it, too. He didn't say anything, but as those few days passed I noticed he wasn't as talkative as he usually was. He didn't laugh or joke as much. Instead of having fun like we always had before, the silences between us seemed to last forever, and longer.

It was like a wall had come up between us. And I didn't know how to tear it down, no matter how badly I wanted to.

So, it was kind of a relief when I got into the Flying Couch and drove back up to Polk.

I decided I was going to get royally fucked up on New Year's Eve.

It might not make things any better, but at least I wouldn't have to think about it at all. And that couldn't be a bad thing.

I bought a bag of coke from Marc Kearney, and spent the day smoking pot-I had my first bong hit in the morning after brushing my teeth. I just put a bunch of CD's in my stereo and hit shuffle, lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. I wasn't exactly sure when Blair was going to show up, and I'd wanted to have a really good buzz going before he did. And even as I got stoned, I knew there was something wrong with us. I didn't know what it was, but the thing to do was talk it through. I wasn't being fair to Blair, I wasn't being fair to myself, but I didn't give a flying fuck about that.

So I got just really stoned.

It was around seven o'clock when Chris and Eric came by my room with a friend of theirs from high school who was thinking about going through Rush.

My first thought was Oh my God, what a stud.

His name was Mike Van Zale. He was only about five foot six, with light brown curly hair and freckles over his cute little snub nose. He was wearing a yellow short-sleeved pullover tucked into a tight pair of jeans, and he was muscular. Make that almost unbelievably muscular, like something out of a fitness magazine. His biceps were huge, and the shirt was pulled tight across a thick chest. "Nice to meet you," he said shyly, shaking my hand. "Chris and Eric talk about you all the time."

I opened my refrigerator and got out a can of Pepsi. I was still a little drunk from the evening's festivities. It was my first Big Brother night as a brother-and my first time getting a little brother. It'd seemed weird standing directly behind Mike, trying not to look at his muscular thick ass, and pressing a two liter bottle of Old English 800 into his hands, listening as the brothers screamed at him and the others as they stood there in their underwear trying to finish their bottles. I kept wondering Is this what it was like for Blair last semester? But there was a difference. Mike and I hadn't slept together, Mike and I weren't in love the way Blair and I had been. Sure, I was attracted to Mike, but I was also pretty certain that wasn't going to go anywhere. Unlike me, Mike hadn't lasted long. He'd hurried to the bathroom in the middle of Beer Relays and thrown up. Fortunately, he wasn't the first-Blair's new little brother, Jeremy Whitehead, had thrown up right after the family beer guzzling. After Mike had puked, I took pity on him and led him up to my room. He was weaving-he was a lightweight when it came to drinking. He'd been a star jock in high school, and Chris had told me that New Year's Eve was the first time he'd ever seen Mike take a drink. I was afraid that if he kept drinking, he might wind up in the emergency room, and as his big brother, it was my job to take care of him.

I knew the majority of the other brothers would force their new charges to drink again after throwing up, but I wasn't that big of an asshole. I wonder what Blair c doing with Jeremy right now, I thought as I made another line from the pile of cocaine on the picture of me and Blair.

Things with Blair and I had just kind of petered out after my trip to Palm Springs. We didn't talk much; I didn't go to his room and he didn't come to mine. I'd spent the entire party on New Year's Eve in my room, smoking pot, snorting coke, and drinking beer. I shared everything with Chris, Eric, and Mike. Blair never came up to my room, which didn't help my mood any that night. Especially when Chris came back after refilling a couple of pitchers from the keg and mentioned he'd run into Blair downstairs. "I told him we were up here, and told him to come on up," he said after refilling our glasses, "but he looked at me like I was insane." He shrugged. I could tell he wanted to ask me what was up, but he wouldn't in front of Mike.

Blair had driven back to Los Angeles on New Year's Day, and didn't come back until the weekend before the semester started. I didn't call him, and he didn't call me.

Sometimes when I was alone in my bed at night, I'd think about him and the distance that had sprung up between us, and wondered why it had happened. I knew it was mostly my fault, but until I knew what was wrong with me, there was nothing I could do or say to make things right between us again.

And it was soon obvious Blair didn't give a damn.

My nostrils were already numb from the coke I'd already snorted, and even though I knew doing another line wouldn't bring back the initial high from hours earlier, I still snorted it anyway. I knew all it would do was make my hands shake and make my throat rawer, my eyes sting a little bit, and gag me when the glob dripped down my throat, but I didn't care. It was a waste but I was in the stage I called the "I wants," when the high was on and I just began to mentally crave more and more cocaine. I took a hit off the bong to lessen the edge of the coke when it hit. I held the smoke in as long as I could before it exploded out of me in a massive coughing fit. I grabbed a tissue and spit out a wad of phlegm.

On the bed, Mike shifted and moaned a little.

Chris, Eric, and I had started hanging out together a lot more. I would go over to their apartment when I was horny, and we would get naked and wrestle around until we all shot a load. Coke became more and more a part of our partying, and I was burning through the fifteen hundred dollars I'd made doing the porn movie pretty damned quickly.

I was out of control and I didn't know why.

I took a sip of the soda to cool my burning throat and walked over to the bed. Mike was sprawled on his back on top of the covers. In the moonlight coming through the slightly parted curtains, his skin looked like smooth alabaster. His hairless and hard chest gleamed in the ghostly light. Thick wiry hair sprouted from under his arms. A thin line of drool hung from the corner of his mouth. His face was expressionless. A thin trail of wiry black hairs ran from his navel to the waistband of his white briefs.

He was quite beautiful.

Looking at him, I felt my dick getting hard. I'd started beating off to fantasies about Mike right after I saw him shirtless for the first time. His upper body was amazing, but Chris and Eric had warned me at the New Year's party that he wasn't like us. "He's a straight boy, through and through," Eric had said. "If he isn't, he's completely oblivious. We've hinted to him any number of times, but nothing's ever happened. So be careful."

He'd spilled beer on his shirt at the end of rush party, and I'd offered to loan him one. He came up to my room and pulled his shirt over his head and I'd caught my breath.

"Thanks," he'd said as he pulled my sweater over his head. "I'll wash it before I give it back, okay?"

And now he was my little brother.

I knew I was playing with fire.

Looking down at his chest, I thought, I should have said no.

But you took a little brother because Blair took a new one, replacing you.

Jeremy Whiteside was a nice guy, too, but he did nothing for me physically. I didn't know if he and Blair were fucking, but it didn't really matter to me one way or the other. Blair and I were finished.

I started to make another line of coke, but stopped myself.

I looked over at Mike.

You shouldnt have taken him as your little brother because you want him.

Mike had attached himself to me after I loaned him the sweater. During Rush, I had taken him around and introduced him to the other brothers. Mike's effect on the little sisters was almost painfully obvious, but Mike seemed unaware of the looks he was getting from the girls, remaining focused almost entirely on me and everything I said. He'd accepted a pledge bid that night, and on his daily visits to the house he always stopped by my room first. As the weeks passed leading up to the selection of Big Brothers, I knew that Mike was going to pick me. I also knew that Mike had slept with some of the little sisters after parties, and the girls, who for whatever reason always seemed to confide in me, had told me that Mike had "a big one." Jennifer West, a senior who'd been around since she was a freshman, told me "He's as big as Rory, if you can believe that."

And now there it was, covered only by a thin layer of white cotton, just inches from me.

I want you, I whimpered out loud, and then laughed at myself. I could hear Blanca's voice in my head, asking why do gay men always fall in love with straight boys? Why is that such a turn on for us?

Why, indeed.

Maybe because they're unattainable.

How many times had I dreamed about him, fantasized about him while I masturbated, picturing us lying in bed together naked, kissing, nibbling on Mike's big nipples, trailing my tongue down the flat stomach. I could feel Mike's big strong arms around me, pulling me in closer and more tightly as our lips met, Mike's full sensual lips parting and my tongue sliding into Mike's mouth, feeling his slightly crooked front teeth with my tongue. Mike's beautiful slateblue eyes slightly closed in pleasure as he slowly began to grind his crotch against mine, our erections straining against each other longing for release.

I reached my trembling hand out towards Mike, pausing just above his half-dollar-sized right nipple. Mike's even breathing raised his chest almost to where it would touch my hand and then dropped back down. How does your skin feel, I wondered, is it cool and smooth and velvety or hot and fevered?

As though in answer, Mike moaned a little in his sleep. Reflexively, my hand shot back, and I reached for the bong again. I lit the bowl, inhaling gently until the water began to bubble, and the cool smoke snaked its way up the long glass neck and entered my mouth and into my lungs. I put the bong back on the desk and held the breath as long as I could before expelling it toward the ceiling, a fog of curls.

Mike shifted again in his sleep, muttering incomprehensible sounds, the gibberish of the sleeping. My left hand slid up from the bedspread and rested on my lower abdomen, just above the elastic waistband of my underwear.

I looked at the hand as the smoke began to do its magic on my mind. Mike's hand was beautifully shaped, big and strong with black hairs curling along the side of it just below the pinkie. His fingers were strong rather than stubby and meaty, graceful, an artist's hand.

Yeah, right, an artist's hand, my voice mocked inside my head. He has the IO of a doorknob. He doesn't get the jokes on "ALF", for God's sake. His favorite movie is "Rambo". He has never read a book he didn't have to for class. He has the body of a god and the soul of a, well, face it, the soul of a peasant.

But he's so incredibly sweet, not a mean bone in his body, I amended. Never mean-spirited. He was sweet and gentle and kind, with never a bad word for anyone or about anything.

Almost childlike in his simplicity.

I reached out again toward the nipple, the mound of muscle lying on the rib cage. I wanted to touch his nipple, tweak it softly, pull on it a little bit, just to see what would happen, to see if he would wake.

What if he did wake to me hovering over his near-naked body? To having his nipple toyed with?

His eyes could open slowly with a slow moan, "That feels good, Jeff, I like that." And he would give me that lazy smile, the one that exposed the slightly crooked teeth, and take me by the hand and pull me onto the bed with him, using my free hand to release his huge cock from the white cotton restraints, and we would kiss as I fumbled out of my clothes until we were both naked on the coverlet, Mike rolling me over until I was on my back, my legs going up in the air as Mike spit on his hands and wet his cock, then sliding it into me, and I would open for its intrusion, its pleasure bringing hardness sliding deep inside of me until I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming, it felt so damned good, and Mike would gently rock his hips back and forth, teasing me, taunting me as he slowly slid out before plunging deeply back in, my breath coming in gasps until I could hold myself back no longer and shot a long stringy rope of come out, raindrops of white falling on my chest and stomach as Mike smiled down at me before pulling out and finishing himself off as well.

And then Mike would move in with me, in my very room. We would put in another bed for appearance's sake, but every night we would slowly undress each other before climbing into bed, kissing and caressing and loving each other, before making love and then go to sleep, and in the mornings we would wake in each other's arms, loving each other, happy and contented. We would both graduate from college and move down to LA, get a great place in the Hollywood hills, with a pool and a hot tub, and invitations to parties at the Morgan-Van Zale's would be the most sought after, the most prestigious in the West Hollywood scene. Other men, models, actors, producers, agents, directors, would try to steal Mike away from me by offering to make him a star, by offering him cars and jewelry and money, and Mike would always just smile and say, "Thank you, but no, I am in love with Jeff and can't live without him in my life." And we would grow old together, a permanent fixture in the West Hollywood social scene, me writing my books and Mike doing, well, whatever it was he wanted to do. And every night, we would share a glass of red wine before making love and going to sleep, celebrating our life together. Our love.

I smiled. It could happen that way, I thought to myself. Yeah, sure it could.

Or Mike could open his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" he would say, shaking his head, trying to clear it from the raging hangover and the overwhelming sense that something was wrong, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"I, uh. I . . ." I would panic, the cocaine and the pot and the alcohol rushing together in my clouded head as I tried to think of a plausible reason why I had been tugging on Mike's nipple, why I still was! I would pull my hand back as if burned.

Mike would sit up, awareness dawning on his face. "You're a fag," he would say, his beautiful eyes narrowing in disgust and hatred, his lips curling back over the crooked teeth in a sneer. "A fucking faggot! Were you going to suck my dick next?" And then aware that he was only in his underwear, he would shove me back and away, with me falling backwards, hitting the wall with a thump loud enough to wake everyone else in the house as Mike grabbed for his pants and pulled them on, his voice rising as he continued to rant. "A fucking fag! Beta Kappa, some fucking fraternity! Are you all butt brothers? Is that what this place is? A fucking faggot recruitment center?"

Voices in the hall, pounding on the door, Mike pulling his sweater over his head.

"Mike, please-" I would beg from the floor, unable to move, unable to do anything as Mike opened the door and other fraternity brothers came into the room, and told them what I had been doing, and my carefully protected life, the one of acceptance and fraternity and friendship that I had worked so long and so hard to build, would be gone as Mike screamed at them that Jeff was a fag, Jeff was a fag, Jeff was a fag.

"He's lying ..." I would try to say, but the words clogged in my throat, wouldn't come out, and then my brothers were turning to look at me, and my best friend, my closest friends, Chris and Eric would have to play along, their faces twisted with loathing and hatred and contempt as they spat the word out, "Fag."

I finished the soda and stood up. I looked down at Mike and then peered through the curtains. The sun was coming up.

I reached out and shook Mike's shoulder. "Mike."

Mike's eyes opened and his mouth worked slowly. "Jeff? What the-"

"I let you sleep in my room, but it's time for you to get back home." I smiled as I spoke the words slowly, softly, gently. "The worst thing in the world is for a pledge to be in the house the morning after Big Brother Night." I bent down and picked up Mike's clothes from the floor and handed them to him.

Mike stood up and rubbed his eyes. "I feel like shit."

"Go on home and get some sleep."

Mike yawned and stretched, muscles flexing and contracting all over his body. I turned my head.

I couldn't watch, not anymore.

Mike pulled his clothes on in an agony of movement, tied his shoes and gave me a hug. "Thanks for watching out for me."

"What are big brothers for? Come on by tonight and I'll take you out for a nice dinner."

Mike smiled. "Thanks, Jeff."

The door closed behind him. I got another soda and walked over to the window. I stood there until Mike came out the door, and watched him walk away down the sidewalk. My right hand made a fist, and I gently pounded the window with it twice as he watched.

Then, I undressed. I slid beneath the sheets. I could smell Mike's presence there, and the sheets were still warm from Mike's body.

I'm tired of not being who I am, I thought. I'm tired of hiding who I am from everyone.

With a rush of sudden clarity, everything became plain to me.

I walked back over to my desk and sat down hard, reaching for my bong.

That was what went wrong for me in Palm Springs.

I heard Blair saying again to Bianca that he couldn't do the movie because it might affect his future career as an actor. I thought back to that night, to that party. Why had I agreed to make the movie? It wasn't just the money, even though that was what I told myself that night. It was really because I was going to be recorded on film having sex with another man-there was going to be a public record that I was a gay man. Anyone who wanted, from that moment on, to find out that I was gay could do so if they tried hard enough, if they knew where to look. And that's what changed things with Blair. Making that movie was freeing for me. I felt like I was finally showing the world who I was ... and after it was over I went back next door with Blair and back to our hidden relationship. We loved each other, but we were keeping it a secret.

And that was why things had changed between us, that was why I didn't care so much anymore.

I was in love with him, and he with me, but we were in hiding.

My entire life was a lie.

The only time I ever felt like I was being honest was when I was doing that stupid movie.

Beta Kappa had meant everything to me when I'd been going through my pledge semester. I'd wanted so desperately to join, to belong. Part of it was Blair, but with only a few exceptions, I'd liked the brothers and wanted to be a part of the house.

The notion that they would hate me if they knew the truth about me, that they would throw me out on my ass, turn their backs on me and drum me out of the Brotherhood if they knew was against everything about Beta Kappa that I'd loved and wanted to be a part of.