Chapter SEVEN

 

 

Raymond

 

ALL OF a sudden everyone had a real hard-on for college.

“Just look through the programs.” Michael slid the brochures across the counter, nudging the edges against my fingertips. He thought it would prompt me to pick them up. It only gave me a paper cut. “CUNYs are cheap, and you could even get some financial aid. I have enough in my savings to pay the difference.”

I popped my injured index finger into my mouth and didn’t glance down at the papers. I knew Michael would be expecting me to protest. He probably had arguments queued up and ready to fire—the kind of pep talks and motivational speeches he gave to his students in advisory.

“It’s not just liberal arts. There are paramedic programs, computer design, business management, communications—”

“Communications,” I repeated around my finger. “What the hell would anyone do with that?”

“You can do anything with that,” David said. “It’s the ultimate bullshit degree—you can make it work for just about any job that doesn’t require specific training.”

I gave David the side-eye. We’d avoided each other for the past couple of days, and now he was leaping into the very conversation that had caused the tension in the first place.

“Why are you talking?”

His lips pursed. “Because I have an opinion.”

“No one asked for your opinion, though.”

Michael and Nunzio exchanged looks.

“You know what, Raymond?” David’s voice came out sharp, but after looking between me and Michael, he shook his head. “Just forget it.”

“Forgotten.”

He left the living room without another word. I stared after him, swallowing the residual twinges of regret. After years of not having any need for compassion, guilt was an unwelcome, foreign emotion, but it lingered. I couldn’t even figure out why I was still giving him the cold shoulder. It was just a pattern we’d fallen into after days of awkwardness and tension.

“What the hell was that?”

“None of your business.”

Michael rocked back on his heels. “Are you having problems already?”

“No seas tan metido,” I repeated in Spanish, in case he was confused.

Unsurprised, Michael stopped shoving college literature at me. “Have it your way. I’ll be back.”

I grabbed his arm. “Where the hell are you going? I said mind your business, man.”

Michael’s eyes flicked between my hand and my face until I grudgingly pulled away.

“School starts in two weeks,” he said. “I don’t know what drama you and David are cooking up, and I’ve already lost interest. Not everything is about you.”

He had an amazing ability to make me feel like a complete moron without being rude. Maybe it was a teacher skill, cultivated in order to put kids in their place without saying anything overtly offensive. I let him go, but Nunzio slouched by my side with an unlit cigarette clasped between his fingers.

“Lover’s quarrel?”

“Shut up.” I stacked the papers together, the edges clacking on the counter. “I hope you don’t be saying that shit to my brother.”

“I don’t, but I am wondering what the hell is up with you and David.” Nunzio tsked when I opened my mouth to protest. “Save it, Ray. I noticed the vibe months ago, and you two rolling around on beds and floors together has only firmed up my suspicions.”

He had a point about all of the supergay cuddling, but I had no idea what vibe he was talking about.

“You don’t trust me?”

“Oh, come on, man. Don’t play that game.” I stalked out of the kitchen with him hot on my heels. “Everyone is always trying to guilt me over something, but it’s my business.”

“I know it’s your business, but you’ve never kept things from me before. I knew the first time you cut a class, smoked a blunt, and let a girl touch your dick. What’s different now?”

I was tempted to slam my bedroom door in his face, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Nothing’s different. You’re just hallucinating.”

“Right.” Nunzio looked around the disaster of my room. A few days of silent treatment and David’s automatic neatening had ceased, leading to clothes piled in front of my closet and under the rack in the corner. “Do you think I’ll tell Mikey?”

“I know you’d tell him, and I don’t want to hear his opinion on the matter.”

We stood a few feet away from each other, while Nunzio’s expression went heavy with disappointment. Guilt expanded inside me, piling on top of the preexisting mass. It was my kryptonite.

I flopped backward on my bed with a heavy sigh.

“I know you’re into guys, or that you at least have interest, and I haven’t told him.”

I glared at the ceiling as he stood by the foot of the bed. “How do you figure?”

One careful step forward, then another, and Nunzio sat on the edge of my bed. “I’ve seen you give guys a look here or there over the years. Not to mention the porn on your phone. And….”

“And what?”

“I know you’ve caught an eyeful of me and Mikey a few times, and I know you took a minute to check out the situation.”

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I gave him a horrified look. “Dude—”

“I didn’t say you were jerking it while watching us,” Nunzio said. “But I got the impression you were curious about what you saw, and I wasn’t surprised. It’s not like me and him try to be subtle.”

“You sure as hell don’t.”

Nunzio grinned, unabashed, and patted my leg. “So what’s going on with you and Mr. Butler?”

“Nothing. Not really.”

“Not really isn’t nothing.”

How could I simplify months of teasing and innuendo, a continuous flow of building incidents, into words simple enough to make them sound unimportant? Unloading the situation was appealing, but admitting to my building attraction to my roommate was another story. Being a directionless asshole guaranteed that people always wanted to give me their two cents, and their two cents almost always amounted to things they would do in my situation and not what was best for me.

I could catalog my relationship with David from the beginning and list every touch and every look that led up to our kiss. How easy it was to be close to him, because he didn’t need to discuss it after. He just let it happen. Let me enjoy that closeness without assumptions and complications.

I didn’t want to tell Nunzio that I’d started craving those touches. Those quiet, close moments.

“I told him I was curious about messing around with guys, and he let me kiss him to see how I’d like it.”

“That’s it?” Nunzio looked surprised. “Did you like it?”

“My dick got hard, so I guess so. And anyway, that part of it has nothing to do with why we’re pissed at each other. He opened his stupid mouth to his friends, and I had to hear about it as soon as we were introduced. If I’d known he was going to gab about it like a teenage girl at a slumber party, I’d have tried it out with someone else. Or not bothered at all.”

Nunzio didn’t respond right away, and I wondered if he was weighing my annoyance against David’s side of the story. I could usually count on Nunzio to see things from my point of view, but I was starting to doubt my own conviction about the importance of my absolute discretion.

“What’s the difference between him telling his friend and you telling me?”

I ground my teeth together and dropped to the mattress again. “You’re not a condescending piece of shit.”

“I am to David.” There was no remorse in Nunzio’s voice. “Who did he tell?”

“I dunno. Some woman named Karen.”

“Ray, I’m having a hard time thinking Karen was condescending to you. I worked with her for years—she’s a nice lady.”

Considering I’d only been in Karen’s presence for a few minutes, I had no idea if she was nice, but I had no evidence of her being an asshole either. I had no evidence of anything other than my constant annoyance with people who were the polar opposite of me and my unimpressive existence.

“It’s just a feeling I get,” I muttered, pressing my palm against my eyes.

“What feeling?”

The feeling of not measuring up. To anyone.

I didn’t measure up to my friends, but they’d known me long enough to have seen it coming years ago. I’d fallen right into the position everyone had expected. No one asked questions. No one even thought I cared. Some people even thought my lack of concern was admirable. I wasn’t conforming. I was true to my word, and no one had ever been able to mold me into anything I didn’t want to be.

But off my block and outside of my old neighborhood, things were different.

People looked at me and wondered what I’d been doing since my high school graduation. Why my work history was only a year old. How I’d paid rent. Who had supported me. Why my older brother didn’t influence me to do something with myself. What I thought I was doing with my life. And even if people didn’t say it aloud, I could see the questions in their eyes. The judgment. And that hadn’t bothered me before. Not until I’d been surrounded by people who had never even considered taking a long-term sabbatical from adulthood. People who had real goals and who had followed the beaten path. Like the drudges at work. And David’s friends.

“Forget it. Unimportant.”

“It’s not unimportant if it’s upsetting you. I’ve never seen you this stressed.”

“Because I used to be in my comfort zone. Now I’m… I don’t know where the hell I am.” I gestured vaguely. “Drifting.”

“It’s not just you who feels that way.” Nunzio was silent a moment, thinking. “Did you ever take into consideration that I gave up a secure, tenured position with good benefits and a solid union to teach in a GED program for less pay?”

I uncovered my face. “Yeah, but—”

“There’s no but,” Nunzio said. “It’s different, and we’re worlds apart in experience, but how do you think people reacted to me? Like I was an idiot. A naive, idealistic queer who was giving up a solid career to go teach in an LGBT center for half of my salary. It didn’t matter to a lot of people that the DOE made me feel like whatever I did, I wasn’t making a difference. All they knew was that I’d abandoned a career that I’d spent almost a decade putting time into.”

“Those people are idiots.”

“Those people are the majority.” Nunzio hunched forward, arms on his knees, frowning. “And it’s not just me. People judge Michael for not going into leadership classes. They think dedicating your career to teaching is a waste of time—you should always be trying to climb the ladder. It doesn’t matter if teaching is where his passion is. And you could talk to David about that—his generation of teachers is pressured to skip into leadership after spending only a handful of years in the classroom. Anything less, and he’s seen as a failed administrator instead of a dedicated teacher.”

“That’s just stupid. David busts his ass and so does Michael.”

“It is stupid.” Nunzio met my eyes, half smiling. “But it’s also stupid for people to think you’re a loser for not figuring everything out by twenty-five. You have a long way to go. The rest of your life doesn’t have to be mapped out in the first quarter.”

Nunzio was just as affectionate as David, so I wasn’t surprised when he leaned over to kiss my forehead.

“Be good, kiddo. Things will look up.”

I nodded, suddenly choked up, reminded of things I didn’t want to think about. Like Nunzio and Michael being my support because everyone else was gone. And how, despite my best efforts to push them away, I was grateful.

“I love you, man.”

Nunzio clapped my shoulder. “I love you too, Ray. Now be nice to that baby twink. Don’t underestimate the amount of shit he’ll take before he goes off. I’ve heard stories.”

David going off was the least intimidating thing I could imagine, but Nunzio seemed convinced that it was a valid concern. As if I needed anything else to worry about. He lingered until I promised to stop antagonizing David, and to look at the CUNY brochure, before rounding up Michael and going back to Queens to finish dealing with the real estate agency that was helping them rent the house.

I didn’t ask for more details. That part of my life was over. It was easier if I accepted that, and moved on.

 

 

INSTEAD OF quieting, Fourth Avenue came alive in the evening. I listened to the sounds of Sunset Park while staring out at the purpling sky and the streetlights, trying to doze off but too hung up on the heavy silence blanketing the apartment. Once, I’d emerged from my sluggish daze to approach David’s room. I’d even raised my hand to knock, my knuckles grazing the door as I thought about what I would say.

Ask if he wanted to go to the pizzeria/taqueria across the street. Or to the Italian bakery. Maybe just take a walk to the park as the sun set in Sunset. He’d made the joke often enough, dragging me downstairs by the hand, that it was something we’d started doing several times a week. It was silly and pointless, but it made him smile. And that made me smile.

But each invitation seemed unimpressive—likely to be rebuffed. I lost my nerve before knocking, and retreated with only the faint squeak of floorboards to indicate I had been there at all.

I paced my room, listened to his quiet footsteps the few times he left his own, and watched the shadow play beneath my door to see if he would approach. It was immature. I was being an idiot. Nothing so serious had happened to make us avoid each other to this extent. An apology would suffice, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the ice. Not if it wasn’t a sure thing. Not if I didn’t have a good way to do it. That I was obsessing over him like a high schooler with a crush just showed how desperately I needed to get a life and start going out again.

I’d barely seen Chris or Sharky after moving out of Queens, and Crystal was still off with her cop boyfriend. Living the dream with some flatfoot in Staten Island. Apparently they were shacking up already, and I wondered if she’d been seeing him while she was having fun with me, but I couldn’t feel too broken up about it. She was a good girl. Smart. She deserved a normal person, not just a big dick, and I suspected that she’d only held off ending our regular fucking as long as she had due to the death of my parents.

I flipped my phone between my fingers and wondered if I should text someone. It was Saturday evening, and Chris always had something going on in the city since he worked uptown. My new coworkers were also having one of their gatherings at a bowling alley in Port Authority, but that sounded as enjoyable as a root canal. I could strike out on my own and pick up a girl at a bar in the Lower East Side, but that required way more ambition than I had to offer the world.

My finger glided over the surface of my phone, hesitating over the message icon. I clicked it to see what Chris was up to, but my eyes fell on the group of game icons burying the Grindr app. I hadn’t opened it since Oli had snapped the douche-bag pictures of my abs.

I opened the app, closed multiple pop-up ads, and cast a critical eye over my dash. The algorithm sorted guys based on their proximity to me, and there were several avatars with bright green dots indicating over a dozen guys in my area were looking for some ass on a Saturday night. Within five minutes of scrolling through the page, I received a number of messages.

Oli had been right—the sight of a fit body and golden brown skin had a bunch of dudes thirsting after me like a bitch in the desert. I received three unsolicited dick pics, a few messages simply saying “hello,” one demanding how many inches, and a red-haired twink who stated: “raw vers slut looking for NSA dude who wants to breed a tight ass.”

I had no clue what most of the messages meant, and flipped back to the app’s dashboard. Apparently, gay dudes on Grindr spoke a totally different language than me, and I was once again left feeling like a fish out of water. If hooking up meant memorizing a bunch of acronyms and weird terms, it wasn’t going to happen.

I tried to sign out, failed to find a place to do so, and swiped back to my dashboard in frustration. In the minute it had taken me to root around in the sidebar, a new guy had appeared in the space next to my own profile picture. He was blond with a bowed head and long, leanly muscled arms wrapped around his knees. His name was Davy Jones. According to his profile, he was 5’9,” 150 pounds, and listed himself as “clean-cut.” He was also estimated to be only twenty feet away from me.

Smirking, I lay back on my bed and sent “Davy Jones” a message.

 

Raymond: are you seriously making pirates of the caribbean jokes on grindr?

 

Nearly a full minute passed before he replied. I imagined he was staring at my profile and trying to figure out if it was me before noticing the proximity. Or maybe he’d already seen the proximity and was planning to ignore me.

 

David: It’s an idiom which originated in the 19th century. Disney didn’t create it.

Raymond: you are an idiom

David: What are you doing on here?

Raymond: what are YOU doing on here

David: What do you think…?

Raymond: looking for a NSA dude to breed your tight ass?

David: OMG.

 

Even through my door and down the hallway, I could hear David’s burst of laughter. I was pleased with myself.

 

Raymond: i was going to add “raw vers slut” to my profile. do you advise?

 

More laughter. I rolled over, pressing my mouth against the pillow as if he would be able to see my smile.

 

David: You need to stop. You’re out of control.

Raymond: these dudes on here are out of control… dunno what theyre even saying. also, mad dick pics for no reason.

David: Well, it’s not for “no reason.” They’re hoping you will reciprocate.

Raymond: no fuckin way

David: Good luck picking up anybody, then.

Raymond: are you kidding?

David: Nope.

 

I tried to picture David taking pictures of his cock and sending it to random guys in the neighborhood, and it bugged me.

 

Raymond: well youre gonna get abducted

David: It’s okay. My catlike reflexes will save me.

 

This time, I was the one cracking up.

 

Raymond: you have fun with that. just dont be expecting me to go all liam neeson on some dude if you get taken

David: I wouldn’t expect you to spend that many calories on my well-being.

 

…. And there he went ruining my attempt at ice breaking with his passive-aggressive bullshit. What a royal pain in the ass. I almost closed the app and marched down the hall to tell him a thing or two about accepting a Grindr-flavored olive branch with some grace, but he sent another message.

 

David: Have you talked to anyone?

Raymond: yea. You.

David: You haven’t replied to any messages? I’m sure you got a lot. Your profile is… really good. Lame profile name, though. “Q”. What is that supposed to mean?

Raymond: questioning, you vers slut. you should know. its in your damn acronym

David: It’s your acronym too.

Raymond: uh huh.

 

I wasn’t positive about that. Even if I was curious or questioning, I was still stuck in the “discreet” pigeonhole, which meant I wasn’t out and proud and ready to march down Broadway for the Pride Parade in June. And David had made it crystal clear how he felt about guys like that. I wondered if he was being a smart-ass.

 

Raymond: so does raw mean no condoms bcuz that seems pretty stupid for some randos meeting on an app

David: Um. Yeah. Some guys prefer that it seems.

Raymond: not you though

Raymond:… right?

David: Is that really a question? You think I wouldn’t be cautious with strangers?

Raymond: bro I have no idea. im just asking if its common practice. i dont have all of this random hookup/one night stand experience. ive only really fucked girls i knew for years.

David: Really?

Raymond: really.

David: Interesting.

David: Anyway, no. I’ve never had anyone I just met ask to not use condoms. I would only go condom-free with someone I trust. Someone I’ve known for a while.

Raymond: i see

 

My mind did a nosedive into the gutter.

 

Raymond: yea, well. whatever. either way, i dont know what to say to these people on here. so forget it.

David: It’s easy. I could help. If you want.

Raymond: how?

David: You could practice talking to me. I’ll tell you what things mean, or try to make it obvious. Or something. I dunno.

Raymond: like… pretend?

David: Yeah. I guess.

 

I went over the suggestion again. Pretend David was a piece-of-ass random? It sounded good in theory, but potentially humiliating in practice. But it could also be… interesting.

As I deliberated, my phone chimed again.

 

David: Never mind. Stupid idea. Sorry. I’ll just tell you whatever you want to know, okay?

Raymond: its not a stupid idea

David: Are you sure? It is kind of weird.

Raymond: its only weird if you keep talking about how weird it is

David: Fine.

 

A moment passed and I received several more messages from other users. The number increased in the little blue envelope in the upper right-hand corner of my screen. I didn’t look at any of the messages, and waited for David to do something since I had no idea how to initiate some kind of Grindr role-play activity.

 

David: Hey. Nice abs. Do you have a full pic?

 

Did he want me to send a real picture? Judging from the wait time, I assumed he did. I did a quick search of the pictures in my phone and found nothing interesting to upload to a potential Grindr hookup. It was mostly pictures of people playing handball, Chris’s dog, and food. Even that was in limited quantities.

Shifting on the bed, I held my phone out and took a half-assed picture of my face and bare upper body. It didn’t come out too bad, but my concentration face made me look like a serial killer. Maybe the memorial tat for my mom that was inked over my heart would make me less frightening.

I uploaded the picture to David without bothering to take another one. His reply was instant.

 

David: Is that a real picture?

 

I frowned.

 

Raymond: yea obviously. why?

David: Because your face is perfect. You’re gorgeous.

 

No witty reply came to mind. I just stared at his text.

 

David: I’m David. What’s your name?

Raymond: raymond

David: Do you ever smile, Raymond?

Raymond: no.

David: Too bad.

Raymond: maybe i would if you sent me a picture of your face

 

The picture filled the message box instantly. David lying on his side with hair spilling over his face as his eyes twinkled with mischief. His wide mouth was caught in a half smile, but he was biting the swell of his lower lip.

I’d seen him wear that expression a hundred times before, but there was something different about it when the picture was dissociated from his real self and our friendship. Especially since I now knew he was fully aware of how hot he looked when his eyes grew hooded and sleepy. Maybe he even knew how I would react to it.

 

David: Don’t go silent on me now. I’ll get self-conscious. :(

 

I reached down to adjust the growing hardness trapped in my jeans. With all the blood coursing to my dick, I didn’t hesitate to type exactly what was on my mind.

 

Raymond: youre fucking hot. that mouth makes me think dirty thoughts.

David: I’ve been thinking dirty thoughts since I saw your profile. Your body is insane. And I like tall guys.

Raymond: send me another picture

 

Stupid. I knew what he looked like. But I wanted more. In this context. Showing off and trying to get a rise out of me. Even if he was faking it, the next picture made my mouth go dry. It was angled to show the lower half of his face, the smooth, pale skin stretching over his bare torso, and pants that were so low on his hips I could see a hint of blond pubic hair.

 

Raymond: did you just take that picture?

David: Yup.

Raymond: fuck

David: :) So… what are you into? Are you versatile—top/bottom both? Or one or the other?

 

I had no clue. All I could think about was begging for a picture of him with his pants pulled down lower. The memory of his dick, hard and ready and pressed against me as I pinned him to the floor, directed my hand to my belt buckle. I undid it, unzipped the fly, and squeezed myself while thinking about how long and thick his length had felt when erect.

Only when some of the pressure eased did I reply.

 

Raymond: both, i guess. ive never fucked a guy.

David: Have you been fucked?

Raymond: no. but i would try it

David: Are you serious?

 

The surprise was more David than Davy, but it didn’t matter. I was way past giving a damn.

 

Raymond: yea. seems like a good time.

David: Oh, it is. It really really… really is.

Raymond: u a bottom…?

David: Vers, but I prefer to bottom. I love being fucked hard. And being breeded is a constant fantasy. One day I really want to have a guy cum in my ass.

 

I slid my hand beneath the band of my underwear and wrapped my fingers around the base of my dick.

 

David: What about you? Do you think more about being a top or a bottom?

Raymond: top. shoving some twink slut down to his knees with his ass in the air. rubbing the head of my cock against his hole until he begs to have his ass stretched wide open.

David: Ohgod

Raymond: giving it to him hard. until he screams. begs for it. busting in his ass

Raymond: and then

Raymond: being flipped over so he can cum in mine

David: Fuck Ray

David: Im

David: Im so close….

 

The words sent an electric shock through my body. I groaned and the sound came out ragged.

A few feet away, David was probably sprawled in his bed with the sheets shoved down, his pants off entirely by now. Pumping his dick, panting, face red, and biting back moans.

I was gripping the phone so hard that it should have splintered in my grip. I stared at the screen, tried to type something, and failed. I couldn’t. I could only stare at the words and jerk off, and wish I could see him. Touch him.

 

David: Ray….

David: Come here

David: Please.