Boys Will Be Boys - Their First Time (42 page)

That
’
s when I felt this wave of apathy sweep over me.
I
’
d been feeling it a lot, this year, and that sketch on the wall was like a monument to everything I
’
ve been going through.
Started but not finished.
Interest lost halfway through.
Critical eye taking over faster than the brush or pen could find completion.
Even that painting that Aaron liked, the one hanging in the refectory, I hadn
’
t completed the guy
’
s backpack or locker; I
’
d just declared it done, even though deep inside I knew it wasn
’
t.

That
’
s why there were smudges of paint on my bed – from all the times I
’
d collapsed on it, brush still in hand, fingers coated with color, heart lost in disgust because my latest work was turning out to be crap.
Perspective off.
Color choices wrong.
Original intent swallowed in the details of transcription.
I had a thousand fancy phrases excusing me from achieving anything I wanted to and slamming myself for not making it happen, anyway.
Typical.

I know where it came from – this growing feeling that my choice of careers was just not going to happen.
I mean, who did I think I was, Picasso?
I could be sloppy like him but not as emotionally connective.
I liked to paint, but I had no burning need to.
I enjoyed sketching, but for fun, not to focus the world on my vision.
I knew I was good enough and capable of being better, but I didn
’
t have the ego to proclaim myself a genius or say that I was the future of art.
I was dabbling
,
p
laying with my minimal skills as if I could be the next Rembrandt or Degas or even Sergeant
,
since I really liked portraiture the most
,
while knowing deep down I didn
’
t have the spark one needs for greatness.
The fact is the only things in my room that even hinted at being good art were my sheets.
They used to be white, but now they had this sort of Jackson Pollack feel to them from all the times I
’
d collapsed on them before cleaning the paint off.
Wouldn
’
t it be funny if I get the most beautiful guy I
’
d ever met in here by promising to paint his picture
and not be able to complete it?

Oh, great
. T
hat was
not
what I needed to contemplate.

To keep from thinking about it, I set about cleaning the place up.
Nothing like self-flagellation to kick yourself into action.
I pulled all my jars together and picked up the papers and long-gone food and made trip after trip after trip to the dumpster.
I wound up with six loads of laundry, including pillows and comforters
.
I wash them because I found it cuts down on my allergies, though this year I hadn
’
t cared enough to bother
,
and they hadn
’
t bothered enough to bother me.
As for the paint on my bed, I added more to make it look deliberate.
My freshman art teacher once said,
“
All mistakes are deliberate
...
and if they aren
’
t, make it look like they are.
”
I swept.
I dusted.
I washed away the charcoal sketch
,
though it didn
’
t completely vanish
,
sticking around to haunt me, huh?
By the time I got to scrubbing my bathroom, I was dirtier than my dorm ever had been.

I stripped off to do the shower.
This was going to be the hard part
.
T
here was so much mineral residue from limestone in the water
and some rather creepy looking fungus-type things building in the corners.
I had an old tooth brush
,
so
I
used it and some dish soap to dig into the mess.
I think it was close to midnight before I had it
mostly
gone and was sweating like a pig from the exertion and hot water I used to wash it away when I heard,
“
Hey,
”
come from behind me.
I jumped around
,
and there was Aaron, standing in the bathroom door, grinning at me!

“
Didn
’
t mean to spook you,
”
he said.
“
You left your door open
...
an
’
I knocked
...
”

“
Oh, that
...
that
’
s okay,
”
I stammered
...
and dammit, Joe, you
’
re naked!
Shit!
I grabbed for a towel but hadn
’
t brought any into the bathroom!
“
Uh, excuse me.
I
’
ll be right out.
”

He glanced me over then ran a finger over the dirt on my chest and smirked,
“
Maybe you better take your time.
”
Then he showed me the tip of his finger; it was almost black.

I blushed and stepped back into the shower, muttering,
“
It
’
ll
...
it
’
ll rinse off.
Will you toss me a towel?
They
’
re in the big basket by the bed
…
the door.
”

He strolled away
,
and I watched his rear roll under those OP shorts then started soaping up, fast.
Oh, this was perfect.
Aaron-un-fucking-believably-good-looking-Friesen comes wandering in when I look like something from the garbage dump and probably reeked like that, too.
Shit.
But then I wondered what
I
was worried about?
He
’
s got a girlfriend and what little gaydar I had was down at zero so far as he was concerned
.
H
er? Well. Maybe it
’
s wishful thinking.
I mean, seriously – did I really think we
’
d wind up in bed?

He returned with the whole basket and set it by the bathroom door
and kept looking at me.
I could see him through the now almost clear shower door.
“
Got soap?
”
he asked.

“
Yeah,
”
I stammered.
“
Thanks.
What
’
s up?
”

“
Just thought I
’
d come by, see what you
’
re up to.
Spring cleanin
’
?
”

“
Yeah.
I
...
there wasn
’
t anyplace to set up my easel, so I
...
I got started making space
...
and one thing piled on top of the other and here I am.
”

He laughed
,
and the deep sexiness of it ripped through me
,
and I couldn
’
t help but get a hard-on.

“
I was gonna ask you if you wanted t
’
head out for a beer,
”
he said,
“
but
.
..
”
and he opened the shower door and glanced me over and his smile widened as he continued,
“
...
looks like I came at a bad time.
”

I just gaped at him, surprised.
I didn
’
t realize my dick was pointing at him, as if at attention, until he ran his finger over the top of it and said,
“
You clean, yet?
”

I jerked back, so startled I couldn
’
t think of a word to say.

“
What?
”
he asked.
“
You never had
a
jerk-off buddy before?
”

“
Y-yeah,
”
I stammered out,
“
but
...
but
...
”

“
But what?
”
he asked as he climbed into the shower, fully clothed except for his shoes.

The square basin was barely big enough for us both, and in seconds, Aaron
’
s shorts and shirt were wet and clinging to his perfect body.
I could see the darkness of his nipples under the white cotton, erect and ready and promising joy.
The golden hair darkened under the effect of the water
,
and it playfully swirled over his chest and down the center of his smooth abs to a neat little
“
innie
”
of a belly button.
And I could tell he was wearing boxers from the bulge in his OP shorts (it swung to the left).
The beauty of it
,
the perfection
,
kept me speechless.

Impulsively, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, felt the warm wet cotton whisper against my body as I kissed him.
Oh man, his lips were so
,
so smooth and moist and fit my own so perfectly.
And his nose brushing the side of mine and his eyebrows mingling with mine gave me a rush like nothing I
’
d ever experienced, before.
His hands trailed around to my back
,
strong hands, a guy
’
s hands
,
and tickled down my spine and danced over my butt and crushed me closer to him.
My erection slipped between his legs, so he pressed his thighs together
,
and the combination of the soft wet hair on them and the hem of the shorts tickling me almost drove me insane.
I pulled at the buttons of his shirt
,
but he took my hands and stretched them down to my side and rammed his whole body against mine, pressing me against the tiles as he kissed me, even harder.

Through the shorts, I could feel he was as hard as I was.
He was rubbing up and down against my belly, rolling under the material, and I wanted to hold him
,
to touch him
,
but he wouldn
’
t let go of my hands.
He just kept grinding his body against mine
,
the cotton and corduroy gliding over my skin and my tits and my pubes until I was sure I was going crazy.
The water kept steaming
,
and his tongue kept probing mine
,
and his body kept rubbing me and suddenly I could feel him pushing harder and harder and jerking in spasms as he ejaculated into his shorts.
Then I exploded between his thighs
.
I
’
d never done that twice in one day, before
.
H
e crushed even harder against me and the screaming lightning roared down the inside of my legs and –
t
he hot water ran out!

I took a cold blow back to reality and Aaron vanished into the back of my mind as I slammed out of the shower with a yelp and smacked my hip on the sink at the just the wrong spot.
Pain shot through my left leg
,
and I dropped onto the toilet.
I put my head in my hands and, for a second, tried to bring back the picture of being with Aaron
,
but it was gone.
Shit!
Couldn
’
t I even have a moment to enjoy the explosion I was feeling?

Man
,
right there
,
right there is the story of my life – lusting after a straight guy who wouldn
’
t give me a second thought except that he wants something.
And despite my hopes to the contrary, deep down I really knew all I
’
d ever get out of him was a jack-off fantasy, and that would be in a shower that went cold faster than it got hot.
Irritating
and typical
and so damn depressing.