The Youth & Young Loves of Oliver Wade: Stories (14 page)

I heard the click of the lube bottle and then felt the
frigid touch of his wet fingers. True to his word, he used a lot, and he worked
it inside me with his fingertips. I had touched myself this way before and knew
I didn’t like it, and I liked it even less when someone else was doing it. I
heard the click of the bottle again, heard the squicking sound of the latex
being lubed. He wiped the excess off his hands against my butt and my upper
thighs and the small of my back.

“You’re shining like marble,” he said. There was haunting
wonder in his voice and it made me nervous, made me afraid to tell him to stop
or slow down. Wonder like that would mean repercussions if it was stymied.

“Like marble?”

“You have the nicest body I’ve ever been with. It’s, like,
crazy
.”

“I do?”

He leaned forward and put his palms on the mattress near my
armpits, and pressed his body on top of me. I could feel his erection against
my bum and it was OK there, and I thought how much better this would be if it
stayed there, outside. His weight ground my own erection harder against the
mattress and I focused on coming, knew I had a small window left to come.

His lubricated dick slipped around against me while he
sucked my earlobe. Then he leaned onto one hand and used the other to guide his
penis. I felt him find the spot with the tip of his finger and then press his
penis there. My heart was pounding like a machine gun against the mattress. I
could feel my bum muscles shaking. The whole bed was rattling.

“Relax,” Travis said, kissing my shoulder, “relax a little.
I know you’re hungry for it but you need to relax a little.”

I could feel lube squish between his groin and my bum and
run down my hip in cold stripes. How many minutes of slow, steady, overwhelming
pressure (“You’re so tight, aren’t you?”), and then the tip was in.
The tip is in
, I thought, and I started
to feel relief and even exhilaration.
A
boy’s penis is inside me.
This was happening and it was OK. But could the
tip be enough? Would that be OK?

“There we go,” Travis whispered, “
finally
. Now just relax because I’ve got more for you.”

The
more
was the
difficult part, the part that felt like a smooth hot sharp poop that was stuck.
The part I wanted to be over. Like with the rimming at first, this was a
feeling I didn’t think I should be feeling with another person here.

“How great does that feel?” he whispered, pressing steadily
inward. “Yeah, yeah.”

He adjusted his angle a little and some muscle inside me
surrendered to him and he slipped in the rest of the way. I gasped and felt the
jersey-cotton pillowcase dry out my tongue. He moved out and then in again and
suddenly inside me I felt nerve endings connect like perfect circuits, as if a
new part of me was coming online for the first time. It was explosively good,
and where was it coming from? What secret place inside? Then he moved out again
and the goodness faded. Leaning forward over me he slipped his arms underneath
me so that his inner elbows fused with my armpits. I was locked to him; it was almost
a headlock. His forehead was pressed into the pillow beside me. Our cheeks
touched.

Full of him, I
felt
full of him, and I felt like I was coming but I had no erection and now I could
feel tears in my eyes. Or was that sweat on my cheeks? I was sweating.
Was
I sweating?

He began to rock his pelvis against me, moving his erection
in and out, slowly at first. It made a squishing sound.

“I love that freshman twink ass,” he sighed. Leaning up, he
spit between my shoulder blades and then licked it off.

I was starting to feel nauseous, which brought a flare of
panic. What if I threw up? His thrusting got faster and I said, “Slow, slow,”
because I didn’t have any choice but to say it. And he replied, “You like it
nice and slow, huh?”

And I did like it better nice and slow—the steadiness
of the rhythm took the scary anticipation out of wondering if the next thrust
would hurt. I started to feel confident that what I was feeling was all I would
feel. And it wasn’t awesome but it wasn’t bad, and maybe it was nice. I was OK.
He kept the rhythm steady, steady as a drummer, like I had asked, and I told
myself he was doing what I had asked, he was obeying my rules, he respected
them, I had the power here, I was in control, I could tell him anything because
I had the power, and this was OK. This was OK. This was mutual, I told myself,
this was something we both wanted because he was doing what I asked, we were
connected, and he was a good person, he was a beautiful person, and maybe I
loved him, and this was OK. This was OK. But I had tears in my eyes and he
started going faster.

I came with no erection and hardly an orgasm; I wouldn’t
have noticed except for the hotness spreading on the sheet against my belly.
For a horrible moment I wondered if I had peed, if his thrusting had pushed pee
out of me. Immediately after I came my body started trying to push him out. I
could feel my muscles tensing, and he had to fight my bum to stay inside it. He
slid a hand under my stomach and pulled me up against him. But it only took another
minute, and then it was done.

***

Afterward I lay in my bed, stiff with drying sweat, sperm,
lube, while Travis went to shower. Although the bathroom had multiple stalls he
had asked me to wait in our room because it would look suspicious if an RA and
a resident who lived together were showering at the same time, at this hour. I
could hear him out in the hallway talking to someone after he closed our door,
and I wondered if that person could sense that Travis had just fucked Ollie.
Was it Kaitlyn? Would she know? Was it Shelley? Did she know what his body had
just done?

I curled into a ball under the covers and touched my bum to
make sure everything was OK. It felt normal to my fingers but it was sore. When
Travis came back to the room smelling of soap and shampoo I pretended to be
asleep. Not long afterward in the moonlight I noticed that one of my R.E.M.
posters was crooked and I thought about the crookedness all night long.

I was confused. I had liked it and hated it and I didn’t
know which one to feel bad about.

***

The next day between classes I met Harriet for lunch in
the dining hall. She looked tired; her eyes were framed with dark circles
behind her square glasses. She looked like how I felt. She was working on a new
play for her writing class and it’d been taking up all of her time lately.
Normally it’s what she would’ve been talking about now—stage directions,
character stuff—but today she was only poking at her fries.

“Have you heard from Wesley lately?” she said absently.

It was a name from another lifetime and it caught me off-guard.
“Not since before spring break,” I said. We were quiet for a while after that,
looking at the big-screen TV against the wall across the dining hall, past the
silhouettes of other kids’ heads.

“Ollie,” she laughed, “will you quit sliding around in that
chair? It’s like your butt is on wheels today.”

“Oh, ha, no, I’m just antsy, I guess.” The truth was, my bum
was sore. It felt OK on the outside but I imagined the inside as swollen and
red. I didn’t know if it was supposed to feel this way the day after. I didn’t
know if Harriet would be able to tell me but I thought maybe she’d know, and
suddenly I was saying, “Hey. So. Travis and me.” I said it low, almost a
whisper, and then stopped.

The TV went to a commercial but she kept watching it anyway.
“Travis and you?”

“We’ve— So we’ve been having sex.”

Now she looked at me and her eyes seemed much more awake. “You’re
having sex with Travis?”

I reached for my ginger ale and gulped. “Twice.”

“I didn’t know he was gay.”

“I guess he is?”

“OK,” she said, dragging out the word incredulously, like,
Oookaaay
. “You
don’t look very happy about this.”

“I don’t know what I am.” Suddenly I felt embarrassed,
pathetic. “I mean I liked it, it was really fun. But—”

“But what? Have you had sex before? Or was this your first
time, with him?”

“... My first time.”

“Oh Ollie.”

“It was fine, Harriet, really.”

“Your first time shouldn’t just be
fine
. Do you like him?”

I shrugged.

“Did you even
want
to have sex with him, Ollie, or did he push it on you?”

“Why would you think he would push it on me?” I resented the
idea that I could be pushed.

“Because he’s older than you. Because— Because you
have tears in your eyes, Oliver!” She covered her mouth with her hand.

I slapped at my eyes with the backs of mine.

“What kind of sex was it?” she said.

“
Harriet.
Well, I
was the—the receiver.”

A flare of pink lit her cheeks. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. No. I mean it hurt. But it always hurts the first time,
right? That’s normal, right?”

“There’s a difference between it being sore and you getting
hurt. And I don’t just mean physically.”

“I could’ve thrown him across the room if I wanted, Harriet,”
I said dismissively. “I can bench the guy’s body weight.”

“Just because you’re physically stronger than him doesn’t mean
he can’t still take advantage of you. He’s older than you. He’s an RA.”

“I know.”

“RAs aren’t
allowed
to date their residents. It’s against the rules. He would know that.”

“He does. He told me we should keep it a secret. And we’re
not dating.”

“Ollie.”

“He didn’t force me, Harriet. It wasn’t like that.”

She looked away from me, aggressively rubbing her tongue
over her teeth in a half snarl, like a mother wolf. “But you don’t feel good
about it.”

“I guess not.”

She was quiet for a long time. She leaned back in the booth
and threw a fry at her plate. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
now.”

“Why are you supposed to do anything? I’m just telling you,
Harriet. I don’t want to make a thing about it.”

“Well clearly you’re uncomfortable with what happened. —He
wore a condom, right?”

“Of course.”

She took a breath. “I mean, am I supposed to let you go back
to your room with him there?”

“Of course, Harriet. Harriet, I can throw him out the window
if he pressures me.”

“But you wouldn’t.” We were quiet for a while. Then she
said, “Do you want to keep having sex with him?”

“I don’t know. I think I might? It just happened so fast.
And it’s my fault because I told him I’d done it before.”

“It’s absolutely not your fault, Ollie, but you should’ve
been honest.”

“I think I might want to do it again. Is that bad?”

“It’s not bad, Ollie. Just— Please don’t let him
pressure you into anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know.”

“Just take some time.”

“I know. I will.”

“Sleep in my room for a couple nights if you want; I have
the air mattress. If you need space.”

I felt a surge of relief, such a surge it embarrassed me. “I
could? You wouldn’t mind?”

“No.”

“Cool. Thank you.”

She picked up the fry again but didn’t eat it. “I have some
advice for you.”

“Advice?”

“I don’t know if you realize it, but you are really good
looking.”

“Harriet.”

“And frankly the gym has made it worse. I watched you walk
from the kitchen to this booth and I saw no fewer than three girls with their
eyes locked on you—and look around, it’s not even that crowded in here.
And most girls will just whisper and giggle and go back to their lunch. But you’re
not into girls, you’re into men, and men are going to be more aggressive,
Ollie. Especially when they’re older, like Travis. And especially when they have
some authority. Like Travis. You’re cute, and they’re going to want things. And
you just— You just have to be pretty assertive, is all I’m saying. I hope
you have all the sex you want. But if you’re crying afterward, Ollie, that’s
not good.”

She was right—I couldn’t deny there were tears in my
eyes when I was telling her about Travis. I guess I didn’t really know why they
were there. In most moments, I wanted to do it again. I had even jerked off to
the memory of it that morning. Equally and separately, I hated him. I didn’t
know how to reconcile those two things at all.

***

Harriet’s room was cluttered as hell with a senior’s
accumulation of stuff, but she moved things around and stacked things against
walls so she could blow up the air mattress on the floor beside her bed. I sat
on it and we laughed at how it bobbed me around.

We watched
Say
Anything
on her little TV. Later in the dark in the glow of her pink lava
lamp when we were in our pajamas she told me about her play, her characters,
her writer’s block, but I was only hearing bits and pieces of it, and I had
only paid attention to bits and pieces of the movie. I was comfortable here
with her but I was feeling stupid for wanting to be here, for maybe even
needing to be here. It felt cowardly. My room for months with Wesley had been
my perfect home, my comfort zone, and now I’d been displaced by the very thing
I’d wanted and craved and advertised for. The big s-e-x. I hated Travis and I
wanted him. I imagined going down the hall to my room—to
my
room—and waking him up and
fucking him, not asking him, just pushing him face-down on the bed and ripping
his plaid boxers off. If I even could. If I could even get hard.

Harriet went to sleep with the lava lamp on and finally I
reached up and clicked it off, sending the room into darkness.

***