Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

Dig turns to face me, his frying pan full of what looks like the thing that Apollo eats in the morning before he harnesses his horses and steers the chariot of the sun across the sky. He slides half onto my plate and half onto his, and then comes around to join me at the counter.

"This is amazing," I say, looking at the steaming plate of yum in front of me.

"I always promised myself," he says, taking a mouthful, "That I would make a proper breakfast for the girl who jump-started my junk." He smiles and blushes. "I guess that turned out to be you."

The first bite of his cooking, like the first glimpse of his cock, only makes me want more. "If I had known something like this was the reward, I would have been all over you that first time in the dorm."

He makes an injured face.

"You only like me for my cooking?"

Oh god he is cute.

"Um, Dig? I think I proved last night that I like you for more than that. It's mainly your amazingly big...heart. You are the sweetest guy I think I've ever met."

He blushes again, and smiles so angelically that I want to drag him back to bed and make with the knots. But after the debacle at Mitch's place, I'm a little more cautious than I used to be. I'm trying to figure out how to figure him out, when he--again--takes the lead.

"Josh, can I be serious for a minute?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

He studies me for a moment, chewing.

"You're a guy," he says, carefully, as if trying to soften the blow of this revelation.

"Yes, Dig, I am. I have suspected this for some time, but with your confirmation I am finally sure."

He grins, realizing how silly he must have sounded.

"It's just that," he continues, undaunted, "I never imagined doing this with a guy. At all."

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"And now I have, and I guess that means...even though I've never thought about guys that way...that I must be..."

Oh, he is so cute and so lost.

"Dig, let me help. What we did doesn't mean you're gay."

He looks at me, blankly.

"But...but...we just...I mean, last night you--"

"I know what happened last night. But despite the fact that your first sexual experience was with a guy, and despite the fact that that guy is kind of falling for you right now because you are so cute and so sweet, and despite the fact that you know precisely what an orange throw pillow can do for a tweed couch, you are probably as straight as you were before this all happened."

He looks dumbfounded. This is not what he expected me to say.

"Prove it," he says, abruptly. "Prove to me I'm not gay."

This, I wasn't expecting.

"It's kind of hard to prove that somebody isn't something," I say, trying desperately to remember what my logic textbook had to say about proving a negative. "If I were a girl, I would be able to show you, but I'm just not equipped for that."

He smirks at me. "Then I don't believe you."

"Wait, you're trying to convince me that you actually are gay?"

The smirk disappears.

"No...wait...I don't know," he stutters, not sure anymore which side he's on.

"I think there is a way we can find out," I say, once inspiration has finally struck.

"Well, about damn time," he says, relieved.

"Now, you have to promise me that you won't freak out," I say, my index finger poised in a scoldy posture.

"Um, I didn't freak out when you tied me up and had your way with me, so..."

"Actually, you did freak out a little," I remind him.

"Okay, okay, but we worked through that, right?"

Yes, Odysseus, we did.

"And speaking of last night, thanks for not pressing charges--I appreciate that."

He grins, and my heart skips a beat. I want so badly for him to be gay, or at least gay enough to want me as much as I'm finding I want him. But we don't always get what we want--and at least I got some of what I wanted last night. And I definitely don't want a scorned girlfriend busting down the door to assert a prior claim. I need to be sure this time.

I turn to face him, and he does the same to me. If we wanted to play pat-a-cake, this is how we would sit, knee-to-knee.

"Now, remember, no freaking out," I caution.

"No freaking out. Promise," he replies, all Eagle Scout-y.

I lean toward him, and he instinctively leans back. I bring my hands up to his shoulders, and look at him warningly. He reads my message clearly, and leans forward again. I pull him closer. He's seriously scared right now, because he senses what's about to happen. Before he can ask for ropes again, I make my move.

I wrap my hands around the base of his skull, from his jaw all the way back around, feeling the soft bristle of his freshly cut hair. I bring him closer, and he closes his eyes, bracing for impact.

My lips find his, and I stop, barely making contact, leaving him in that moment--the one when you're not sure what's happening is actually happening? That one--and then I move in. His lips are unbelievably soft, but he's so stunned to be kissed by a guy that they aren't moving, aren't responding. And then, suddenly, they do.

I'm startled by the gentle fluidity of his lips, which press and nudge in ways I've never imagined. He makes playful transits from the corner of my mouth all the way across and back again, covering me with his softly insistent nuzzling. I'm about to lose myself in this dizzying universe of a kiss when I come to my senses and pull back.

Dig's eyes pop open, and he looks as if I've just yanked the last bite of chocolate cake off his fork.

"Why did you stop?" he asks, an adorable pout in his voice.

"Umm...because," I manage to say--his kiss has surprised me with its decidedly gay-friendly vigor--"I need to ask you something."

"If you're going to ask me to do that again, I can tell you right now what my answer will be."

"I need to know what you felt when I kissed you."

"I felt your lips...what else was there?"

"No, I meant...what did you feel--here?" I put my hand on his chest. His muscular, warm, strong-but-yielding chest. Focus, Josh, focus.

"What do you mean?"

"Think back on the times that you've kissed a girl. I know when I finally kiss a guy who I've been crushing on for a while it makes me dizzy, and I get this kind of flutter, right here." I take his hand and press it to my chest, right over my heart, which is beating crazily right now because I've just kissed him and now his hand is on my chest, right over my heart.

"Dude, your heart is pounding!" he says, a look of awe on his face.

"Exactly. Now what is your heart doing? How did that kiss make you feel?"

"I did that? To you?" He's still talking about my heart, not his.

"Yes, you did that to me. What did I do to you?"

"Here, see for yourself," he murmurs, and he grabs my hand and slips it under his shirt. His skin is so warm and so soft, and he guides my hand up and to his heart and presses it to him. My right hand has gotten more action in the last twenty-four hours than the rest of my body has in the last week...

"I feel your heart beating, but it feels pretty calm to me."

"Keep your hand there, and try this," he says. He pulls me close and kisses me again, this time with lips that are firmer and more demanding. I'm trying to count his pulse, but then his tongue brushes between my lips and suddenly I could no more count his heartbeats than I could solve differentials. I lose track of time, of where I am and what I'm doing, until finally that tongue slips away and he withdraws, taking my breath with him.

He's looking at me, expectantly.

"Well, what did my heart say to you?" he asks.

"I don't know," I reply, "Your tongue was talking over it."

He looks disappointed. If it's answers he wants, then answers he shall have. I'm through playing around.

I grab his hand and press it to my crotch. My erection, a direct and immediate result of his kissing me, is obvious even to his untrained hand. I look him in the eye, and nod. Yep, he knows what's going on there. Then I move his hand to his own crotch which, though full as always, is full of softly coiled cock.

"There," I say, finally, as I let go of his hand.

"That's not fair," he says, clearly hurt. "You of all people know that I don't get hard like that. Just because I didn't bone up right away doesn't mean I'm not into it."

I take a deep breath. I spend a lot of my time trying to convince confused guys that they should at least consider the possibility that they are gay; now, I find myself trying to convince a guy who has proven himself eager to kiss me--with tongue--that he needs to slow down and consider the possibility that he's straight. Not that he couldn't be gay--it's just that I don't want to take advantage of his obvious gratitude that I was his first.

"Dig," I begin, trying a new way round this, "What do you feel when you kiss a girl?"

"Her tits, if she'll let me," he replies, a sneaky grin gracing his stubbly face.

"Very funny. And very straight. You see why I'm putting the brakes on, right?"

"Sorry. I'll be serious."

I cock a skeptical eyebrow, but forge ahead.

"I know that what you and I did last night was--"

"Amazing," he interrupts.

"Yes, it was amazing. But all I did was show you that you could get hard and get off with another person. The fact that I happen to be a guy doesn't mean that you're gay now."

"Josh? What more would it take? We didn't just bump up against each other by accident, you know."

"I'm not saying that what we did wasn't great--it was. And I would do it again in a heartbeat...if I knew that you were into it the way I am. I don't want you to do it because you think you owe me one."

"What if I told you that I am into it?"

"I'm not sure I'd believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because you told me you're not into guys. Because you practically had a nervous breakdown when you got hard watching another guy get off. Because I had to fucking tie you to the fucking bed!" I'm not sure when I started shouting. Real mature.

I feel Dig's hand on my shoulder.

"Dude. You're acting like I went all 'no homo' on you this morning, and I didn't. I made you breakfast, remember? I kissed you. What more do I need to do?"

"I don't know. You need to prove it. You need to prove to me--to yourself--that this is what you want."

"How? How can I do that? Just tell me and I will."

"You need to get your wish. You need to have sex with a woman--have the sex that you always wanted. You need to experience that, because only when you have will I believe you when you say you want what I want."

"This is crazy, you know that, right? What you're asking me to do makes no sense."

"It makes sense to me. I've seen people go through this. My friend Pete, he fell in love with a straight guy. It really tore him up."

"The guy dumped him for a chick? That sucks."

"No, they're still together. But it was hard, and it just about killed them both."

"I get it. Relationships are hard. Or, I guess they are--I wouldn't really know."

I grab him by the shoulders, and look him dead in the eye.

"I can't do this. I've been with my share of guys who were on the fence about their sexuality, but they weren't like you. And I didn't feel about them the way I feel right now. You are beautiful and humble and shy and honest and I could just stay here forever basking in the warmth of your smile and your gourmet cooking, but I can't let myself do that if you're going to find out in a week or a month or a year that you really aren't into guys--"

"I'm not into guys," he interrupts. "I'm into one guy. I'm into you."

I'm trying to have an adult conversation here, but my heart betrays me, skipping like a schoolgirl. He's so innocent, and I don't think he's lying to me--he really seems to mean it. But does he know himself well enough to be able to say that with such confidence?

"And I'm really into you. But we've come so far so fast that we have to take a step back and figure this all out. Here's what I think we should do: let's take a breather for a week, and during that time I want you to try it with a girl. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding any number of them to come to bed with you. See how it works. If at the end of a week you want to pick up where we left off, I will be here, ready to rumble, with the safety off--you won't know what hit you. But until you do what I ask, I just...can't."

His face has run through the entire gamut of emotions while I've been talking--impatient, angry, sad, and finally just mystified. But I think he's starting to see that I'm serious about this.

"Okay," he says softly, nodding. "One week. I'll do it."

"Thank you, Dig. It's for the best."

His eyes flash. "No, what would be best would be spending the day doing this," he says as he grabs me to him and kisses me again, kisses me as if we were the only two people on earth, kisses me like he's trying to bring me back from the dead. Holy fuck what he can do to me.

I break the kiss--I have to.

"One week. Then we'll know for sure. One week."

I stand, and back away from him, back toward the door, back to the outside world that has no word for what we are to each other now--there's never been another like us. This knowledge would make me profoundly lonely if we didn't have it in common.

"Josh?" he calls as I open the door.

"Yeah?"

"You're wrong about me," he says, simply.

"I hope I am," I reply as I close the door behind me.

I hope I am.

# 12 #

It's mid-Saturday by the time I wake up--I crashed pretty hard after the early-morning angst-fest at Diggler's. Seth is already gone, probably rolling around in Physics homework with his study buddies. The twins are gone too, which I don't really mind; it's hard to concentrate on anything but their duplicate beauty when they're lounging about. I have some time to focus on homework, and that's what I need right now.

It's not actually what I need, of course. What I need is someone who wants to be with me after we've finished whatever sweaty, tear-stained thing we've managed to get up to in bed. Someone who wants to spend the day doing homework and drinking coffee, and taking a break every once in a while to look at porn or maybe take a long shower or maybe just sweep all of the books off the desk and pound away at each other all afternoon...

You see why I don't have any study buddies.

I work through the day and into the evening, and turn in early hardly having set foot outside the room. My roommates aren't even back by the time I lay down. It's pretty lonely, actually, and I find myself looking forward to Sunday dinner with the guys.

There's more noise in the suite when I awake on Sunday--I can hear the twins in the bathroom area, so I hustle out to say hi and perhaps get an eyeful of tanned, muscly muscle. In this I am not disappointed. Having been deprived of them for a couple of days, I take a moment to drink in their loveliness.

"Well, there he is," says Dexter to Porter. I can tell which is which only because they have consistently staked out the same mirror in the mornings.

"Yes, he seems quite chipper for one whose heart is so black," Porter replies.

Their smirks tell me that they are having a bit of fun, but my curiosity is piqued.

"Don't you two know it's impolite to talk trash about someone when he's standing right here? You could at least have the decency to asperse my character behind my back like civilized folk."

Dexter turns back to Porter. "You have to grant, he is a proper gentleman," he says to his reflection, "I don't know what Diggler was going on about."

"I'm sure I can't imagine," Porter replies, the effect of his southern belle intonation betrayed by his voice being two octaves lower than Scarlett O'Hara's.

I can easily forgive them their arch delivery, especially as all I can hear right now is my pulse pounding in my ears. What the fuck did Diggler tell them? And why did he tell them anything at all?

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," I offer, doing my best to fit the mock-chivalry of their delivery.

They both turn on me, crossing their arms over their bare, strapping chests.

"That's funny," Porter says, squinting skeptically at me. "The way Diggler went on about it, I thought it would have made an impression."

"What--" and here my voice breaks, as the panic of dealing with a public airing of my fucked-up night with Diggler rises in my chest, "What did he go on about?"

"Well," Dexter answers, "We're not really sure, to be perfectly honest. He said that the two of you had a pretty serious disagreement, and that you left before it was settled."

"That's all he said?" I ask.

Porter's eyes narrow. "What else is there?" His voice is urgent, but there's only a note of concern for his friend, not suspicion of my malfeasance.

"Nothing I know of," I reply. Making light is the way to play this, I decide on the spot. Diggler certainly wouldn't have spilled the entire story, even to Dexter and Porter, who would make a pretty open-minded audience.

"Hmm," Porter replies. His face reveals that his internal bullshit detector is buzzing loudly, but he's going to let me walk. Bless his muscular heart.

"See you guys for Sunday dinner?" I ask cheerily, changing the subject as quickly as I think I can get away with.

"Sure, buddy," replies Porter as they turn back to their work at the mirror.

The next few days slide by without any word from Diggler--or from Mitch, for that matter, though I'm inclined to think that I won't ever hear from him again--and before I know it it's Friday. I haven't given up hope that I will hear from Diggler tomorrow. Tonight, though, I just need to get away from the routine of classes, studying, and towel-handling that makes up my week.

I arrange to meet my friend Pete for dinner. I spent a good part of the summer with Pete, and we got to know each other pretty well as we worked on our service projects in Eastern Europe. He's smart and funny, and best of all he's completely taken--he and Nick have been together for more than a year, and their relationship has survived even Nick's chronic heterosexuality. Pete's my safety valve--I can be myself around him, but I know it's not going to lead to anything sweaty. In the shadow of Mitch and Diggler, I need that right now.

"So, wait," Pete's saying, as we take turns stabbing bits of cheesecake off the plate between us. "This super-sweet guy with the enormous cock wanted you to stay, and you left anyway? What kind of sense does that make?"

I sigh. I've been trying to explain it since the appetizers arrived, and clearly I'm not there yet.

"It makes sense because less than 12 hours earlier he was completely straight. Said that he'd never even thought about guys that way."

Pete waves his fork in the air in a gesture of confusion. "When has that ever stopped you? How long had you known Calvin before the two of you ended up in bed? An hour?"

"It was a good three hours," I reply, in my best indignant tone. "Well, two, at least."

"And how gay was Calvin before that?"

"Well, it turns out he was pretty gay after all. He just didn't know it until then."

"And you're saying that this one is different?"

I nod.

"How? How is he different?"

"He just is, okay? I can tell. Gaydar is kind of my core competency, and I'm not getting a full-strength ping off the guy."

He looks at me with one eyebrow up.

"Look, I don't want to end up with a straight guy, okay?" I blurt, exasperated.

I can tell right away that I've hurt him. He studies the cheesecake and his voice drops an octave.

"I know things with me and Nick have been rough at times, but I wouldn't give him up for anything. Love is like that, or it should be. I don't love Nick because we're both into guys. I love Nick because Nick is Nick."

"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. It's just that, if we're going to make this into something, I want him to go into it with his eyes open. I don't want him to want me just because I was able to help him out."