Here’s Looking at You, Kid

an accidental romance in fifteen parts

by Douglas

Chapter 5 - Doubt

I spent Saturday morning moping.

Moping is too mild a word for it, though. Way too mild a word.

‘Consumed with doubt’: yeah, that fits. ‘Conflicted’. That works, too. ‘Torn’. Uh-huh. ‘Unsure of myself, and of the situation’. Yeah.

And maybe, just a whisper, a hint, of ‘Jealous’, too. Maybe.

It wasn’t a fun combination.

Looking back, I’m ashamed of the way I was thinking. But, weirdly – I even remember being ashamed of what I was thinking, back then, at the time. As I was thinking it.

But I couldn’t help it.

Okay. Confession. I can be prone to – brooding. Sometimes.

It runs in my family; sometimes my dad sits alone in the living room, late at night, with all the lights off – and he broods. For hours, at a time; he worries, he broods, and we all know to stay away from him, and he just, stews –

Like I was doing, right then.

I don’t do it often; I try not to do it, I HATE brooding – but sometimes, when all the right conditions come together, I just fall into it. Like falling into a black pit.

The conditions came together that last night. Right when Cole said goodbye to me; all the conditions came together. All my doubts; all my fears, all my insecurities . . .

So, here’s the thing.

I hadn’t known Cole very long. But – I really, really liked him. A lot.

I could tell I was beginning to fall for him. Hell – I was already half way there. At least. From our whole first date, learning so much about each other, fitting in with each other, the scene at Bad Boy Beach – from that, to last night’s dinner, and that brilliant trick we played on Michael, the guy who’d broken Cole’s heart so badly –

That was part of it. I had to admit it, to myself; I was a pushover for boys who are hurting, a little. Jesse had been hurting when I met him; he told me, and I believed him, that he’d just been through a breakup of his own, and I so wanted to, like, put my arms around him, to comfort him –

No. Ctrl-alt-delete, again.

Anyway. So, I’ve got a weakness, a soft spot for boys who are a little vulnerable, a little hurt, a little needy; and Cole was clearly still working through his pain over Michael –

And I was falling for him; I was seriously falling for him.

I could change that.

And the rational, calculating, selfish part of me, that quiet voice we all have, and don’t like to admit that we have – that voice was saying, maybe I should. Maybe I should.

We all have . . . mental models of what we want, with our future boyfriends. Or girlfriends; or mates, or whatever.

For as long as I could remember, mine had been pretty set. A just-slightly-older, handsome, tall guy; self-assured, warm, (hot in bed, of course) – someone who liked indulging me, supporting me, bringing me along, teaching me things, maybe even kind of RAISING me, in a way –

Maybe, in the end, a boyfriend to play the big brother I never had, and always wanted, when I was growing up.

Oh, my ideal boyfriend-meme could get pretty detailed. Body type; hair; his hobbies, the specifics of what he liked to do in bed – well, of course, the sexual stuff. Although those purely physical and sexual details did evolve some, over time.

But I also had my mental images for the little things about my future husband, the less-important things. Like, maybe he’d have his own home . . . maybe just a little condo. With a nice golden labrador retriever, that we could maybe take on long walks, after school, together . . .

Yeah. My future husband might have a little money, too. WE’D have a little money –

‘Mom? Dad? Ross and I want you to have these tickets to Paris. They’re open-ended, use them anytime. No, no; it’s our gift. We insist.’

In my fantasies, he’d be Ross. Or Benjamin. Or Viggo (you don’t even have to ask). Or Samuel; Samuel was a good one, one of my favorite names. Not Sam; Samuel.

We’d sleep together, actually, like, SLEEP together, all night, in the same bed, and take long drives up the coast –

I really, really liked Cole. But his main set of wheels was his skateboard. And the next big milestone in his life was likely to be his high school Junior Prom.

Which would be coming up sometime next year; in the spring semester.

Oh, it’s not like dating Cole wouldn’t be – fun. Wouldn’t have lots of advantages. LOTS of advantages.

There was the whole sexual thing, of course. Something about him – his attitude, his cockiness, the way he was so COMFORTABLE about sex, his jokes and texting – it all just seemed to reach out, past all my defenses, and grab me by the . . . well, the endocrine system, let’s just say. And that was a good way of putting it; something about Cole just seemed to work for me, ON me, way down deep, on a molecular level . . . his beauty, the graceful, slender body –

Actually – that thought gave me a little pause. Cole WAS beautiful, but he was so young, and I wondered exactly what kind of pervert I was turning into, getting off so thoroughly on this sixteen-year-old boy . . .

But another part of me, secretly, kind of wanted to see what Cole was going to turn into; watch that beautiful boy grow into the beautiful young man I knew he’d be . . .

In a few years.

Three quick knocks came on the suite door, in my mid-brood.

“Yeah!” I yelled, quickly; then I frantically looked around for my sweatpants, found them, pulled them on, quick, then opened the door, partways.

“Hey!”, from the opening. A face popped in; Mark, one of our friends from last year, peeking around. Behind him, I could see Giovanni and Matt. “It’s Saturday, and it’s beautiful out, and you can’t study forever, so you have no excuses,” he went, in his kind of goofy, bouncing Mark-way. “You guys want to do something - ? Like, breakfast - ?” He looked around a little more. His eyes flicked towards me, noticing I was underdressed. And – well, I’d been brooding; I was scruffy.

“Uhhh . . . thanks,” I went. I made a face. “Derrick’s not exactly back yet – ”

“Whoa.” Mark looked at me, a second. “Uhhh . . . okay. Right. You okay?”

“Huh?” Like I said, I’m not always that fast. Especially in the morning.

Mark didn’t say anything for a second; then – “So, come on to breakfast with us. Okay? We were thinking about going to that place on College . . . ”

I couldn’t figure out why he was looking concerned. But I really sort of wanted to wait for Derrick; I had a lot to talk over, with him.

I guess I really depend on Derrick, to help me figure things out. I always have.

“Um. Maybe later? If Derrick gets back soon, maybe we’ll catch up with you. Or, why don’t you call me, let me know what you do after that?”

Mark’s expression was a little weird, now, and Giovanni and Matt were sort of bobbing their heads, trying to look through the doorway. Something was off, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what.

“Okay.” Mark kind of blinked at me. “Okay, dude. We’ll give you a call. Later.”

“Cool. Right.” And they were gone, and I closed the door, and I wondered about it all for a second; than I turned back to the luxury of even more brooding.

*

So. That calculating, rational side of me, started cranking again. Giving off smoke, almost.

It had really been that moment – leaving Cole last night, before getting too close to his door – it was that moment, that did it. That had hit me, so hard.

The date – the double date – had been FUN, it was nice, it was ADULT, even with the acting out, and with the trick we played on his ex . . .

Well, okay. I’m not so sure it was all that adult. But it WAS fun, and it was the sort of thing I wanted to do more of; lots more of.

And then, Derrick and Drew splitting off to go home, together, to sleep together – for the third time since they met – and it was EASY for them –

And I couldn’t even walk Cole home.

If I stayed with him – if I went on dating him – it might be years before I could take Cole home like that. Openly.

If I kept on seeing him, I didn’t even know where we’d be able to get together. Alone, I mean. His house, while his mom was out? Sneaking in like –

Well. A high school boy?

I didn’t like that thought. At all.

I sighed, and looked around at the empty room.

And thinking of Derrick – where WAS Mr.-I-need-you-to-meet-my-date, anyway? For someone who was wildly insecure on Monday, craving reassurance, wanting my advice – he didn’t seem to have any problems sleeping in with that date.

Late. Again.

Sigh.

And then, with Cole, there was the whole legal thing. The blood-chilling legal consequences, if somehow we were – caught. If I was caught.

Cole was just a little more than three years younger than me; it’s one of the things I’d found out, the very first night, the night of the pool party.

In California, that means I could be prosecuted for a felony, or a misdemeanor – at the prosecutor’s choice. And the felony, if it happened, would bring down all the horrible consequences; registering as a sex offender, harsh restrictions on where I lived –

On top of the prison sentence. In state prison.

In practice, I know it doesn’t happen often; prosecutions are fairly rare. And without some kind of coercion on my part, without Cole actually going to the police to charge me, to testify against me, it wasn’t all that likely, anyway.

Maybe. Theoretically.

But it happened; back home in San Diego, they’d just run an ad campaign, aimed mostly at the Hispanic population, reminding men that they could go to jail for underage sex; there were posters in Spanish on the sides of buses, showing arms in handcuffs, over the warning message. It wasn’t a joke.

And Cole’s mother kept him on a tight leash; and if somebody caught us, somehow, or if Cole’s mom found out about us, and if SHE pressed charges –

It could happen. It really could.

Try living under that kind of threat.

Try getting to sleep, while thinking about that kind of threat.

Getting to sleep, alone.

Oh, it wasn’t exactly like I was totally alone, last night. I had Cole’s DVD to look at.

That was weird.

He was right, the pictures of us were too dark to really tell who we were.

Well, if my face hadn’t been buried in Cole’s butt, you probably could have recognized me. But Cole’s head was sort of facing away from the camera, and the iron trellis-work messed up the flash . . .

And of course, it was all hot beyond all description, SEEING us like that, seeing me so DEEP in his ass, seeing his nude body stretched out on top of mine . . . me remembering the smoothness of his anus, on my tongue –

And if that wasn’t enough to get me going – the little brat chose his bonus pictures well, too.

Five of them, actually.

Three were of Cole, nude, hard, grinning – completely un-self-consciously – and masturbating. Clearly, clearly loving it; loving DOING it, and loving having his picture taken, WHILE doing it. Standing; lying on his side, lying on his back . . .  The sheer, raw sexual energy, the sense of sexual FUN he gave off, was overwhelming.

The fourth was actually sort of artistic. Or artful; anyway, it was beautiful. Cole sprawled face-down, full length on a bed, the light from the window shining just perfectly, perfectly over the curve of his beautiful butt, shadows outlining the muscles of his back, as he looked sideways at the camera, propped up on his elbows . . . looking thoughtful; unguarded.

Beautiful. Beyond any doubt. Anyone, straight or gay, would call him beautiful, in that shot. Anyone would call the whole picture, beautiful.

But it was the last jpg that really hit me, below the waist.

Cole, grinning again; on his back, or his upper back, actually, on his bed; bottoms up, holding his thighs back, his beautiful butt cheeks totally spread, OPEN to the camera, that anus I’d spent so much time tonguing and loving and licking just, totally visible, in full color and perfect detail – and it wasn’t just that, really, it was the WAY he was posing, that sexual energy, that cocky personality coming through, again –

Okay. Personality – yeah. But a lot of it was the pose.

And right then – that night, I mean – I’d lost it. It was one of those times when you’re short of breath, and you can’t get out of your clothes fast enough, and you make a big mess in a very short time, and even then, one mess, one orgasm, was not going to be nearly enough to satisfy . . .

And even as I did it, even as I grunted and spurted all over my neck and my chest and my stomach – part of the weirdness, part of the weird, and twisted feelings I was having then, was knowing that Trevor took the pictures . . . that Trevor and Cole were jerkoff buddies, which was something I still had to think a lot about . . .

And that Cole was thinking about getting Trevor to photograph us, or even to film us, Cole and me, doing it. Having sex.

Fucking.

I lay back in my desk chair, wet and panting, trying not to look at the screen again, and that thought – about Trevor filming us – was still keeping me hard, still keeping my heart pounding, and, and –

Well. I didn’t get to sleep all that early, myself.

Even though I did sleep alone.

*

I logged back into my laptop, now, in the morning light, sitting in that same chair, and checked for messages. Two from the Hall Association for our building – something about a movie night, and a Popcorn Fest – and one from my mom, which I really, really did not want to read just then –

None from Cole. Of course; he was careful about his communications.

I’d really miss all that – the cockiness, the sexuality; his personality, the jabbing way he liked to verbally poke at me – just everything about Cole, actually – I’d really miss that, if I didn’t see him again.

But in so many ways . . . it would be easier.

Maybe easier for both of us.

Maybe even better, for him.

I’d been thinking about me – selfishly, calculatingly – and the whole, under-the-age-of-consent thing. But I knew, really well, that it wouldn’t be any easier for Cole, if we kept on dating. Less risky, legally; sure. But not easier.

I knew that much, from experience. I knew it in my bones.

It would be so much EASIER for Cole, to date someone closer to his own age. He was out to his mom, now – that wasn’t an issue. In his own way, if he did find someone in, say, his own class – it would be ridiculously easy for him. He could do all the things I wanted to do – go out openly with his boyfriend, go out on DATES with his boyfriend, and bring his boyfriend home, introduce him to his mom (and maybe his dad in LA), and be HONEST about his life, for a change, and who knows – maybe even get to do the sleepover thing. With his boyfriend.

Might happen. I’d heard of it happening. And it was Berkeley, after all.

And – Cole was young. Sixteen. I mean, how much matters, that deeply, to a sixteen year old? How seriously would any sixteen year old take anything or anybody?

I could almost see it. I DID see it, I constructed it in my head.

A year from now, Trevor and Cole in that same coffee shop from the night before, sipping and talking.

‘Hey’, Trevor would say. With that shaggy, broad grin of his. ‘Remember that Jeremy guy? I saw him on campus, today.’

‘Jeremy?’ Cole would ask. In my head, I could even see the tilt of his head as he looked at Trevor. I could see the expression on his face; the half-smile. It was amazing, how clearly I could see it.

‘You know. That guy from the pool party last year.’

‘Oh, my god,’ Cole would laugh, and put his hand over his mouth. ‘I so totally forgot about that!’

And even as I imagined this, even as I set up the whole scene, – I tried to ignore the little voice in my head that protested. The part of me that knew that sixteen was more than old enough for love, that when I was sixteen, I’d loved Jesse more than anyone or anything on earth . . . and part of me, against my will, probably always would love him, in a way . . .  

And that turned me to face the ugly, slimy little thought that squirmed through all of this brooding. The thought that made me a hypocrite, and confused me, and made me ashamed, all at once. The thought that was way too familiar, to me.

Even though I was sitting here, more-than-half-convincing myself to stop seeing Cole –

I was jealous. Yeah; I tested my feelings, like you test a sore tooth with your tongue. And a little paranoid, too, maybe.

But definitely jealous.

Cole had been so fucking vague about when we could see each other again, when I left him, last night . . . so deliberately vague. I thought. He’d totally blown me off. Been so evasive. So – untruthful.

Right after seeing his ex, Michael, again. For the first time in – how long? Right after the improvised skit we put on, for Michael.

With his dimples, and his enormous biceps. And his beautiful – (yeah, I could admit it to myself) – his beautiful face.

Even as I thought about protecting myself, even as I thought about how easy, how totally easy it would be to just let Cole . . . slip away; to not return his next phone call, or find an excuse to be busy, how easy it would be to sink into the familiar, comfortable security of being unattached, again –

Even as I was thinking all this, I was wondering. Wondering if, just maybe, Cole was being vague . . . for a purpose. Wondering if Cole’d put me off . . . so that he could, just maybe, wander back to that other coffee house, tonight. The one where Michael would be working.

Wondering if Cole would rather be with Michael, than with me.

Feeling some of those same feelings – of doubt, of inadequacy, of guilt, of hurt – that I felt so many times, back when I was with Jesse.

And the thing was – I KNEW I was being kind of hypocritical, and perverse, and obsessive, and conflicted –

But it didn’t matter. It was how I felt.

And as I sat there, the wheels in my head spinning, one thing came to me, fairly clearly.

I didn’t want to go through this, again. I didn’t want to hurt anyone else; or get hurt. Again. Like I had before.

Which made the whole, maybe-I-should-just-let-Cole-go option look – a lot better.

A lot safer.

*

My cell – I had it on my desk, in front of me – lit up, and started softly bleeping. I didn’t even have to look; it was Derrick’s ring tone. I opened it up.

“Hey.”

“Good . . . ” then the sound of a long yawn, then “morning to you, too.” I didn’t say anything back, for a second; then – “J?”

“Yeah, I’m here. ‘Morning. How’s it going?”

“Great, just great. Are you okay?”

Derrick and I know each other that well. Six words from me, and he could tell.

“Yeah.” I smiled at the desk. “I’m okay. But . . . well, I’ll tell you about it.”

“You’d better. We have a LOT to talk about. God, that scene last night in the coffee shop . . . Drew can’t stop talking about it.” He yawned, again, loud, and I held the phone a little ways away from my ear, for a second; then, “Are we still on for this afternoon?” he said.

Derrick and I had a study date, for later. A study date for both of us to actually study; but also, of course, to talk over last night.

And also to go over Derrick’s Econ paper. Derrick didn’t really need my help, writing, anymore – not like he did Freshman year; but he still felt better if I looked at his stuff, before he sent it in.

“Yeah. Absolutely,” I went. “Same place?”, meaning, Moffitt Library, where we usually study together.

“Uh . . . how about the Academic Center downstairs, instead? I think I might want to do some printing. Actually, a lot of printing.” He sounded a little apologetic; usually we tried to get away from our own dorm unit, just to avoid getting into things with people we know.

“Okay. That’s cool. Three?”, meaning, three o’clock.

“Yeah. I’m going out to brunch with Drew,” he said, and by the way he said it – he sort of breathed the name, ‘Drew’ – I knew things were still going well, for both of them.

Not that I’d had any doubts.

“So,” he went on – “you want to come with us?” He sounded hopeful.

“Uhhh . . . no thanks. Not this time, anyway. Maybe next time.”

The idea of watching them make eyes at each other, after what I’d decided – maybe-decided – to do about the Cole situation, . . . no.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The concern was back in his voice, again, and I could just see his face. I smiled into the air, again; I really to do love Derrick.

“Yeah. I promise; I’ll tell you all about it. Three, downstairs?”

‘Three. Downstairs.”

*  *  *

 I was already downstairs, in one of the group-study-carrels in the Academic Center, when Derrick showed up.

With his laptop; he’d gone back up to our suite to get it. But he was still wearing the same clothes from last night – the second time that had happened, now – which made me grin, though I tried to hide it. He saw it, of course, and looked a little sheepish.

“I was running a little late,” he went, keeping his voice low. He set down the laptop, opened it up, and powered it on.

“Yeah.” I tried to look innocent. “Brunch. Brunches will do that.” And he had the decency to blush, which made me grin back at him, openly. “Good for you. And good for him, too.”

“It WAS good for both of us, actually,” he said, and his face had that glow in it – the same glow I’d seen back at the party, when he was first describing Drew to me – and I laughed; and he grinned, and then his face changed, and he got that slightly-panicked-rabbit look back on his face, utterly vulnerable and open to me –

“So what do you think, J? I mean, it just seems so RIGHT, and it’s happening so fast, and, so, am I being completely stupid, or – ”

I hushed him. Then I told him the truth; or at least, as much of it as I thought he should hear.

Meaning, I told him that Drew seemed really sweet, and no, Derrick wasn’t being crazy, and that he should enjoy himself, and not get too paranoid about things, and take it slow, and the usual things like that –

And I didn’t tell him that it was painfully obvious that Drew was completely stuck on him. And that Derrick could use him or abuse him like a floormat, if he really wanted to.

Not that Derrick would. I know him. But, still; sometimes it’s better not to hear, that somebody really, really likes you. Not early on, in a relationship; it can be scary . . .

And then pretty soon – actually, really soon – Derrick turned it around, to me and Cole; asking me, what happened after he and Drew left us, the night before.

And I wasn’t surprised. Even as he was sitting down, I could see him scanning my face, already reading what I was thinking.

Well, ‘brooding’, anyway. I wouldn’t confuse brooding with thinking.

I stumbled through it, trying – not really successfully – to put all my doubts and fears into words, as Derrick listened; his face side-lit by the light from his laptop screen at first, then back to normal as it went into powersave mode.

Like I said. I wasn’t all that successful, expressing it. Or brief.

“So,” I finished up, lamely. Sounding kind of pathetic; even to myself. “I just – don’t know. What I’m going to do, I mean.” I looked down at my own dark laptop screen.

“It sounds like maybe you’ve already decided,” he went. Gently. I looked up at him; he looked worried, and sad.

“No. Not really.” I hesitated. “But I just wonder if it might be better for both of us, if I, like, didn’t . . . go on seeing him. Get in any deeper, with him.” I felt myself making a face. “I think - ?”

“Uh-huh,” he went, studying me, close. He was quiet for a second, then he looked at his watch, quick, and scowled. “Timing is everything.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Look,” he went on, gently, back to studying me really intensely. “I’m going to tell you something, then I’m going to ask you something. Okay?”

“Uh – sure . . . ”

“Actually, I’m going to tell you two things. The first is – that you really like Cole. Seeing you together last night – well.”

I gave him a smile that felt not-so-happy. “Yeah. I already knew that.”

“And the second thing is, that Cole really likes you. I mean,” he said holding up a hand as I opened my mouth – “I mean he REALLY likes you. Maybe I shouldn’t say it – ” he paused, and looked at my face some more, closely – “but you don’t have to worry about him . . . like, losing interest. Or going back to his ex, tonight.”

“Michael.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“How much of this is because you’re worried about the age-of-consent thing, versus – well, just being worried about . . . getting hurt, again?”

I didn’t say anything for a second; because, right then – I didn’t know.

“I guess,” he went on, still really gently – “I guess I don’t really know what you’ve been through. The whole thing with Peter and me was only a few months, really; and then, with Evan, and Tyler, both times it was kind of mutual . . . ” He ran his hand over his eyes, and sighed. Then he looked up at me, again. “Tell me this much, anyway. Do you want to see Cole again? I mean, at least once more? Believe me, it’s important.”

THAT question hit me, hard.

I didn’t answer, for a second; as I thought about it. Imagined it. Imagined, not seeing Cole again. Ever . . .

“God yes,” I said. Startling myself. “Yeah. I want to see him again. I REALLY want to see him again.” And as I said it, I felt a pang again, at the thought of never getting together with Cole again . . . “It’s just that . . . I don’t know if I should. I don’t know if it’s a good idea; for him, or for me. I’m conflicted. But,” and I looked away, and down, not wanting to meet Derrick’s look – “I know I’m still really hoping he calls me. Like, tonight, or tomorrow. I really do.” I looked back up at Derrick, feeling pathetic. “But I just don’t know if I should.”

In spite of my brooding – I’d kept my phone on all day; hoping he’d call. It was still on, right then.

“Okay,” Derrick went, and his face relaxed, a little. “That’s okay.” I saw his eyes flick down towards his watch, again, really quickly, then back up. “Good.”

*

And of course, it didn’t end there.

We chewed over our would-be boyfriends, back and forth, for the next hour, at least; revealing more and more to each other.

About them; and about our feelings, too.

I was right about Drew, I found out; after the little play Trevor and Cole put on at the coffee shop, he hadn’t been . . . exactly . . . sure that we really WEREN’T a threeways harem. Me, Cole and Trevor, I mean. It took awhile for Derrick to convince him.

And it took me awhile to convince Derrick, about Drew. In bits and pieces; still trying not to reveal too much, but in the end, I thought I did convince him, that Drew was the real thing; a cute, nice guy who wouldn’t hurt anybody or anything willingly, and who was really into Derrick, and the more I tried to express it, the more this kind of wondering, delighted smile spread across Derrick’s face, the smile of a little boy who’d just found out that Santa Claus was real and that the presents really were under the tree, just waiting for him . . .

Derrick didn’t say nearly as much about Cole; mostly he listened to me. And when I talked about the legal things – how risky it could be, dating somebody underage – his expression got more serious. Grave, even.

But one thing he said stuck with me.

“J – it’s got to be tough. The whole under-the-legal-age-limit, thing. And I wouldn’t blame you for, well, whatever you decide. But – ” and here he paused, a second, looking away – “I will tell you this. If you do go on seeing him, for awhile . . . I think he’ll be good for you. Like, maybe, REALLY good for you.” He looked back at me, and kind of squinched up his eyes. “And . . . you deserve it.”

Like I said. It stuck with me. I knew he was being honest – we’re always honest with each other, when it counts. So. It was one of those things, that stays in the back of your mind, even when you’re not actively replaying the moment . . .

Oh, we did get around to the homework, eventually.

I read Derrick’s paper, and as usual, these days, didn’t find much wrong with it; I just suggested a couple of things, here and there, and he was almost embarrassingly grateful, and I helped him with a couple of edits, and rephrasing a line or two . . .

Then Derrick left for a second to fetch a book from our suite, and in the silence I was able to finally sink into my own work, really deeply – and it was one of those really satisfying times when everything is just clicking right, and I was concentrating, and making good progress on everything.

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was because I’d gotten the whole Cole issue out of my system.

Temporarily. For now.

I’d just finished – finally – outlining my term paper for Political Science, and was finding source material on the internet, and everything was coming up so easily, I kept hitting on one good link after another, and was smiling to myself, and thinking about digging out my iPod, when Derrick tapped me on the shoulder.

“Jeremy – it’s getting a little late. Don’t you think?”

“Huh?” I blinked at him, shifting mental gears.

“It’s almost six; and it IS Saturday night. And – well.” He looked almost shy, for a second, not quite meeting my eyes. “I think I might go over to Drew’s, tonight.”

“No!” I tried to look fake-shocked. “Really?”

“Cut it out!” He smiled. Then the smile faded. “Unless you think – maybe I shouldn’t? Like, is it, too much - ?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Did he ask you to come over?”

“Well – yeah . . . ”

“And was he hard, when he asked you?”

“J!” And Derrick really DID blush; and then he looked away, and smiled, a little crookedly. “Actually – yeah. Very hard.” His smile got wider, and he still didn’t meet my eyes.

“So, go. Some things don’t lie. Unless he’s using – ”

“No way. No, he doesn’t need pills. Trust me,” and Derrick just beamed –

And I confess; I was back to thinking about Cole, and how I hadn’t had a call from him, and how it was looking like a fairly lonely night for me . . .

“Why don’t you go on,” I said to Derrick, looking back at my laptop screen. “I’m really close to – ”

“No! Come on.”

“What?”

His expression was a little – funny. “Come on back to the suite with me; I’ll make some espresso for us? I could really use some . . . and I could use the company - ?”

I paused for a second.

I would have said no – even though I’ve got a total weakness for espresso. Straight espresso.

But in the end, I figured Derrick was still a little . . . insecure, maybe, about the whole Drew thing; and that maybe he wanted a little more moral support, while he went up and got ready for his date.

His perfectly legal date. His perfectly legal, close by, AVAILABLE date. With whom he could spend the entire night. Legally.

Sigh.

So we closed up our laptops, went back across the courtyard to our hall, and back home.

“If you make it, I’ll clean up,” I was saying, as Derrick unlocked our door.

“Uh – sure,” he said, as he pushed inside. The sun was almost down, and through the window, the East Bay hills were all lit up in tones of green and red and gold. I went into my room to put down my laptop and books –

“FUCK!” I heard, from Derrick’s room.

Not Derrick’s voice.

Then, the sound of Derrick beginning to howl, with laughter; and I ran out into the living room, in time to see a very naked, very erect, and very, very, mad Cole, storm out of Derrick’s room.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He stomped right past me, furious, not even looking at me, into my own room; and the door slammed closed. Derrick came out his own door, still howling with laughter.

“Cole, I’m sorry!” he called out, when he could get control of himself for a second.

“What - ?” I gaped –

Like I said. I’m not always necessarily the quickest on the uptake.

Derrick ignored me. “I told you to go left, when I let you in!” He almost doubled over, as he went on laughing.

My door opened a crack.

“You said to go right!”

“No, I said go right on in, and then I said go left! Oh, my god, you should see Jeremy’s face . . . ”

“Fuck!”

“What – you ARRANGED this?” I gaped at Derrick.

“Cole did. Last night, at dinner; while you were washing your hands.” He was still trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry, Cole! And anyway, it’s not anything I haven’t seen before . . . ”, which set him off on another round of laughter.

“Fuck!”, from my room.

“You said you didn’t watch us!”, I went, for at least the thirtieth time since the party.

“Well, not much, anyway,” went Derrick, between gasps. Looking at me, trying to apologize with his eyes, as he laughed. “I’m sorry, J. I couldn’t resist . . . ” and as his laughter died down to chuckling, I could see him start to get a little serious, and he straightened up, some, and then he paused completely. “It is okay . . . isn’t it?”, he asked softly. Too softly for Cole to hear from my room.

“Yeah. Yeah,” I said, after a second, and whatever expression he saw on my face made him start to beam, just all over, and he reached out to touch my cheek with his fingertips . . .

*

Cole was lying rigid in my bed, under the covers. The covers were actually pulled up really high; right up under his chin. But what little I could see of him, still looked pissed.

“Close the door!”

“It’s okay. Derrick’s gone for the night; he’s at Drew’s place.”

The white fingers holding the blankets up so high up relaxed, a little, and I saw a hint of a bare shoulder.

“Fuck, that was embarrassing! And it ruined the surprise.” He actually looked a little mournful, through the mad, for a second; and I tried not to laugh, as I sat down on the end of the bed.

“What were you doing - ?”

“What do you think? I was jacking myself. Getting it hard. The idea was for me to be on your bed, all naked and hard, when you walked in. It would have been cool . . . ”

“Well, it was pretty cool seeing you run through the living room like that.” I reached out and started stroking his leg, through the covers. “And funny, too. But cool,” I went on, as he started to glare at me a little. “So you arranged all this last night?” I had a thought. “In front of Drew and Trevor, too?”

“Sure. Derrick signed me in as a guest, then he left me here, and went back downstairs. He told me about what time you’d get back.” One arm came out from underneath the blankets, onto his chest. “Trevor and Drew thought it was a hilarious idea.” He was relaxing a little, now, and that trace of smugness was back on his face.

“That makes four brats in my life.” I thought about a little talk I was going to have to have with Derrick . . . then pushed it away. “But, honestly – why be so embarrassed? It’s not like we haven’t done worse, in front of him. In front of all of them.” I tried not to think of the specifics, too clearly.

“That’s different. Totally different.”

“How?”

“Because he’s not my jerkoff buddy, like Trevor. And because at the party, you were doing – all that stuff – with me. And because at the party, I wanted to do what we did. I really wanted to.”

I filed that away for future thought.

“And how long can you stay, Mister Number One Brat?” My stroking on his leg was getting a little less comforting, and a little more . . . meaningful. Higher up; longer strokes. My heart was beating faster, now.

“All night. I have a cover story set up with our friend Jason; his folks are out of town, and his older brother is supposed to be watching us, him and me and Trevor . . . ” And then he paused, and his face got really, really still; and a little worried, maybe.

And a little – hurt, maybe.

“If it’s okay,” he went on. Watching me, watching my reactions, close. “I mean – if you want. I mean, if you’ve got some other plans, I can still go to Jason’s . . . ”

Maybe Derrick hadn’t been so quiet, a second ago, after all.

It was a moment.

I know; there had been other moments, with Cole. The time at the pool, when we first really touched each other; and the time later when it was clear, to both of us, that we wanted at least one more date with each other . . .

And that moment on our First Real Date, when we sort of came out to each other; we called each other’s vulnerabilities, so, so well.

This was more.

All day – with Cole out of my sight, if not out of my mind – I’d been brooding, and stewing, about the whole situation. All my fears, all my assumptions – everything about the possibility of dating Cole had said, no. Don’t do it.

Or at least, be very, very careful. Careful about my own heart. Careful about getting in too deep . . .

I won’t pretend that I hadn’t had to – kind of shift gears, in a big hurry. Starting just a minute ago, when out of nowhere, Cole ran naked in front of me, into my room. Into my bed.

Actually, no. The shifting started when Derrick asked me, downstairs, if I ever wanted to see Cole again; and the thought of not seeing him again, not ever . . . hurt. More than I expected; more than I thought. A lot more.

But it was this moment – Cole in front of me, naked, and emotionally vulnerable; emotionally NEEDY –

It was the first time, the very first time, he’d shown the slightest doubt about my side, of our would-be relationship. About me wanting him. Me wanting to see him, wanting to get together with him –

It was the first time he’d really shown any need for me. Any emotional need. For me. Personally.

 

And that moment changed everything, inside me. Permanently; it turned out. Something – big – melted, in me; something that had kept me from seeing a lot of things; and it must have showed in my face.

“It’s more than okay,” I said, moving up, leaning up over him, propping myself up on my arms so that I was looking right down into his eyes. I let my face get closer to his, still looking into his eyes. “It is, like, the single best surprise I’ve ever had in my life.”

And I meant it with all my heart.

And I saw his own face change, that worry and vulnerability and history of hurt slowly bloom into something happy and, and, well, maybe more than just happy, and then his arms were around my neck and I was down lying on top of him – me, still ridiculously in all my clothes, including my shoes, Cole still ridiculously wrapped up in my blankets – and I pressed down on him as we kissed, and I tasted his tongue, and his tongue traced my lips –

And as we did it, as we kissed and made out – not a good term for what we were doing, actually; we were EMOTIONALLY connecting, EMOTIONALLY making out – what was left of that cold, rational part of myself was saying, well, I can put off the decision, about dating Cole, for another day –

And the rest of me knew that was a lie.

I’d crossed a boundary.

Oh, I’d still worry about dating Cole. I’d still have problems with the age difference, between us; I’d still wish he was old enough to take home to my parents, and I still didn’t know how we were going to manage getting together –

And I was still worried about the potential legal pitfalls. REALLY worried. It was my single biggest fear. And I knew, somehow, that fear was only going to grow, get to be a big part of my life. Maybe even an obsession.

But I didn’t have any doubts. About being with Cole; I mean; not real doubts. I wanted to be with him; for as long as he’d have me. And as I tasted him, on my pillow, and felt his warm arms around me, and smelled him, and felt his lips and tongue wet on mine, I already knew I loved him.

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for reading! Comments are always deeply appreciated, at dlgrantsf@yahoo.com.