Everybody’s Wounded


Chapter 7





Ok, so I’m a guy.  Jerking off kind of goes with the territory, you know?  And I admit that, since those first tentative fumblings of puberty, I’ve jerked off to fantasies of hundreds of guys.  Guys real and imagined.  Known and unknown.  Friend, foe and acquaintance.  Guys in movies, magazines, and on the web.  When it comes to jerking off to hot fantasy guys, I’m an old hand, so to speak.  An old, sure, experienced hand.


Fantasy is a funny thing.  You imagine what you’d like to do to him, what you’d like him to do to you, and just keep the old hand moving the action along, taking care of business.  At least, that’s how it’s always been for me.  It’s all about the sensation.  The heat.  The hardness.  The tightening of the balls.  And then that rush, that balance, those extended seconds, right on the edge, somewhere between pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy.  Holding on to it for as long as possible until the perfect twist and pressure of hand on cock… and then the sweet, sweet release that pulses to the beat of your heart.


As I say, been there, done that.  Like a gazillion times.  I’m an expert. 


Or I thought I was. 


But that night, after Luc left, it was different somehow.  Weird as it sounds, that night, the touch of my own hand taught me something new.  I’m not sure I even know how to explain it, but it was like my hand wasn’t so much connected to my cock as to my heart.


After Luc left, I turned off the light and stood at the narrow window watching the sky for a long, long time.  The night was clear, the moon almost full, the stars cold and distant.  I felt sad, and lonely, and so hard I ached.


He was still so much with me.  I could close my eyes and recapture his scent, the sound of him breathing.  I could close my eyes and feel him in my arms. 


I kept trying to understand what it was that we were doing together that had suddenly caused him so much pain.  He had wanted me, truly wanted me.  I was sure of that.  But then something – some sound, some touch, some movement – had triggered pain and sorrow, and destroyed the pleasure between us.  How can that just happen?  How could something that brought him so much pleasure one moment just collapse into so much pain the next?


Was it confrontation with the reality of his own sexuality?  Was it more than that?  Had something happened to him – something incredibly bad?  And if that’s what it was – then what had happened to trigger his reaction?  Had I cried out something without meaning to?  Had he?  


I tried to remember the exact instant when his reactions had changed, but it had all happened so fast.  I remembered stretching my leg over his, resting my thigh on his hardness, the catch in his breath–


And how he had grabbed my hand and cried out “no”. 


At the time, I guess I thought it was because the sensation was already too much.  I mean, I know about that.  It used to happen to David; immediately after orgasm, the head of his cock would get so incredibly sensitive that he couldn’t bear me to touch it.  But now I wondered.  Luc had cried out before he came.  And I hadn’t been touching the head of his cock; my thigh had been pressed against its entire length. 


Had he wanted me to stop? 


I didn’t understand, and thinking about it wasn’t getting me anywhere.  The only thing I knew for sure was that my heart was sore and my body ached.


Finally, I just gave it up.  I turned away from the window and stretched out on my bed, clasping my hands behind my head, and staring up into the dark.  The bed was too short, and my feet hung over the end.  I could hear the familiar background noise of residence, the faint thump of music, the TV from the common room down the hall.  I felt very alone, and very separate, and so very, very horny.


At one point, there was a knock on my door, and then Laura’s voice.


“Scottie, you in?”


I didn’t answer.  I didn’t want company or conversation.  I needed to be alone with this for awhile.


The sweet, sexy spiciness that was Luc’s distinctive scent lingered on my pillow.  I breathed it in.  I found myself thinking about my first taste of him, my tongue along his jaw, the faint rasp of his five o’clock shadow, and then how he’d finally opened his mouth to me.  The warmth of his mouth had been so intoxicating. 


I was so hard, and my hand kind of took over on its own, snaking down my belly, resting on my cock through my jeans.  It wasn’t nearly enough.  I undid them and eased it out, breathing deep, resting my hand on my naked belly.  In the cool air, my cock was pulsing to the beat of my heart.   


I guess I should be used to this by now, but it still kind of amazes me how your dick has a life of its own, how it can be hot and hard and demanding even when your mind, your emotions, just want a little peace.  Some time to adjust.  That’s how I felt.  I didn’t really want to jerk off.  My heart needed time.  But my dick had other ideas, and was pulsing determinedly.


And this is where it got different.


I am, as I say, an expert in fantasy.  And there I was, alone, and sad, and lonely, and hard, and I knew I was gonna do something about the last one… 


Fantasy is so… liberating.  So easy.  And so safe. 


But somehow I didn’t want an easy fantasy guy to provide a little safe relief. 


I wanted more than that, even lying there alone.  I just wanted Luc, and I wanted him to be real to me.  I didn’t want to project anything on to him.  When we did make love –  and dear God, that had to happen, it just had to happen – I wanted it to be real.  Pure.  I didn’t know his body yet, and I didn’t want to create some fantasy image of it in my mind that would somehow stand between us when what I hoped would happen, finally did. 


I guess I really am a romantic.  Fuck. 


I thought about what I actually knew of him, what was already mine.  His smell.  The softness of his curling black hair.  The lines and angles of his face.  His long neck.  The shadow of his throat.  The line of his jaw.  The taste of his skin.  Those pale blue Siberian eyes. 


I closed my eyes and breathed in the faint scent on my pillow, the tears that had now dried into my shirt above my heart.  As my hand clenched and unclenched, I breathed him in.


I thought of his mouth.  His beautiful, beautiful mouth.  Wide, guileless.  The sweet swell of his bottom lip that I had sucked between my lips, held between my teeth.  The fine line of his upper lip.  The hot, sweet wetness when he finally let me in. 


The warmth and the taste of him.  His tongue pushing into mine, demanding. 


The taste of his tears.


But I would not dwell on that, the taste of tears.


My hand on my belly tightened into a fist, and I thought of Luc’s hands, long-fingered, narrow, fine boned, sensitive.  I could close my eyes and see them at the piano, those slender fingers, caressing the keys.   As I remembered, I allowed my own hand to trail lower, through the golden hair below my navel, thrusting into the darker curly pubic hair, until my fingertips were resting against the base of my cock.  It was so hard, curving up and over, the length of it practically brushing the hairs on the back of my hand. 


Not yet.  Not yet.


I reached lower, cupping my balls gently, and thinking still of Luc’s hands.  His fingers, longer, narrower than mine.  His skin was so pale, and the black hairs so incredibly fine, disappearing into his shirt. 


I thought of those hands, as they had rested on my hips, sliding down my back, reaching tentatively for my mouth.  How he’d first reached for me, afraid to touch the cuts and bruises on my face, hanging there in the air until I’d taken his hand in mine and kissed his palm.


Fuck, I could feel it.  The touch of his palm to my lips.  The trembling of his fingers. 


I felt my balls tighten beneath my hand, and I moved my fingers away to rest on my thigh. 


Not yet.  Not yet.  Deep, deep breaths.


What was it about this man that drew me?  Something… something.  I didn’t understand it, but I knew that he moved me to the core. 


I let my fingers trail back to my balls, cupping them softly, careful to keep the pressure just less than what was needed to put me over the edge.  Not yet.  I wanted to savour him here for a few more seconds.  Remember the taste of him, the smell of him, the insane tightening of him beneath my thigh.


Fuck.  He’d come just from the weight of my leg against him.


I released my balls again, too close to the edge.  There was a pleasure in prolonging the moment, and I wanted it. 


One thing I’d learned with David was how to get right to the edge, look over, tiptoe back, prolong the release until it exploded with a force so sweet, so powerful, that it brought tears.  I wanted that with Luc.  I wanted more.  I wanted to be able to go into him, beyond pain, beyond tears. 


Somehow, I would find a way to give him that.  I would find a way to take him to where he would find only pleasure, only joy in my arms.  I wanted him to know what it was like to perch there on the edge, absolutely safe and certain that the one you love is there to catch you.




Fuck.  Too late.  Even before I wrapped my hand around my cock, I was coming.  Hard.  I heard myself groan loudly, and all I could do was press my hardness up against my belly as I came.


Afterwards, I showered.  My towel was still damp from Luc’s body.  The thought of that made me hard again, but I couldn’t let my mind go there.  I was too emotionally exhausted.   I just jerked off again, hard, fast, taking care of business, seeking only physical relief.




I stared at my face in the bathroom mirror.  The black eyes were already starting to fade to yellow, and my cheekbone had scabbed over.  Even the break in my nose was subsiding to just a little puffiness, and a slightly greater displacement to left. 


I found myself wishing that Luc’s wounds were as easy to see, as easy to heal. 




The next morning, I awoke to banging on my door.  The room was still dark, and my digital clock said 6:03.  I groaned and rolled over.


The banging continued, and then I heard Laura’s voice.  “Scottie?  Come on.  Time for breakfast.”


Shit.  Thursday.  That was our routine.  The gymnastic team practice started at 7:30 on Thursdays, and the rugby team had the weight room, so the gymnasts and the rugby players kinda headed over together.  But I didn’t have to get up at 6:03 this morning.  I closed my eyes again.


“Scott!  Move your ass.  Now.”  I could just picture her stamping her little foot.


“Go 'way,” I said.  “I’m not cleared for practice yet.  I don’t see the Doc til this afternoon.”


“I don’t care.  You have to come to breakfast with me anyway.”


“Laura, not today.  I was up late.  Tomorrow.”


“Scott, let me in.  Now.”  She started pounding on the door and rattling the handle. 


There was something about the tone of her voice that got to me.  I rolled out of bed, dragged on some boxers, and unlocked the door. 


“What?”  I didn’t even bother to try to hide the morning wood.  If she was so determined to drag me out of bed, she could cope.  Far as I could tell, she didn’t even notice.


“You have to come to breakfast with me,” she said again, pushing her way into my room, turning on the overhead light, and slumping down in my desk chair. 


“I’m wiped, Munchkin.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  And I told you.  I’m not cleared for practice yet.”


“Tough.  I need you there.”  


I sat on the bed, and leaned back against the wall.  “Uh, can I ask why?”


She looked at me almost defiantly.  “Because you have to protect me, ok?”


I started to laugh.  The very idea that Laura needed protection from something or someone in the residence cafeteria was pretty funny.  I mean, Laura was little, but she was tough as nails, both mentally and physically.  You didn’t get to be an athlete of her calibre if you weren’t. 


“Right,” I said.  “And from what exactly?”


And to my surprise, she dropped her eyes.  “From your friend Brandon,” she mumbled, soundly oddly uncertain. 


I laughed again.  “Brandon?  Why do you need protection from Brandon?”


“He’s stalking me!”


I just stared at her.  “You expect me to believe that?”


She sighed heavily.  “No.  But he won’t go away.”


I waited.  There had to be more.


“I knocked on your door when I went to dinner last night.  You weren’t here.  So I sat by myself at our regular table, and Brandon came over.”


Hah!  Brandon rarely ate in our cafeteria; his residence was on the other side of campus and had its own, though of course, our meal plans allowed us to eat at whatever caf we wanted.  I couldn’t help grinning.  I was right – the fireplug was smitten!  And with my Munchkin.


“It’s not funny, Scott.  I told him you weren’t coming to dinner, but he insisted on sitting with me anyway.  And he said he’d see me at breakfast!”


“And this is a problem because?”




“What?  Come on.  You should be plotting your next move!”


One thing about blondes.  They really blush well.  I laughed.  “You know, Munchkin, you could do a lot worse.  Brandon’s a good guy.  And from what I hear in the locker room, there’s been a lot of… interest in him since he broke up with his girlfriend back home.” 


 “When did he break up with her?”


I caught the little sideways glance, the edge of interest in her voice. 


“Actually,” I said.  “He didn’t.  She dumped him.  At Thanksgiving.  She met someone else – just like David did.”




I could tell she was interested, though she was trying to pretend she wasn’t.  But there was something else there as well, and it kind of worried me.  Brandon had been good to me over the whole David thing, supportive and accepting, and I figured I owed him a little help here.


“Come on, Laura,” I said.  “He’s a good guy.  Really.”  I nudged her side with my elbow.  “Not to mention really, really hot.  And I should know.”


She blushed again.  “I’m not interested,” she said miserably. 


“Why not?”


Silence.  And then.  “Because I’m not interested in guys, OK?”


You could have knocked me over with a feather.  My gaydar wasn’t great when it came to guys, but I guess it was non-existent when it came to women, because I sure hadn’t seen that coming.  I figured her self consciousness around guys was, well, shyness.  I’m so obtuse.


“Oh.” I said.  “So you’re….”


She whacked my shoulder.  “No, you idiot.  I’m just, just….”


“You have a boyfriend back home?”


“No.  I’m just – not interested.  Ok?  You’re just going to have tell him.”


I looked at her thoughtfully.  I didn’t believe she wasn’t interested.  I mean, she was clearly overreacting to Brandon’s very preliminary advances, and, well, Shakespeare’s “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” kinda came to mind. 


“You sure that’s what you want?” I asked. 


“Yeah.”  She sighed heavily and stared down at her hands.  “Look.  I had a really bad experience, ok?  I just, I’m not ready to..."


And suddenly I felt just awful for teasing her.  I reached over and took her hand.  “Aw, Munch, I’m sorry.  You want to talk about it?”


She just shook her head, and gave my hand a squeeze.  “I can’t,” she said quietly.  “I just – I can’t.  Sorry.”


God, first Luc, now Laura.  And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I had to let it go.  How the hell was I supposed to help when no one would tell me what the fuck the real problem was?


“Ok,” I said finally.  “I’ll protect you from big, bad Brandon.  If that’s what you really want.  Just give me ten to shower and dress.”  I headed for the bathroom.


She headed for the door.  “Come get me when you’re ready to go.  And Scott?”




 “Open the window in here, ok?  It’s starting to reek of smelly boy!”




 “Hey,” said Brandon, dropping into the chair beside Laura and across from me.  His tray was identical to mine – loaded up with fruit, yogurt, granola, and the protein shake the coach had us all on.


“Hey, Brandon,” I said, raising a hand for five.  Laura didn’t even look up, and the look Brandon gave me was hurt and confused.  I smiled and shrugged. 


The poor guy tried.  He really did.  I mean, this was a side of Brandon that never made it into the locker room or onto the rugby field.  A sweet side, with a smile that could melt your heart.  But it didn’t matter what line of conversation he threw out there, Laura remained stubbornly silent.  I swear, my heart actually went out to the poor guy. 


Finally, he turned to me.  “You coming to the weight room?” he asked.  “The face doesn’t look so bad today.” 


I shook my head.  “Maybe practice tonight.  Assuming the doc clears me this afternoon.  I don’t think I’ll be playing on the weekend though.”  We both knew that, as a freshman, I probably wouldn’t have been playing anyway.  It was the regional cup tournament, and the winner would go on to the fall national tournament.  The St. G’s rugby team was only five years old; we’d never made it that far.


“I guess I’ll head out then,” he said finally.  “Bye Laura.”




There was the saddest look in his eyes, and I felt my heart melt. 


“I’ll go with you,” I said, and Laura looked up at me in surprise.




“Why doesn’t she like me?” he asked when we cleared the caf.


“I don’t think it’s you,” I said.


“Then what?”


I shrugged.  “Look, man.  The last thing I want to do is play cupid, but…”


“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”


I looked at him thoughtfully.  He really looked kind of lost.  “I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” I said slowly.  “But I don’t think so.”


He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop.  “What do you mean?  What did she say?  Did she tell you something?”


God, I thought gay guys were bad.  Straight guys were pathetic! 


“Not much,” I admitted.  “She said she needed me to protect her because you were stalking her.”




I laughed.  “It’s ok.  She retracted that.  All I could get out of her is that she’s not ready for a relationship because she had a bad experience.”


We’d reached the point where Brandon needed to head off to the athletic centre, and I slowed down.


“How bad?” he asked urgently.  “What happened?”


I shrugged.  “I just told you everything I know.  But I got the feeling – and I could be wrong, but I got the feeling – that she was interested and trying really hard not to be.”


There, I’d done it.  Given him hope.  I just hoped I was right.


Brandon grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop.  “You mean it?  Really?”


“Well, yeah, that’s my take.  If you’re really interested in her, then I wouldn’t give up just yet.  But Bran?”




“Take it easy, ok?  I just have this feeling… I know she’s little and cute and all, but Laura’s tough.  Really tough.  So whatever it was, it must have been really bad.  Ok?”


He nodded thoughtfully.  “Thanks, man.  I really owe you.”


I punched his shoulder.  “Yeah, well.  Just remember what I said.  She’s like my sister, so if you hurt her, I’ll be on your ass so fast–“


“I swear!  Honourable intentions!” 


And there was this totally adorably urgency to his tone that made me believe him.




Luc kept his word – strictly speaking.  He said hello.  He sat beside me in lectures.  He answered every direct question I put to him.  But those Siberian eyes would not meet mine, and when I let my hand brush against his – discreetly, I swear – he pulled away as if he’d been burned. 


Three times I went through that performance, and three times I wanted to scream with frustration.  The only good thing that happened all day was that the Doc cleared me for running, weights and practice without contact, so at least I was able to take out some of my frustration physically.  I was so glad to be able to head out onto the field with the guys. 


When it got rough, I ran sprints, then headed over to the weight room.  A lot of guys like the machines, but I’m a big free weight fan myself.  I’d had a trainer my last year of high school – he’d been a pro football player – and he was huge on free weights, low weight, lots of reps.  So I took a twenty pounder in each hand and did literally hundreds until I heard the guys come back. 


The veins in my hands and arms were huge and my muscles were screaming when I hit the showers.  It felt so fucking good.


After dinner, I headed to my room to work on a paper.  I told myself that I wasn’t going to call Luc.  I wasn’t going to beg.  I wasn’t going to take it personally.  If he needed more time, I had every intention of giving it to him.    


Deep down, I guess I was hoping he’d call me.


I got a few good hours in, but by eleven my brain was fried and my attention was wandering.  I really wanted to talk to him.  On the one hand, I knew that I really didn’t deserve the cold shoulder treatment.  On the other, however, I was worried about him.  For some reason, making out with me had triggered something very painful for him.  Maybe he needed to talk. 


Finally, I called his cell.    


“Oui?  C’est moi.”


“Hey, Luc, it’s me.  Scott.”


Silence, two heart beats long.  Then, “Hello.  Excuse me.  I was expecting my brother.”  


I could tell that he was trying to keep his voice carefully neutral, but the strength of the French cadence, so close to the surface, gave away his emotion.


Fuck, this was difficult, and he was giving me nothing.


“I – I thought maybe you might want to talk,” I said. 




“Um, yeah.”   


“I don’t think–“  Then he just didn’t say anything at all.  I waited a few more heart beats.


“Um, I know it’s late.  Do you want to, um, maybe do something tomorrow?  Dinner?  Or after dinner?”


“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I have something on.”


“Ok.  What about the weekend.  The big game’s Saturday afternoon, but otherwise….”


“I’m sorry, Scott.  I’m busy all weekend.”


“Ok, then,” I said finally.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” 


He still didn’t say anything.  I didn’t really know what else to say, so finally I just hung up.   


Time, I told myself.  He needs time.


And then I just tried to breathe. 





The next night was Friday, and I was at loose ends.  The regional finals were Saturday afternoon and we were playing at home.  Because we didn’t have to travel, the coach had given us the morning off to rest – like that was going to happen.  The paper I’d been writing was finished, and I was intellectually exhausted.  I’d seen Luc twice that day, and he’d remained polite but distant.  I was working hard to convince myself that I wasn’t being rejected, but I was emotionally drained. 


I didn’t want to be alone.  The choice was between pubbing with the rugby boys or pubbing with the Rainbow boys.  I decided it was too much testosterone either way.  Everyone just wanted to get laid, and the guy I was interested in was caught up in some kind of fear that I didn’t understand and didn’t know how to help him overcome. 


On a whim, I called Josh to see if he would give Rainbow a miss and see a movie or something. 


“Sure,” he said, when I floated my plan.  “I wasn’t planning on going to Rainbow anyway.”


“What?  I thought it was your favourite trolling ground.”


“Yeah, well.  It’s getting old.  Or maybe I’m getting old.  The kiddies just aren’t the thrill they used to be.  Look, why don’t you come over here?  A friend of mine sent me some stuff from the Hot Docs festival that I’ve been meaning to watch.  I could pick you up, and we could grab some food.”




It was the first time I’d been there since the night I’d stayed with him, right after David left me.  Once again, I found myself mesmerized by the enormous painting in his living room.  I thought I’d remembered it clearly, but do you ever really remember a work of art clearly?  You could remember that it had been powerful, but you had to be in its presence to really feel that power. 


I don’t know how long I stared at it.  Minutes.  Hours.  It had the power to stop time. 


“Fuck, that’s an amazing thing,” I said finally.


“Yeah, right,” said Josh, wrapping a playful arm around my shoulder.  “You just covet my ass.”


“I meant the storm,” I said primly.


“Sure you did.”  He looked pointedly at my crotch – which I swear wasn’t hard until he started staring at it.


I just laughed. 


“In your dreams,” I said, shoving him away.