Raincoating

(FOREWORD: This is a long one, with a kind of slow build-up. Immediate gratification seekers might want to move on. This is a story with some tension, characters, and hopefully, a payoff. 25,000 words over two parts. Comments are welcome, but mutual respect is required. Thanks for reading).

Things began to heat up as we were kissing. The collision of our tongues became the expected instead of the surprise. Rory bit down on my lip and at the same time merged his hands with mine in a way that made me feel I had suddenly lost all control in our coupling. Before I knew what was happening, he had me on my back. The two of us almost fell off the couch, provoking a laugh from him; I was still too caught off guard. I couldn't stop him from the position where I lay.

I couldn't say for sure that I wanted to stop him.

Rory's hand snuck beneath my blouse and I pressed my fingers against it, trapping it on the edge of my ribcage. We were still locked in a long kiss. He breathed into my mouth when we parted as if dosing me with a mint-flavored gas.

"Why?"

"You know why," I said. I hadn't lost my trust in him, though, and I think I proved that when I didn't push him away, only leaned back and caught my breath. I continued to hold his hand in place, but made it feel more like an affectionate touch. We were breathing in each other's faces for several seconds. It made me laugh. I don't think that made him happy. "I guess you thought tonight would be our big night."

Although he didn't make it sound aggravated, he told me, "We've been going out for three weeks, Erica."

"Three

weekends

," I corrected, hoping I didn't sound like a bitch. He slipped his hand out from under my shirt and I sat up until he moved away to give me space. "I don't want to make it sound like it hasn't been a good time. I'm just saying... you know how they measure your hours in flight school? It's like you could say we've been dating for three weeks, but if that's only twenty hours of flight time, you know..."

"So you think I haven't been logging my hours?"

Me and my big mouth. I grinned away the insult and put a hand on the back of Rory's neck. "It's not all about you. I've been handling a full class load... even for someone who enjoys it, psych gets pretty thick at times. I've been practically working full-time at the bookstore since they fired all those students—"

"I know that. I know. I was hoping tonight would be our 'get to know each other' time," said Rory, sinking into the couch as if the night were already over for him.

"Seriously?" I leaned against him and started to put my head on his arm, but it slid into his lap and I didn't bother rising again. I smiled up at him. "I like you a lot, Rory. You have to know that. Especially after all I went through with that asshole Conner. Then my boyfriend before that—"

"You told me we wouldn't talk about them anymore..."

"Ugh, so damned hard not to," I said with a smile. "You get where I'm going with this. I told you on the second date I needed some time. If you thought it was

this

much time and instead it's

that

much... I don't blame you for being disappointed..."

The way his thumb stroked my hair told me he wouldn't stay mad at me. "I don't want to be the next asshole you tell the future boyfriend about..."

"You're not like Conner at all. I'm sorry you've got to deal with his bullshit. It's not fair. I feel like I wish I could tell you about it... but I already told you. My words don't make you feel what I felt about it. He made me feel cheap and... worthless. You know I don't have a problem with sex..."

"I know," said Rory. He looked me in the eye when he said it. I suspected he was lying, but not a hateful lie to protect himself or advance anything. I really believed he wanted to share my feelings; he just didn't.

My palm ran along his jaw and I thrilled at the scrape of his 5 o'clock—make that 1 a.m.—stubble. Rory had odd eyes, narrow sockets, but always seeming to face each other by their unusual shape and symmetry; it was the baby blues within that kept my attention, however. He had pouty cheeks and a nose with just a couple of ounces more weight to it than most people would have thought sexy. As short as he kept his golden blond hair, its curls wound around his ears but didn't get too wild. From the first day I met him at the Cabana's poetry slam I dreamed of what he would look like with that hair grown out to his shoulders. Robert Plant? Mmm. Sammy Hagar? Not so much.

I never wanted to believe that men and women were all that different. As young as I was, I could believe there were things I had yet to learn, and maybe I would find out that men did actually have to have sex and couldn't control themselves when it came to that biological imperative. I didn't want to believe it. I found it easier to believe that men just grew up in a culture where they expected to get everything they wanted, while women were expected to demonstrate greater self-control. Men could be sluts—women couldn't. I would have enjoyed being a slut, probably. But I couldn't let myself. Even if I wanted to be with Rory as much as I did.

I rose to rest on my elbows, leaned upward until he met me, and we kissed again. I wanted to feel safe with him. I wanted to overcome my fears of what he would do. Not the physical, which was almost an afterthought, but how he might bounce my heart around like that gorilla with a suitcase.

My lips left his and I knew I couldn't go any further. I thought about hearing all of those rumors about what I had done with Conner and his friends—things I hadn't done—and the looks people gave me. I smiled sadly and stared into his eyes. They were adorable eyes. I wished they weren't so disappointed.

"You know how much better it's going to be after all this build-up?" he asked me, squeezing me around the shoulders. It made me erupt in laughter, and he smiled back at me. What a prize I had stumbled on.

Rory and I went to the kitchen and we started reheating the Mexican take-out we had started out our evening with. Probably not a good idea, I reminded myself. I had lucked out that my burrito with extra hot sauce hadn't triggered a digestive meltdown the first time. Good thing our romance was on hiatus for the time. Rory slammed the microwave and hit the buttons, then crossed his arms as he half-turned to me and smiled.

His shirt was unbuttoned down to his belly. My handiwork, before I realized I wasn't prepared to follow him all the way. I had to look away. His waxed pectorals could make me appreciate why guys obsessed over cleavage.

"I saw him again, you know. Conner."

I could only nod. The fact my great new guy friend and my hideous ex-boyfriend knew each other had been a heartbreaking surprise, enough that I didn't think we would weather that initial bump in the road. But Rory did convince me he was different. While he admitted to thinking a lot of Conner before meeting me, he also said he could barely stand to share the same room with him later. They weren't close friends, Rory insisted, but Rory's freshman roommate, Jack, was pretty close with Conner, who was in the same fraternity, so they ended up hanging out more than a few times. Rory said he had to keep himself from knocking Conner out the first time he saw him after I told him about our history, and while I said I was glad he had shown restraint, a part of me wished he hadn't.

"What's the great genius up to?" I asked, against my better judgment. "Genius" wasn't much of a term of mockery. Conner was a hell of a programmer and had already made a small fortune designing websites around the campus. If we had gotten married, and I had dreamed of it a few times while we were together, I would have probably gone on to be a very rich woman, assuming his business plans for some of the games he was designing were as sound as the designs themselves. He had already made and sold a game before he graduated high school. "Most likely to succeed" was a title he hadn't won in his old hometown, but he would rewrite that after college; he would probably keep any "worst boyfriend ever" title.

Rory yawned before telling me, "He's, uh... he's doing a redesign on the Raincoating website. You would not believe the traffic that thing gets..."

"Yeah, who would have thought people would want to see naked dicks on the internet?" I laughed. I had to look away as I started to blush. I wanted to sound cool with Rory, but good god, talking about penises? After the way our evening had gone, I wasn't fooling anyone.

He gave me a nod as he opened the microwave and put on a ridiculous quilt-like oven mitt to handle the burrito plate. "Who knew? ...Yeah. The website only gets more traffic as we get closer to Hell Night. Jack has been having Conner re-doing the whole thing while—shit! Hot." He put his burnt thumb in his mouth before going on, rolling his eyes in embarrassment.

"Be careful with that. It's hot."

"Thanks. No, Jack has been... putting up all the recruiting material. He's even got the applications all online now."

"There's an application to be naked on the internet now? That's a long line."

"You're joking, but you would be surprised... how many guys want to participate. It's a lot of money," said Rory.

"Then you're going out for it this year?"

A loud laugh, too embarrassed. As comfortable as he might be with sex, Rory clearly hadn't embraced the idea of being naked in public. "No, no... don't think so. Tons of guys would like that thousand dollars, though. I sure wouldn't mind it."

"It's what happens if you lose that I find more interesting. I wonder how many of them think they're going to end up on the internet when they sign up. Maybe they don't mind it as much as women would."

"Raincoating" was a strange little Seattle phenomenon I had found out about when I arrived at the college the year before. It was the second year for the "contest" then, but a lot of hype surrounded it already. It began as a fraternity tradition, the way I heard it, where nude pictures were taken of the initiates for hazing purposes and left on the corkboard in the frat house hall until they were made full brothers. As more universities came down on fraternity and sorority hazing, the tradition became a thing of the past.

It was Jack who came up with the "Raincoating" idea. The first year, he supplied $1,000 of his own money for the contest, plus the costs involved with creating the website. The contest aspect might have been what attracted so many people. If Jack had offered to buy nude pictures of college men to post on a website, he probably would have found some people ready to accept. But by proposing a contest, baiting the competitive egos all over campus, and offering that the winner—only one winner—received $1,000 for "beating the game," he had an unbelievable selection of men who were willing to play. And yes, risk ending up naked online. That's the only prize for the guys who lost—you end up a full-color JPEG, with amazing resolution, I've heard, and while everyone enjoys what you've kept hidden under your clothes, you unfortunately go home empty-handed.

As for what "Raincoating" means... as a lifelong Seattleite, I guess Jack had a thing for raincoats even before he got the idea for the contest and website. He supplied the guys with raincoats, all different colors, before they entered the "contest grounds." Though he recorded everything inside with security cameras, claiming it was for verifying no one cheated and keeping everyone safe, it all happened out of the public eye. Six guys went in clothed, six guys came out the other side wearing only raincoats, although inside they were required to play the game in the buff. Once the game was over and they were out again, they were required to shed the raincoats for website pictures. It's easy to wonder how Jack ensured everyone complied once they were outside. But if Jack had an hour or so footage of anybody bumbling around in a dimly lit house, completely naked, not to mention a camera full of pictures already, it was probably not so hard to get that person to honor their bargain so the other stuff didn't "accidentally" leak.

As for why Raincoating was a men-only sport—well, Jack was gay. Meaning not only the obvious, that he had a thing for guys, particularly naked guys, particularly naked guys hanging out of their raincoats in public, but it also meant that he had a pretty easy relationship with most of the guys on the campus. He said it was just easier to talk the guys into doing the first Raincoating contest, but I'm sure it helped that he preferred dicks.

Unfortunately, our conversation had brought me right to the perfect opening to bring up something that had been on my mind. I cleared my throat as I worked up my nerve.

"You know how Jack said he was thinking about doing a women's version of Raincoating? Has he gotten any further on that thought...?"

It made Rory laugh that I asked. "I had no idea you were so excited about it."

"Don't. You know why I'm asking."

It wasn't for me, of course. My friend Rachel kept bugging me about it, knowing I was two degrees of friendship removed from Jack himself. I was more shocked the first time she asked me than Rory when I asked him the same question. I had to explain it was really her question twice before he actually believed me. I hoped he wouldn't ask me why any woman would want to do the Raincoating thing—outside of a thousand bucks in my pocket, I couldn't see the appeal.

"Would you do it?" asked Rory. "If you thought there was no way you would lose, if you knew you didn't have to get naked in front of a crowd and have pictures taken—"

I sighed loudly to cut him off, then told him, "You've heard me say it a hundred times. No, I wouldn't."

"I keep thinking you might change your answer," he laughed.

We sat down on his couch again, the lights on this time, as I reminded him of all my reasons.

"I know Jack has, like, zero interest in naked girls. I know you said he promises everyone every year that the 'security tapes' are all locked up and deleted after the contest. But you also said that he admits he owns all that footage. And it doesn't change the fact you're running around naked in a house with about five other girls. I would be scared to death just to do that. Then throwing recording the whole thing on top of it? No. No way."

"But Rachel actually wants to?" I couldn't blame him for doubting me, not hearing it from her mouth.

"She insists on it. She's suggested she might get a lawyer and look into suing Jack to make it happen—but don't worry. Even she's said that he's not a real company. There's not much the court will do about 'discrimination' like that. I know, she's

crazy

..."

We both laughed.

"Well... what if I told you that it was probably going to happen?" I hadn't expected that. Rory looked embarrassed to even suggest it, though I could tell he was glad for the "good news." I could understand, I was already thinking about how happy it would make Rachel to hear it. As I pestered him for details, he backed off while trying to explain. "I've got nothing—no, nothing definite, Erica. He was kind of leaning toward it when I spoke to him last. He was just working out how he might do it, two contests on Hell night. The only upside... what makes it seem likely... is that he had to scrape last year to raise the money to do the contest. He was afraid he would have to dip into his own pocket to pay all the bills. Nearly did. When I talked about it with him last time, he had worked out that he could probably generate a lot more 'donations' revenue this year with the promise of a female Raincoating contest being part of it. But...

but

... he is worried that the women won't be as quick to apply. When a bunch of guys do it, they kind of, you know, they treat it like crazy drunken college fun. Involving a bunch of women makes it seem kind of..."

We both said at the same time, "

Perverse

."

"Can't imagine where anyone would get the wrong idea about it," I said with a slight giggle. I didn't even want to think of Rachel coming out the other side of the Granville house in her raincoat. Even if she was the winner I would be over-the-top embarrassed for her.

I would have sooner believed I'd be the first woman to walk on Mars than one of the first women to play Raincoating that October.

* * *

The two of us were cozied up together at Rachel's computer, side by side in swiveling chairs, just staring at five dicks all in a row. It wasn't a normal Monday night for us.

Rachel swept her hand across the computer screen and looked at me with a drunkard's grin. "Yum, yum, yum," she said. I'm sure some horny guy out there would have been happy to have a video clip of her doing that. She poured both of us another shot of rum and passed mine over to me. I was hesitant, but I shrugged and drank it down. I hadn't intended to get drunk that night, but when a friend begs you to come over and meets you at the front door with a bottle of rum and a breakup story, are you going to refuse her?

As she slammed her glass back to the desk, she looked at me and asked which one of them I would do. Even with a heady buzz to make me quicker to talk, I was bright red and didn't want to make those choices. I wasn't the kind of girl who was quick to talk about her sex life. Pointing out which dick I would choose? That was a little deeper into my head than I wanted anyone to be.

That said, I had been asked a question, and I felt generous enough to give it some thought. Five guys filled the screen. Stephanie had made the group shot of last year's Raincoating bigger than I knew the picture could get; she was clearly familiar with the site and scrutinizing its losers. Five very different cocks were standing (or slouching) before me as I looked them over. It was amazing how unique a penis could be, I thought to myself. In the middle of the foreground was Jim Chapman—"Chappie" to everyone who knew him. I didn't know him, but seeing his half-erect dick huge on Rachel's screen brought us a little bit closer. It wasn't quite monstrous, but it was long, slim instead of noticeably thick, brown like the skin on his arms instead of the paler complexion of his hips and chest. The tan head almost obscured his belly button where it stood. Chappie himself was kind of cute, his body was alright, but I couldn't say his dick was the most appealing of the bunch.

On the far end was my personal favorite—ironically, it was the most deflated of all the cocks. But what a beauty the owner was. He had short black hair and dark eyes that drilled through me. Oh, those Italian features. Jon Rossi. If that perfect chin and those dimples and the oh-my-god eyes weren't enough, he had a body that was chiseled at every corner. Every inch of him was tanned the same, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall of that tanning salon. I could only guess he was nervous so his hefty cock wasn't at full attention, apparently couldn't even get a little pumped up for the photo, which was probably in line with Rossi's too-cool-for-this attitude. Rachel saw me staring and called me out.

"Yeah, he's a darling. But I've got to have a body with a little more iron. You get me?"

I had a feeling I preferred Rossi because he hadn't gotten so hard. Maybe I'm the kind of girl who likes a challenge.

Between Rossi and Chappie was the lovable loser of the bunch, Gabe Whitney. Oh, Whitney. Not a bad looking guy, I wouldn't go that far, but he was standing amongst some real hunks, and he just didn't compare. Whitney was shorter than the rest, a bit doughy around the middle, and with pale white skin that did him no favors, although for girls who like chest hair, he brought that in spades. His cock was a fat little sausage staring back at the camera with its cyclops eye. Kind of hard to make out since it was level, but I guessed it was about average. Whitney did himself no favor by standing there with his hands folded behind his back as if he were getting his driver's license picture taken.