I cracked the door to the suite, Henry's was note still crumpled in my fist - his bold, all-caps letters smudging against my palm. I was dead tired from my powerful fuck session with David, but my petering energy was enough power to keep me rolling around in bed thinking about that stupid note.
Alex Owens, that name echoed in that hollow space of my brain where worries often reverberated endlessly. Those resonant echoes of the tension I was trying to let go of for the day. Flip over, toss the covers, pound the pillow.
Alex Owens carried this angelic image in my mind, a gay guy I had met totally organically and actually connected with. Meeting someone of your same sexual orientation - and actually liking them too? That didn't happen every day, right? Back to my stomach, hang one leg off the bed, pound the pillow again.
I could probably find him on social media and send him a message. With a little extra effort, I might even just run into him outside of a class or at the library. The trouble was that I didn't want to come on too strong, I barely knew the guy outside of an hour at a party. He might not even remember my name, let alone my face. Alex had made an impression on me, but I very often made no impression on other people at all. Hauled to my side, pulled my leg back in again, blanket between my knees — then, darkness.
—
Well, I wanted to hunt down Alex, but letting everything else go for a few days had already been damaging enough. I was substantially behind on my rigorously-self-imposed homework schedule, and feeling badly neglectful of Henry after last night.
The weekend came and went without remark. By the time I was walking into English Literature on Monday morning, I hadn't heard anything from David and had successfully delayed pursuit of Alex. Henry and I had hit the library on Sunday and cranked out two papers each without even the faintest mention of what I'd done with David or his note about Alex. There was this silent understanding between us to let things adjust back to normalcy. You could count on Henry to just let sleeping dogs lie forever, if you wanted them to.
Alas, Monday was a new week though and two days of busting ass on work had left my mind free to wander. Through that first class of English Lit, wander it did: I determined that I would friend Alex on social media and send him a message to test the waters. If he accepted me at all, that would indicate he probably remembered our clamored bathroom respite. If he responded to the message, he might even be interested in meeting up again.
So, the plan for dealing with Alex was settled. I saw the flowchart of our conversation out before me. I would say that we met at that party, and I wondered if he remembered me. He would say yes, and I'd say that was a really fun night - did he want to get coffee on campus sometime? He would say yes and we'd plan, or he'd say no thanks and I'd read the message but not reply.
Imagining conversations like that made me feel like a little kid using the phone to call an adult for the first time, carefully practicing their words to sound mature: "Hi, this is Connor, is Porter available to speak?" These were the foundational ethics of "fake it till you make it."
I was ejected from mental images of that night with Alex when my ancient Lit teacher chirped: "Connor, were you going to get with you group?" Everyone else had shifted into our small discussion groups. Embarrassing.
I'd done the reading (of course, I always did the reading) but just couldn't get into Lit today. Either my group was grateful for a break from the know-it-all or hadn't done the reading themselves, since nobody bothered.
So, the second half of class was thinking about David. He was a hot fuck, no doubt. Still, I couldn't shake feeling a little insulted. I knew that was immature. Sex was sex, and in 2017, you were expecting too much if you expected anything at all. I felt childish to even be thinking about him at all. I was nobody to David than a rapidly fading Grindr hookup.
I texted David between absentminded Beowful comments. "Hey. How's your week?" - because I am an idiot. Later, I would reflect on why - despite my internal dialogue - I couldn't help but text David. It seemed that, with greater frequency, there was something deeper than my monologue that was overriding my greater conscience. I loved to hate that feeling.
I put my phone away and tried to focus. By the time I was stuffing my books back into my backpack, David still hadn't replied. Whatever, I didn't even care. He was a dick anyway, right?
Rushing out of the building and into the gentle nip of early fall, I made a resolution to text Alex - and more importantly, connect with Henry. I knew I didn't have to feel this way, but did still feel badly that something weird was going on at home and I'd abandoned him for David.
Henry and I met for an early lunch, and he gleefully assisted in stalking Alex on social media. Henry was simply more experienced in the matter, as he made a regular habit of finding girls from his classes online and using it as a way of introduction. I, admittedly, knew my way around a search engine but more for looking up my fan theories on my favorite TV shows. We were dramatically different and yet so alike, Henry and I.
Crammed in a tiny corner booth of the massive cafeteria, Henry and I did find an active profile for Alex. In the clear light of a completely sober day, he was still powerfully magnetic. Alex was the type to take moody pictures outside of abandoned buildings, but held his confidence so firmly in his hand as to say: Fuck the wanna-be's, I am the real deal.
He took his 80s haircut and complimented it with authentic 80s style, and clearly didn't care. HIs photos were artistic, but not without being delightfully possessed. Alex knew he was sexy and impishly handsome, and didn't care to be humble. That part of him, the self-absorption of several dozen shirtless beach photos, I wasn't sure if I recognized from our tryst on Pine Drive.
He was about as excited as me, swiping through pictures and making offhanded comments like:
"Well, he's no jock - but he seems like your type," and "All that action, but you didn't even know his last name? I mean, come on." Henry could tease me all he wanted, but in truth, I was grateful for the teasing. The awkwardness of so many situations was so diffused by a few well-timed jokes that a wingman like Henry could never go too far.
That, and a seasoned socialite never hurt when crafting an introductory direct message. I gave the wheel to Henry and he graciously accepted, tapping out a message after sending a friend request that read out:
"Hey. Remember me from that party last week? Crazy, haha ;)." I had strongly objected to use of the winky face, but Henry insisted that it was essential to get my meaning across. I wasn't sure what he meant, but trusted him all the same. I'd also tried to persuade him that we should set a specific plan and propose coffee. Again, Henry knew better: Play it cool, check his temperature and then move forward.
With that, lunch was over. A full lunch of finding Alex complete, I felt accomplished. But as I watched Henry trounce off to class, there was a pang of regret there too. I had forgotten to ask him about why he hadn't gone home that weekend. Somehow I knew though that I didn't need to, because Henry would bring it up again in his own time or he wouldn't at all and that meant we were burying the topic, together. In our own way, we knew enough to give each other the space to do things in our own time. He hadn't pushed me for details on that night on Pine, and I would respect the same for him. It was our same, beautiful harmony.
That, and watching his ass go as he jogged off to class: completely priceless. That boy was something.
With some newfound pep in my step, I was off to Stats. I actually loved stats, which was possibly one of the most universally hated classes on campus because it was a general education requirement. I, for one, thought it was essential. My cohort clearly disagreed. Looking out across our semi-circle lecture hall, most students had their heads buried in their laptops or lolled their head against their hands, looking lazily at the projection screen.
I had already done this chapter of reading and even gotten started on the homework, so I permitted myself the time to let my brain slacken a bit and followed suit. Immediately though, something caught my eye. Sitting in the second or third row and directly across the circle from me across the huge lecture hall was a familiar face.
Dark haired and with a knit beanie over his ears, he was more than just a sea of college faces. I would have been surprised I hadn't noticed him in the few weeks prior of the class, but I typically paid rapt attention and in a class this huge... Then the guy's eyes flitted up and we suddenly were making eye contact. I flipped my vision towards the projector and made like I had been taking notes and let my eyes wandered.
He hadn't fallen for it. When I looked back, he was still looking in my direction. Our eyes met again and he cracked a smile, and then I knew: It was the guy from the other night, the gas station clerk by my dorm. Now, here he was in my stats class. Small world, huh? And he had given me a goofy 'I remember you' smile, back which I promptly returned before going back to miming taking notes.
He was a cute guy, though. My dick stirred in my pants. My hand wrote stats, and my brain was back in David's dorm, shoving my cock up his tight ass. It was that wave of horniness, you know the one I'm talking about. It washes over you from a small smile, a flash of upper thigh, a minor sexual reference. And then you're trapped in a reverie of sexual frustration as you take notes in your stats class. We've all been there, and I was there now.
I painfully adjusted my cock discreetly in my shorts before stealing another glance down at gas-station-man. He had gone back to taking notes but I took the opportunity to admire him. I wondered if, between the other night and our shared moment just now, there might be a hint of flirtatiousness.
Then I shoved the thought out of my mind entirely as I felt my phone buzz, sitting face-down on my desk. I flipped it over and peeked at the screen to see that Alex had replied. In an instant, my heart was hammering against my chest in nervousness as my cock felt the same beating. I was an island in stats now, without Henry here to coach me.
I calmed myself with a deep breath and opened the message. It read: "I remember. Thought I might see u on campus. Coffee 2nite?"
