Varsity Low

Six summers down,

another dreamless night

You're not by my side

Scratch on the moon,

like a familiar smile

Stained on my mind

Some other town, someone else's life

Dead in the night

In the night

See...see the boys as they walk on by

See...see the boys as they walk on by

See...see the boys as they walk on by

Orville Peck ---- Dead of Night

*******

September was a procession of warm Indian Summer days, each slowly cooling down after dark. I was studying in my single dorm room in Lambeth Hall, both big sash windows open to the quickly gathering night.

My view was the steep slate roofs, gables and dormers of the oldest part of campus, a view mostly unchanged since this all was built in the 'Academic Gothic' style of the 1920's. The room was very much like the one Anders had just one floor up; white plaster, blond wood floors, big sash windows. There was a whisper of past generations of young men who had lived and studied here.

I was very lucky to get the room. Anders had asked his wrestling coach to make a call on my behalf. Anders was one of Coach Gafton's best performers, and he rarely asked for favors. Coach made it happen, without question or fuss as to why Anders wanted me in his dorm, which was mostly occupied by the best talent in the athletic department. Cool, cool, so very cool.

We had returned to campus from an awesome August on Anders' family farm in Indiana, settled in, made appearances in all our classes, and then promptly went AWOL for a long planned week in Dewey Beach, Delaware. It was a perfect beach week of perfect weather. Anders quickly mastered boogie boarding, his muscular physicality rendered him fearless in the rough Mid-Atlantic surf. August on the farm plus beach week, all of it with Anders, yielded the best summer of my life to date.

I had studied too long and the words became meaningless on the pages. I put it all away, needing a break. I sat by the open windows, inhaling the night, a distant shout or laughter the only evidence of campus life. My reverie was broken by a discreet, yet confident, knock on my door. I was fully expecting Anders, but it was Jose, holding a fat spliff in front of his irresistible grinning face.

"Travis Ravenel. Come outside and get stupid high with me. Right now." he said in his low sexy voice that I could feel all the way down to my 'taint. Tall, stunningly athletic, rapacious conquistador prince in a clean wife beater, sweats, and Nike's. His looks, charm, athleticism, leadership of the varsity Lacrosse team gave him an easy confidence and sense of unquestioned entitlement. All of this was backstopped with some rather fearsome parental wealth. Of course he had a room in Lambeth on the same floor as mine.

"Ah...I was...studying" gesturing vaguely at my desk, where I had clearly just put away my books.

"Of course you were. Such a good boy. Come away and be a little bad with me." he smirked.

The whiteness of his wife beater and the glint of a thin gold chain as it lay on his collar bone made his brown velvety skin seem even more alarmingly touchable. Just the right amount of wrong. Jose and I had hooked up once before, right before I went to Dewey with Anders. A quick, risky, furtive swapping of head in a dorm shower, so sudden, so dreamlike, I wondered if it even happened. I had not told Anders about it, not wanting to taint our beach week. When we returned, it then seemed too late.

"Ah...OK. Where?" I rasped, the green birds of lust were shrieking in my guts.

"Old Quad. I have a spot." Grinning, at me, at the ease of his relentless conquests. I laced up my Merrells. Out in the hall, he put a sinewy brown arm over my shoulders. We passed one of his preppie LAX bros who gave Jose a slight nod and a knowing grin.

Outside, we plunged into the darkness of Old Quad with its big trees and mature plantings. Jose took my hand and led me to the comfy old bench partly enclosed by boxwood. The bench Anders and I called 'our spot', the place where he had told me of his parents' gruesome murder-suicide when he was twelve and he had sobbed in my arms. My epic betrayal seemed bigger than the whole night sky and yet I was utterly powerless to stop what was about to transpire. Shit, shit, shit.

We kicked back on the bench. Jose's long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He blazed the spliff, head back, huge hit, huge cloud. He passed to me, and I took a strapping hit, soon realizing the weed was way more powerful than Griffin's. "Whoa. Did you get this from Grif?"

"Nope. I source my own green." he replied. I was baked after just two hits, mesmerized by his flawless jawline with just the right amount of scruff. He noticed my stare. "Like what you see, Trav? Cuz' you are just awesome...blue eyes, blond buzzcut, swimmer build, big pink cut Anglo dick, kinda' shy. You are firing on all your hot boy cylinders."

I laughed. "Really? You say that to all the boys." I was sooo very stoned.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But all the boys don't get this." He put a big hand on the back of my head and expertly pulled me into a kiss. Slow, dreamlike, gentle, confident, relentless as a mushroom cloud. Fuck all the way around. I was roadkill.

He shoved his sweatpants to his ankles, showing his hardening dick. Uncut, close to 9", tight Latino foreskin that did not quite cover the blunt musky glans. "Go down, Trav. I know you want it." I got on my knees before his male splendor, slowly working his foreskin over the head, lubed with my spit and his pre-cum. Slow, southern style, going deep as I could and holding 'til I choked on it. "Ungh, fuckin' Trav, hot suck boy." I sped up. going for the close, ropes of spit and pre-cum hanging off his his big musky balls.

I had my own cock out, stroking as I serviced him, lubed with my pre-cum. He put one big hand on the back of my head. "Fuck! I gotta cum!" he growled, loading my mouth with jizz as I was halfway down his thick shaft. I felt the tightness and pulsing in his ample knot of balls with my fingertips, and I shot hard onto the ground, between his legs, keeping his cock and load in my mouth, muffling my grunts of pure male lust.

We both came down from our collective male relief, and I reared back, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "Awesome suck, Trav! My turn to pleasure you!"

"Whoa. Sorry, that ship has sailed. I shot on the ground as soon as you jizzed my mouth...I couldn't stop." I rasped.

He leaned forward and inspected my lusty load on the dirty wood chips with the light from his phone. "OK then, fuckin' hot, Trav!" he laughed. "I guess you go first next time."

"I don't think there should be a 'next time'." I said evenly.

"Alright. We'll see. Whatever works." he said, his grin sardonic, living in his world where 'no' never meant 'no'. He stood, pulled up his sweats, a wet spot of post-cum appearing instantly. Dude was a juicy fucker. "I'll go in first, you follow in five. Discreet. This never happened, right Trav?"

"Yeah, right." I said, and he was gone. I kicked back, savoring my high and the taste of Jose still in my mouth. My fleeting joy was quickly replaced by hot shame at my betrayal of Anders, right here on 'our' bench. Shit. This was our spot, and I had ruined it, at least for me. I would not tell him.

***

Gorgeous September gave way to rainy October. Gloaming skies and drizzle. The old dorm smelled of wet brick and scorched dust on hot radiators. Anders and I settled into a comfortable routine of classes, studying together late in Sennwick Library, eating together in the dining halls and food courts, fucking hard and often in his room or mine. Jose would pass me in the halls, giving only his knowing grin, leaving me alone.

One dark rainy Saturday afternoon, Anders texted me.

ANDERS: get up here, now

ME: OK, on my way

I scrambled into clothes, wearing only crew socks to just pad up to his room. Such a text meant a hectic romp on his twin bed, a sharing of our morning wood. When I got to his room, he was dressed, sitting in the desk chair.

"We need to talk. Sit down." I sat on the edge of his bed. He was stern and moody, at odds with his usual sunny, easy-going varsity jock bro vibe. "Why am I hearing, from several people, that you have hooked up with Jose, possibly more than once? Is any of this true? I need you to tell me, now, Travis."

I hung my head, looked at my hands. "Yes, it is true. Twice. First time was in the showers right before we went to the beach, second time in late September on our bench in Old Quad. We got really high." I confessed. He looked at me, dark rage clouding those green eyes I loved so.

"That is just really shitty, Travis. Our deal was that we tell each other ASAP if anything happens, and you've kept this from me for weeks, and I learn this first from dorm gossip, not from you. You have betrayed my trust. You know I don't like Jose. Of all the guys in this dorm, on this fucking campus, you go right to him. I feel disrespected, betrayed, and hurt." his voice low and even, with an edge ramping up. "Well? Say something!"

"Ah, yeah...things started out friendly with him and then got out of hand. I mean he lives on the same floor of Lambeth with me. We share showers. He's always around. I did not tell you the first time as I did not want to spoil our beach week. I did not tell the second time, as I would have also had to tell you about the first time, and it was at our bench in Old Quad." I could hear the shame and misery in my voice.

"Do you not know how to say 'no' to a guy like that, a guy who will fuck anything that moves? Was it really that hot? Was he worth it Travis? I think we should take a break from each other. You need to decide where your loyalty and priorities are."

We were both on our feet, getting shouty. "A break? Really? Seriously? God fuckin' damn, Anders, I moved into this dorm to be close to you, and you want a break?? I could've stayed in the apartment pod with the Korean twins, a kitchen and a clean bathroom. What the actual fuck?"

"You're damn lucky to be in this dorm and I made that happen for you. Not Vera and Jasper and all their fucking money and phony social climbing bullshit. Maybe you can thank me some day if you are not too busy sucking off trash like Jose Hidalgo!!"

I gave him the finger with both hands. With whip-fast wrestling moves he grabbed my shirtfront and pushed me hard against the door, one fearsome big meaty fist raised over me. I turned my head to one side and closed my eyes, more fearful of the insanity in his eyes than any blow he could land. He hesitated, tensed, hesitated again, then lowered his fist and let go of my shirtfront, a look of woebegone shame and despair on that handsome mug.

I choked up, unable to stop the tears. "That was seriously fucked up Anders. You ever really hit me and I will be gone. For fuckin' good!" I said, as evenly as I could.

"I...I am sorry Trav, that was so wrong. I think you should go." he said, his turn to choke up.

"Yeah, I'll go. I'll go right now." I said hearing the bitterness in my voice and hating it. I closed the door quietly and softly as I could, not wanting to be the guy who slams doors. Never that.

Flushed with anger, confusion, despair, I got a golf jacket and ball cap from my room and laced up my sneakers. I randomly walked a mostly deserted rain-whipped campus, dark clouds racing low overhead. Anger was soon replaced with panic as the prospect of breaking up with him, of being without him, opened like a chasm in front of me.

Eventually, I found myself in town, at Duff's Tavern, where I quickly slammed three rail vodka-tonics. Randy, bartender/grad student/hipster, stood in front of me, polishing beer schooners with a bar towel of questionable freshness. "Day drinking alone, Trav? Not really a good look for you. Girl trouble?" he asked.

"Nope. Boy trouble, infinitely worse. I fucked up, we fought, now we're 'on a break' whatever the actual fuck that means." I said.

"Sorry to hear that, Trav...don't freak out. Three or four days and he will be missing you more than you miss him, whoever he is. Don't sell yourself short; you are quality goods, my friend." He moved down the bar to tend to some actual townie day drunks. I put down cash, and texted Griffin:

ME: can I come over?

GRIF: hell yeah! stay for dinner; I am cooking

ME: cool, thx. like 20 minutes

I trudged over to Grif's off campus flat, quickly regretting Duff's rail vodka. He answered on first ring. Green plaid flannel shirt, boxer briefs, slouchy hiking socks. Baseball player legs hairy as ever. He had recently gotten reading glasses, preppie tortoise shell frames. They were low on his nose and he looked at me over the rims. Fucking bookish adorable; scruffy 'bama jock boy effortlessly on the Dean's List.

"Trav! Little spoon! Kinda' wet, kinda' drunk. Get in here and tell Uncle Griffin all about it." he clowned. He fetched a dry sweatshirt for me, warm from the dryer. I took off my damp polo and put it on; warm and soft. I felt a bit better.

"Thanks. I just came from Duff's. Rail V&T's, three of them." I said. He raised his eyebrows, went to the fridge and brought me a big bottle of Deer Park.

"Gulp this. You drank rail vodka at Duff's? Is this like, a death wish?" he clowned.

We kicked back on his ugly plaid sofa. "What are you making? It smells totally yumm." I asked.

"A full batch of mom's rigatoni bake. I can feed on it most of the week. My course load is just brutal this semester. I've become a student hermit. You ARE staying for dinner. What happened?" he asked.

"Dinner sounds great. I think Anders and I broke up." I said.

Grif gave a long low whistle like a bomb dropping. He put an arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. "I am sorry to hear that, Trav." I told him about the fight, including Anders' raised fist and my two hook-ups with Jose. He listened intently, visibly wincing when I spoke of Jose.

"Yeah. Jose. That dude is a psycho vampire. I thought he might act up when you moved into Lambeth. He probably instigated this partly to wreck you and Anders. He would actually do that. I was into him back in spring and summer. When we were down on the Outer Banks in August, he showed his true colors. Dude fucks anything, and he would flirt with people while I was standing right next to him. On the drive back here from the beach, I decided to totally ghost him, and I have. He made little effort to reconnect, which kinda' hurt." he sighed.

"Damn, Grif. I did not know. I thought it was just a horn dog summer romp for you. I'm sorry." I said.

"Yeah, thanks, it's all over now, whatever it was." he pushed his tangled mane of dark hair back from his face. "Live and fucking learn. The big issue now is getting you back with Anders. First thing is no contact with Jose. None. Do not even talk with him in a hallway."

"OK. He's such asshole it won't be a problem. Are we getting high?" I asked.

"Mmm. After dinner. Let's get this sorted first, weed boy." he grinned. "You are the one who fucked up. No excuses. Give him an apology that addresses his trust and betrayal issues, plus a full-throated ask for forgiveness, with a plan to get you boys on more solid ground. Maybe tell him you want to be exclusive with him, as in, yikes, monogamy. That means no other players, including me as your regular third." he was still looking at me over the rims of his uber-cute reading glasses. "Tell him you want to get off campus digs together for the spring semester." he advised. "Too many temptations on campus."

"Yeah, I have thought we might do that. What about almost getting punched in the face? It was scary." I asked.

"Get him talking about it. Calmly. He is probably in mortified agony about that right now; dude is a total Golden Retriever kind of BF. He is a wrestler, and they are hardwired for confrontation and physical dominance. It is all very stylized, but it is in essence about one dude driving another to the ground by force. That is not to excuse what he did, but something to keep in mind." he said.

"This is all good stuff, Grif, I feel better. I will invite Anders to dinner at The Tudors, and give him a gift, something personal he would not buy for himself. A cashmere v-neck sweater in hunter green."

Grif laughed. "Whoa. Stepmomster Vera instructed you well in the arts of strategic shopping and weaponized gifting. Seriously though, it sounds all good, Trav."

The oven buzzer went off and I followed Grif to kitchen. Wincing from the heat, he hauled out the rigatoni from the oven with goofy thrift store potholders adorned with Christmas trees. "Damn, that looks good." I said.

"Thanks, we have to let it 'rest' a bit, as mom always says. I have three bottles of decent Shiraz. Let's get one of those puppies open." he said. "If you and Anders got a flat here in Canal Place we could all cook and watch movies and shit. How cool would that be?"

"Very. I need to get a read on Vera and Jasper. I think they would be OK with a flat. Anders certainly charmed them up one side and down the other when we were down in Richmond over Easter." I said.

"Cool. Always build on your strengths, Trav." he smirked. "Good that Anders did so well in Richmond; Vera and Jasper are plenty scary."

"Assuming Anders wants me back." I sighed.

"He does, he will. He's a good guy. Dude loves you all the way down the ground, Trav, I've seen the way he looks at you." We leaned back against the fridge, enjoying the wine as the pasta cooled.

Grif loaded plates with rigatoni while I uncorked the second bottle of Shiraz. We ate on the sofa. I poured wine. "This is damn good, Grif!" I said, wolfing my dinner.

"Yeah, thanks Trav, it is a fave. I grew up with three older brothers back home in Mobile, and mom was always cooking, 'cuz we were always eating." Grif shared, wolfing his plate. We had seconds and I helped clear up. Sated, we kicked back on the sofa, Grif blazing a fat spliff which we passed. He put on a movie on the flat panel, 'A Streetcar Named Desire'. I was mesmerized by the scenes with young Brando in an undershirt, which is pretty much the whole film.

I turned to Grif; "you wanna 'get them colored lights going'?...with me, not Brando."

He laughed. "Trav...hot as that would be, I must decline. You need to be focused on getting Anders back, not running wild on an imaginary hall pass. The three of us play together or not at all, remember? I wanna be part of the solution and not part of the problem."

"Yeah, you are totally right. Sorry." I said.

"You are all good, weed boy. You're just in a weird and vulnerable place right now. And me, I am learning not to think with my dick all the time." he laughed.

"Who are you and what have you done with Griffin Abernathy?" I teased. "We first met 'cuz we were both thinking with our dicks. Remember? A certain mens room in Sennwick Library?"

He laughed. "I will never forget that. You were so nervous and cute. We are all growing up, Trav. Might as well embrace it." he finally noticed and took off the cute preppie reading glasses. "Look at me goin' around with reading glasses, like a trailer park meemaw with cats." he 'bama drawled.

I took his hand. "Thanks Grif. For dinner, wine, weed. Mostly for being such an awesomely cool friend."

"Mmm. Trav, baby, you will be OK." he kissed my cheek. "Are you staying?"

"Not tonight, thanks. I should get back to the dorm in case he comes looking for me. Lordy, I sound like a high school girl with a bad crush." I laughed. We said our good nights and I was headed back to campus on the familiar path of muddy wood chips.

***

The next few days I went about my business. Did not see Anders in Lambeth, totally ignored Jose, not even making eye contact in the halls. I outlined two papers, got caught up on all reading and studying, did three loads of laundry. Swam endless laps at the Northland pool. Did a call with Vera; she was fairly receptive to the idea of off-campus digs for the spring semester. I did not mention the rift with Anders. Cool.