The Human Condition Ch. 03

I had, however, found plenty who were willing to share my bed, figuratively if not literally; there was my very straight roommate after all. I met a variety of men, and much like Joe, I found I liked having someone to date. I may never have fallen in love with any of them, but I managed to fall in like several times and in lust with even more regularity.

I practiced safe sex; at least as safe as a teenager is capable of in a testosterone haze, and as I said before, my tastes were pretty mild. I'd never been big on the clubs. I was too scared of AIDS to try the baths, and glory holes just struck me as silly. Now, I don't look down on those who like those scenes; far be it for me to tell somebody else how to live their life. It just wasn't what I was interested in. I was looking for some kind of relationship, not anonymous sex. A couple of times, I even found a variation of the beast.

There was Bobby in my freshman year. He was a closet case who approached me when he'd found out, through some of his less impressed friends, that I was gay. We'd spend lazy afternoons in a room in the attic of a friend of mine's house. I'd stick my cock into his various holes and he'd moan and thrash and tell me he loved it, could never get enough. For a while I thought it would all work out; that he'd come to terms with his needs and realize that being gay wasn't the sin his Baptist minister insisted it was.

But we never got past the sneaking around stage, and I finally got tired of the bullshit and gave him an ultimatum. He cried and begged me to be patient, but I was adamant, sure that all he needed was this one little push. I never saw him again. I heard he got married his junior year to some girl from his church league. Bet that's an interesting marriage.

Colin was next. He, had no problem telling everybody about us, reveled in it in fact. He told me he was a risk taker and, after seeing him in action a couple of times, I believed him. He liked to jump out of airplanes; he liked to climb mountains, but most of all he loved to fuck in public.

He'd show up at my door with his come hither smile and hither I'd go, to a park or a movie or one time, for shit's sake, to the blacksmith's shop at Greenfield Village. We'd suck or jerk each other off with an unaware audience and more than once I blessed the fact that our affair took place in winter when my coat went a long way towards hiding the wet spot(s) I invariably came home with after a date with Colin.

The sticking point, bad pun, in our relationship came on the day he wanted to insert his Tab A into my Slot B at the Maritime Cathedral in downtown Detroit. Now I had no real reverence for organized religion, particularly after Bobby. But doing the nasty in church sounded a lot like spitting in the eye of God; something I wasn't comfortable with at all.

There was another issue too. At that point I had never taken a cock in my ass. I wasn't totally adverse to the idea, it just hadn't been something my other partners had been too interested in pursuing. And I'd have done it with Colin, if he'd been willing to forgo the exhibitionism and had shown the slightest interest in getting me prepared for the big (not really) event. He wasn't and the thought of my first time being so public and well, painful...

Nope, wasn't going to happen.

I explained my reasoning to Colin. I was eloquent, but forceful. He seemed to except it, and I was pretty pleased with myself for standing my line. That is, until a friend told me that Colin had spent the night in jail for lewd conduct in a public place. He'd found another guy, apparently not so fastidious as me, to act out his fantasy.

Things would have been all right, as he told me later after we were speaking again, if the boy hadn't have been a screamer. I decided Colin and I were not meant to be love's young dream.

After Colin, I played the field. There was the married guy who was grateful for every lick of my agile tongue, and the twink who liked it a little rough. The professor who could only cum if he was wearing a garter belt, and the little short guy who greeted me at the door wearing a storm trooper's uniform when I picked him up for our first, and last, date.

I don't think he liked it when I laughed so hard I, cried. The way he slammed the door in my face was a clue.

There were others too. Most of whom, I'm embarrassed to admit, I barely remember. A long line of cocks is how I think of them now. Flesh hot and turgid, balls filled with milky cum, all for my enjoyment. And, to be honest, anyone else's that cared to make the effort.

Yep, my first three years away from home had become the kind of sexual banquet that stroke stories are written about. But I wasn't a kiss and tell kind of guy. Not even to my gay friends let alone to somebody like Joe.

So, instead of trying to figure out the intricacies of babes of either sex, we spent our time talking about Coleman Young, the last of the great or horrendous, depending on your point of view, big city bosses, or classes we hated or loved. Or sports, my favorite subject, though not surprisingly enough, Joe's, unless baseball was the game in question.

This even included football, though you'd have thought that would have been one subject he'd always want to talk about. But he always insisted when his college eligibility was over, so was his football career. Joe could not be swayed, even though there were plenty of pro teams who would have loved to change his mind. He wanted medical school, not a Superbowl ring.

He was so sure of his desire for a career in medicine, that he had a hard time dealing with my obvious inability to make a decision about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The only thing he had postponed was what specialty he'd choose. I, on the other hand, was halfway through my Junior year, and still hadn't declared a major.

I toyed with the idea of business--too boring, then media--too fake, and then I thought about a career in academia. After all, the only thing I really liked to do was be a student and with a professorship in mind, I could stay in school for another 6 or 7 years. Joe thought it was a great idea, although by that time, I think he'd have been relieved if I'd decided to be a Ronald MacDonald clown; anything, so long as I settled on something.

I went to my advisor, Dr. Richard Cline, and told him my decision to declare in Art History. Fuck it, I'd taken a class in it and liked it, sort of, and it sure sounded professorial.

Dr. Cline's enthusiasm was less than stellar. He snorted and told me that football player I hung out with looked more like Indiana Jones than I did and if I was so unsure about what I really wanted, I'd be whole lot better off screwing up my life in a profession that at least other people had heard of; like the law. He looked at me over his wire rims and raised his bushy eyebrows and just like that I decided. I'd be a lawyer.

It seems funny now, but I'd never even thought about law school. But from that moment on, I realized it was perfect for me. In case you haven't tumbled to it by now, I was smart. Maybe not as brilliant as Joe, certainly not in the science department anyway, but I got good, even excellent grades, in everything else and my mental agility was one of the things I liked most about myself.

Law school would be just the kind of challenge I thrived on and best of all, there was no Chemistry requirement. With a law degree, I could go into a number of fields and, if it turned out that I didn't like any of them, the three years it would take me to finish the graduate work would give me some leeway to finally figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I thanked Dr. Cline and told him he'd just convinced me. His eyebrows rose again, but he had the sense to keep his opinions to himself. We shook hands and I left, eager to tell the world about my epiphany.

My parents were thrilled. My friends started planning my career as a gay activist counselor. Joe was, thoughtful.

His reaction deflated me a little and I asked him if he thought I was making a mistake. He shook his head and said no, he just wanted to make sure I was doing what I wanted to do. It seems that I had really convinced him that Art History was the great love of my life. Good trick when I never believed it myself.

I assured him, that this time I really was happy with my decision and was surprised to find that I was, for once, speaking the plain truth. He saw it too and a big grin spread over his handsome face. Six hours later we were holding each other up in a drunken haze and swearing semper fi while planning our futures as an ambulance chaser and a malpractice lawyer's wet dream.

It was a couple months later when we went on our now infamous house hunting expedition for me...

I watched Joe's cute ass swagger into that office and for the first time I felt like I could learn to hate him. I could barely breath I was so pissed at him. I didn't take time to analyze my reaction. I only knew that on some level it felt wonderful.

I had driven my car, a beat up 1970 Duster that still ran great but had more rust than paint and torn upholstery that left white clumps of lint on your ass. I got back into it and gunned the engine.

I thought about leaving Joe but he'd probably con a ride and God knows what else out of Kelly and no way did I want this to turn out to be a good experience for him. I waited, my fingers tattooing a drum solo on the steering wheel.

Finally, Joe came out. In his hand was a sheaf of papers that I didn't have to look at to figure out what they were. He climbed in the car. He was whistling; one look at my face and he stopped.

"You're not really mad are you?"

I slammed the car in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. Joe groped wildly for the end of his seat belt.

"Guess you are."

"You are such an asshole. Of all the arrogant, stupid, unthinking stunts!" I was grinding my teeth so the words came out in a hiss.

"Hey, come on," Joe replied mildly. "I just thought it might be fun."

"Oh, you thought it might be fun," I was just getting started. "Then it's okay, cause the great Joe Lassiter thought it might be fun! What was I thinking? Of course if you think it might be fun, then by all means we should do it." I shouting now and still driving like a maniac. It felt terrific.

Joe sat up straight, his face grim, his mouth a hard line. He didn't look at me but that didn't make me shut up.

"Yeah, what was I thinking? I couldn't possibly be wondering when my feelings were supposed to be considered in this grandiose plan of yours?"

"That's enough," he spoke quietly, but I heard him fine. I just chose to ignore him.

"Quite a little pied a terre that place could be for you and your friends. And the chicks, man they'd love it. Meanwhile I could sit in my room or maybe you think I'd be handy in the kitchen, maybe whip up a little quiche?"

"I said; that's enough!"

He grabbed the wheel a second before I rammed a cyclist who'd had the nerve to be riding down the same road as me. I slammed on the brakes and the car shuddered to a stop. I took my hands off the wheel and looked at them. They were shaking. A whoosh of air left my lungs, and with it all the rage that had filled me only moments ago.

"God Dammit, Mike!" Joe whispered. "Are you trying to kill someone? Look, I'm sorry if you think what I did was so wrong. You need a place. I thought this might be the solution. I guess I was wrong."

"It would never work." I agreed tiredly.

To my amazement, that was the statement that finally pissed Joe off. I had sworn at him, screamed at him, tried to kill him for Christ sake, and it wasn't until I said the first rational thought that had come into my mind in quite a while that he decides to get ticked.

"Yeah, you're right Mike. It wouldn't work." He unsnapped his seatbelt and flung the car door open and jumped out.

The door slammed before I had a chance to ask him where in the fuck he was going, we were miles from campus. I thought he must have realized this when five paces out he suddenly pivoted, came back and opened the door.

"But you know what buddy?" He didn't wait for an answer. "If we aren't good enough friends it's not because of me!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means pal, I'm not the one who keeps half himself locked up inside so tight, nobody gets in. It means, I don't know how to reach you, to make you see that I want to be there for you. I don't want to just get together when, and if, you think it's appropriate. And just because your gay and I'm not, doesn't mean our lives can't intersect a little more socially."

"You like it that way."

"Bullshit. I'm not the one who shut you down everytime you started to talk about something I felt might be getting a little personal. I'm not the one who refused every invitation to meet your friends. Hell, I never had the chance; you never asked." He shook his head. "God I must be really obtuse. I guess I wanted to be your friend so much, it never occurred to me that you didn't feel the same way."

With that, he slammed the door again and trudged off. I watched him go with my mouth hanging open like some kind of idiot.

What the fuck was he talking about? I had always been so concerned about his feelings. I never pushed him to do more because I knew it would make him uncomfortable to be seen too much with a gay guy. That's why I turned down his invitations to frat parties and after game keggers with the team. And as for not inviting him into my circle, that was ludicrous. My friends wouldn't have interested him.

I stopped short. I thought about Saul and Kevin, two guys from the now famous Art History class. Saul was majoring in Anthropology and he knew a lot about forensic science, something that fascinated Joe. Kevin was the funniest guy I knew with a wicked sense of the ridiculous; I'd never met anybody that didn't love being around him.

But I'd never introduced either of them to Joe, and the only reason was because they were gay. They lived together as a couple and although they weren't particularly effeminate, they were openly affectionate and unapologetic about who, and what they were. In my small, little mind, I guess that had been enough to make me think that Joe would be uncomfortable around them.

But was that the truth, or had I gotten so caught up in proving what a real man I was to Joe, that I couldn't stand the thought of him seeing me in a gay setting? In that moment, all my perceptions clicked one degree to the left and I saw with awful clarity how wrong I'd been in my judgments of Joe.

He hadn't been being polite when he'd invited me to join in with his friends; he'd wanted me to be there. In the beginning, he'd tried to talk to me about girls and he'd tried to get me to do the same about the guys I'd dated, but I'd always shut him up with a smart ass answer until he finally got the message and never brought either subject up again.

I'd told myself we were setting necessary limits, but that was bullshit. I'd been the one to define the relationship, and the only reason it was necessary was because I said so. I looked at myself in the rear view mirror. Shit, could I be such an asshole? Unfortunately, the answer was yes. Jesus, I realized, I was the biggest homophobe I knew!

I started the car and began looking for Joe. He wasn't hard to find, he'd only made it about 2 blocks. I pulled over beside him and leaned over to open the passenger door.

"Get in."

He kept walking.

"Goddamn it Joe, get in."

He stopped and turned to look at me. The look in his eyes made me ashamed but I held his stare. He finally shook his head and turned away.

"Do you even know where you're going?" I tried again. "Do you even know where you are?"

He stopped again, then slowly came over and got in the car. I sighed in relief then felt my stomach knot up as I prepared to speak.

He beat me to it. "If you'll take me home, I promise I'll leave you alone after that."

"No." I was surprised at how strong my voice sounded.

Joe raised his eyebrows in shock. "You won't take me home?"

"No, I'll take you home, but I won't let you out of my life."

"Mike..."

"Let me finish, no, let me apologize. What you said back there was right," I swallowed and plowed on. "I haven't been fair to you. Or it seems to anyone else. I have these preconceived notions about how things are supposed to work and guess I was trying to impose judgments on the people I know."

"Aren't you the guy that's always saying there are no more stereotypes?" He was already forgiving me.

"Yeah and I was right. I just didn't know it at the time."

Joe chuckled. "S'okay. Forget about it."

"You're too easy on me." I responded. It was one of the things that always touched me about this guy, his capacity to accept and let bygones be bygones.

"I just don't like to see the people I care about feeling bad," he raised his eyebrows and stared at me assessingly for a moment. "You have a date tonight?"

"Not really but..." I could see where this was heading.

"But," he sighed. "You have plans."

"Just dinner and a movie with some friends."

He nodded in resignation.

I grinned at him. "But I bet they wouldn't mind if you tagged along."

I felt ashamed again when I saw the pleasure and shock register in his eyes at the sound of the invitation. I was meeting Saul and Kevin. I wondered if they'd be just as surprised when they saw me show up with Joe.

They knew we were friends, but they'd never even seen him up close. They teased me about my 'secret pal' and for the first time I wondered how much hurt had been behind the banter.

"That'd be great, Missy is out of town tonight, one of her old friends is getting married and she's having a shower."

"So her name is Missy? How long has this one lasted?" I pulled the car away from the curb and carefully made my way back to Ann Arbor.

"Three months, she's a nice kid, but too many of her friends are getting married and I'm afraid she's come down with the 'I want a ring too' virus."

"Can't have that."

"No we can't," we both laughed and I realized that this conversation was kind of fun.

"And what about you?" He asked. "Seeing anyone special?"

I tensed, had I just thought this conversation was pleasant? But I knew that if Joe and I were to continue as friends this was one question I was going to have to answer. "Nope. Not someone who means anything to me."

"But there is someone?" He pushed.

"Well yes," I sighed ostentatiously, "there's always someone." I made myself go on. "His name is Rick."

Joe grinned. "I think we're a lot alike."

I snorted. "I doubt it bud."

"Sure we are," he disagreed, "just opposite, you know positive and negative."

"Gee thanks."

"No that's not what I meant, more like left and right, north pole and south pole," he was nervous and digging himself in deeper; I let him wallow. "Yin and yang. Oh fuck it." He threw his hands up in the air. "It seemed like I knew what I meant at the time."

I looked at him seriously for as long as I could then I couldn't help it and started to laugh.

"Asshole." He muttered.

"But listen," I said when I had myself under control again. "There is something I need to tell you seriously."

"Okay..."

"The guys we're going out with tonight; they're a couple."

"Yeah, so what's you point?" He was wary again.

"Well I know how you like to be informed of these little social niceties and since I don't think they'll be wearing any tutu's or pink armbands..." I had never let him forget that comment.

"Aw Jesus Christ, now you got me thinking about that again!" He shook his head in mock disgust. But he was grinning. And so was I.