Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"C'mon, sweetie. We should probably get going." He startles a bit when I call him sweetie, but then an only slightly befuddled grin appears on his face and I know it's all good. "Give me a ride home?"

"So soon?" he asks, crestfallen. Then he brightens. "How about we go to my place first?"

"Just have him back for Sunday dinner," scolds Porter.

"I promise I will. He may be worn out, but he'll be there."

I'm not used to being referred to in the third person, but I'll let it pass because we're talking about me and sex. We say our goodbyes to the more-than-generous hosts of the party, and then we're on our way to Clark's.

Nothing could have prepared me for walking into that apartment, the scene of my first awareness of how deep my crush on Clark was. I see it differently now--rather than being a surprisingly tasteful living space, it's the physical realization of his personality, a personality that I've recently become quite attached to. Being here is like being surrounded by him, wrapped in a warm, soft blanket of him.

Clark stands in the middle of the living room, and holds his arms out to me. I go to him, let him wrap me up in his strength.

"That's where it happened," he says softly. He's looking at the tweed couch. "Where I let myself trust you. That was the hardest thing I think I've ever done."

Ah, yes. The Silence to End All Silences. The one that ended with him telling me that the gay site had given him his first real hard-on.

"God, Clark, where would we be if you hadn't?" I shiver involuntarily and pull myself closer to him. The last day has brought so many changes that I cannot imagine what life would be like without him. Actually, I can imagine what it would be like--me, alone, like always.

"I think we were destined to be here, and we would have found a way," he says, kissing me on the nose. "Now, we both smell like chlorine, smoke, and sweat." He's right--I hadn't noticed until we got into his clean and fresh apartment. "How about I run us a nice hot shower?"

"Only if you promise that once we're clean we can get dirty together."

"Oh hell yeah. I plan to get dirty with you every day from now on."

By the time he drops me off at my dorm, we've gotten clean, then sweaty and spermy on his bed (no ropes this time! Well, except for that once, but we used them in a very different way), and then clean again. As promised, I'm exhausted and completely blissfully satisfied when I sit down for dinner with the guys. I'm the last to the table with my tray, though, and the guys are talking about the party when I get there.

"So all along, Diggler was into guys?" Dexter is asking Porter as I arrive. "And the sex show thing was what--a cry for help? Why didn't he just come out and be done with it?"

"He says he wasn't into guys before Josh offered to help him."

"I appears our roomie has talents we were not aware of," Dexter muses as I sit down.

"Oh, you mean the way he can turn straight guys into butt monkeys with just a kiss and a jiggle?" Porter winks at me. "He's only used his powers for good as far as I can tell, but you'd better watch out--he might come after you next."

"Hey, wait a minute!" I protest. "I have a guy and I'm sticking with him. Straight men may now roam freely without fear that I'm going to make them go all gay."

The twins and I get a good laugh out of this, but Seth seems not to really know how to join into the conversation. Can't blame him, really--this all must seem a bit strange from the outside. But then, out of the blue, he raises his glass of 2% milk.

"To Josh, who finally seems happy. Here's hoping he's found the love of his life."

"Here, here!" reply the twins, in unison.

All I can do is gape at Seth. He continues to surprise me. I'm so touched by this gesture that I get kind of choked up.

"Now, you're going to stop making chicken noises in your sleep, right?" he asks, an impish grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

In response I stab the rubbery chicken breast that sits atop the overcooked pasta on my plate and hold it up.

"Cluck! Cluck!" I call, and then take a bite out of it. Seth just shakes his head.

# 16 #

For the next three weeks Clark and I luxuriate in the thrill of a new relationship. I spend every available waking hour and many of my sleeping ones at his apartment--previously, I would have thought that this would mean non-stop sex, but with Clark it's different. Really different. We have sex, of course, but we also cuddle and cook and study and shop together. Most of all, I just love being around him--there's such a calm strength about him now that was completely missing before.

All too soon Thanksgiving rears its head. My family lives too far away for me to make the whole trip just for a couple of days; I'll be flying home for Christmas in a month anyway. Clark's place is only a few hours by car, but I don't dare ask him if I can tag along--I don't want to rush meeting the family until he's had some time to prepare them. From what he's said about them, I can tell he's worried about how they'll respond to his new outlook on life. Or whether he'll even be able to summon up the courage to tell them at all.

So it is with no small trepidation that I see him on his way home for the holiday. As I wave to his receding car, his kiss still tingling on my lips, all I can really do is hope that he's going to be okay.

An hour later I'm loading into Calvin's car--he and Reese invited me home with them for Thanksgiving, since I was going to be alone here. Their parents are all complete homophobe evangelicals, so they spend holidays with their Aunt Emily, who's about the only person in their entire family who's still speaking to them. I love Aunt Emily, and I love Calvin and Reese, so if I can't spend the holiday with the one I love, at least I can spend it with loved ones.

We arrive at Aunt Emily's house in the late afternoon the day before Thanksgiving. I've only ever been to her cabin in the mountains before--the boys love to spend the summer there, and I've joined them for skinny dipping in the pond on several memorable occasions--but I immediately recognize her style when Calvin pulls up in front of the tasteful craftsman bungalow. You can tell Aunt Emily is loaded, but not in a showy way.

"Boys!" she calls from the porch as we're pulling our duffels out of the trunk of the car. She marches across the yard and grabs Reese into a full-body hug, then tackles Calvin, kissing him twice on each cheek, and then she comes after me.

"Josh! My darling Cupid! How are you?" She doesn't wait for a reply--she often doesn't--and leans in closer. "The boys tell me that Cupid has fallen in love himself. True?" She searches my eyes, her gaze darting back and forth quickly, reading me. "True," she decides, and she hugs me again. "I am so happy for you! I must insist on every detail, but first let's get you into the warm house."

Soon we are in her living room, before a crackling fire, steaming mugs of subtly spiked hot cocoa in our hands. I would think that living together would have cooled Calvin and Reese's passion for cuddling on the couch, but they are curled up like lovebirds, hands moving in lumpy abandon under a blanket. I realize that Aunt Emily and I are both watching them, smiling with unironic joy at their happiness.

"You know," Aunt Emily says, "I don't think I'll ever tire of seeing those two together."

"Good thing," I reply. "Seeing as they are joined at the hip. And the mouth. And at several points between."

Aunt Emily laughs, and touches her mug to mine with a delicate clink. "And they owe their happiness to you, dear boy, who brought them together."

"All I did was close the deal. You're the one who knew all along that they were deeply in love and even more deeply in denial. The whole world couldn't have kept those two apart once they realized that they belong together."

"The whole world did try, though," she mutters. Then she turns back to the couch and says, in a more serious tone, "Did they tell you how their parents reacted?"

"Not in much detail. I gathered that it didn't go well, but they've never really talked about it."

Aunt Emily sighs. "We were expecting the worst from their parents, of course, given their...views. But the boys wanted so much to be honest, and to not have to hide who they had become. I didn't see what the rush was, myself. I wanted them to wait until they were completely independent of their families, so that they could be self-sufficient if it went as badly as I thought it might. But when the families gathered for Thanksgiving last year, they decided to come out." Aunt Emily sips her cocoa and shakes her head sadly.

"Oh, please tell me they didn't just announce it at dinner or something."

"No, they wanted to do it in the least traumatic way possible. Cal took his father--that fundamentalist Neanderthal Frank--aside after the big meal. I watched them walk into Frank's study, and it was all I could do to keep breathing. Luckily I had a nice after-dinner martini in my hand or I might have shattered my teeth from gritting them so hard." She pauses, looking suddenly sad. "We heard the yelling start almost immediately. At first the voices were indistinct, but soon I could sort out Cal's calm, low voice from his father's angry, spitting howl. Now, you'll recall that when Reese first told Cal that he had developed feelings for him, Cal pretty much did the same thing--the dinner table was thrown over and just about every dish ended up in pieces--so the anger wasn't all that surprising. But what came next was so much worse." Aunt Emily's voice drifts off, and she blinks hard at the fire.

"I'm not sure I want to know what happened next," I venture, trying to mask the impatience in my voice.

"The study door opened, and Cal stumbled into the room, followed by his father, who had clearly pushed him, hard. Then his father called for everyone's attention. Well, no one had a clue what was going on, so they gathered round. Only Reese and I had any hint how terribly wrong it had gone--I looked over at him, and all the blood had drained from his face. I pretended to spill my drink so I could grab Reese into the kitchen to help me mop up. I just wanted to get my darling boy out of that house, to keep him from witnessing whatever awful thing Frank had in mind, to get him to safety, but I didn't make it in time--everyone was calling out for Reese to come back to the living room, thinking that Frank had something important to tell him. All I could do was stand there and watch the disaster happen, like seeing cars on ice slide slowly into each other.

"Cal's dad--his voice was cold with fury--started out by announcing that we were there to watch his oldest son, his pride and joy, make the biggest choice of his life. Then he ordered Reese to come stand with Cal, which he did--scared as he was, he didn't want to make the situation worse by arguing. It still makes my heart ache to picture the two of them, panic in their eyes, not knowing what was coming next but knowing that it wouldn't be good, standing there together with their smiling families and Cal's furious dad.

"Then Frank said that Cal had decided that he was a fag. Well, you could have heard a pin drop in that house after that. But he wasn't finished. He continued, saying that Cal now had to choose between his perversion and his family. If he chose Reese, he would never see his family again. If he chose his family, he could never see Reese--ever. The family started to realize that something serious was happening here, and both boys' mothers gasped--Reese's father leaned over and threw up into a potted palm. I opened my mouth to speak, but Frank said that he didn't care what some dyke had to say."

"Wow, he seems like a real dick."

"You don't know the half of it. He told Cal he had one minute to decide. The boys just stood there, gobsmacked, tears streaming down their cheeks. Well, that minute lasted both an eternity and about two seconds. Frank started screaming that he had to decide right then and there which way he was going to go. We were all hanging on his every breath, trying to anticipate when he would say something--anything. It took a little while before we realized that the boys were holding hands." She pauses to sip a little more cocoa. "A pretty classy way to make an answer, if you ask me.

"Then Frank really went off the deep end. He ducked back into his study, and returned a couple of seconds later with a piece of paper. He told Cal that he was no longer his son, and he waved the paper around in front of him--his birth certificate--and then he held it right in front of Cal's face and set it on fire. We were all so shocked that no one moved. The paper burned up quickly, and Frank dropped it, glowing and blackened. It drifted down and was about to hit Cal in the chest when Reese reached out and smacked it away, shattering it into a hundred little wisps of charred paper that drifted to the rug. We all stood there for a moment, looking at the pile of ash that had been Cal's birthright, and then Frank hissed that the two were no longer welcome in his house. Cal and Reese walked past their silent mothers--silent! as their sons were thrown out of the house!--and I took their hands when they reached me and I walked with them out the door of that horrible, unwelcoming home to which they have never returned."

"Wow." I have no idea what else to say in response to Aunt Emily's wrenching account.

"You can see now why it just makes my heart sing to see the two of them happy. This Thanksgiving, here with us, is how the memories of that horrible holiday can start to be expunged."

"Have their parents ever tried to get in touch with them?"

She shakes her head, slowly.

"Not a peep. They've been here with me whenever they haven't been at school, and in the summer at my cabin. I'm so happy that I can support them when their families have been such utter bastards to them. But I know that it makes them sad--they so miss their brothers and sisters, and I know they would do just about anything to reconcile with their parents."

"Anything but give up each other."

"There are some prices that are simply too great, my boy, and I'm so proud of them for not stooping to pay it."

A gentle snoring noise emanates from under the blanket on the couch. She beams at the long, lanky lumps under the blanket.

"Now, Cupid, you must tell me everything. Who is this lucky person on whom you have settled your affections?

I blush in spite of myself. "His name is Clark. He's a little older than I am--two whole years--and he's simply amazing."

"I would expect nothing less. You've demonstrated the quality of your taste in men," she chuckles, nodding to the couch where Calvin and Reese lay tangled.

"Funny you should mention. It just so happens that Clark was also straight when I met him."

"But you managed to talk him out of it?" She winks at me.

"Actually, he had to talk me into it. I thought he was just imprinted on me like a baby duck because I was his first. But he was persistent, and he wore me down."

She squints at me. "A man had to talk you into bed? Clearly this is one of the signs of the Apocalypse!" She bursts out with her karate-chop laugh and then tosses back the last of her drink. I do love Aunt Emily.

I'm about to defend my honor when my phone buzzes. It's a text from Clark, and he wants to know if we can talk in a few minutes. I'm thrilled, not having heard from him since he left campus this morning, and I text back that he can call whenever he has a chance. I'm actually kind of quivering when I put my phone down, and Aunt Emily, with her hawk-like eyes, sees it.

"He's really special, isn't he?" she asks, casting her piercing gaze at me.

"He is. But I know his family is pretty conservative, and after what you've told me about Calvin's dad..."

"Tut tut. The boys' families are a corner case--they've fallen in with the worst kind of influence: fundamentalist freakshows who have convinced them that on the scale of evil homosexuality is somewhere between communism and killing kittens with a hammer. I'm sure that Clark's family will love you just as much as I do, dear." She kisses me on the forehead on her way to the kitchen.

My phone rings with Clark's tone.

"You can talk in my office, Josh," Aunt Emily calls from the kitchen.

I scurry down the hall to the office, close the door behind me, and answer.

"Diggler's ho," I say cheerfully into the phone.

He laughs. I love still being able to surprise him--there's such magic in the early days of a relationship.

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you," he says. "We've been apart for eight hours, so I owe you those."

God he's so sweet.

"How was the drive?" I ask.

"Lonely," he says.

"And the family?"

"They're...fine."

Hmm. That sounded sub-optimal.

"Just...fine?"

He sighs.

"I came here hoping that I could just tell them what's been going on with me, with us, but I'd been here all of twenty minutes when my uncle cracks a fag joke and the entire bunch yukked it up. Even my little bro, who is only twelve and probably had no idea what everyone thought was so funny, he laughed his little head off. Ugh."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! But, you know, sometimes people laugh at stuff like that when they don't know what else to do. They probably don't all feel that way."

"Yeah, I tried telling myself that too. But there are other things--things that they say, stuff they don't say--it just makes me think that I won't be able to tell them."

"You gotta give it time, hon," I assure him. "They'll come around."

"I hope so," he sighs.

"So," I growl into the phone, wanting to change the subject. "What are you wearing? I hope it's those wide-wale cords that make your package look huge."

"God I love it when you talk like that," he says, his voice husking up a bit.

"That's nothing. I haven't begun to talk."

"Oh, fuuuck," he groans into the phone.

"I'm in a room all by myself here," I growl, "And now I'm slipping off my jeans," and I really do, because what's phone sex without authenticity? "I'm rubbing myself through those soft boxers you love."

"The ones with the little dogs?"

Well, that could have been sexier, but I'll take it.

"Yep. I'm getting hard just thinking about you, and now my cock is starting to poke out the front. It's throbbing for you."

"Oh, fuck, dude, I am so boned up," he whispers into the phone.

"What would you do if you were here right now?"

He takes a deep breath. I'm not sure if that means that this is weirding him out, or if he's getting into it. "I would kiss the tip of your hard cock, and lick all around the head." Oh, he's into it. "I would slide your boxers down, all the way down your legs, and I would take your hot cock in my hands, and then I would grip it tight by the head and skin the meat off of it with a really sharp knife."

Whoa.

"Uh, Clark? What the fuck?"

He's silent for a second. Then, I hear him breathing again.

"Fuck, sorry! I told my family that I was going to call a friend who was cooking Thanksgiving dinner for the first time and needed some tips on handling the turkey. Just now my grandpa wandered past, and I didn't know what else to say."

"Well, that was pretty quick thinking. But I kind of thought I was dating a serial killer for a second there."

"Sorry--there's family everywhere, and the only place that's even semi-private is this little nook by the stairs. But people keep walking by."

"Couldn't you just tell them that you have a girlfriend that you want to talk to? They would give you some privacy then."

He's silent for a second.

"I couldn't do that," he says, firmly. "I may not be able to tell them the truth about you yet, but I won't tell them lies about you either. That wouldn't be fair--to you. To us."