“So I’ve heard,” I say. “Repeatedly. Through the walls. I don’t think I’m really your type, anyway. I’m not a muscle frat jock with a beer in his hand and a confused expression on his face.”
“College is all about experimenting.” He rubs a hand over his chest and tweaks his own nipple. “I like experimenting.”
“Then you should be a scientist,” I say. “I have finals to study for. And a boyfriend who is at least eight times your size.”
Rob sighs as he sits on my bed. Well, Corey’s old bed. The towel parts and a thigh pokes through. As do his balls. God love him for trying. “Dom,” he says. “This truly magnificent specimen of a man who you won’t even let come visit you. What kind of sort of relationship is that?”
“It’s what I need,” I say. Or maybe needed. I think things have changed. I think I’m close to being ready. I don’t know. I need to finish this semester and then sort out what’s next. I’ll go home for Christmas, and we’ll take it from there. I’ve got some ideas, but they’re just that: ideas. It’s a start. “He understands.” The patience of a saint, that one. At least I hope. If not, I’m totally screwed.
“But what about the sex?” he asks me, exasperated.
“It’s not always about sex,” I remind him.
“Well, it should be partly about sex,” he says. “And you haven’t had any since you’ve been here.”
“Does monogamy mean anything to you?” I ask, frowning at the term paper on the screen. I just used the words “shallow and morbidly pedantic” to describe Shakespeare. I don’t think that is going to get me an A. Maybe my bad poetry will. If old Bill could become famous for making people believe two whiny fourteen-year-olds falling in love over three days and then offing themselves is a love story, then I can write more bad poems about Santa/Satan and have them considered classics. It can’t be that hard. I should really look into publishing my works for posterity and the masses to enjoy in the millennia to come. The Tao of Ty.
“It sure does,” Rob says. “Though nothing good. It’s like hearing you have herpes.”
“I don’t think that’s quite right.”
“So… no blow job?”
“No blow job.”
“Jerk me off?”
“Hand cramps.”
“Lie there while I do all the work?”
“Skipped right past enticing and went straight on to creepy. Congrats.”
He sighs again. “You know, it’s never this hard with anyone else. And I mean that in the dirty way too.”
“Gross. Flattering, but gross. Maybe you should stop hanging around people who’re that easy.”
“It’s not about the chase,” he says with a wicked grin. “It’s about the kill.”
“Yuck.”
My computer chimes and then the screen fills with Corey and Sandy, side by side. They look disgustingly pleased with themselves about something. This can’t possibly be good. “Hi, baby doll,” Sandy says warmly.
“Oh good,” Corey says. “Nothing has happened yet.”
I arch an eyebrow. “With Rob?”
“Rob?” He sounds confused. “What about Rob?”
“He’s pretty much naked on my bed asking me to have sex with him.”
Corey pales slightly. “That’s… not the best timing.”
“It never is,” I agree.
“I am so alone!” Rob laments, as if he didn’t just come from washing the smell of the random guy who slinked out of his bedroom earlier this morning.
“Twinkie parade,” Sandy says. “It’s like we’re in a Hostess factory.”