twenty-something

Make The Man | A Story By Patrick Raymond
Part One, Section Three: "Perks"

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This was the moment that made suffering through insomnia worth it: the morning shower. It was the official start of the day and the end of the hours-long battle to sleep. Sure, it was conceding defeat, but there was the nakedness involved, the warm water and soap, and soon breakfast and inevitably video games. I could run on lack of sleep if there was a Pop Tart and some Mario Kart in my immediate future.

I rarely sing in the shower. But today, "Eleanor Rigby," of all things, was stuck in my head.

"Waits at the window," I sang lightly to myself, "wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door, who is it f–-"

The shower curtain was suddenly drawn open and before I could turn to face him, Duncan was behind me, his lean, fuzzy body pressed tight against me in the tiny shower stall.

"You're naked," I observed. And he was.

"Of course," he said, nuzzling my neck. "So are you."

"But we're in the dorm."

"So? Tuesday's your light day, right?" He snuggled his mouth against my neck, kissed. "There's no rush."

With a grin, he spun me around to face him. He was always like this in the morning. Out of control. Usually, I didn't mind. Sleeping with an upperclassman with a single room and private bathroom had its perks.

He hovered his smiling face just inches from my lips. He wouldn't kiss me. "You're back early," I said.

"Lifting got out. You're up early."

"I have a --" Stop looking at me like that! "-- a meeting with my professor at eight." It wasn't a lie. Professor Mullen, one of my journalism teachers, was giving me my final three days early. It was my last academic obligation as a student, and I couldn't be late.

"Plenty of time." He finally planted a rough, passionate kiss on me before I could argue. Suddenly, and for the first time all morning, I wasn't thinking about leaving.

"Besides, in a few days, I won't get to do this to you every morning. Summer break's going to be painful."

And there it was. A reminder from the very lips I just wanted to kiss and caress me, make me forget, surrender, stay.

He playfully pined me against the slippery shower wall. I let him kiss me, and I kissed back, gave in, eyes closed, hands held at my sides by his. Our wet bodies mashed together and I tried to get lost in the moment.

He broke our kiss again, but didn't release me from his clutches.

"Something's wrong," he said into my mouth. I couldn't breathe.

He was right, of course. Despite my body's reaction, despite my obvious desire, I wasn't there. Naked, breathless, defenseless, fingers shriveled into prunes, pinned against that wall, I couldn't hide from him, try as I might.

"Nothing's wrong." I tried to reach for the soap, but he wouldn't budge. "When's your game?"

He frowned a bit. "You're not coming."

"Yes, I am. Ally and I are."

He perked up some. "It's at two."

He gave me a kiss and hoped out of the shower, leaving me to finish up. The shower curtain remained open. I admired his dripping, muscular physique as he reached for a towel and began drying off.

"You're hiding something, Sam. And whatever it is, I bet it's not worth the insomnia." He wrapped the towel around his waist. "Just tell me." And he left.

Maybe he wasn't so clueless after all.