twenty-something

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Make The Man | A Story By Patrick Raymond
Part One, Section Six: "Perfect Gentlemen"

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Many of the best memories of my relationship with Duncan took place in bed. I suppose that's one of the pitfalls -- or advantages, depending on your perspective -- of dating a closeted baseball-playing frat boy. Plenty of alone time, secluded behind closed doors, snuggled up in bed.

He slept over in my room, on my futon, with me about two weeks after our first date. Being perfect gentlemen, we both wore pajama pants and matching white tee-shirts, but our carnal desires got the best of our good intentions. We lost the pajama pants and went to second base. (Though I'm not entirely sure of which base is which in things of that nature, Duncan assured me that's where we were, and since he was a baseball player, I believed him.)

We lay together, talking. We talked about many things, little things, and Duncan recalled a funny anecdote about his father that had both of us in stitches. I don't remember the story he told at all, so I can't recount it here. I also can't remember if I genuinely found it funny, or if I was just being polite. Regardless, there was a story, and some laughing, and when it stopped, Duncan breached the subject that I'd desperately tried to avoid.

"What's your dad like?" he asked.

Admittedly, I'm a freak when it comes to my dad. I don't like to talk about him much at all, even in proper company. But nearly naked, post-heavy make-out/petting session with my new boyfriend was not the time or place for this discussion.

I stiffened up, but my grip around Duncan probably loosened. "My dad. He... died," I confessed.

Duncan rolled over to face me. My arms loosely draped on him.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't..."

I managed a weak smile, more of grimace, to show him that I was all right. "It's OK. It's been a while now." Dunc placed his hand on my chest and slowly brushed his fingertips over the light blanket of hair. "I was fifteen. Henry, my brother, was eight."

I paused.

"There was... a fire." I instantly felt regret.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I'm good. Really." He ran his fingers through my hair. "Just hug me," I murmured.

And he did. We hugged and held each other for a long while. I had nearly drifted off to sleep when Duncan spoke again.

"So... remember when I said that thing... um, to thank your dad for certain, um, 'genetic endowments'? I didn't mean to be offensive."

I pulled back and looked at him, puzzled, for a moment. Then I cracked up. He followed suit.

It was a Thursday in March, maybe two or three weeks after our first sleepover. My roommate Rich was at a party with girlfriend Carly, and thusly Duncan and I again had my room to ourselves. He ditched his fraternal obligations and I gave Allison the night off. We claimed we were going to watch a DVD, but we weren't even past the opening credits before I jumped him.

We made out for a good hour, rolling around on my tiny dorm bed in only our boxer shorts. And then, without warning, Duncan broke our kiss. Lying atop me, he looked into my eyes. That look. I could tell what was on his mind.

He started kissing me again and I knew I had to stop it. "Duncan," I moaned. "Adam. Stop." I tried to be firm, using his first name to stress my point. I pushed him away weakly and he stopped his kissing. His bare chest pressed hot against mine.

"Sam, I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me.

"I can't have sex with you."

And I wanted to fuck him, too.

"Who said anything about sex?"

"But I thought that you wanted—"

"Oh, I do. Believe me, I do. But –"

"I'm a virgin," I blurted out. As soon as I said the word, I felt pathetic, like the good little Catholic girls I dated in high school. There I was, an eighteen-year-old gay virgin, out since the age of sixteen and intentionally uneducated in the school of male-to-male love. Was I the only such creature to ever willingly exist? In bed with a sexy, smoldering stud, who drove me completely crazy, who I wanted to do things to that I'd only seen in Falcon porn movies, I began to wonder just what I was holding onto my virginity for.

"Yeah?" Duncan replied, breathlessly. He looked right at me, expectant of some elaboration.

"I mean, I've done some stuff with guys before. Made out, fooled around some. But no sex."

"That's OK," he said. He started kissing my neck, driving me crazy. "You're not ready for all that." More kissing. "And neither am I." And for his part, he seemed genuine.

"Really? Are you a...?"

"No," he said sheepishly. "Wish I was."

"It doesn't matter."

"I know. But when we -- it's going to be special. It's going to be different from the other guy. It's going to be love."

I suddenly remembered what I was holding onto that pesky virginity for. But was it what I was waiting for -- or afraid of?

Things calmed considerably between us just then and we settled into a soft, snuggly sleep in my tiny twin dorm bed.

That was the one time that word came up between us. We never made it past second base, never did have sex. Never said "I love you" either. I cared about him a lot and I knew I was falling into something. But love? No. Never love.

END OF PART ONE

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