Seeking Boy, Finding Love

Chapter 3

Chapter 3That Sunday night, no closer to getting a new place, I’d shoved all my belongings into two duffel bags and three black garbage bags. Together with Scott and Jeremy, we dragged my worldly goods up one floor to Scott’s dorm room. After shoving them into one corner, we sat around drinking. I was on the bed with Scott, each of us drinking a vodka cooler. Jeremy was spread out on the floor, drinking some vile piss he called Welsh Black Stout that he imported from the UK on a monthly basis.

“Jer, I think this is the first time just the three of us have hung out,” Scott remarked, legs crisscrossed, his back against the wall. Our taciturn Welsh friend grunted, taking a long pull of his soupy swill. Directing his attention to me, Scott added, “We should move stuff more often—it’s sorta nice, just us guys.”

I nodded, enjoying my alcohol-buzz, and ever so slightly distracted by the light touch of Scott’s knee on my leg. I hadn’t retreated from his touch yet, as I knew I should. Blame the buzz.

“Heather doesn’t know I’m here,” Jeremy said after belching under his breath. Scott and I both gasped.

“Your woman didn’t give you permission to do this?” Scott asked in a stage whisper.

I tch’ed, shaking my head.

Jer smirked, arching a ginger eyebrow. “Girls are fel rhech mewn pot jam, anyways, at this stuff,” he declared.

“Come again?” I asked, blinking.

Scott tittered quietly at my wording. He’s so immature.

“Fel rhech—”

“Yeah, we heard you—what the hell does it mean?” I asked. Jeremy has a weird habit of switching to Welsh from time to time.

The red-haired young man took a long swig. “Like…a fart in a jam jar?”

Scott and I exchanged looks.

Jeremy snorted at our lack of comprehension. “You know—useless? As in,t they’re useless when it comes to lifting?”

“Okay. Yeah. I sorta see that. I’ll never look at a jam jar in the same way, though.”

We all took a swig of our respective drinks, enduring a few uncomfortable seconds. Scott subtly pressed his knee harder against my leg. Not subtly enough, though; I noticed Jeremy catch the movement. He scowled, staring at the spot where our legs touched, then shifted his gaze to the window. What the hell’s that all about?

“I gotta go,” he grunted. “Heather’s probably wondering where I am.” Without waiting for a reply, Jeremy pushed himself up and beat a hasty retreat.

“See ya, Jer—thanks again!” I called as the door shut behind him. That left me and Scott. Sitting on his bed. Legs touching.

“Did you see Jer’s look when he noticed you…?” My eyes went to Scott’s knee, where it still touched me. I looked up, meeting his wide, innocent eyes. f**k, what’s happening? We’re supposed to just be friends! “Scott, I—”

His head loomed closer, until his warm breath tickled my face. He smelled of vodka, and ChapStick, and something else I couldn’t identify. That something else went straight to my d**k. In about four milliseconds, I was ramrod hard. Just from his breath?!

“Scott, I…” I repeated in a whisper this time, and not an uninviting one. He closed the distance between us, until I could feel the heat of his lips close to mine. “Scott…” I breathed out. Then I breathed him in. And I was his.

Our lips met, ever so gently at first. His were soft and moist, and the feel of them sent my head spinning. My hand found his shoulder—for balance, of course—and I went in for more. He met my advance with one of his own, his lips less pliant now, needing to taste more of me. I felt his hand slip around my waist. Scott’s touch released a moan that had been trapped in my throat, even as I felt the first brush of his tongue, gently gazing my teeth. My tongue rose to meet his, and I nearly jizzed right there, feeling a boy’s tongue on mine for the very first time.

“What the fock!” We both jerked at the voice by the door. “I thought you two were just mates!” It was Jeremy. Back again. “Do all gays have to screw around with each other?” The scowl I’d seen on his face earlier was back, multiplied several times over.

Scott recovered from the surprise of seeing him first. “What do you want?”

“Forgot my phone.” Our Welsh friend pointed to where he’d been sitting. Yeah, there was his Samsung. He strode over, snatched it up, and left without another word.

Scott and I sat there in silence. Jer’s words swirled through my head. Do all gay guys screw around with each other? It was a fair question. Did I want to become a cliché?

“I’m just gonna crash, I think,” I said to Scott. I could tell from his look that he was thinking the same.

“Sure. You okay with the floor?” It was either that or get into Scott’s twin bed with him. I knew exactly where that would lead us.

“Sure.”