“You grabbed my ankle and pulled me down!”
He turns away to inspect himself in the mirror. I look at my reflection. God, I look wrecked. My hair is damp with sweat and my cheeks are pink, and my clothes are disgusting.
First, I use wet paper towels to scrub the mud off my legs and arms. Beside me, Kieran washes his face in the sink, then grabs the bottom of his shirt, and pulls it off.
He’s as built as I expected him to be, with a rows of abs and a defined V that disappears under his shorts. His muscles are nicer than mine. I add that to my list of reasons I hate him.
Specks of mud have crept under his shirt, dotting his stomach and chest, and I watch the droplets of water from his wet paper towel slide across his skin. I know my sex problem has gotten out of hand when I would willingly lick those droplets off his skin if he asked me to.
Jesus, Jasper, what the hell are you thinking —
“You’re going to catch flies,” he says.
I jump at being caught, and shut my mouth, which was hanging open. I look down and busy myself with cleaning. “I wasn’t — shut up.” I wish he wouldn’t talk to me. I wish he’d go away. I wish he never came to Easton. “I hate you.”
Now finished washing, he dries himself off and pulls on his white school shirt, wrinkled from being stuffed in his schoolbag. “Although, I suppose a virgin like you will take anything he can —”
“Suck my dick,” I hiss, chucking my dirty paper towels out.
“You’d want me to,” he replies.
My mind short-circuits and I imagine Kieran on his knees, his hands gripping my thighs —
Stop it.
I open my mouth, about to retort, when I see him start to pull his shorts down.
Shit, I need to get out of here. I grab my bag and march into the cubicles, closing the door before I see Kieran is his underwear. I get changed, rubbing off a speck of mud with toilet paper. Kieran leaves the bathroom, and even though I’ve finished changing, I stay in the cubicle, sitting on the closed toilet lid, and freak out a bit.
It’s just my sex problem. My horniness means that I’ll stare at any skin I see, no matter whether it’s a man or woman. It doesn’t mean anything.
Remember when you kissed Curtis?
That happened last year during a sleepover. We’d finished watching a movie, and it was late at night, so we started talking about sex. An undercurrent of horniness was running through me, like always, and Curtis must have felt the same way, because we moved closer and closer to each other.
We just wanted skin contact. That’s all.
And then — I can’t remember which one of us started it — we kissed. For a minute. It was nice. I would have kept going, but Curtis pulled away, eyes wide, so I laughed it off and said, wow, that was a mistake. Curtis quickly agreed, and we went to sleep soon after.
Well, he slept. I stayed up all night with a painful erection.
We never talked about it again, and after that night, we kind of drifted away from each other. We’re still friends, but not as close as we used to be.
The point is, that one kiss doesn’t mean that we like guys. In fact, that summer, Curtis started dating Kennedy, a girl. See? Not gay.
I take a deep breath and stand up. As I’m unlocking the cubicle door, people enter the bathroom speaking with soft voices. Then there’s a breathy, wet sound.
I pause. There’s no doubt about it. People are kissing in the boys’ bathroom. Did a girl sneak in here with a guy? Or is it two boys?
I step out of the cubicle in time to see a tall, dark-haired guy walk into another cubicle. Liam Ford.
Leaning against the sinks is Curtis. “Oh, hey Jasper,” he says when he sees me. His smile is easy. He doesn’t know I know.
“Hey.” My voice is strangled.
He doesn’t notice and starts talking about cross-country. I have my second freak out this afternoon, because I’ve just shattered all my reasoning about that kiss we had meaning nothing. Curtis just kissed a guy. Maybe more than once. Probably more than once.
Holy fucking shit. What does this mean for me?
