It wasn’t just that getting fucked changed him. He’d been fucked once before—technically, although another word for it was rape. (Puh-tay-tah, Po-taw-toh.)
The first time had scarred him, set him back on his lifepath, caused him to lock himself in the closet. This second time had—what was the word, ‘revived’ him?
His religion framed such experiences in terms of rebirth and renewal; burial of the old self and resurrection of the new man; the whole “once I was blind and now I can see” bit.
Those explanations didn’t quite fit.
The way Matt saw it, he had been born gay, been brainwashed and brow-beaten into believing he was broken, and now, having been baptized in semen, had been restored. He’d been born with sight, been blinded by others’ hate and could now see again.
What he saw—clearly now, thanks to William—was that he’d been trying to cut off his nose to spite his face, which wasn’t exactly bright, and which had earned him the reputation for being aloof.
Friday night, as Matt and William had lain, post coitally, in the back of the Jeep (arms entwined, cum and sweat and lube drying on their skin, their dicks looking like hungover worms wallowing in their own puke), they had taken their own tentative steps towards friendship.
They had talked about how Matt didn’t want to be at MCU and how his dad had forced it.
William had listened quietly, then asked if Matt thought he was punishing his dad by being standoffish on campus? Wasn’t that like sitting on the sidelines, self-benched, watching his teammates score the goals?
So, there Matt stood in the communal bathroom, naked—save for his shower shoes, Dopp-kit, and a towel slung over his shoulder—waiting for a shower stall, same as he’d done for the last thirteen days. This time, though, he wasn’t going to ride the bench. He was back in the game.
And he’d brought a boombox! He set it up in the back corner of the room, keyed up aBoyz II Mencd.
A couple of kids were at the sinks. One was shaving, the other brushing his teeth. A third kid was in the shower line with Matt.
Matt struck up a conversation with the kid in line beside him. The kid, of course, had a towel wrapped around his waist, ready to circumspectly wriggle out of his undies when the time came.
Matt remembered the kid’s vital statistics, having heard them repeated ad nauseum in the previous week. Name: Seth Freeman. Hometown: Perry, Oklahoma. Major: Accounting.
“Seth, right?” Matt began.
Seth nodded cautiously. He glanced at the showers to see if any were coming available.
Matt guessed it would be several minutes before a shower was free. He suspected that their dormmates had figured out that the shower stalls were the only place to jerk off in private.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a future accountant,” Matt said to Seth. “When did you decide that’s what you want to be? Like, were you the banker inMonopolyand caught someone cheating? Or did God speak to you in a dream that He’ll need you for an important audit someday?”
Seth chuckled. “I’ve never much likedMonopoly. And God’s never spoken to me, at least that I know of. Nah, my story’s kinda boring. My dad was doing his income taxes one year—getting frustrated and angry, like he always did. I asked if I could see what all the fuss was about and just fell in love with it. I’ve been doing his taxes ever since.”
“Cool!” Matt enthused. “That’s anything but boring. How old were you when this happened?”
Seth blushed. “I dunno. Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“I’m impressed, dude! My old man can’t do his taxes either. It seems very complicated.”
Seth stood a little taller. He was a gangly red-headed kid who hadn’t yet grown into hisfeet and hands.
Matt patted Seth’s shoulder. “You could end up being the Chief Financial Officer of Ditch Witch! I’ll probably be asking you for a job someday.” (Ditch Witch was a world-renowned manufacturer of excavation equipment, headquartered in Perry, Oklahoma.)
Seth grinned. “No offense to my hometown, but I’m hoping to live in a big city. Perry’s population is 4,984. Our church has 79 members, and they are all up in each other’s business, burning up the phone lines with gossip, but calling it ‘prayer requests.’”
“Planning to go wild once you’re free of thefCOC prayer warriors?” Matt teased. “Stay up late on a Saturday night and watchSNL?”
“Something like that,” Seth said. “I’d just like to be more like you, you know, brave enough to walk around naked and not worried about what people think.”
Matt pointed to the towel girding Seth’s waist. “You’re far away from Perry now. Help me stir up some gossip around here. Lose the towel.”
Seth’s eyes went wide with fear.
“You can do it,” Matt urged.
