Date: Fri, 1 Jun 2007 23:40:07 -0300
From: Duncan Ryder <duncanryder@hotmail.com>
Subject: Everybody's wounded Chapter 3

This is a work of fiction. The characters exist only in the author's
imagination.  This is a gay love story and contains explicit
descriptions of sex between consenting men; if this offends you, is
illegal where you are, or you are too young, don't read it. This story is
copyright by the author; please don't copy or circulate it without my
permission.

This is my first attempt at this kind of story, and I'd welcome feedback
to: duncanryder@hotmail.com.  Thanks to everyone who has commented so
far. I am very grateful for your encouragement. Writing can be lonely work,
and hearing from readers is a huge thing.

If you'd like to be added to the update list, just drop me an email at the
above address.


Everybody's Wounded
Chapter Three


I worked hard at forcing my life to settle into a routine.  I didn't feel
much like socializing; I had a single room, which made it pretty easy for
me to be by myself.  Instead I focused on sports and academics.  Rugby
season was in full swing, giving me the opportunity to channel all my
physical energy into getting stronger and faster.  And I was now getting my
sea legs academically as well, and did a lot of studying, which I was
actually enjoying.

I also saw Josh. He made it impossible not to.  Since he was a grad student
and lived off campus, our ways didn't naturally cross, but he kept calling
me.  He made sure we hooked up for coffee a couple of times a week, and
every Friday night he'd drag to the Rainbow pub for a couple of hours.  The
funny thing was, we'd mostly just sit at a table in the corner and talk.
Unlike the Josh I remembered from before Thanksgiving, he wasn't cruising,
and didn't respond to anyone making tentative moves on him, at least not
while I was there.  Every now and then, he'd introduce me to some guy he
knew. They were always nice guys, but they didn't interest me.  Sometimes,
one of them would come on really strong. Josh said he thought I should just
go with it, ease the tension, but the idea just left me cold.  For all his
encouragement, he seemed oddly pleased with my lack of interest.

David sent me a few emails to see how I was doing, and included some of the
pictures he'd been taking.  He was building his portfolio for applying to
the top photography programs in the country, and he'd developed an interest
in industrial architecture. Ry had made a few connections for him.  I had
to admit, some of the pictures are amazing and I told him so -- with short
sentences, single words.  It was the best I could do.  There was a distance
to his words, a friendly formality that left me no room for hope.  I knew,
deep in my heart, that it was well and truly over, and that there would
never be a way back to him.

One night at Rainbow, a really cute guy ran his tongue along my ear as we
were dancing.  It surprised me, but it felt good, and I kind of went with
it for a minute, until I felt his hand on my cock, kinda squeezing it
through my jeans.  I grabbed his wrist and pulled it away so hard he
yelped.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" he said.  "It's not like you don't want
it. Fuck, you're as hard as a rock."

I was, but that had become a kind of semi-permanent state for me.  I
apologized and went home.

Later, I started to jerk off in the shower, thinking about David, and Josh,
and the cute guy with his hand on my dick.  I stopped myself before I came
and turned the water to pure cold, just feeling totally lost.

***

Actually, there was one guy I wouldn't have minded getting to know better,
though my interest in him was not sexual.  I mean, I had no reason to think
he was anything but straight, and I don't go there, not even in fantasy.
His name was Luc Bedard, and he was in almost all of my classes.  He
intrigued me intellectually. He was the smartest guy I'd come across – and
St. G's is a very good college with a lot of very smart people. Ever since
classes started, I'd been aware of him.  I mean, this was a guy who really
thought passionately and articulately about things.

And so do I – which always surprises people because of what I look like.
Hell, in some ways being a big jock is kind of like being the male
equivalent of a blonde joke.  But I'm smart too, and I was raised not be
ashamed of it and not to hide it.  My parents are both lawyers, and my
sister and I were brought up to think aggressively and to articulate well.
I did that in class.  So did this guy Luc.  He had a deep voice, and talked
really fast, like it was hard for his words to keep up with his brain.  He
also had a slight French accent – Canadian French, not French French –
which I thought was kind of adorable. It was really noticeable when he got
excited by an idea or an argument.

He was, at first glance, a pretty ordinary looking guy, kind of tall, kind
of thin, dark curly hair, nondescript clothes.  But his eyes – they were
extraordinary, an unusual pale blue, like a Siberian husky's.  That's what
he reminded me of.  And it wasn't just the colour of his eyes; it was also
the way he had of zeroing in on something, with this incredible ice blue
intensity.  When I spoke in class, I'd see those Siberian eyes focus in on
me, and sometimes it felt like I was talking to no one but him.

Before Thanksgiving, I had only seen him in lecture halls, where it can be
hard to meet people unless they happen to sit near you. He never sat near
me. But the week after Thanksgiving he showed up at the study group that a
few of us had started for our Economics class.  There were eight of us in
the group, so I hoped we'd get a chance to get to know one another a bit.

Every time I looked at him, he seemed to be looking back.  I couldn't help
but think that he watched me as much as I watched him. Maybe I intrigued
him too.  I hoped so.

***

The second Sunday after Thanksgiving, we had a home game against the number
one ranked team.  We'd never beaten them.  That didn't mean we weren't gong
to try.  The coaches had been doing their best to pump us up all week.  So
had Brandon, the short, blonde fire plug of a scrum half who was team
captain.  He was good guy, Brandon.  A little crazy, like all scrum halfs,
but a true team guy, a natural leader very sensitive to the moods of his
mates and powerful at inspiration and motivation.

All week, I'd been killing myself at practice.  It was my way of coping,
sinking all my physical energy onto the field or the weight room so that by
the time I was done I was pretty much dropping from exhaustion.  I was
using it to avoid thinking, of course.  I'd push myself to the point of
physical exhaustion to make sure I slept.  It wasn't certain that I'd be
playing in this game; as a freshman, I was really an alternate, especially
for critical games.  But our regular flanker had come down with flu, and I
was in.

Somehow, it all came together, and I was really on fire. It was like all
the pain and confusion of the last two weeks were channelled into my legs
and my hands, and I was just unstoppable.  The guys knew it.  The coaches
knew it.  When we won, I was named player of the game. After everything I'd
been through, it was a real high – at least while we were still on the
field.

But afterwards, in the dressing room, I crashed.  All the guys were so
pumped, and they were all over me, but it was like all my emotions had just
stayed out there on the field.  I was drained. The louder they got, the
quieter I got.  I tried.  I really did.  I just couldn't bring myself to
let go.  Finally, I decided it wasn't fair for me to be a wet blanket on
their celebrations, so I made an excuse and left.

Brandon followed me out.

"What's up Scott," he asked, falling into step with me as I headed from the
Athletic Complex back to the residence.  "You've been weird since you came
back after Thanksgiving. Totally hot on the field, but totally absent off
it.  Did something happen?"

He took me by surprise.  "Yeah," I admitted.  Might as well say it.  "I
kinda got dumped."

He didn't say anything for a minute, just grabbed my arm and squeezed as we
kept walking.  "

"Um, boyfriend, right?"

It was the first overt reference to my orientation from a team mate, but I
didn't mind.  It was kind of a relief – and I had invited it.  "Yeah," I
said.  "Boyfriend."

He sighed.  "Me too."

I stopped dead, and looked at him in surprise.  He just laughed.

"Not the boyfriend me too. The Thanksgiving dump me too.  By my
girlfriend."

"Ah."  We started walking again.

"I was kind of expecting it," he said.  "She's still in high school, and
her emails had gotten really distant the last couple of weeks."

"Same with David's," I admitted.  "But I wasn't paying attention.  Took me
by total surprise."

And that's how I found myself heading out to the Student Union for dinner
and a long night of beer drinking with a cute, straight guy, commiserating
about lost love.  By closing time, pretty much the whole team had joined
us.

One thing gay guys are always asking me is what its like hanging around all
these jocks.  You know, all that sweat and contact and shower rooms and
stuff. The truth is, it's like nothing.  They aren't about temptation.
They're just the guys on my team.

For one thing, I' not especially attracted to big muscular guys.  I don't
know why – I mean, it's not that I don't recognize that some of the big
heavily muscled guys aren't objectively hot.  Maybe it's because I'm so
fucking huge myself.  But on a strictly physical basis, I'm just more
attracted to smaller guys – both small, slight guys like David, as well as
lean, elegantly built guys like Josh.

Of course rugby's not like football.  There are smaller guys on rugby teams
– the fly halfs and the scrum halfs especially.  I mean, Brandon is only
about 5' 7, not much taller than David, though he's built like a tank.  But
I don't lust out over those guys either.  Actually, I don't let myself
think that way about team mates at all.  I consider it a kind of
discipline.  As far as I can tell – and I usually can tell – all the guys
on the team are straight, and I don't think about straight guys.  I don't
even fanaticize about 'em.  I don't let myself go there.

It know it's a really common fantasy: doing the straight guy, especially
the straight jock.  But it's not mine.  It was something my uncle warned me
about a long time ago, and I think it's some of the most important advice
he ever gave me.

Ben's a big guy like me – in fact, I'm so much like him that when people
see the two of us together, they often think we're father and son. He was a
jock too, way better than me.  His sport was hockey, and he'd had scouts
all over him from the time he was a kid.  He was a 2nd round pick in the
NHL the year he turned 18, and was playing in the minors when he met
Ry. But being out wasn't even a remote possibility then, and the pressure
of being closeted was so intense that he couldn't handle it, and he walked
away from the game.

Ben coached my hockey team for as long as I played, and when I was about
15, I developed a bit of a crush on one of my team mates.  It wasn't
obvious enough that he or any of the other guys noticed, but it was obvious
enough that Ben did. We were away for a weekend tournament, and all fooling
around in the pool before curfew.  Ben was watching us all, and I guess it
clicked, and he called me on it and he got me alone.

"Scott," he said, in his inimitable blunt way.  "Don't fall for the
straight boys."

I just stared at him, and felt myself go red.

"I mean it, Bud.  It's a no win game.  And it's not just a recipe for heart
break.  It'll ruin sports for you.  The guys won't trust you.  Most of `em
can deal with a gay team mate as long as it doesn't threaten them, but the
minute they catch you lusting after one of them, it threatens them all."

I didn't know what to say.  I had been lusting after Chris, our first line
centre.  He was my favourite jerk off fantasy.  Ben said it was just self
indulgence. He wasn't big on self indulgence.

"He's your friend," he told me.  "He's off limits."

"But what if --."

"No what ifs," he said bluntly. "I don't care what you read on the internet
fantasy sites.  The vast majority of your team mates are straight and
straight boys don't switch teams.  Any more than gay guys turn straight
after screwing girls. Even if you find one who will play for awhile, the
changes are very good that he'll regret it afterwards and blame you.
That'll be the end of the friendship.  Trust me on this."

"But—"

"No buts.  Think of it like this.  Do you have any close friends who are
girls?"

As it happened I did.  I've always had female friends.

"All right.  Imagine one of these girls falls for you."

I grimaced.

"Exactly.  But now imagine that you really care about her.  That she's a
really good friend.  And you're curious about straight sex.  So one night
you go for it.  Do you really think it will make you give up guys? And do
you really think you would be fair to her?  How are you going to feel the
next day?  What's going to happen to the friendship?"

I thought about it.  It made me very uncomfortable.

"Look, Bud.  It may not seem like it in high school, but there are plenty
of gay guys out there.  Just wait; you'll meet someone and it'll be worth
it.  And you will be a lot more likely to keep your straight buddies, even
when they find out you're gay, if you respect the boundaries.  It's
particularly important if you want to keep doing sports."

And that's pretty much how it's played out.  Of course, I know now that
it's more complicated that that, and that there are other gay guys doing
sports.  Ben always knew that too.  But he was laying it out for me bluntly
and simply, to protect me.  And it worked.

Which is why, for the very first time in my life, I was able to get piss
assed drunk with my team mates without worrying about doing anything beyond
what any drunk guy would worry about.  And it's why there were able to take
me home to bed, laughing and giggling, and vowing to help me find a new
man.

The weirdest thing I learned is that apparently it's now cool for straight
jocks to have gay buddies, and especially cool to have a gay jock buddy.
At least on this team. Go figure.

***

A few days later, afternoon practice was cancelled.  November was turning
bleak and due dates for mid term assignments were rapidly approaching.  I
didn't feel like going back to my room, so I headed over to the library to
work on a paper. My favourite third floor reading room was surprisingly
crowded.  All the carols were taken, and there were at least three or four
people at every table.  I looked around for a familiar face and found one
at the far end, near the stacks.  It was Luc.

"Hey," I said.  "Ok if I sit here?

He looked up from his laptop, fixing me with those Siberian eyes.  Then he
kind of smiled and shrugged.  I dropped myself down beside him, powered up
my own laptop, and dove in.

It was hours later when I refocused on him.  The afternoon sun was low in
the sky shooting shadows across the reading room, and I was surprised to
look around and see that it was almost deserted.  Luc and I were the only
two people left at the table.  Luc was sitting back with his eyes closed,
singly softly to the music from his Ipod. It must have been the soft, deep
rumble of his voice that had pulled me out of my research.

I was sitting to his right, and found myself studying his profile.  I
hadn't realized just how very good looking he really was.  Black curly hair
was pushed back from his forehead.  Perfect brows.  Straight nose.  Skin so
pale it was almost translucent.  And great bones, all planes and angles,
the kind I knew that David's camera would love.  I wondered idly what
Josh's artist would have made of him.

Slowly, I became aware of the words he was singing, the song that had
pulled me away from my paper and into this intimate study of him.

Oh I want you, I want you, I want you!  On a chair with a dead magazine In
a cave at the tip of the lily In some hallway where love's never been On a
bed where the moon has been sweating In a cry filled with footsteps and
sand...  (from Take this Waltz Copyright © Leonard Cohen and Sony/ATV Music
Publishing Canada Company)

Leonard Cohen.  Not what I would have expected.  I watched him, fascinated,
mouthing the words to myself until the song was over, and he shifted and
opened his eyes.  He looked shocked to see me watching him, as if he'd been
caught doing something bad.

"He was executed by the Fascists," I said.

The confusion in those ice blue eyes was adorable.

"Federico Garcia Lorca.  He wrote the words – well, the Spanish poem that
Cohen based the song on."

Luc just stared at me.

"He was gay," I said.  "Lorca, not Cohen.  The poem may well have been
written for a man."

To my surprise, Luc flushed, and I saw his hands tighten on the edge of the
table.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a
whisper.

I shrugged.  "It's one of my favourite songs. You seemed so into it.  I
thought you might like to know. Sorry."

He just stared at me with those Siberian eyes.  It was getting way too
intense, so I changed the subject.

"So what are you working on?"

He relaxed as we moved into the safer ground of his economics paper, and
gradually our conversation became friendly and easy.  Half an hour later,
my stomach started rumbling.  Loudly.  Which made us both laugh.

"I gotta feed it," I said.  "You going for dinner?"  While I'd never seen
him around, I assumed he lived somewhere on campus. Most freshman did.

"Yeah, I guess I'll head home."

"You don't live in res?"

"No.  I've got an apartment. Condo actually. About 10 minutes from here.
My parents have owned it for years.  I've got three older brothers, and
they all went here too.  I'm the only one here now, though.  All my
brothers have graduated."

A condo ten minutes from here.  I looked at him curiously.  There weren't
many condos in this small university town.  "Out on South Shore Road?" I
asked.

"Yeah.  You know it?"

"I've got a friend who lives there.  A graduate economics student.  Josh
Templeton.  Do you know him?"

To my surprise, Luc dropped his eyes, blushing furiously.  "Not really, he
said. "I mean, we've met."

Interesting.  Knowing Josh's proclivity for hitting on guys for casual sex,
and his self- declared infallible gaydar, I found myself wondering if it
could be possible...

Suddenly, I wanted to find out.

"Why don't you come over to the dining hall with me?" I asked.  "I've got a
bunch of guest tickets I'll never use.  Almost everyone I know is in res."

Dinner was good.  We talked about our classes and what we were working on
and music and poets of all things.  I guess the Leonard Cohen song got us
there. He told me he played piano, jazz mostly.  We talked for a couple of
hours and then I walked him to the student parking lot.

"I did know," he said with a shy smile, as he was climbing into his car.
"About Lorca."

***

The first thing I did the next night as Josh and I walked across campus to
the Rainbow pub was ask if he knew Luc.

His mouth softened into a little smile.  "Ah.  Sweet Quebecois boy.
Adorable accent.  Thinks he wants to be a lawyer."

I nodded. "That would be him.  So you know him?"

Josh actually looked a little sheepish.  "A little.  I helped Luc a bit
when he moved in.  I actually know his older twin brothers better.  We were
undergraduates together.  Robert--" Josh pronounced it the French way, "Is
in law school in Halifax, and Michel is in med school in Montreal.  They're
twins, though it's hard to believe when you meet them.  Misha looks a lot
like Luc: tall and dark and thin.  Robert's shorter and stocky, fair
haired.  They all have those eyes though.  Why?  What do you want to know
about Luc?"

"Well, is he --?"

I stopped, realizing suddenly that this was a very odd thing to be asking.
And not really fair.  I mean, if Luc were gay, and if he wanted me to know,
he'd have said something.  Wouldn't he?  I mean, he probably knew I was.
Most people seemed to.

"Batting for our team?" Josh asked for me.

I nodded.

"Well," he said slowly.  "He'd say not.  I'd beg to differ."

"Are you sure?"

Josh nodded.  "I usually am.  But with him, I'm certain."

"How can you be?"

He was silent a moment, as if he were deciding what he could trust me with.
"I kissed him," he said finally.

For some reason, I felt a weird little stab of jealously at his admission.
"And?"

"And – fire, baby.  Til I put my hand on his dick.  Shit.  He ran so hard
he damn near landed in last week."

I laughed, despite myself.  "There could be a lot of explanations for that,
Josh.  Like maybe he's straight."

Josh shook his head.  "No way, Big Guy.  That was no straight run, let me
tell you."

"How can you be so certain?"

Again he was quiet for awhile.  Then he said, "Look.  I'm not normally one
to kiss and tell.  But he kissed me back, ok? And I never felt a dick that
hard in my whole life.  Um...and he shot the instant I touched him."

He grabbed my arm, bringing us to a stop.

"The only reason I'm telling you this is that I want you to be careful,
Scott," he said.

I guess I looked surprised.

"Why?"

"Because I know you.  You're the quintessential romantic, a true-love,
happily-ever-after kind of guy. You've been through a lot in the last
while.  You've only ever had one lover and he just dumped you. You're not
over it yet.  I'm not sure getting involved with a guy like Luc is a very
good idea.  Be careful, babe. I don't want you to get hurt again.  That
boy's so deep in the closet he's found Narnia. He's in deep denial. And
he's very, very scared."

And then, to my surprise, he leaned over and kissed my mouth very softly.

Then he grabbed my arm and continued walking to the pub. I let him lead me.
I felt very confused.

Luc was gay.

And Josh had kissed me.