Date: Sun, 14 Aug 2005 22:00:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: M Quincey <mycroftq@yahoo.com>
Subject: Hey, Beautiful -- part one

Disclaimer:  This story depicts sexual relationships between men.   It's
a first-time submission to nifty and light on sex scenes.

___________________

Hey, Beautiful

He stayed in the shower for a few hours with the bathroom light off so
the room was cast in a deep blackness except for a thin slice of
moonlight.  During his long shower he sometimes he stood, but usually he
squatted with his arms tucked around his trim legs.

He rocked back and forth at the start of the shower, trying to feel
better, but now his back resting against the white tiles and, because it
was three a.m. and he was tired, he sank down and sat on the grimy shower
floor -- he had avoided sitting on it before but now he did not care.  He
mused that he, Matthew Alsagoff, was scum anyway.

Matthew sat with his legs crunched up in front of him and his head
resting on his knees, water from the shower streamed down his lithe
body.  He ran his fingers through his own raven black hair with a
tenderness that had been absent before, from himself and from the guy he
messed around with earlier.  A few moments later Matthew fell asleep for
a few minutes in the shower.  He shook himself awake, and finally lifted
himself up groggily and turned the water off.  Eyes closed, he rested his
head against the cool shower door.

He vaguely wondered how many gallons the water heater in the basement
must have to keep the shower hot for hours.  The hot water was one
advantage to being in a dorm.  The other, he hoped, was that no one was
around this late on a weeknight to see him.  He stepped out of the shower
and wrapped his blue towel around his waste, his amazingly defined
abdominal muscles shown a pale hue under the moonlight seeping through
the fog on the barred windows.  He leaned against the sink and brushed
his teeth again, for the second time that night.

He paused from brushing and wiped away the fog on the mirror to look at
his own face -- angular and handsome with deep gray-blue eyes and thick
black bags underneath his eyelids.  He had read somewhere that those
black bags were due to bruising of the ocular muscles.  He was working
too hard again.

Suddenly the bathroom was flooded with florescent white light as someone
opened the bathroom door.  Matthew shielded his eyes and pulled his
foamed toothbrush out of his mouth and held it like it was a dagger meant
to fend off the intruder.

"Hey Matt," Tracy said.  She was bundled in a comfortable and sporty
yellow robe and her black flip-flops caused a distinct scuffing sound.
She glanced at his tensed arm and well defined biceps -- a sculpted part
of his slender, athletic build.  Then she regarded him curiously.

"Kinda late, isn't it?"  She asked.

"Yeah,"  Matthew put down the toothbrush, and made himself look busy by
rinsing his mouth.

"You ok?"  She asked bluntly.  Matthew smiled sheepishly -- he really
liked Tracy.  She was very cute with short cut platinum blonde hair and
had an engaging, playful manner but she also had intellectual depth and
gave him vibes of a deeper understanding.  Matthew could see why he was
always tempted to kiss her.  What is wrong with me? -- Matthew thought in
a flash.

"Ah," Matthew said, "yeah, I'm fine just kind of sore from crew
practice and I drank too much."

Neither statement was true.  Matthew was tired from practice, sure, but
not that sore and he only had one beer earlier to fit in.

"Drinking too much?"  Tracy asked, surprised.  That fact didn't fit
the Matthew she knew.

"Well, not really."  Matthew backpedaled. "I've got some stuff due
tomorrow.  Must be nerves.  I should get some sleep.  It's always good
to see you, Tracy."

Matthew moved to the door -- always good to see you?  What an odd
comment, but he thought Tracy would get the meaning.  He did like seeing
her.

"Wait, Matthew..."  Tracy called out in a warm manner.

"Yeah?"  He turned, squinting and swaying from real fatigue.

"Didn't you already brush your teeth?"  She asked with playfulness
meant too be disarming but not flirtatious.  She had seen him hours
before in the bathroom when he brushed his teeth before getting in the
shower.

"Yeah."  He smiled politely, the cold hallway air chilling him so he
had goosebumps.  He started walking backwards.

"Oh.  Okay.  Good night."  She said, clearly a little worried.  Matthew
turned and walked down the hallway towards his room.

"So, Matthew, are we all still going to the climbing gym this Friday
afternoon?"  She called out.

"Yeah," he waved over his shoulder, catching some of his old charm back
and he put on a gentle smile, "wouldn't miss it.  Good night."

He fumbled around in his single studio aimlessly before falling asleep.

*  *

The courtyard was a striking wintry white when Matthew woke up and stared
out his window in the morning.  It was seven a.m. and he was unable to go
back to sleep. He had that same dream again, where he could feel the
warmth of a lover he never had and heard him whisper in his ear "hey,
beautiful..."

Matthew felt disgusted at himself.  He jumped out of bed dressed only in
his boxer-briefs, and after darting to the bathroom to relieve himself,
pounced on the floor to do push-ups.  Then he punched and kicked the air
for one-half hour, practicing the martial arts he learned as a teenager.
Finally, somewhat calm, he sat on his bed and looked out the window at
the fresh snow and the writhing branches of the old oak tree.

Matthew stood and put on a pair of jeans and considered for the hundredth
time out how hot his room was from the poorly regulated steam heaters
that constantly clanked like the boiler room of an old civil war
ironclad.  He'd seen one once at the exhibit along the Virginia
shoreline when he was growing up.

He opened his window, which swung outward and was decorated with a
complex blackened metalworking weave amongst the glass that was the
signature of most windows at this ivy league college.  The cold air
rushed in.  He heard a crow caw somewhere in the rooftops and this made
him smile.  The scavengers always make it.

Then he thought about Jon -- what a mess.

A few months ago Bryce had mentioned to Matthew that he was certain that
Jon was "pathetically" gay but in the closet.  Matthew hadn't really
noticed but the next time he talked with Jon, it made sense, and it also
meant that Matthew could make a well-planned move.

Jon was five-foot six and shorter than Matthew by half a foot.  Jon was
also slightly built and pretty cute and reserved most of the time with a
lopsided smile, although he did attend my clubs and was animated in
organized settings.  Jon was a classic good guy -- a first generation,
like Matthew.  This meant that he got into the ivy leagues through his
own hard work and some luck and not as a legacy or due to extravagant
wealth or connections.

So Matthew knew he had the upper-hand with Jon, even if, in truth, he was
just as secretly desirous of other men.  Matthew knew he himself was very
handsome and wondered if it was obvious to his friends that he was mostly
gay, then again, he kept them on their toes with the few pretty girls he
casually hooked up with occasionally, like Magdalen or Emma or Julie.

He did like the girls and for the most part had fun, a little empty fun,
because he really wanted to have sex with a guy, clear and simple.
Matthew's past was a little checkered in this department.  When Matthew
was thirteen, he had given a lot of blow jobs for a few months to some
older high school students who lived in his neighborhood, but after being
beaten pretty badly by two of them on a few occasions, Matthew stopped.
He became determined not to be gay.

He did get some sexual arousal from women and was able to masturbate
while thinking about them and he tried to avoid incorporating other boys
into his fantasies.  This worked through high school and expanded until
he was able to have sex with a girlfriend that he had cared about, but
now, in college, he knew he wanted something more.

Matthew considered how hard he had fought his feelings and the years of
disciplined work and the few times he came close to kissing or fondling
another guy but stopped himself.   What stupid sexual repression hidden
behind the illusion of noble self-restraint? -- Matthew chastised
himself.

With his looks and intelligence he should have snagged whom he wanted.
He should have fucked all those guys with whom he had felt some sexual
tension.  Was he just a coward?  Actually, Matthew considered, not
really, Bryce was the coward -- using alcohol, drugs and money and any
means or justification to "get some pussy."

Matthew always wanted sex with another man and Jon was the guy Matthew
could be okay with rationally -- Jon was friendly, pretty good looking,
clearly interested and unlikely to have an STD, plus Matthew was pretty
sure that Jon would be his friend afterwards -- his plutonic friend.
Matthew didn't want a relationship.  Besides, Jon could be trusted not
to tell other people

Matthew had spent the past few weeks vaguely considering the timing of it
all.  He would hang out occasionally with Jon and his friends like he
always did.  Then he would spend a few times alone with Jon, talking
about common interests -- usually politics or achitecture.  Then, when
break was about to come and he knew Jon had a flight the next day, he
would ask Jon to come over and hang out -- maybe watch a movie.  He would
tell Jon that he, Matthew, was randy he'd like to explore Jon's body,
if he didn't mind, because it was college and time to experiment.  All
of this happened last night, just like Matthew planned.

 _________

Comments (good, bad or obscurely neutral) are appreciated.