Date: Tue, 20 Dec 2011 07:20:35 -0800 (PST)
From: Mike Pendragon <mike.pendragon@yahoo.com>
Subject: Harrington 16

I'd like to say that our time at Harvard was as idyllic as our four years
at St. Phillip's. But it wasn't. We had grown beyond the experimenting
teens at a boarding school into young men hurtling toward adulthood,
careers, and .... what?

I still desperately loved Teddy. And we still had ecstatic sex in our
shared room. But somehow it wasn't the same. Our lives were much busier
and Teddy rediscovered friends from Country Day who had gone to Andover,
Exeter, St. Paul's and a half dozen other exclusive prep schools. I think
he was torn between making new friends, renewing friendships and keeping me
in the loop. Plus we had radically different classes. I was heading for
English literature and writing; Teddy was discovering his passion for
history, politics, government and law. I had no idea where that came from
until one of his old friends informed me that he actually came from a
political dynasty -- and was expected to continue that dynasty when he
graduated.

I was floored! So I did a little research and asked a few pointed
questions and discovered it was true. Teddy the extraordinary extrovert
was being groomed for political life. He had never even mentioned it in
all of our four years, in spite of our long, intimate relationship. In
fact, Max had never said anything about it, either, nor had Teddy's
ice-queen mother.

So why the mystery? I've tried to figure it out most of my life and still
haven't been able to sort out the dichotomy of Teddy as a sexual being and
career politician.

We still had sex. Harvard in the era of "free love" was a wonderful place
to meet and hook up with incredibly sexy men/boys. We had our share of
private times in our rooms together and a few times with one or two others
-- mostly when they were all stoned. I never did smoke pot; I tried twice
and simply didn't like what it did to me.

A couple of the guys got into heavier stuff, acid, LSD, and harder drugs,
and I told Teddy in no uncertain terms that I wanted no part of that. I'm
not sure how much Teddy experimented because he always went somewhere else
to do it. At least he respected my limits in our room, but he was away
more often than I wanted. Some nights he'd come slinking in very late, get
undressed, and collapse into bed without saying a word. Plus he was
drinking a lot more than I thought was good for him.

His grades didn't seem to suffer, and although he'd never been an academic
star, he seemed to excel in some of the political science classes. I was a
better student than I'd been at St. Phillip's, acing every class I took and
excelling in Renaissance literature and in writing. By the beginning of my
junior year I was editing the Harvard paper, an underground magazine, a
literary magazine, and had even had a few pieces published in the New
Yorker and other magazines.

The summer of our freshman year we had gone to Eastern Europe and the
Mediterranean, knocking around without a plan or purpose and fucking
everywhere we could. I thought it would go on forever.

But we grew apart. We remained friends but were less intimate until by the
winter of sophomore year all sex stopped entirely. I was miserable,
lonely, incredibly horny and frustrated, so I immersed myself in my
writing. I'd have frantic, solitary jerk off sessions that emptied my
balls but left me feeling empty. It was mechanical, a physical necessity,
but nothing more. I've never been more hollow as a person.

Oddly, I didn't seek solace elsewhere with other men -- and there were
plenty to find. It was a hormone-enraged place. But I loved Teddy and
didn't want to have sex just to get off. I needed a relationship -- which
still existed -- but it was unfulfilled.

Our schedules continued to pry us apart day and night. Teddy fell into the
political crowd and spent long hours debating foreign policy, world events,
the War, the protests, domestic policy and anything else that could be
scrutinized or discussed. It bored me to tears.

I fell in with the literary crowd, getting off on the Mystical poets,
trying poetry, and moving inexorably toward journalism. I still loved
Teddy, but it wasn't the same.

Sometime in February, Teddy dragged me along to a dance at Wellesley, still
an all-girls school as Harvard was all boys. That night would change
everything.

I didn't dance, wasn't comfortable around women, and had no desire to mix
with a bunch of people I didn't know very well. The group was mainly
Teddy's political student friends and I suppose inviting me was his way to
reach out and keep me in the loop as we drifted further apart.

That was the night he met Margaret. Beautiful, blue-eyed, slim,
intelligent Margaret. He saw her across the dance floor and stood
transfixed. He nudged me and asked, "Oh my God, who is that?"

I strained to see and had no idea who he was looking at, scanning the crowd
for some hot guys.

"No, dope!" he whispered. "Over there." He pointed to a group of girls
near the entrance. "Her."

At that moment, she turned toward us and her face lit up with a wonderful
smile, then she lowered her eyes and went back to her friends, laughing.

I turned to say something to Teddy but we was already gone, moving around
the dancers toward her. I couldn't believe it. Teddy and a girl? What
was that all about?

I'll spare writing the details -- for me they are too painful, even all
these years later. They became inseparable. I saw even less of him and he
stayed away longer, sometimes all weekend, leaving Friday after classes and
coming back late Sundays, smelling of her. He'd strip off his clothes,
reeking of recent hetereo sex, and jump in the shower, then sit around
naked, playing with his cock and balls while he read in bed. I was in
agony.

He never shared details, never boasted, never threw the new relationship in
my face. I was somewhat curious but also appalled that he could switch
sides so quickly. I respected his privacy about his time with Margaret but
died inside when he was gone and I knew he was with her.

Our plans to prowl the West Coast that summer were derailed in late April
when Teddy announced he was going to the coast of Maine to be near
Margaret. We had planned to do San Francisco, the Russian River Valley, a
few choice resorts, then Palm Springs and Las Vegas on the way back. Teddy
explained that he couldn't stay with her in Maine but he had convinced his
father to rent a house along the coast near Kennebunkport so he was within
driving distance. Apparently I wasn't invited. If he had punched me in the
stomach I couldn't have been more devastated. Where would I go, what would
I do without Teddy?

Of course, I met Margaret a few times and she was pleasant and polite
toward me, assuming I was little more than Teddy's hapless roommate. She,
too, was a political science major and came from an old Philadelphia family
with strong political connections. They were a perfect match: handsome
and beautiful, intelligent and sincere, extroverted and well-connected, and
both wealthy and secure, whatever they decided to do.

She apparently had no idea that Teddy and I had been passionate lovers for
years. He never said a word about his duplicity or sudden change of
allegiances and I was too angry and hurt to bring it up. I retreated into
my literary shell and sublimated my anger in my work, producing some
strikingly good writing and harsh, incisive reporting as a freelance
writer.

In mid-May I called Chad at Princeton and wondered if he'd like company in
Montana for at least a few weeks. He almost leapt through the phone and
suggested we meet in New York City to make plans. I took the train from
Boston to Penn Station on Memorial Day weekend and we spent a wonderful
three days together, holing up in some dingy hotel, but spending most of
our waking hours in museums and galleries, seeing plays, and eating at
wonderful restaurants.

That first night I told Chad about what was happening with Teddy, how
everything had changed, and how miserable I was. To say he was comforting
would be an understatement. I don't think I had cried since I released all
of my grief in Teddy's arms after my mother died. Chad held me and rocked
me as I recounted all of the hurt, confusion and hollowness I felt, then he
made wonderful, tender love with me that lasted hours.

We agreed to meet up at the Montana ranch on the first of July.