Carva - Not Into Hookups

CHAPTER 1

Joe walks into Chester's with confidence. Confidence hewouldn't normally have at school and wouldn't normally have at home.Confidence, because he's alone and in a new city and landed an internship at anenvironmental firm.

"So, how long are you going to be in San Fernando?"a guy asks him. His name is Mike; he works at the Cheesecake Factory.

"Not too long," Joe says. "I mean, longenough that I'll be able to get some experience. But then I want to move to abetter city."

"That's cool. You don't like it here?"

Joe hesitates. It's not that he doesn't. He does like San Antonio; it's a city that's been hiding him away for months now. Back in New Jersey, none of his friends or family know about his...tendencies. At night, forinstance, he'll Google images of hot guys without their shirts, or pants, orunderwear. And he'll jack off, rub his cock, make himself come two times. Thenthe overwhelming sense of guilt sets in and he prays compulsively twotimes--penance for his "bad deeds".

"It's good to not be home," Joe says. "Iwant to enjoy my summer for sure."

"Oh, I would imagine. There's so much to do in thiscity." Mike leans back in his wicker chair. They're sitting outside wherethe winds blow gently, on a patio with a sliding door, constantly creaking andletting in new, hot men. A ruckus grows around them. The night is picking up.

"You come to Chester's often?" Joe says.

"Not often enough. Always got work and stuff. And thenI want to enroll come the fall." The lighting is kind of dim, obscuringMike's expression. His eyes clearly shine a desolate light though, a sort ofsadness found amongst grievers. "Some days I think about leaving San Antonio all together."

"You've seen enough of it?"

"Probably."

They both sip on beers and rap the steel table in front ofthem. There are bouts of silence punctuating their conversation, and so theyhave nothing else to do, really, nothing but to tap, tap, tap.

"You're really cute," Mike says. "Actually,that's why I kept looking at you."

"Oh?"

When Joe first came in, he noticed Mike constantly glancingat him from across the room. He, Mike, seemed--and still is--cute, wearing hishear in short spikes, a tight t-shirt, and shorts right above the knee,revealing a good amount of muscle. Joe would glance back occasionally.Eventually, Joe meandered over to him, and said, "It's kind of rude tostare."

"You're just really, really cute," Mike says."I guess I still owe you that second round."

"No," Joe says, laughing. "I'm not offendedat all. And you don't have to buy me anything."

"No, no, it's on me."

Mike stands and saunters back in, then returns with asingle beer. He puts it down on the table, knocking aside the first, andbrandishes it.

"You drink it all, now, cutie," he says.

***

New Jersey proved to betrying.

Joe's family made many moves--north, south, then finallycentral--before settling down and buying a house. They purchased the whitepicket kind, with the manicured lawn and all the neighbors busying themselvesin each other's business. That was the thing about New Jersey: everyone iscrammed together, so everyone has to know one another.

Especially in the school systems. The classes remainedsmall, and the students, small-minded. Joe would find himself lagging behind inthe normal behavioral metrics and social landmarks, like making friends or goodmarks. And his classmates honed in on his weaknesses.

He's stupid.

He's socially retarded.

He's gay.

It was the last to hurt him the most, not because of the implicationsof gay being stupid or retarded, but because it was true.

He was gay.

He liked to stare at the boys in class the most. He likedto look at their hard abs, when they played on the football field. Sometimes,he would join optional wrestling electives to get close to them.

The musk. The sweat. The heat. They made him hard under hisgym shorts. He would purposefully lose matches before he became too visible.Rock solid.

And then came the days when he would jack off in thebathrooms. He would get utterly pounded by the thoughts of seeing thequarterback in his tights and spandex and outfitted in a helmet and pads. Joewould kneel on the tile floor, thinking about how he could be dominatedcompletely, and would yield, sucking what should be the biggest cock on campus,the thickest, the loveliest...

Joe couldn't do any of this at home though. No. His parentswould never let him. His classmates would revile him.

***

"What're you thinking about?" Mike says.

"Nothing, sorry." Joe finishes his beer. The lastsip clears his throat out, and he smiles. He hasn't smiled in a while,actually. The constant euphoria of having left home left him stunned for solong. Relaxing is finally possible. "You're pretty cute too, you know that?"

Mike grins, a cocky cowboy's smirk. "Yeah? I'm gladyou think so."

"You drive right?"

"I do."

"You want to get out of here and...I don't know. Dosomething else?"

"Like?" The grin dissipates. Mike leans closer,smelling of cologne and vanilla. "I don't do hookups," he says."I'm just telling you up front about that."

"That's cool. I don't either."

But by now, the crowd around them on the patio has explodedinto a hurricane of whoops and shouts. There are guys dancing by the patiorailings leading downstairs, where others begin to grope in the shadows.

"You want to take a walk?" Mike says. "Wecan do that."

"Sure."

Joe pats his legs for his wallet and phone. Then he standsand follows Mike through the crowd of people, back into a hazy bar. Stools lieabout, and guys chat in deep and high voices. Some ignore Joe completely, whileothers take the initiative to chance a look; he can only focus on the guyleading him out though.

"Where did you park?" Mike says.

"Over by the trees and that one bench."

"That's far."

"There wasn't much room."

No room now. Especially with the guys getting rowdy indifferent parts of the lot. The two have to squeeze between a crass groupyelling and prancing about, and another group grinding to some eighties countrymusic. Mike reaches behind himself and finds Joe's hand.