Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (17 page)

Dammit!

Alan told me that we wouldn't be able to see each other during the upcoming weekend because his parents were visiting, but that he'd make it up to me Monday evening. Something was definitely up, so I concentrated on that and didn't utter a single peep about not being invited to meet his parents. It would have been nice, but why risk giving them any ideas before we had to? Besides, I'd rather run naked through the streets of Grand Rapids than have to dodge his father's bullets, anyway.

Ryan and I were sitting in the student center the following Monday, reeling from the stench of all the stories about last year's spring break still being exaggerated around us. It was getting to the point where I wanted to avoid the place, but then, students were talking about it everywhere. Hibernating in my room was always an option, only that would be interpreted as hiding, and I refused to allow myself to do that.

Actually, I don't think I could have hidden anymore anyway. Thanks to Tristan, way too many people knew who I was, and I now had a reputation for being “one of those.” The whole sordid episode was making me crabby, which really pissed me off!

As troubled as I was, Ryan looked equally bothered about something.

"What's wrong? Aerosmith write a pop song?” I smiled and took a sip of my Pepsi.

"Don't even joke about that!” he snapped. “They better not. Next thing you know, they'll be doing soundtracks.” The thought sent a cold shiver up his spine. “I'm just thinking about some of the junk mail I've been getting at home from school. Mom usually goes through it and throws it out, but lately, she's piling the stuff up on my desk."

"What kind of stuff?"

"From some organization—I haven't really looked at it closely. With so much crap happening lately, I've been focusing on making a major effort to handle things in a very mature manner."

"You sent yourself a gift subscription to
Playboy
to get your parents off your back, didn't you?"

"No, but that's an idea."

"So, what is this major effort of yours?"

"I haven't sworn in seventy-two hours."

"That's unprecedented!” I complimented him. “That has got to take a lot of fucking effort."

"You're God—” He caught himself. “You jack—” And did so again. “It does, doesn't it? I have to admit that even I'm a little impressed with myself. Man.” He paused. “I wish I could remember the name of that school organization. Have you ever heard of the Ten Percent Club?"

I was in mid-sip when he asked me, and I nearly choked!

"Yeah,” I rasped, “I've heard of it."

He handed me a few napkins.

"Well?” he pressed when I didn't offer an explanation. “Are you going to keep me in suspense or do I have to go place an ad in the paper for someone to explain it to me?"

"That was a little below the belt.” I cleared my throat again and breathed deeply. “Believe me when I tell you that you don't want to know what it is."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes...” He glared at me. “...I do."

"Okay.” I looked around us at the crowd of people and tried to figure out some clever way to tell him without anyone overhearing the conversation. “You remember that thing that I am that you aren't and strongly resent anyone making implications that you might be?"

He ought to be able to figure it out now.

"Oh, no.” Yep, he figured it out. “Somebody paid the penny and signed me up as a member of one of those Columbia House Music Clubs, didn't they?” Ryan sighed in disgust. “I knew they'd get me one day."

"No,” I told him, “not that. I'm talking about that
other
difference between us. The
big
difference."

"Big difference?"

"Yeah.” I urged him on to think. “The big, big difference."

"If this is going back to the size of my penis..."

"I'm talking about something much bigger than that.” I wanted to smack him. “You know what I mean."

"Oh, you mean the big,
big
difference?"

I nodded that he was correct, but I still wanted to smack him.

"Okay, but what does that have to do with the mail I'm getting?"

"Well...” How did I explain this? “It's thought that at least ten percent of the population is like me. Anyway, some of them have gotten together and started a campus organization called what you said you were getting mail from. I don't know how they got your name, though.” I did have a theory. “Well, I think it's a safe assumption how they got your name, or at least, who gave it to them."

"That son of a..."

I looked at him and smiled, a reminder that he was about to break his record of seventy-two hours.

"...bleacher!” He gritted his teeth. “And these people get together and have meetings and things like that?"

"Apparently. They must if they actually have literature to send out. Campus organizations generally do. Why?"

"What do they talk about?” Ryan stared at me. “I mean, really. What do they have to talk about?"

"Let's put this in perspective.” I stared right back at him. “What do straight guys sit around and talk about when they're together?” I was pretty sure they weren't even closely related, but I had to give him a frame of reference. After all, he wasn't a part of the club. On the other hand, if I managed to convert one more person, I'd get that toaster oven I'd had my eye on.

"I've got to get my name off their list.” Ryan just didn't know how, nor did I, for that matter. “I told my parents the phone calls were from a bunch of people in class and I don't think they believed me. Now I've got mail coming from a gay organization? How do I explain that?” He looked at me as if I should magically be able to tell him. “My mother has been whispering on the phone lately. What do you think she's saying, and who's on the other end?” Good questions. “Do you think this club has an office or something?"

"Probably, but I'd call instead, if I were you. You never know who's going to see you walking in there, and then you'll have all these excuses and explanations to come up with. It's not worth it, so call."

He still didn't look very happy. I suppose I wouldn't either if my mother started reading material sent to me about a gay organization and then started whispering on the phone, especially since my mother never whispered.

"You okay?"

"I'm going to kill him.” Ryan was determined. Whether or not he'd actually resort to violence was anybody's guess, but he was determined about something. “Anyone getting this big a kick out of causing so much trouble deserves to die."

"No,” I countered, “I'm going to kill him first, but you can kill him second."

"I'm really not in the mood for this. One more thing today, and I swear to God...” He looked up and saw a few girls from our creative writing class approaching our table. “Oh, what the hell do you want?"

"Have you seen this?” One laid down a sheet of paper in front of him. “It's an ad for an art show, and since Professor Gevaultski asked the class to culture you in any way we feel appropriate, we think it would be a genuine sign of character if you went with us."

Was it possible Ryan had an admirer? I'd heard that women were sometimes attracted to the mouthy ones since they were a bit of a challenge.

"Do you see this?” Ryan raised his middle finger. “Why don't you run back to your sorority house and sit on an object this reminds you of. I'm sure you have one. Most girls like you do."

I'd have been willing to bet that if she had been an admirer before, she wasn't now. Her friends weren't much help either. They just kind of stood there and gawked.

"Uh...” I tried to find some way of diffusing the situation. “That was Ryanspeak for ‘No, because I already have other important plans of a personal nature that require my immediate attention, but thank you for your gracious offer, nonetheless, and I hope to take you up on another one sometime in the very near future and at your earliest convenience.’”

"You don't need to talk to me that way.” She glared at Ryan. “I'm not like that Tristan guy. Everybody knows he uses vulgar language and jumps into bed with any weak-minded tramp with low morals around."

"Ryan's right.” I changed my mind. “Fuck off."

We watched as the one who'd spoken bit the edge of her lip, turned around and walked away. The rest followed.

"Anyway.” I picked up the conversation without skipping a beat. “I can't wait to get back to my room today. Alan's parents were up this weekend and I didn't see him at all, so he promised to surprise me with something and I'm hoping it's you-know-what!"

"Oh, good. You're sharing too much again.” Ryan turned away from me.

"I'm in a giving mood lately. I think the spirit of Snooky is with me."

"Oh, for crying out...” He looked more agitated than ever. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get Kim to stop talking about her last semester? Do not start that crap again. She's a Detroit-area urban legend. There is no Snooky."

"Oh, but there is.” Now I was deliberately pushing his buttons. “She's a complete and total dominatrix. At least, that's what Dani, Sandi and Carolyn say. Likes to tell people to lick her, too. Cantankerous, yet lovely.” That was a good word. “Lovely. I like that word. Alan is lovely. I think I'm in love with him, so that theoretically makes me lovely, too."

"So now you're in love with each other?"

"We think so.” I told him—quite proudly, actually. “He thinks he loves me, I think I love him, we think we love each other. He almost makes me happy."

"I'm happy that you're almost happy and I will be happy, too—if you can ever shut up about it.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “You're starting to sound like every other idiotic couple I know. ‘Oh, my god. He's so awesome. I'm so awesome. We're so awesome. Look at us. Envy us. The world is our oyster.’ It makes me wanna gag."

"Sorry.” I laughed. “He is pretty awesome, by the way."

"I really hate you."

"Hey, guys,” Kim greeted us and slid into the booth next to Ryan. She was in what she called her “grubs,” clothes she wouldn't be caught dead in if she was looking to find a man but fine for getting from one place to another in a hurry if nobody important noticed. We apparently didn't rank as important. “What have you two been talking about?"

"Hardly anything at all.” Ryan smiled, because he knew his not telling her would annoy her.

"The usual.” I added. “You know, dominatrix stuff, the legend of Snooky, kissing, bondage, marriage, those sorts of things."

"Ohhhh ... you and Alan kissed? Coulda fuckin’ been me!” Kim looked like a deer caught in headlights. Apparently, that particular thought wasn't supposed to have been shared out loud. She recovered with the widest grin she could muster. “I mean, that's so sweet!"

I flashed Ryan a smug little look.

"And Snooky is the shit!"

"You're late,” Ryan informed her.

"Words a girl never wants to hear.” She cleared her throat. “I was getting some extra tutoring from this cute guy in the Biology Department, then I had to run home, throw on my grubs and tennis shoes so I could meet you guys."

"You don't have a biology class this semester.” This was just sick, sad and wrong.

"He doesn't know that. Meow meow meow.” Kim looked very pleased with herself. “Besides, he's gorgeous, and I think there's definitely something there this time."

"Are you sure he's straight?” Ryan and I asked in stereo.

"Didn't I just get done saying that I think there's something there this time?” She looked offended. “Besides, I caught him staring at my babies."

"Sheep stare at those things.” Ryan had a point.

"Hell,” I added, “I'm gay, and I've stared at them. I'm even willing to bet that Alan and Tristan have stared at them."

"I don't need this shit. My name is Kim.” She went to her happy place. “Ooh! There he is!” I turned to see where she was looking and waving. Sure enough, a dark-haired student a year or two older than myself was heading our way. Admittedly, he
was
cute, and, if he was tutoring biology students, smart, too. “Troy, these are my best friends Andy Stevenson and Ryan Vance."

"Andy Stevenson?” He perked up. “The one whose name was in the paper?” I groaned. Here we went again. “That really was a sucker punch you got dealt and to have it come from Tristan ... Everyone always talks about what a slut he is."

"No shit.” I couldn't even be nice about it anymore.

"I don't know how you missed that one.” Troy now turned to Ryan. “You're not
the
Ryan Vance?” He energetically shook Ryan's hand. While it was a relief to me not to have to perform that stupid little function, his attention towards Ryan struck me as a little odd.

"I have a reputation that precedes?” Ryan sounded amused that someone knew who he was and didn't appear antagonistic.

"So I understand.” Troy laughed heartily. “I'm certainly looking forward to seeing you at our next meeting."

"What meeting is that?” I piped up.

"At the Ten Percent Club.” He informed the three of us. “I'm the president of the organization, and I take it upon myself to personally make sure every name given to us receives our literature in the mail and, if possible, a personal invitation to their first meeting."

"Service with a smile! It doesn't get any better than this.” Kim acted as if she'd struck gold with this guy. “And so thoughtful of you, too! Can friends come?"

"I'll be getting along home.” I grabbed my backpack and coat. Ryan looked at me with a mixture of anger and terror while Kim appeared excited and completely clueless. I felt guilty about leaving him there on his own with the president of an organization that was inadvertently destroying his home life, but I had a surprise waiting for me and that took precedence. “See you guys later. Have your people get in touch with my people and we'll do lunch."

"What's the Ten Percent Club?” I heard Kim ask as I rounded the corner and left the building as fast as my legs could carry me.

A surprise, a surprise, I was getting a surprise! Okay, maybe Alan didn't exactly say I was getting a surprise, but he did say he was going to make up for us not having spent any time together over the weekend. That could mean making out, watching TV, making out, eating a couple of microwave dinners, making out or lying in bed with one foot on the floor and reading our favorite Biblical passages, which was perfectly fine by me—or it meant we were going to make out. Either way, I was getting a surprise!