Nate

Nobody’s home when I get back, mom’s car isn’t parked in the driveway, neither is dad’s, but then, that’s no surprise. I go straight up to my room to study, but the second I step into my room, it feels different. It takes me a second to realise this weird changed atmosphere is due to me letting someone else in. Save Harrison occasionally bursting in to steal something, no one comes in here. Even Katie doesn’t come to the house. We always hang out at her apartment because my mom isn’t there, trying to involve herself in our conversations and feed us cookies.

Jesse was in here and he took a shower in my bathroom. I let that sink in for a second. The image of him in just a towel standing right over there… nope.

When I sit at my computer and try to focus, my gaze keeps wandering to the laundry hamper where Jesse threw my towel after he’d used it. The realisation that it was wrapped around his naked body brings back the image of that body and okay, I have to admit, I like his body. It’s a nice body. And it’s not that strange that I might be turned on by it. Jesse Engels is a college athlete, he has the kind of generically athletic body 99% of the male-attracted population would find appealing. It could belong to anyone and still be attractive, in a vague, detached sort of way.

Obviously I’m sexually frustrated and need to get it out of my system. Then I will stop thinking about Jesse standing in my bedroom in nothing but a towel.

I close the blinds and look for a video, avoiding the sport’s related ones as always. But when I click on my usual sexy academic trope, I know this time I’m not going to be satisfied. Okay, so maybe a sport’s related one might be okay, just this once. But not hockey. Hockey still reminds me of Harrison and that’s the last thing I want to be thinking about.

I find a baseball-themed one where two guys in a locker room are wearing baseball jerseys and start making out.

Is it bad that Jesse standing behind me, readjusting my swing, instantly comes to mind? It’s just a fantasy, it’s not breaking Jesse’s bro code if you just fantasise.

As I get into the video, the guys now naked and taking turns sucking each other, my gaze keeps traveling to the laundry hamper and that towel Jesse used to dry himself. How thorough was he with that drying? Did he rub it against his cock?

Before I can think about what I’m doing, I jump up and grab it and bring it to bed with me, pressing it to my face first to catch a scent of him before plunging it between my legs, using the friction to get myself off as I imagine what Jesse looks like completely naked.

As soon as I finish, the realisation hits me. I shouldn’t have thought about Jesse while doing that. Now I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again, even if it was just a fantasy.

And then there’s the fact that Jesse probably gets objectified all the time with that body. It’s probably all people see when they look at him, and after spending a little time with him, I know that’s not all there is to him. In fact, his body is probably the least interesting thing about him.

I need to exorcise my room of Jesse’s presence so I strip the bed and stuff the towel deep down in the laundry hamper and bring it to the washing machine downstairs. I’ve been mostly doing my own laundry since my first wet dream, so mom shouldn’t find it too weird that I did this myself. I’m sure she knows why I do my own laundry now, especially the sheets, but we don’t talk about it and I’m beyond grateful for that.

Now my room is Jesse-and-naked-guy-free, I should be able to focus, but I can’t.

I message Katie to see where she is and get a reply telling me to meet her at the library.

Getting out of the house is a good idea.

I take the bus to the library and find Katie in the reading room, hunched over a textbook.

Before she looks up, I glance around at the chandeliers and the books stacked to the ceiling and remind myself why I’m here.

The awe I allowed myself to feel the first time I walked in, dispelling just a tiny bit of my disappointment that it wasn’t M.I.T.

I hadn’t wanted this mahogany-stained, Ivy League legacy you see in cheesy comedy movies with frat parties and cheerleaders.

I’d wanted modernity and a focus on technology.

Robots and Chomsky over dusty tomes and Byron.

But the first time I stood in this reading room, after coming in from the ultra-modern main lobby with its floating bookshelves and glass walls, I couldn’t help but be awed.

Katie looks up from her book and smiles.

I take the seat next to her.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I nod as I take out my books, “just felt like getting out of the house.”

She doesn’t ask any more questions. She gets it. Studying is our drug of choice. When life is shit – study. When you’re confused – study. When you’re feeling worthless and don’t know where you’re going in life – study. Sticking your head in a book instead of facing your problems might be the academic equivalent of sticking your head in the sand, but so be it.

When Katie leans back and yawns, I realise how late it’s getting and that we must have been sitting here in silence for hours.

“Food?” she asks.

I nod, feeling my study-coma start to shuck slowly away as I drag my head out of engineering and chemistry and back into the world where people communicate in more than equations.

Outside, there’s a crispness to the air. Brown leaves litter the floor and crunch under Katie’s boots as we walk. She takes a deep breath and tilts her head back.

“So how’s everything? You still tutoring the hunk?”

I can feel my face go bright red and I know she’s going to notice. She notices everything and someone on the North Pole would notice this.

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to a halt.

“Do you want bagels or what?” I ask.

“First tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

She loosens her grip on my arm, but doesn’t let go.

“You were right, that’s all.”

Her eyes light up, everyone likes being told they were right. It works and she lets go. When I start walking again, she steps in beside me. It’s easier talking to her like this, without having to look her in the eye.

“He’s… nice.”

I’m sure she’s suppressing a squeal. I don’t dare look at her. I wonder if she can see how hot my face still is.

“He’s not just a big stupid jock, I was wrong about him.”

“And do you still think he’s gay, or bi?”

“No.”

Honestly, I haven’t thought about the picture on the dating app for a while. I’ve just been enjoying getting to know him.

“Why not?”

I shrug. I have no idea if Jesse is gay or not, but it feels like a betrayal talking about it like this, even with my best friend who I know would never out him. I feel like Jesse has opened up to me, and seeing him vulnerable makes me want to respect that and keep all his secrets, even if he hasn’t asked me to.

“You like him,”

Katie says.

“No, I mean, yes, as a person, I like him.”

I think about the towel, how good it felt getting myself off with it, knowing it had touched Jesse’s naked skin.

“So are you going to carry on tutoring him?”

My heart sinks, “I don’t think so, he doesn’t really need me, I think he just needed someone to motivate him.”

Katie pokes my cheek. “You like him.”