Date: Fri, 21 Sep 2001 20:59:07 -0400 From: David Buffet Subject: Master Beta 2 Dear Dan, Middle of the night again. Damn. I haven't gotten to sleep at a normal hour in almost a week. I blame you, of course. You'll never guess who I saw today. I went to the gym to lift. On the way back to the locker room, I passed where the University's team was working out and couldn't stop myself. I figured I'd just sit in the stands for a few minutes, watch, and remember old times. Anyway, you know who was there? Fucking Corey! You probably knew that, actually. Did you? Did you know he was going here? I haven't seen him since, what? The Adidas meet last January? I always assumed he'd just stay there, enroll in the university, and keep working with Johnston. What happened? Anyway, against all odds, he was thrilled to see me. He noticed me in the stands in the middle of a pommel routine and actually fell entirely off the horse. Even more shocking: he came up smiling. Have you ever seen Corey fall off an event and come up smiling? Scary. He practically skipped over to where I was and sat down next to me. I've never seen him so animated. Everything he said positively dripped with exclamation points. What the hell happened to him? The Corey I remember was a sullen little kid with an inferiority complex who hated everyone and had a mouth full of feet. This revised version was bizarre. Full of "how have you beens??!!" and "I'm so glad to see yous!!". He actually suggested we have lunch tomorrow. Too strange for words. I agreed just to see what would happen. I have to say, though, he *does* look good. He has to shave now (kind of) and his hair has gotten a little darker (though it's still almost white.) He must have put on 20 pounds of muscle since I saw him last. I swear, he's turned into a little brick shithouse. I think he's training for the strength events. I'd be surprised if he can still tumble as well as he could with all that extra weight. Anyway, we'll see how lunch goes. I got some good work done on the instrument to measure people's placement on the dominance scale. I'm basing it on a kind of modified Myers-Briggs with...I just flashed on your interrupting me with, "blah, blah, blah," and one of those soul kisses where your tongue scrapes my uvula. I always wondered when you did that if my talking about your dominance got you hot or if you just wanted to shut me up. The latter, I expect. In any case, the work progresses nicely. I should have a working prototype to test by the end of the week. The meeting with my advisor went well. He seems like a nice guy. He's truly hands-off as far as the research is concerned, which is exactly what I was looking for. He did make it clear, though, that if I wanted any money, I'd have to do the grant preparation on my own which is a pain in the ass. So much for flying you up here business class! ************ It's two days later now. I fell asleep. Corey is a trip and a half. I took a morning work-out, we met in the gym, then went to lunch. "I can't believe you're here!" Corey gushed. He gushed! There's a new ice cube farm in Hell, evidently. "Weren't you in, like, some doctor program?" "Well, doctorate not doctor," I said. "I transferred. And you? I'm quite surprised to see you. I assumed you'd stick with Coach Johnston." "This program is good, too," he said. I would have wondered about his answer but he didn't give me a chance. Instead, he buried me in a heap of questions so high they were spilling out the door where they took a left into the hall. "So when did you get here? Did you see my new pommel routine? Have you talked to anyone from home? I'm lifting now. Johnston never let me lift enough. Can you see the difference? What's with that thing in the quad? Have you seen it? What the fuck is that supposed to be? Art? Are you on the meal plan? What kind of shit do they serve here?! It's like, totally disgusting. I have a paper due already and we've only been in school for a fucking week! Do you have a lot of work? Are you going to be coming to practices like you did that summer?" My laughter, I think, finally stopped him. "What?" "I don't know, Corey. You just seem...different," I said. "I'm older now." "I'm sure that's it." But Dan, that wasn't it. I don't know. I think the kid is...what? Lonely? He latched onto me like an abandoned puppy. I couldn't lose him until after dinner. Every time I tried to dump him he found another reason to hang on. Curioser and curioser. So that's all from the Western Front. I'm getting tired now. Think I'll try to sleep again. Looking forward to hearing from you. Everything, Mark - - - - - - - - - - - - Dear Sharon, you buxom, brainy thing you, All moved in, revved up, and can't sleep. Just finished writing Dan and thought I'd dash a note off to you too. The program is fine, blah, blah, blah. I figure two years and I'll be in the real world - not that I'm in a rush. What the hell will we do when we're not in school? Do you ever think about that? Well, I'll cut right to the meat. It's all you're ever interested in anyway! I've said it before, and I'll say it again: there's a gay man in you dying to be free. Maybe if we hold your nose and blow in your mouth real hard, a dick will pop out. There's this total Bam Bam who lives on the floor below me. Curly blond hair, muscles 'till the cows come home, deep brown eyes, the meatiest, fullest reddest lips you've ever seen, and forearms covered by this thick blond hair. Unbelievable, really. Saw him on the elevator a few days ago and he gave me the up and down - know what I mean? Then yesterday I was doing laundry in the basement and who should walk in? So I turn immediately into Mr. Couldn'tBeBothered. You know the routine. The illegitimate child of Blasé and Whore-Hum. He drops his bag in front of the washing machine, saunters over, leans back against the dryers, crosses his considerably muscled arms and watches me exercise my most studied nonchalance as I fold my clothes. "You new here?" "Um hmmm." Fold jeans, flap the wrinkles out of a button-down. "Grad school?" "Um hmmm." Match argyles, match blue dress socks, search for matching white athletic sock. "Don't talk much, do ya?" I laughed. "Actually, I've rarely been accused of that particular trait." Calm down. Stay cool. Fold boxers, fold boxers, look for matching white athletic sock. "You been officially welcomed to the building yet?" "Officially welcomed?" Stack towels, sheets, and pants back in basket. Search for matching white athletic sock. "Ya. You get the official welcome yet?" "And what would that entail?" I asked putting the rest of my folded clothes into the basket. "Fruit cake? Coupla balloons and a bottle of cheap champers? Excuse me." He barely moved aside as I opened the dryer to check one more time for the missing sock. I got a whiff of him. Why do they always smell so intensely sexy? "Gift basket," he grinned. Fuck, Sharon, he was too hot for words and worse, he absolutely knew it. "I'm in 427. C'mon bye tomorrow night about nine and you can unwrap it." "Well, thanks," I said, abandoning my search for the wayward sock and taking the basket. "If I'm free I'll drop by." I walked to the door. "Hey," he called, stopping me just before I was able to flee to safety, "what's your name?" "Mark," I said over my shoulder. I only got a step farther before he stopped me again. "Hold up a second Mark," he said. I turned as he sauntered over to me. He held out his hand. I supported the basket in my left hand and put my right hand out to shake his. But he wasn't holding out his hand. He was grabbing my thigh. My breath caught in my throat, and I think I actually moaned. But he wasn't grabbing my thigh. "Here," he said, handing me the white sock which had, evidently, been clinging to my pants the entire time. Sharon, why do I always end up looking like an idiot? "Oh, right. Uh...thanks." "No problem, Mark." And then here is what he did, this total stud. He reached around the back of my neck with his paw, gripped me strongly and somewhat roughly, and pulled me forward to about an inch away from his lips. I could smell his breath. My eyes rolled back and my lids went slack in totally automatic and glorious surrender as I waited for him. And waited. And waited. When my eyes opened again, he was grinning. "Nine o'clock tomorrow, then," he said, and kissed me on the forehead like a little kid. Fuck, Sharon. The fog. The fog is back. I seem to have found another one. More as it develops. Love you as always Mark