Date: Sun, 14 May 2006 13:05:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: connections 2

A week later Julie and Roger were having lunch at a small dive near campus
called Captain Baillie's.  Since the holidays were coming up the place was
nearly deserted except for some stragglers making their final rounds.
Julie, who was biology major hoping to go to medical school, had the excuse
of some lab work she wanted to clean up before she went home.  She was
anxious to finish it off quickly so that she and Roger would get to her
parents place for dinner and there was a lot to do before the one hour
drive.

They weren't paying much attention to the other patrons until Julie spotted
someone familiar ordering his lunch from the counter a few feet away,
though she couldn't place quite place him at first.  Suddenly, she realized
who it was.  Brad hadn't noticed them at all until Julie snuck up from
behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, you're Brad, right?"

"Yea, hi, you're umm -- Julie, from the other night, at the Convention
Center, the company party."  It took him a moment to recognize her in this
different context but he was genuinely happy to run into her again. For
many reasons these people had piqued his interest and he was glad have the
opportunity to see them again.

"How are you?"  Brad tried to stay focused on Julie as he picked up his
cheeseburger and coke, trying gamely to do it with one hand.

"I'm great; it's really good to see you!  Hey, if you aren't running out,
would you join us at our table?"

Even though the invitation was very welcome, he had to admit that he was a
little apprehensive about meeting everyone again.  From what he saw of them
that night he thought that they were quality people and would probably make
good friends, but he sure didn't want to get attracted to a straight guy
that he couldn't have.  It didn't look like that guy was even there anyway,
so maybe it would be OK.

As they approached the table she strolled behind Roger and introduced him
as her fiancée.  Brad put his food on the table as Roger got up and gave
him a pat on the shoulder and a handshake, with a grip that practically
crushed his hand.

`Her fiancé?'  Brad thought to himself as he sat down.

Before he even got ready to eat, Brad turned to Julie. "How's your friend?"
he said, looking directly at her.  It was not a token question said just
for conversation.

"Well, we think it's a full recovery, but he still has a pretty serious
bruise.  You can judge that for yourself, though.  Here he comes," she said
as she nodded toward the front of the restaurant.

Brad looked outside and saw him standing next to a small Honda motorcycle.
Mike was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket and had just taken off
his black helmet.  Recognition was immediate.  He thought he looked really
cute in the biker gear, especially with his hair all messed up from the
helmet.

"That guy out there, next to the motorcycle, right?"  He asked Julie, just
to confirm what he already knew.

"Yea, that's him. We told him about you and what you did, but he said he
didn't remember any of it.  But I'm sure he'd still want to thank you."

"Well, that's nice, but like I said I didn't do much.  He was the one who
really put himself on the line." Julie noticed as he was saying this that
his left hand had remained in the pocket of his thick down jacket.

Mike approached their group at the back of the restaurant, saying hello to
Julie and looking at Brad curiously, acting as if he didn't recognize him.
But he enthusiastically reached out his hand to introduce himself, not
waiting for Julie to make the introduction.

"Hi, I'm Mike Kovar"

He stood up to return the greeting.  "Brad North, glad to meet you," he
said, with a bit of anxiety that he intuitively tried to suppress.  He even
noticed that his palms were sweaty.  This was definitely weird for him.  He
was almost never nervous around straight guys, although he had to admit
that Mike was really cute.  He also noticed that he still had a major
bruise on the left side of his face, right below his eye, and had an almost
uncontrollable impulse to reach over and gently stroke the wound.  And, if
he wasn't mistaken, he thought that Mike had a very slight accent of some
kind.

Stepping into the awkward pause after Brad's greeting, Julie jerked them
back to reality.  "Mike, this is the guy I was telling you about, the one
who decked that jerk who punched you."

Mike turned and looked at him.  He was trying to keep himself calm, seeing
this guy again, but didn't want to let on too much. . "Oh jeez, thanks so
much, Brad.  That was really great of you; I hope it didn't screw up your
evening too much.  I think that asshole caused a lot of people a lot of
problems that night, but it's in the cops' hands now.  Thank you again..."

He was rambling a bit; clearly nervous for some reason, but Julie reasoned
that it was probably because he was just meeting a new person.  She knew
his shyness and also suspected, in a minor way, that it had something to do
with the fact that Brad was pretty good looking.

As Mike was speaking he grabbed Brad by the shoulders and gave him a hug.
He was what Americans would call a very "physical" person, meaning that he
actually touched other guys.  He remembered as a small child in Europe that
he always hugged or embraced his friends, and that they would walk together
from school with arms around each other's shoulders.  Teenagers did the
same, even guys, and there was nothing unusual or perverse about it, it was
just what you did with friends.  Though he had adapted himself to the
American style of social distance, which means almost no touching between
real men, he still made physical contact impulsively if he felt strongly
about something or someone.

To his huge embarrassment Brad threw a quick boner, and was hoping that no
one noticed as he tentatively returned the hug with one hand, giving Mike a
solid pat on the back. His faded jeans were somewhat loose fitting but he
could still imagine a little bulge still being visible. `Fuck, what is
going on! Not around this straight guy, goddamit,' he thought to himself.
But he wanted to stick around and get to know these people better, and
struggled in the meantime to will his pole down.

Brad had a genuine interest in people, at least those he thought had some
spark. While he enjoyed sleeping around, or thought he did, he did look for
smart people who had some personality to them.  Unfortunately, they were
few and far between at this school, where football and Greek life were at
the center of the universe.  Most guys were better off with a dick in their
mouth, preferably his, rather than talking the nonsense that normally came
out of it.  He didn't know where Mike fit in this world, but he was at
least a strong person with integrity and loyal friends, and that counted
for a lot.

After the guys sat down again, they all made small talk for a few minutes,
a little bit about the incident, what they did since then, how Mike's
wounds were healing, what they were all studying and so on about all sorts
of stuff.  When Brad heard that Mike was an avid soccer player it him a bit
nervous again.  He had a major weakness for soccer legs.  In the meantime,
Mike had ordered a sausage dog with fries that took extra long to cook and
it had just arrived.

Roger asked Mike if he was going to press charges.  He gave a sigh and said
he didn't know.

"According to the police, he just went through a really bad divorce, and
lost his kids and everything.  His boss also called me and said he's not a
bad guy, just hitting a rough patch in his life that he can't handle."
Mike said this in a matter-or-fact tone without much emotion, at the same
time offering his french fries around the table.

`Well," he continued, "I think that the boss could just be self-serving,
covering his ass, who knows.  But I do believe the police.  The guy has
three kids, and the whole episode has just wasted him.  He even sent me a
note, through the police of course.  There's no permanent harm to me, I'll
be fine, and he took a pretty good lickin' there, so maybe we should both
just get on with our lives."  Brad was impressed with not only the lack of
vindictiveness in Mike's thinking, but his ability to size people up and
read their motives.

Mike's comment brought Roger's mind back to the fight that night.  Though
Roger wasn't big on the macho stuff off of the football field, he still
respected a guy who could throw a punch, He had just caught the finale when
Brad had knocked the guy out with his 1-2 combination, and complimented him
on his technique.

He didn't get exactly the response from Brad that he was expecting, but it
didn't disappoint him, either.  "I'm not proud of what I did, but there
wasn't a choice" he said, looking down at the ground and fidgeting in
embarrassment from the compliment. "It's just something that I had to do.
My dad made me take boxing lessons as a kid to `toughen me up,' as he used
to say.  I didn't do too badly at it, but I really hated hitting people."

Roger looked at Brad and pointed at his left hand, hidden under the table.
"I know what a punch can do on both sides of the fist, dude.  Let's see
that hand."  Like Julie, he had also noticed that Brad was hiding it and
was pretty sure why.

"It's nothing, really. I just banged it up a little bit."  He was obviously
reluctant to reveal it, but when Mike also asked him he finally put it up
on the table.  He still couldn't control it very well with the extra weight
of a cast and it hit the table with a thud.

"Oops, sorry.  Guess it's got a mind of its own," He chuckled and smiled,
trying to introduce a little humor and not seem so serious about the
injury.

"This is from last Saturday isn't it?"  Mike's voice was suddenly very
serious.

"Uh, yea, but it's going to be OK.  Just a small fracture, but they always
overdue these things, you know."  There wasn't any more pain from the
break, just the annoyance of the cast.  But when Mike's hand gently brushed
against his fingers as he reached over to touch the cast it felt like
someone had connected him to a car battery, the tingle and charge was so
strong.  `God, what is it about this guy?' he thought to himself.

Julie had noticed that Brad was real quiet, and saw his mouth hanging open
as Mike was very gently touching the white, hard shell.  Concerned that he
was possibly in some pain, she asked Brad if they should leave it alone.
The only sound she heard from him was a soft, barely audible, `nuh,' which
she took for `no.'

Suddenly realizing that he was handling it a bit too long, Mike gently
released the cast, but not without a final pat.  "Jeez, Brad.  I didn't
realize that you were hurt so bad.  I'm so sorry."  He was getting such a
lump in his throat that he could barely squeak out the words, thinking
about what Brad had done for him and the price he paid.  "Is there anything
that I can do to help?  Please, I want to do what I can."

Brad barely heard Mike talking as he shook himself back to reality.  "No
Mike, not at all.  There's nothing you can do, except maybe realize that
I'm glad I was able to help you and I'd do it again if I had to.  That
asshole was not only mean, but was an unfair fighter.  You put yourself out
there and deserved some help. And he got what he deserved."

Now Mike was seriously choked up, but only Julie really noticed as she
moved the conversation along to less emotional subjects.  After a few
minutes a recovered Mike and all of them proceed to thank Brad again and
spend a few more minutes fussing over the cast, finally convincing Brad let
them sign it.  It was getting late though, and Julie and Roger had to move
on.

"Well, boys" Julie had to interject, "it's been nice, but we've got to get
going.  Sorry that I have to run and you have to eat, Mirek, but Rog and I
have to get going.  I told mom we'd be home for dinner, and I've got a ton
to do before we leave."

`Mirek?' Brad thought.  `What's that?'

"No prob. I'll stop over your place next week, say hi to your folks, OK?
Rog, you going with her?"

"Yea, her parents are expecting me, which means her mom is already cooking
for 3 more people.  We have some wedding stuff to go over with them, too.
And since they're footing the bill, we thought that we'd include them in a
minor way." Julie and Mike both laughed as he said this.  "Maybe I'll see
you up there, Mike."

"OK, guys, take care!"  Mike called out to them as they left.

Brad didn't want to seem prying or anything like that, but was still very
curious about the relationships between of these people, since he had
obviously gotten it wrong.  He was hoping that Mike didn't have to leave so
quickly, too.

"Hey Mike, are you OK sticking around?"

"Yea, you have some time?  We could hang out for a while.  I've just got to
pick up some drawings at 3:00."

Brad wasn't the kind of guy who was timid about being gay.  But he wasn't
quite ready to let Mike know about that side of him yet, that might cut the
friendship off too soon.  He just wanted to see what he was like as a
person.  Gay could wait.  He'd talk about anything but that.

He already knew from their earlier conversation that Mike was an
Architecture major, but that didn't mean much.  Though it was known as one
of the toughest program on campus, he had known a few of them and wasn't
impressed.  Mostly, he thought, glorified draftsmen in vocational training.
After of few minutes of idle chit-chat, Mike looked around a bit, smiled
and thought he'd tee one up, some relatively arcane question, and see if
Mike would go for it.

Brad had some interest in modern art as part of his thesis focus on modern
German History, and thought that Mike might have an interest too, or at
least should, considering that he was studying Architecture.  "So Mike," he
started, looking straight at him, with his arms folded across his chest,
"who do you think is the greatest German Architect of the interwar period,
Mies van der Rohe or Marcel Breuer?"

He looked at Mike, who was deep in thought.  He wondered to himself, "Huh,
I wonder if I stumped the guy.  Oh well, it is kind of an out-in-left-field
question. Maybe I should...."

"Well, first of all, Brad" Mike said very politely, jarring Brad back out
of his thoughts. "I think the question itself might be a little overly
reductive, like, what does "great" mean?  Also, if I take your question at
face value, than what if the answer is "neither?"  But let's start with the
basics.  Do you mean German, as in ethnic Deutschland uber alles German or
German speaking, because Breuer, as I'm sure you know, was Hungarian, even
though he taught in Germany at the Bauhaus....."

The careful dissection when on, demolishing every pretense of Brad's
leading question. Damn, he thought to himself, he didn't realize that
Breuer was Hungarian; he just assumed that he was German because he taught
at the Bauhaus and his last name sounded sort of German.  For the
coup-de-grace, Mike corrected Brad's mangled pronunciation of Mies' name.
As he did this he looked straight at Brad without the least trace of malice
or condescension, with his eyes only occasionally wandering as he tried to
focus a thought.

"Do you speak German?"  Brad said, clearing his throat in slight
embarrassment.  He sort of knew German because of this thesis work, but
mostly in written form, which would have been immediately obvious to any
fluent German speaker.

"Yea, my Dad insisted on it.  My family is Czech, and to my Dad a
cultivated Czech speaks German. He sent me to the Jesuit high school
because the priest who taught it was actually German, and promised to be
rigorous in that German kind of way.  My folks sent me there even though
the're pretty much agnostics and generally don't have a whole lot of
affection for the clergy.  Anyway, he interviewed all the German teachers
in local schools and ran them ragged, since he's fluent himself.  He said a
couple of them were really bad."

Brad cleared his throat again and then rephrased his question, but he knew
right then that this guy was no pushover.  In fact, Brad might just be the
laggard of the two, so as they continued to talk he took Mike seriously and
didn't try to test him again. He decided that he could just relax and chat
without holding back anything and enjoy the give-and-take of an intense
conversation.  It was the part about being a History major that he loved,
and it showed in his spirit and passion, which Mike clearly shared.

They bantered back and forth like this for over two hours, and Brad
actually scored a few points of his own to regain some of his wounded
pride.  But then Mike realized that it was way past 3:00 which meant that
he had to hustle to the printers if he was going to get there before they
closed.

"Oh, one more thing, Mike.  What was the name that Julie called you before
she left?"

"Mirek? Oh yeah, that.  To make a long story short, I'm not just ethnic
Czech, but I was actually born in what's now the Czech Republic.  I came
over here when I was 10.  Mike is just an American name I gave myself
during high school, because my Czech name doesn't have an English
equivalent and no one could pronounce it.  Oh yea, and they made fun of it,
too.  Anyway, my legal name is Miroslav, and Mirek is a short form, like
Bill for William. But Czech it conveys a bit more, and sort of implies
familiarity and affection.  It's usually just used by family or someone
you're real close to."  He rambled through this as he was putting on his
jacket and leaving some tip money on the table.

"Julie is third generation Czech-American, and doesn't really speak it, but
she loves to use that stuff.  In fact, her mom is actually Italian.  But I
humor her," he said, laughing and zipping up.

"Yea, interesting.  That's funny!  But I guess I'll still call you Mike.
It's a little easier," Brad chuckled as he also stood up to leave.  Mike
spoke perfect colloquial English, but this explained the slight accent.  He
thought it was kind of cute.

"Let's do this again, OK?  I've really enjoyed talking with you, Brad.
Here's my number here in town if you want to give me a call.  I'll be gone
for break, but back during the first week in January.  It would be great to
get together again." He said this looking directly at Brad, giving every
syllable emphasis to make sure that his message went across.  He thought
that this was his one chance, for what he didn't know, but wanted to give
it his best shot.

"I've got to run now, but take care, and Merry Christmas!"  he was about to
run out but took time to pause for one more thing.  "And thanks again so
much for what you did for me!"  As he said this he gave Brad another hug
and a friendly punch to the stomach and then made for the door.  "Bye, guy!
And take care of that hand!"

Waving his good hand, Brad returned the goodbye with a big smile.  "And you
take care of that bruise.  And Merry Christmas!"

He reflected while getting ready to go and questioned wether Mike was just
super friendly and kind or was flirting with him.  He had no reason to
believe Mike was gay, as this kind of horseplay and punching is often done
between straight guys.  But that punch gave him an instant hard-on, again.
In fact, every time Mike touched him or came close he got a tingle or
whatever you call that.  It also got him a bit more excited when he
realized that Mike and Julie weren't a couple.  He had to remind himself
that that didn't mean he was gay.  And even if he was gay, it didn't mean
that Mike would actually be attracted to him.

When Mike got on his bike, he was as happy as he'd been in a quite a while.
He felt like he could fly his bike, not drive it. He sure enjoyed talking
to Brad, who was pretty nice to look at, too.  He worried a bit about
whether he stared at him too much, at those cute brown eyes, the muscular
neck with a trace of stubble.  He would have tried to steal glances down
Brad's shirt, but as it was winter he also wore a crew neck t-shirt which
effectively cut off that view.

Even more than this, though, he enjoyed the companionship.  Brad had ideas
and thoughts, and that was really exciting, almost a turn-on for Mike.
While not an intellectual in the typical sense, he was drawn to people who
would engage and challenge him.  And the banter between him and Brad was so
much fun and came so naturally.  He felt like they could have kept talking
for hours.

Just when he was about to pull out of the parking space he saw Brad come
out of the door, his bad hand put back in a sling while his good one was
stretched across his chest in a somewhat futile attempt to hold the jacket
together without being zipped up.

"Hey, Brad, is your jacket OK?  Won't it zip up? It's pretty cold out
here?"  Mike was confused and concerned about what was going on.

Brad seemed shy and a little flustered.  "Oh, ugh, I'm OK.  I just can't
get the zipper up with one hand. I don't have far to go though, I'll be OK,
but thanks.  Don't you have to get going?"

The helmet practically flew off of Mike's head as he got off his bike and
ran over to Brad.  "Here, let me give you a hand.  It's cold out here, and
you'll be warmer.  May I?."  Mike had his hands poised at the base of
Brad's jacket.

"Um, yea, sure. Gosh, go ahead.  Thanks, Mike.  I hope this doesn't make
you late."  With Mike's hands hovering only inches from his dick, It was
all he could do to contain another instant hard-on.

"No problem.  I can get there tomorrow if I have to."  That was a lie.  He
knew they would be closed tomorrow, but he'd make do somehow.  Taking care
of Brad, this guy who had done so much for him, was a lot more important.
He zipped up the jacket and gave Brad another punch to the shoulder.
"There, you should be OK now."

Even though is was below freezing, Brad had suddenly gotten so warm that he
didn't think he even needed a jacket.

Later on as evening approached, this being a Saturday night even though a
bit close to the Holidays, Brad was primping to hit the bars.  After
spending the afternoon with Mike, he also found himself on kind of a high,
but with a lot of questions, too. He wasn't that enthusiastic about going
out now, but it was such a habit that he just automatically did it.

Once he got to the Palm, the town's biggest dance club, he did his usual
stroll around the dance floor.  Pounding music, hot bods, big dicks, booze,
drugs, it was all there, right in front of him, ready for the taking.  A
guy came up to him, a little full of himself, presumptuously putting his
arm around Brad.  Then he rubbed the front of Brad's shirt, which was tight
around his chest.

"Looking good, stud...."

A week ago, Brad would have allowed the guy to feel him up, showing off his
smooth chest with well defined pecs and abs.  And that would have been
enough to close the deal. Brad knew he had the goods, at least the goods
that these guys wanted.

Then a question popped up in his mind - `what am I doing here?'  It was a
thought that confused and scared him.  Picking up these guys was something
he enjoyed, although to be honest he always knew something was missing.

He did really like a guy once, back in high school, but the guy let it be
known that gay feelings didn't mean anything beyond a great blow job,
period.  Feelings that were strong and sincere on his part were treated
like garbage by a guy he really cared about, and he was crushed.  He told
himself he wouldn't let that happen again, to be that vulnerable.

He then just looked at the guy, moved the hand off of his shirt and said
"No thanks," and left the bar.  He had more thinking to do.