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David and Jon
Chapter 1

     "What made me fall in love with Etta James? It had to be David... I fell in love with Etta James when I fell in love with David. It's really kind of weird. Our meeting, I mean. When I look back on it, it seems just... serendipitous, I guess."

     "How did I meet him? Well, let's see. You know, I think it goes back further than that. Because all I can think of is the first time I ever saw him. Oh, wow, did I see him. Gosh... I was a Junior in college then, and one day he just blew in like a Southern breeze in spring time."

     I was walking across campus to the library when I first saw him. I don't know why I had never seen him before. It's such a small school, you know? But I would have remembered if our paths had crossed before. You don't forget when you see your first living god. At least that's what it felt like. Like a god stealing my breath... running across the main campus lawn, shirtless. His chest was glistening, and broad, and I couldn't stop staring at his ass in those black onion skin shorts.

     Smitten, maybe? Or maybe I was just possessed. At any rate, I knew I needed to know who he was. I found out later that day that his name was David. David Smith.

     And all I could think of was him running in those tiny shorts and his perfect, smooth body. I stared outright until he literally passed me by, and then I stared at the mental image still running through my head for a solid five minutes afterward. So much for expanding my horizons with the deep thoughts spurred by the conference on modern-day Islam in Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia that I had just left. All I could think of were those close-cut locks of brown hair and those quads that refused to quit.

     The second time I saw him, I didn't actually see him. But that's when I met him. That's how South Carolina is in the spring, though. You look up, and eighty degree blue skies have given way to a freak thunderstorm so heavy you can't see five feet in front of you... at least not clearly. And the humidity is rolling up from the ground as hot, sticky fog that settles low to the ground. I was on my way back to school when I saw someone standing underneath a bus stop, completely soaked. But there would be no bus for at least three hours.

     I don't know what made me stop, but I did. I leaned across the front of my car to open up the passenger door. When it opened, he realized I was offering him a ride (or at least dry shelter), and for some reason he ran up to the car and hopped in. As soon as I saw him, I knew who he was. My heart raced about like a freight train fed on pure coal. After shutting the car door, he turned to me--dripping wet--and smiled.

     A perfect, white-tooth smile.

     "Thanks. You're a lifesaver, man." Even his voice was sexy, and suddenly I found myself with Sahara-throat. Drier than a British public service announcement. He had sucked up all the moisture on the Earth, it seemed like. Soaking wet; glistening. His cotton t-shirt clung to every inch of him. And he was wearing those onion skins again. Let's just say I didn't need to see a waistband to know he was wearing a jockstrap.

     I don't know how long I stared, but finally he stopped waiting for a response. "You alright?" he asked.

     "Yeah." I snapped out of it.

     "Cool. You're Jonathan, right?" He knew my name. The shock must have registered on my face, because he sort of blushed, and added in postscript, "Not that I'm stalkin' you. I just recognize you from campus."

     I laughed, in response. "I didn't think you were. Just... didn't know you knew me, I guess. I'm not quite stalk-worthy, anyway."

     And then I knew I was in trouble. Not just a little bit of trouble either. Big Trouble, with that capital 'T' your mama always warns you about when you're ten years old. My mama neglected to tell me that it would be six feet, one hundred and ninety pounds of complete hottie sitting in the front seat of my old Camry. But anyway, I was in trouble the second he opened up those thin lips into a smile and said:

     "No. You're definitely, totally stalkable."

     Hell hath no fury like the heart of a man horned. And I was horny then. But I also fell in love. With the man in the front seat of my old Camry. A man that was totally stalkable.

     On the way back to campus, we talked. Mostly about nothing, but he introduced himself. He was a junior, too. He was a biology major. He had gotten caught in that freak storm and didn't want to run back to campus because he couldn't see cars on the road until they were hydroplaning right next to him. Wasn't safe. He lived in Tripp Hall. When I dropped him off, he leapt out of the car. The rain had mostly stopped. I watched him start up the steps, but then he stopped... and he came back. Opened the car door.

     "Hey. I owe you a drink. Friday night. Cool?"

     I stammered. "Uh... sure."

     "Cool. Tomorrow, then." And he slammed the door, and his ass wiggled up the steps and through the main entrance of Tripp. God, what a nice piece of marble ass. But as I drove off into the mist and remnants of drizzle, all I could do was wonder about what the Hell I was thinking. Or not thinking. I could already see Saturday's headlines if I went: "Local closet-case college student battered by hot jock on campus because the asshat can't stop staring."

     "Fuck." My voice echoed. Probably because it could.

     I went. Out of stupidity, desperation, or what ever have you, I went. I wish I could say that it was the start of a whirlwind, sordid love affair that persisted of a few months worth of hot, sweaty sex that ended with a gentle kiss and a tear when summer came, and I never saw him again. Damn it, that's how those types of things are supposed to end, right? Well, someone forgot to tell God that I was overdue for my happy gay ending. But it was the start of a beautiful friendship, and I guess there's no greater ending to a movie than Casablanca, right?

     Except the girl leaves behind the man she loves. Or the man leaves the girl, depending on how you look at it.

     At any rate, I made every effort that night to look good. Sadly, I fail the Adonis test, so I did what I could with my extraordinarily average body. 5'9" is supposed to be average, right? But I feel short. I guess it's because I'm on the slim side. Anyway, I squeezed myself into club jeans that made my religion my most prominent feature, and pulled on a too-small blue polo and a light tan blazer--collars turned up for attitude. I wasn't quite sure why I was trying so hard to impress David, but I was. And I was praying no drunken bastard spilled beer on my shoes. Kenneth Cole ain't cheap for a college student.

     He picked me up outside of my dorm in a Jeep Cherokee. If he noticed me looking good, I didn't notice. He, on the other hand, looked devastatingly good, and I did notice that. His collared shirt was perfectly starched, and looked tailored. He wore dark jeans and a casual attitude that just made you fall in love with him. We were going to "Wild Wings." He had called to tell me ahead of time. It's a chain restaurant/bar/club, but it's a small town and the cover charge was only a dollar. Plus the music was usually pretty good.

     When we got there, he took us straight to the bar.

     "So what will it be?" he yelled over the music.

     "Um... a Tom Collins, I guess," I replied.

     "Nice." He said something after that, but I didn't quite catch the words over the music.

     Before we had even gotten our drinks, some slut with fried hair and cellulite was throwing herself at David. Actually, that's not true. She looked good--really good. I was just jealous because she took 'my man' away from me before I had even gotten the first chance to not look like some overly shy school boy trying to look cool. After we got our drinks he started dancing.

     He was a good dancer. Of course.

     Fucker. Good looks, good moves--it would turn out he was smart, too. Just one of those bastards that you assume has always had the world going for them just because it's hard to imagine that they could struggle at anything.

     I stared, and looked out of place, I think.

     Suddenly, he walked right over to me. Pressed up against me and spoke in my ear. I got a chill from his breath.

     "Come dance with us," he said. So I did.

     I thought it would be one of those regular three person dances where the woman stands in-between too guys. But he surprised me. He walked right up to her, then reached back with his hands, grabbed my thighs, and pulled me to his back. And we danced for at least an hour like that, with him turning to dance with me, then turning back to dance with her. If my jeans hadn't been cutting off the circulation to everything below my waist, I would have been very, very obvious.

     Around midnight, he left with her.

     "Are you sure it's okay if I leave? You don't need a ride back?" A modern-day gentleman.

     "Yeah, I'll be fine. Go ahead. If I can't find a ride I can walk back to the dorm. It's just a few blocks."

     This discourse took place in the men's room. Of all places.

     "Great!" he replied. "Man, she's so hot! I'll catch you later."

     As he walked out of the bathroom, I realized I needed another drink or six. I pretty much made directly for the bar and started up a tab. He had already left.

     Not that I was lonely that night. It turns out that a cute, stocky little blonde in the club found redheads "irresistible." I made eye contact with him from the bar, and he came over.

     "Where's your hot friend?" he asked.

     "With the hot girl." I replied.

     "Ah. He chose the wrong one. Do you want to dance?"

     The next morning, I woke up with another lump in my bed. It was the blonde. In the light of a clear blue morning, without David's face in my head, I really saw just how cute he was for the first time. Totally hot, with a boy-next-door body--muscled, but soft, not ripped. My bed smelled strongly of sex, there was a condom wrapper on my nightstand, and my ass was a little sore. I guess you can fill in the details; I couldn't really remember anything. I pulled the covers down to stare at his morning wood.

     A little under seven inches, I'd bet. Nice.

     "Good morning." I jumped at the sound of his voice. "I didn't mean to startle you," he added.

     "No," I said. "I'm just a little... out of it. I don't remember much."

     He laughed. "Well, you've got a great ass, and you kiss like a nympho who was just released from solitary."

     "Thanks." I think.

     He slid out of bed next to me. I propped myself up on my elbow in bed, pulling my white down comforter up around my waist as I watched him pull on a pair of CK bikini briefs. Perfect, downy little ass.

     "By the way, my name is Chris. I'm sorry to run off," he half-said, half-laughed as he was trying to pull on his jeans. "But I have to work today." I've heard that excuse before.

     "Where do you work?" I began setting my alarm clock. It was only 9:00 am, and I had no where to be. Why get up before noon unless you have to?

     "I'm a waiter."

     "At Wings?"

     "Oh no. At Applebee's, actually. It sucks, but it pays the bills." He was tying his shoes now, but was still shirtless.

     "There's no shame in that," I told him. After pulling on his shirt, he walked over to my desk, grabbed a pen and some paper, and started writing.

     "My number is on here. My cell and home. I... I really enjoyed last night. I understand if it was just a hookup for you, but I'm totally in to you. I'd like to see you again." Saying I was taken aback was a bit of an understatement.

     "Uh... sure..." I stammered for time as I tried to pull my chin back up from the floor. "Maybe I'll call you tonight."

     "I'm working until midnight, but if you want to drop by... maybe we can grab dinner together. I can't leave the restaurant, but I'd like to see you even if it were just for a half hour."


     He actually kissed me on my forehead when he left. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but suddenly I had a sinking feeling that I had a boyfriend. The weird thing was... I was happy with that. And for just a moment I had forgotten about David. I ended up not seeing Chris that night. We made a date for Friday though. I also didn't see David again until Monday at lunch.

     I was minding my own business, eating a cookie I shouldn't have allowed myself to have, reading _The Warrior Woman_ by Maxine Kingston, when someone sat down a tray next to me.

     "Hey, mind if I join you?" David asked.

     I made room for him at the table, telling him I didn't mind. Inside, I was still jealous over the blonde. I really didn't know what to say. He spoke first.

     "I see you made it back to campus at some point."

     "Yeah," I said, smiling. "Not quite sure how I got here, though."

     "You met someone?" Suddenly he looked curious.

     "Sort of." I responded, trying to sound banal.

     "Was it the blonde guy?" he inquired.

     That took me by surprise. "I... uh... well. Yeah. How did you know?" How did he even know I was gay?

     "Well, the second we walked into the bar on Friday his eyes were like... totally glued to you. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but at first I thought he was staring at me until I left you at the bar. And after you danced with me I kind of figured that you might not be opposed to his attention. So.. when I left.."

     "I see." I didn't want him to keep talking.

     "So," he started, leaning towards me and lowering his voice. "You seeing him again?"

     I couldn't hide my irritation. I visibly scoffed, and with all the venom I could muster asked, "Why? You seeing your blonde again?"

     He looked a little hurt, but the pain fell from his face almost immediately. "Fair enough. No, I'm not. And for your information, I didn't even sleep with her." Now it was my turn to feel hurt. And slutty.

     "Oh. And I am seeing him again. On Friday."

     "That's great! I mean, if you like him... It's like I said, man, totally stalkable." If he was going to say anything else, I wouldn't get to hear it. A couple of his frat brothers fell out of the woodwork to sit down around us and start running their collective mouths about nothing. Greek boys tend to annoy me in groups, so I used my fantastic closet-boy abilities to blend into the background until the first available opportunity, and then I quietly left.

     Hindsight, I suppose, is 20/20. I already had warning signs, but I was afraid and refused to believe that anyone (even Chris) might actually be interested in me. I mean, like most of the world, I wasn't happy with the way I looked, my body, my hair, my face--and my confidence suffered for it. So I should have known that David was interested. Maybe I did... I just wasn't sure what he was interested in.

     That Friday, I was all nerves. Chris had sounded so excited on the phone, and he was coming to pick me up at 8:00. I buzzed around my dorm room all afternoon in excitement. Thankfully, my roommate had transferred out after the fall semester, so I could just chill out and take my time getting ready. I wasn't sure where Chris was taking me, so I wore dark jeans and a crisp, pale blue collared shirt. Very safe choice, if I say so myself. Casual enough for a sports bar, dressy enough for a nicer restaurant.

     I was surprised when I heard a knock on the door at 7:45, but I just figured Chris was early. When I opened the door to find a frantic looking David, I was more than taken aback.

     "Don't go!" he blurted out.

     "What? David, why are you here? Have you lost your mind?" I moved out of the way to let him in, and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the futon in the middle of the room, looking at me.

     "Please, don't go. Stay with me tonight. Stay here. Forget about him."

     "What?" It was all I could think at the time.

     "I know you're attracted to me." He reached out for my arm, and his touch was electrifying. Not in the good way, mind you. I jumped back, and for the first time I realized just how nervous he was.

     "Are you crazy? First of all, I really like Chris. He seems like a nice guy. Second of all, have you lost your mind? If you knew all of this, you had a chance last week." I was starting to sound as bitter as I felt.

     "I can't stop thinking about you, man. I barely know you, but I can't help it."

     "Look, I'm not doing this with you. I won't be your 'experimental phase,' or whatever the Hell this is. In case you forgot to notice, you're straight, or at least you think you are. I like you, a lot, but I'm not ruining something between Chris and I because you think you might like me. Nor do I want to ruin what could be a cool friendship between us."


     "No." There was another knock at the door, and I moved to open it.


     "No," I said again as I opened the door for Chris. He was carrying a rose, but the tension in the room rushed out like a burst dam as soon as the door opened. The emotional tension wilted away his kilowatt smile almost instantly.

     "Am I interrupting something?" Chris asked.

     "Not at all," I told him. "David was just leaving." I turned to look at David. "Right?"

     "Yeah... of course..." He looked forlorn, lost, hurt. But I was angry at him for dropping this on me now. When he knew I cared for him, and knew I cared for Chris, too. And for using our chance friendship against me. He walked in front of me in the doorway, moving his chest right up against mine. "Can we at least talk about this tomorrow?"

     "Yeah," I told him. "Tomorrow." And he left. And I plastered a false smile on my face, turned to Chris, and pretended like nothing was wrong. And I walked away from all my problems for a few hours. I had a great night, actually, and it was the start of many great nights thereafter. Things between Chris and I would get complicated, though. Especially when David became my roommate.

About the Author: is a 21 year old from South Carolina. GWM, and all that. Average guy who Jon in this story is based upon.