Date: Tue, 4 Mar 2003 08:07:33 -0800 (PST) From: Cillian Mayfair Subject: Magnus part 1 If you're offended by sexual activities between men, or if you're younger than 18, you're not supposed to be here. If you're over 18 and meant to be here, please, kick back, relax and enjoy! The author reserves all rights. Individual copies of this story may be downloaded for personal use, but may not be reproduced without the author's express consent. Magnus I used to tell myself that my main reason for picking the University of Chicago, a little too far away from my native New York for my parents to be overjoyed, was because its academic reputation made it seem like the best possible choice. The lack of a certain sport enthusiasm was also a plus since the last thing I wanted was to end up surrounded by a culture that glorified brawn over pretty much everything else. Most of all, it was beyond the limits of the kind of world that I had known all my life. It lay, as my father used to say, in that gray area between New York and Los Angeles. Being brought up on Park Avenue had instilled a kind of misguided elitism in me that I was painfully aware of. I definitely prefer wine to beer, but then so did most of my friends on the football and swim teams at school. It's a strange lifestyle, Park Avenue. In retrospect I think I chose Chicago because I wanted to escape more than anything else. I wanted to be amongst normal people, people who didn't have platinum cigarette cases or pocket watches on chains or shrimp forks. I wanted to be in the Midwest where morals, I had heard, were still alive. It was a place where your father's corporate-partner's wife did not make sexual advances towards you when you were 17 because she thought you looked like a young Brad Pitt. My name is Vincent. I'm 21, blonde and blue eyed. I guess I could be considered good-looking, but it's not something I've dwelt on. I have a certain degree of vanity I suppose but not more than most people. Swimming gave me the kind of physique I'm content with and I have a certain aversion to body hair, so I make sure I have as little as possible. I never got into the cropped hair look, preferring a medium length ala Joe Black. I'm 6'0 and proud of having outgrown my father at age 16. I'm also completely straight; well, I was, until Magnus. I first met him in Classical studies the autumn of my third year at college. I was registered for the class; he was hoping to be registered. We sat next to each other and he asked me for a pen. I was struck by how beautiful he was even though at that time I felt nothing sexual for him. He had the clearest, most beguiling gray eyes, complemented by luscious raven hair. His tanned white skin made his apologetic smile seek almost luminous. Later on in the class, when the professor started telling us this protracted tale of Apollo, I couldn't help but picture Apollo as looking like him, even though Apollo was supposedly blonde. After class, he caught up with me as I was exiting the building and returned the pen, which I had completely forgotten about. He introduced himself, but I already knew his name from the professor having asked him a question. His voice had a deeply masculine flavor that made me think of dark chocolate and his hands were far warmer than they had any right to be in the bracing cold of Chicago. He smiled again as I reciprocated the introduction, which irritated me for some reason; quite possibly because I could not understand why it had an effect on me. "It was great sitting next to you in class," he said. I was bewildered. "Why?" I asked him. "Well, I think it's because you smell so good." I laughed. I had grown accustomed to all my clothes smelling of Ralph Lauren's Romance ever since that particular bottle was smashed to pieces in my suitcase thanks to the gentle touch of airport luggage handlers. "Well, if you want I'll save you a seat nearby next class." I joked. "That would be great," he said. "I'm always forgetting to bring a pen." We both laughed, shook hands, and parted ways. That could have been the extent of our interaction, but I suppose fate had other plans. We became friends over a paper where the professor assigned us as partners because we were sitting next to one another, and there was no looking back after that. I loved his company. He had a disarming, almost old-world charm about him, which I learnt came from New Orleans, like he did. He would often say things in French by accident and then blush at his mistake with downcast eyes and that annoyingly perfect smile. For his birthday in November I gave him a bottle of Romance, which he had admired so on me. It was splendid to see his eyes light up as he tore through the packaging and then express delighted gratitude. Times were good then, and we were both happy in that knowledge. One night, we had both gone to a party at a fraternity that wanted me to pledge. I had no intention of doing so but I felt that there was no harm in attending one of their affairs and therefore I invited Magnus to join me so that he may later give me his honest opinion. It was a colorful gathering, with entire sections of the building devoted to different kinds of elixirs. Needless to say that by the time I had reached the top floor, I was completely trashed. In addition to being inebriated, I suddenly realized that I had lost Magnus somewhere along the way. An inexplicable sense of panic engulfed me as I scanned the room frantically with my blurred vision, but to no avail. I felt myself losing balance and quickly moved myself into the vicinity of a chair and fell into it. Someone handed me another jello shot and in my disheveled state of mind, I consumed it immediately, leading to shouts of jubilation from my would be "brothers." I managed to smile at them quite convincingly while trying simultaneously to ascertain the cause of my tense state of mind. Try as I might however, I could not figure out why my present circumstances were so unbearable to me. The only thing I knew with any certainty whatsoever was that I craved Magnus' company. I missed him so much it hurt. I had to find him. I somehow managed to make it downstairs without falling and was immediately confronted with the image, at the far side of the room, of Magnus having a conversation with a pretty girl who was obviously trying to seduce him. She pressed her breasts up against his chest every chance she got and used the movement of the crowd around them as an excuse to touch his torso as often as possible. I suddenly felt sick. I don't know if it was the alcohol or the sight of my friend getting pawed by a mass of blonde curls that got to me, but I felt that I had to get out of there. I felt a sad desperation well up inside me as unexplainable tears choked my vision. I rushed for the exit. On my way Nick, another friend of mine, grabbed my arm and asked me where I was going and then seeing the state I was in, he grew concerned and tried to ask me what the matter was. I made some feeble excuse about not feeling well with whatever confused words came to my mind and stumbled towards the door. The cold air that greeted me was a welcome change from the warm, moist atmosphere of the frat house. My head cleared slightly and I decided to focus on trying to get home, to the delicious embrace of sleep waiting patiently at my bedside. North and south soon merged into one however and hopelessly off track, I wandered for another hour before finally arriving at my building. There, in the darkness that surrounded the front entrance, a figure waited, cloaked in shadow. It moved towards me as I struggled with the lock and grabbed me by the shoulders. My instincts told me to struggle, to get free, to get away, but my body refused to comply, and I allowed myself to be manipulated by the strong hands that turned me roughly towards an unseen visage. "Where the fuck were you?" asked an enraged, southern voice. "I was so fucking worried. I've been here for almost two hours. Nick told me you had left. He said you looked sick. Where the fuck were you?" It recognized the voice. I recognized the strength in the arms that now held me captive as much as they prevented me from collapsing to the floor. It was Magnus. I was too drunk to remember the circumstances of our separation. For now, all I felt was relief, but along with that a sick, desperate fear that I would lose him again. "I don't know where. I don't. you. you left me." was all I could manage to say before my head started to spin and I felt myself being drawn downwards to the waiting ground. I thought how there was nothing I would rather do than just give up the fight to stay aloft and let myself fall, but then I realized that I did not want to leave the embrace I was in either. Practical though it may have been, to me it somehow far more sensual. The strong arms holding me seemed capable of defending me from any calamity that life might throw my way. I did not want to leave their protection. For the first time in my life, I just gave in to being held. Instead of my usual self, I was for that moment a little child once again who was tired of feeling hurt and just wanted everything to be OK again. And while Magnus held me, it somehow was. I let myself collapse against him and he led me upstairs to my room and helped me onto the bed. Then he stood still and looked me in the eyes. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said. As he turned to leave, I grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him back with a strength that caught us both by surprise. He fell into bed beside me and looked at me with a shocked expression. "Don't go." I whispered. I felt his body relax. He breathed out and the warmth caressed my shoulder. I turned on my side, facing away from him. He turned the same way, draped an arm over my chest and pulled me close. We slept till noon the next day. I don't think I ever felt safer in my life.