Part one got flagged for some reason, and I haven't figured out how to contest it. Let me know if I need to repost it or something. Ya'll, I really thought I was cooking back when I started this shit. Now I'm not so sure; maybe it's because I'm farther away from my own college experience than when I wrote the bulk of this epilogue. Whatever. Here's some more of it, and hopefully it resembles a story with plot and characters.
When my phone dings later in the semester I expect it to be anyone but Dillon.
What's going on tonight? I need to get out for a little bit.
I don't know whether it's funny or annoying that he uses proper English. I reply, TMP toga party. Gonna b fking cold with a snowflake for emphasis. Then, after thinking about it for a second, I add, im going to up psi. Just drinks nothing official
He can come if he wants to or not. Like he said, Dillon can take care of his own fucking self.
By the time I spot Dillon in the Up Psi house I'm one beer past buzzed and I've gotten to second base already with some toga party escapee who told me tequila makes her horny as fuck. His eyes are red and he looks upset when he walks in. My guess is stoned and in the paranoid stage. Like, I could get up and be all friendly, but I’m trying to hide a half chub while what’s-her-face gets us more punch. So I just nod and don’t stop him from sitting on the other end of the raggedy couch.
“Hey,” Dillon says over the noise.
“Hey,” I say back. “Do you know anybody else here?” At Dillon’s puzzled look I explain, “I’m waiting on a girl to come back, and then we might, uh, disappear for a little bit.”
Maybe if I was sober I could read the, like, forty different facial expressions that pass over Dillon’s face, but not tonight.
He finally says, “Okay.”
And just in case the main expression I saw was confusion, I say, “She’s getting us punch, but you can have mine, because we’re definitely going to head upstairs. You might want to find somebody else to talk to.”
Again the fucking parade of emotions, only to settle on totally neutral. I’m not a fucking mindreader. And can I get a little credit for giving him a head’s up? The guy fucking invited himself.
Dillon's eyes kind of slide to the side, like when he told me I wasn't Kayleigh’s type. "You look like the kind of guy who would suck in bed."
"I don't get any fucking complaints," I say, getting angry.
"Of course you don't," he replied with a shrug, "because girls don't tell guys that stuff to their faces."
"How would you fucking know? Or let me guess: all your friends are girls. Classic gay shit." Even as the words leave my mouth I feel a little guilty. Aaron would have slapped me upside the head for talking to him like that.
Dillon looks pissed now, too. He points a finger at me, and says, "You aren't the hottest guy on campus—not even top ten—but you act like it. You have a nice body, but I only know that because I can't remember the last time I saw you outside of class with a shirt on." His tone gets mean. "I'd bet money that you don't jack off to porn. You jack off while looking at your own dick. And I bet that when you're with a girl, you're always perpendicular to her so that you can watch your abs flex and your cock fuck her. I'll bet you think that's like, the hottest thing ever."
"All guys watch themselves," I respond. "It's not like you don't." It's a lame defense, but I'm kind of drunk and I just don't get why Dillon is being such a jackass. Why do I need to know I'm not the hottest guy on campus?
He points his beer bottle at me. "I don't, because I like to focus on my partner when I fuck. My sex life isn't wannabe porn."
I know that Dillon is trying to make a point, but a part of me is curious by what exactly he means. Does he, like, always look into the other dude's eyes? I thought gay guys did it doggy style. Maybe his back is super flexible, and Dillon can twist around to see behind him. Or is he on top?
The girl, whose name starts with an A for sure, comes back with drinks and gets straight into my lap. She’s drunk, I’m drunk, and Dillon’s just being a fucking bummer. Just to show Dillon that I’m actually not shitty with women, I only kiss her for a little bit before I say, “Oh, sorry, This is Dillon. We’re in lab together.”
She leans across me, giggling a little, and shakes Dillon’s hand like it’s a goddam business meeting. “I’m Abbie. With an i-e.”
Dillon looks at her like he looks at me when I can’t understand an assignment. “Hi Abbie,” he greets her. “You doing okay tonight.”
“I am now,” she replies, holding up her cup. “I didn’t get you one, but do you want it? It’s Hawaiian punch, pineapple vodka, blue something, and triple sec. It tastes like juice!”
Dillon accepts her offer, and I try to pull her focus back to me. She’s soft, her lip gloss tastes like strawberry candy, and her tits are huge. If Dillon’s pouty ass wasn’t sitting there, this would have been a successful night for me already. But instead I’m half watching who all he’s saying hi to. He doesn’t just know me, which is maybe why he chose this over the toga party. Or does he know people because of playing All State, other guys who quit because it stopped being fun?
Abbie-with-an-i-e wiggles on my lap. "You're not paying attention to me," she pouts.
I put my cup down. "I am.”
“Girls aren’t supposed to date guys like you,” she says. Dillon rolls his eyes.
I put my hand on Abbie’s hips. “Then what are you supposed to do with guys like me?”
She giggles, and that’s the only opening I need to pull her mouth to mine. Abbie is clearly hot for me, which, like, whatever, but it's just satisfying to prove to that asshole that I'm not a shitty fuck. If I were, would hot chicks be all over me?
Dillon is watching us. Let him, I think. Fucking pervert probably gets off seeing me make out with her, imagining himself in Abbie’s place. Like, I'll bet he thinks about me when he jacks off, like all the times he's seen me at the gym, when he's running around doing pull-ups and shit while he's been trying to look up my shorts in the mirror. Or when we're in lab together and our arms touch, and he's turned the fuck on by, like, how warm our skin is on contact even though there's a goddam cadaver in front of us.
"Jay, Jay, hey, you can't do that in front of people," Abbie says into my mouth, and I realize I'm like, grinding her on me real hard.
So I stand up. "Then I'll do it in private," I say, helping Abbie stand. She squeals a little bit when I pull her upstairs. I don't even take her clothes off. My dick's out, her panties hit the floor, and I roll on a condom before she has time to say, "I don't know your last name." Abbie's one of those girls who has to say something with each, like thrust. An ooh or ah or oh yeah, or whatever, it's like, please shut up a little because this isn't my room. But mm, mm, that's some warm and welcoming pussy. Judgmental Dillon is probably still downstairs, wishing it were him. Seriously, why won't he leave me alone if he doesn't want me to fuck him?
"It's too hard," Abbie whines.
"Shit, sorry."
She lays a sloppy kiss on almost my lips. "S'cool, just, like, go a little slower."
Dillon isn't there when I go downstairs. Whiny prick. Probably jealous. Or went to find some other guy.
Weird enough, I actually catch up to him about halfway back to the dorms. "Calling it a night?" I ask. Dillon flips me off and keeps walking. "Sorry, bro. Pussy called."
Dillon gives me this cold, cold look over his shoulder. "That was fast."
"I make 'em come quick," I say. I'm kind of joking, but what I'd like to do is shove him off the sidewalk. I can't do that, though, because he's gay and I have to be careful. Dillon makes this "yuck" noise and walks faster.
"What do you want from me?"
He whirls around, nearly falling off the sidewalk, and throws his hands up. "I don't even know! I just want you to be…different."
Different? "What the fuck, man?"
"Just stop being so insensitive to everybody."
I poke him in the shoulder. Lightly, though, so I can't get in trouble. "Maybe you need to stop being so damn sensitive."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you!"
Dillon shouts back, "No, fuck you! You don't know a goddam thing about me or my life, so you can take whatever you think I'm mad about and shove it up your ass, because that's not it!"
"Then what is it?" I ask, throwing my arms out dramatically in a way that almost sends me stumbling off the sidewalk.
"My boyfriend dumped me yesterday, and then I found out that he has been cheating on me since I got here. The entire fucking semester!” Dillon rages. At least it’s not about me. “ The gay community here is miniscule, and the bastard still found a way to sleep around, which means that a ton of people who I thought were my friends knew! The whole fucking time! And nobody told me; I had to find out. Then I had to tell Cris, the only other person who was unaware, but he’s not over his old boyfriend anyway so it’s just me hurting. That sucks, okay?"
"So go fuck someone and get over it." Even as it leaves my mouth I know it's not the right thing to say. Dillon had a boyfriend this whole time? I may have had him wrong, which makes me feel kinda guilty for thinking he was like a pussy hound or something. Cock hound, I mean. Ass hound.
Dillon looks like he's about to cry, seriously. "I'm not like you, okay? I really liked him, and I thought things were going—you have no idea what that's like, do you." It wasn't a question. "You've never put yourself out there. You don't fucking know how."
What I don’t fucking know is how to react right now. Am I supposed to, like, hug him or something? "Hey, dude—"
"No," he interrupts. He even flips his hand up between us, which is the gayest thing I've ever seen him do. "I don't know why I bothered. I came here hoping that you're just be a fucking friend instead of trying to prove how macho you are."
I shuffle my feet. I wasn't not being his friend. Carter wouldn't ever have gotten upset at me like this. LeAndre hadn't either. Actually, the only person who had yelled at me in the last ten years was Aaron. Maybe it's a gay thing. It didn't feel good then, and it actually feels worse now. "Come on, man, I didn't mean it."
Dillon's blue eyes narrow. "The problem is that you do mean it, Jay. All that offhand shit about fucking somebody to get over so someone else, being too good for relationships…you mean it, because your cromagnon brain can't wrap around the idea of people interacting with even a hint of sincerity, or, I don't know, emotional investment! If you were smarter I'd think you were a sociopath, but for now I'll just call you a stupid fucking asshole."
Oh. My. God. The fuck? It's like, I'm trying to be nice to him, and Dillon just throws it back in my face. I can't hit him, but holy shit I am ready to punch him right in his jaw.
“Don’t call me stupid,” I manage to say. “Stop calling me that.”
Dillon turns to walk away.
“I fucking serious, bruh,” I say, trying to sound threatening. This used to be easy for me. Like, eight months ago a Dillon-type wouldn’t have tried to step to me like that.
He turns back without slowing down. “Do your own work from now on. I’m not carrying you in class anymore.”
What's going on tonight? I need to get out for a little bit.
I don't know whether it's funny or annoying that he uses proper English. I reply, TMP toga party. Gonna b fking cold with a snowflake for emphasis. Then, after thinking about it for a second, I add, im going to up psi. Just drinks nothing official
He can come if he wants to or not. Like he said, Dillon can take care of his own fucking self.
By the time I spot Dillon in the Up Psi house I'm one beer past buzzed and I've gotten to second base already with some toga party escapee who told me tequila makes her horny as fuck. His eyes are red and he looks upset when he walks in. My guess is stoned and in the paranoid stage. Like, I could get up and be all friendly, but I’m trying to hide a half chub while what’s-her-face gets us more punch. So I just nod and don’t stop him from sitting on the other end of the raggedy couch.
“Hey,” Dillon says over the noise.
“Hey,” I say back. “Do you know anybody else here?” At Dillon’s puzzled look I explain, “I’m waiting on a girl to come back, and then we might, uh, disappear for a little bit.”
Maybe if I was sober I could read the, like, forty different facial expressions that pass over Dillon’s face, but not tonight.
He finally says, “Okay.”
And just in case the main expression I saw was confusion, I say, “She’s getting us punch, but you can have mine, because we’re definitely going to head upstairs. You might want to find somebody else to talk to.”
Again the fucking parade of emotions, only to settle on totally neutral. I’m not a fucking mindreader. And can I get a little credit for giving him a head’s up? The guy fucking invited himself.
Dillon's eyes kind of slide to the side, like when he told me I wasn't Kayleigh’s type. "You look like the kind of guy who would suck in bed."
"I don't get any fucking complaints," I say, getting angry.
"Of course you don't," he replied with a shrug, "because girls don't tell guys that stuff to their faces."
"How would you fucking know? Or let me guess: all your friends are girls. Classic gay shit." Even as the words leave my mouth I feel a little guilty. Aaron would have slapped me upside the head for talking to him like that.
Dillon looks pissed now, too. He points a finger at me, and says, "You aren't the hottest guy on campus—not even top ten—but you act like it. You have a nice body, but I only know that because I can't remember the last time I saw you outside of class with a shirt on." His tone gets mean. "I'd bet money that you don't jack off to porn. You jack off while looking at your own dick. And I bet that when you're with a girl, you're always perpendicular to her so that you can watch your abs flex and your cock fuck her. I'll bet you think that's like, the hottest thing ever."
"All guys watch themselves," I respond. "It's not like you don't." It's a lame defense, but I'm kind of drunk and I just don't get why Dillon is being such a jackass. Why do I need to know I'm not the hottest guy on campus?
He points his beer bottle at me. "I don't, because I like to focus on my partner when I fuck. My sex life isn't wannabe porn."
I know that Dillon is trying to make a point, but a part of me is curious by what exactly he means. Does he, like, always look into the other dude's eyes? I thought gay guys did it doggy style. Maybe his back is super flexible, and Dillon can twist around to see behind him. Or is he on top?
The girl, whose name starts with an A for sure, comes back with drinks and gets straight into my lap. She’s drunk, I’m drunk, and Dillon’s just being a fucking bummer. Just to show Dillon that I’m actually not shitty with women, I only kiss her for a little bit before I say, “Oh, sorry, This is Dillon. We’re in lab together.”
She leans across me, giggling a little, and shakes Dillon’s hand like it’s a goddam business meeting. “I’m Abbie. With an i-e.”
Dillon looks at her like he looks at me when I can’t understand an assignment. “Hi Abbie,” he greets her. “You doing okay tonight.”
“I am now,” she replies, holding up her cup. “I didn’t get you one, but do you want it? It’s Hawaiian punch, pineapple vodka, blue something, and triple sec. It tastes like juice!”
Dillon accepts her offer, and I try to pull her focus back to me. She’s soft, her lip gloss tastes like strawberry candy, and her tits are huge. If Dillon’s pouty ass wasn’t sitting there, this would have been a successful night for me already. But instead I’m half watching who all he’s saying hi to. He doesn’t just know me, which is maybe why he chose this over the toga party. Or does he know people because of playing All State, other guys who quit because it stopped being fun?
Abbie-with-an-i-e wiggles on my lap. "You're not paying attention to me," she pouts.
I put my cup down. "I am.”
“Girls aren’t supposed to date guys like you,” she says. Dillon rolls his eyes.
I put my hand on Abbie’s hips. “Then what are you supposed to do with guys like me?”
She giggles, and that’s the only opening I need to pull her mouth to mine. Abbie is clearly hot for me, which, like, whatever, but it's just satisfying to prove to that asshole that I'm not a shitty fuck. If I were, would hot chicks be all over me?
Dillon is watching us. Let him, I think. Fucking pervert probably gets off seeing me make out with her, imagining himself in Abbie’s place. Like, I'll bet he thinks about me when he jacks off, like all the times he's seen me at the gym, when he's running around doing pull-ups and shit while he's been trying to look up my shorts in the mirror. Or when we're in lab together and our arms touch, and he's turned the fuck on by, like, how warm our skin is on contact even though there's a goddam cadaver in front of us.
"Jay, Jay, hey, you can't do that in front of people," Abbie says into my mouth, and I realize I'm like, grinding her on me real hard.
So I stand up. "Then I'll do it in private," I say, helping Abbie stand. She squeals a little bit when I pull her upstairs. I don't even take her clothes off. My dick's out, her panties hit the floor, and I roll on a condom before she has time to say, "I don't know your last name." Abbie's one of those girls who has to say something with each, like thrust. An ooh or ah or oh yeah, or whatever, it's like, please shut up a little because this isn't my room. But mm, mm, that's some warm and welcoming pussy. Judgmental Dillon is probably still downstairs, wishing it were him. Seriously, why won't he leave me alone if he doesn't want me to fuck him?
"It's too hard," Abbie whines.
"Shit, sorry."
She lays a sloppy kiss on almost my lips. "S'cool, just, like, go a little slower."
Dillon isn't there when I go downstairs. Whiny prick. Probably jealous. Or went to find some other guy.
Weird enough, I actually catch up to him about halfway back to the dorms. "Calling it a night?" I ask. Dillon flips me off and keeps walking. "Sorry, bro. Pussy called."
Dillon gives me this cold, cold look over his shoulder. "That was fast."
"I make 'em come quick," I say. I'm kind of joking, but what I'd like to do is shove him off the sidewalk. I can't do that, though, because he's gay and I have to be careful. Dillon makes this "yuck" noise and walks faster.
"What do you want from me?"
He whirls around, nearly falling off the sidewalk, and throws his hands up. "I don't even know! I just want you to be…different."
Different? "What the fuck, man?"
"Just stop being so insensitive to everybody."
I poke him in the shoulder. Lightly, though, so I can't get in trouble. "Maybe you need to stop being so damn sensitive."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you!"
Dillon shouts back, "No, fuck you! You don't know a goddam thing about me or my life, so you can take whatever you think I'm mad about and shove it up your ass, because that's not it!"
"Then what is it?" I ask, throwing my arms out dramatically in a way that almost sends me stumbling off the sidewalk.
"My boyfriend dumped me yesterday, and then I found out that he has been cheating on me since I got here. The entire fucking semester!” Dillon rages. At least it’s not about me. “ The gay community here is miniscule, and the bastard still found a way to sleep around, which means that a ton of people who I thought were my friends knew! The whole fucking time! And nobody told me; I had to find out. Then I had to tell Cris, the only other person who was unaware, but he’s not over his old boyfriend anyway so it’s just me hurting. That sucks, okay?"
"So go fuck someone and get over it." Even as it leaves my mouth I know it's not the right thing to say. Dillon had a boyfriend this whole time? I may have had him wrong, which makes me feel kinda guilty for thinking he was like a pussy hound or something. Cock hound, I mean. Ass hound.
Dillon looks like he's about to cry, seriously. "I'm not like you, okay? I really liked him, and I thought things were going—you have no idea what that's like, do you." It wasn't a question. "You've never put yourself out there. You don't fucking know how."
What I don’t fucking know is how to react right now. Am I supposed to, like, hug him or something? "Hey, dude—"
"No," he interrupts. He even flips his hand up between us, which is the gayest thing I've ever seen him do. "I don't know why I bothered. I came here hoping that you're just be a fucking friend instead of trying to prove how macho you are."
I shuffle my feet. I wasn't not being his friend. Carter wouldn't ever have gotten upset at me like this. LeAndre hadn't either. Actually, the only person who had yelled at me in the last ten years was Aaron. Maybe it's a gay thing. It didn't feel good then, and it actually feels worse now. "Come on, man, I didn't mean it."
Dillon's blue eyes narrow. "The problem is that you do mean it, Jay. All that offhand shit about fucking somebody to get over so someone else, being too good for relationships…you mean it, because your cromagnon brain can't wrap around the idea of people interacting with even a hint of sincerity, or, I don't know, emotional investment! If you were smarter I'd think you were a sociopath, but for now I'll just call you a stupid fucking asshole."
Oh. My. God. The fuck? It's like, I'm trying to be nice to him, and Dillon just throws it back in my face. I can't hit him, but holy shit I am ready to punch him right in his jaw.
“Don’t call me stupid,” I manage to say. “Stop calling me that.”
Dillon turns to walk away.
“I fucking serious, bruh,” I say, trying to sound threatening. This used to be easy for me. Like, eight months ago a Dillon-type wouldn’t have tried to step to me like that.
He turns back without slowing down. “Do your own work from now on. I’m not carrying you in class anymore.”
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