Grasping
A Short Story
ABOUT THE WRITER
S. W. Pearce is an often emotionally overwhelmed queer writer from Fife, Washington. A former English student at Western Washington University, he now plays mahjong with elderly Chinese ladies for a living and occasionally pretends to work on his forthcoming debut novel. In his free time, he enjoys walking to get the mail in the rain, making soup at home and pretending he’s a witch stirring a potion in his cauldron, and Grace Jones.
Monday night, it was Caleb. Thursday night… fuck, I forget his name. Last night it was Xander.
I don’t usually clean myself out for guys, but this one was an exception. From the pictures on his profile, he was muscular, very strong, and big, in more ways than one. I was going to have to be ready to impress.
In the shower, I douched as quietly as possible, so Dad wouldn’t hear. As per fucking usual, he was crashed on the couch right outside my bedroom door, watching something new on Netflix, beer bottle in hand. Doubt he would’ve heard me over his show, and the hum of the shower water, and his brain swimming from the alcohol, but it never hurts to be cautious.
After toweling myself off, I put on my jockstrap, my raggedy pink tank top, and my black booty shorts that always seem to drive guys wild. I considered grabbing a hoodie from the coat rack, thinking it might be cold, but I figured I wouldn’t be walking far, just from the car to the apartment. Plus, summer nights are never too chilly.
I stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed my wallet, my keys, and my pink earbuds from the countertop.
“You headed somewhere?” I heard Dad say.
“Just gonna see some friends,” I said, stuffing the car keys hastily in my back pocket.
“You get the dishes done?” he slurred.
“Yeah, Dad. The dishwasher’s going right now.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, be safe, okay?”
“Mhm.”
I turned to head out the garage door.
“Hey, Wes? There gonna be any girls there?”
“I mean, most of my friends are girls, Dad.”
He grunted softly in response, before turning his face away from the TV to actually look at me. “Just, be sure you drive safe?”
Out in the car, I put on my music, started navigation to “X.’s” address, and backed out of the garage. It looked like it was about a twenty minute drive, which I didn’t mind. Night drives are relaxing for me anyways. Sure, it was only nine on a Saturday, and people were still out on the roads, but everything just feels quieter and more peaceful at night anyways.
Getting out of the house this late is a ritual at this point. Thankfully, dad doesn’t care about me leaving the house at night. He’s usually asleep one way or another by this time anyways. I wouldn’t mind going out earlier in the day, but heading out when he’s asleep or a little inebriated is usually better. I prefer to avoid him asking too many questions.
I always wonder whether he knows, you know? Like, I know he knows, but does he know? Does he really know where I go all these nights? Does he really care? Does he just pretend that I’m at some house party, feeling up some big-breasted brunette on a tattered, stained couch that I can barely stand up from?
Ultimately, it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t pry too deep. He doesn’t try to stop me from leaving, and that’s all that matters. Don’t ask, don’t tell, as it were.
The address I was headed to was in Pondside Apartments. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been there before, but maybe I had? The name was a little familiar.
In any case, it was on the other side of town. I passed by all the familiar downtown landmarks on the drive there: the college dorms, the frat houses which were uncharacteristically quiet even for the summer, the Target that burned down which they’d just finished reconstructing, the Taco Bell that my best friend Sasha and I used to drive-thru during lunch breaks, my old high school…
God, what a weird experience. Still here, in this college town I grew up in. Thank god I’d be gone in August. Plenty of new guys to meet there, hopefully.
As relaxing as night drives across town can be, they’re usually pretty nostalgic, but in a melancholic way, for that reason.
As I turned right on Beech Street and pulled up to Pondside, I saw it was pretty run of the mill, as bland, suburban, college town apartment complexes go. A few, scattered structures, only a couple stories high, wooden walls painted some unflattering shade of brown or green (it was dark, I don’t really remember), flat concrete stairs and concrete walkways between doors, a lengthy resident parking lot running around and throughout the complex. I parked my Camry on the street side in the surrounding neighborhood under a flickering fluorescent street light because I’d be goddamned if my car got towed, here of all places, because I would not be calling Dad to pick me up from some college hunk’s place.
Looking around, I could’ve sworn I’d been here before for some other guy, but then, most housing out here looks pretty much the same.
As I walked from my car to his place, counting down the numbers of the apartment buildings, 11, 10, 9, the only sound was my flip-flops flapping down the sidewalk. The world is better at night. I didn’t see anyone out and about, so I could shamelessly wear my skimpy clothes out without judging stares. The summer night breeze felt great on my skinny, overexposed body. I always felt freer on nights like that.
Eventually, I got to Building 4, and followed the instructions “X.” had messaged me: up two flights of stairs, down the walkway to the end, the last door on the right. Apartment 436. Just like he’d said, there was a doormat reading “Hope You Brought Wine” in front of it. I knocked.
Within a couple seconds, he was opening the door for me. And God, he was cute. And already shirtless. I hadn’t seen pictures of his face yet, so I was happy to see the face matched the body. He was big, beefy, with a clean shaven chest, paired with a handsome look and a short buzzed haircut. Perfect.
We crept quietly through the kitchen, past the bathroom, and into his bedroom. He whispered to me that his roommate was asleep, and he didn’t want to wake him up. I nodded in familiar understanding.
Once we were in his room, I barely took in the surroundings before I was naked in his bed. We made out, intensely, ferociously; we groped at each other's bare bodies as he slowly kissed down and down my chest; he thrust he face between my legs til I was damn near screaming; he fucked me on the bed; fucked me against his desk; fucked me on the floor; fucked me in the bed again, this time on my stomach. Honestly, fuck his roommate.
Forty minutes later, I was panting, sweaty, spent, sprawled across his now damp navy blue sheets. I felt like my brain had just exploded. He’d thrown me a threadbare, pale green towel, and was now rolling back into bed next to me, pulling me into his big arms. It was nice.
“So, what’s your name?” he asked. I noticed his talking voice was a pitch or two lower than his moaning one.
“It’s Wes,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Wes. I’m Xander.”
“Oh, so that’s what the ‘X.’ is for. Makes sense,” I said. “Cute name.”
“Thanks,” he said, and planted a peck on my cheek. “Do you want something to smoke? I know you’re driving back after.”
“Sure, yeah. My house is only, like, ten minutes away. I’ll be fine.”
Xander rolled off the bed, walked over to his desk, and started rolling me a joint. It gave me a minute to actually look around the dwelling of the guy who had just been inside me. His room was pretty bare, in all honesty. Next to him at his desk was a multi-monitor desktop computer, a couple college textbooks, some pens… nothing that really screamed personality. There was a tall black bookshelf next to the bed, though most of the shelves were empty; there were a couple thick paperbacks and some more academic texts. Nothing I recognized. The walls were white, popcorned, and pretty bare as well, other than a psychedelic tapestry hanging directly across from the bed, depicting a misty figure walking through a giant neon mushroom forest. I couldn’t imagine ever being in this room for any reason other than sex. I decided Xander’s smooth, muscular ass was a more interesting sight than his room and watched that instead.
“So, uh, what other stuff do you like?” Xander said, turning back towards me and handing me the freshly-rolled and lit joint.
“What do you mean?” I took a moderate hit and coughed a little.
“I mean, what do you like doing?”
“Oh. Uh, I like gaming a bit. Watching anime. I swim too. Was on the swim team in high school. You?”
“Nice, nice,” he said, accepting the joint from my hand and taking a much bigger drag. “I go to the gym a lot. Playing ultimate and basketball with friends. I like reading some. Mostly I work on school stuff. But since it’s the summer and everyone’s gone, I haven’t got much to do.”
“Mm.” My brain was getting a little foggy. “You from around here? Like, originally?”
“Nah, I’m from Oak Hills actually, just up here for school. You?”
“Yeah, I grew up here.” I coughed some more, and Xander offered me his water bottle. I gratefully took a deep swig. “Which high school did you go to?”
“Cottonwood,” he said. “You?”
“Platt.”
“Nice,” he said. “Y’all kicked our asses in football a bunch.”
“I wouldn’t really know.”
“Ah.”
We sat and smoked in silence. I thought about asking him about the thick fantasy novel on his bedside table, or about his high school, or Oak Hills, which I didn’t know much about, except that it was about an hour drive south of here, and that Sasha had moved from there at the beginning of high school when I met her, or was it Kristen? No I’m pretty sure it was Sasha, and she always said she hated it there but never really said why, just that the kids were fucked up and the parents were fucked up and the schools were fucked up and the town was fucked up, and that I was lucky to have grown up here, and what could have made growing up there so bad? and god does that streetlight look pretty through the window—
I thought I heard Xander’s voice. The handsome stranger’s bedroom snapped back into focus.
“Come again?” I asked.
“I said, what are you doing right now? You in college?” he said.
“Oh, uh, no actually, I did a gap year last year. I’m headed to CU Boulder this August, though.”
“Nice, out of state. What you been doing for your gap year?”
My mouth ran automatically. “Just working at the Dairy Queen, really. I was actually gonna go straight to school last August, but when my mom died in May… that was hard. I mean, I just wasn’t ready to go do actual shit, you know?”
Xander stared at me sleepily. He was silent.
“Shit, man, I didn’t mean to drop that on you. It’s the weed talking. Sorry if that was—”
“No, no, it’s… it’s okay.” Xander put his strong fingers on my shoulder. “Actually, my, uh, my mom died too. When I was in middle school.”
“Oh, damn. What are the odds?” I gave a weak chuckle.
“Yeah, what are the odds?” He shakily blew out a thick cloud. “How’d it happen?”
“Car accident,” I said. “Really sudden. You?”
“Cancer.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
We stared at each other. I thought I saw tears behind his eyes, but in the dull yellow light of his desk lamp, I wasn’t sure. The dim glow made him look really beautiful, though. His angular, masculine face looked softer, kinder.
I was about to open my mouth to say something, when he said, “Hey, sorry that got deep, I know you’re probably tired. I’ll let you get home.”
“I… yeah, I should get going. Thanks for the smoke, though. It’s good shit.”
“Oh, for sure. And you’re good to drive, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I started putting my clothes back on, jockstrap, then shorts, then—
I felt Xander come up behind me. He tenderly grasped at my arm. I turned around to meet his gaze. He looked at me so softly.
“Hey,” he said. “Tonight was… really nice.”
“Yeah, it was awesome,” I said.
Slowly, gently, Xander leaned in to kiss me. It was a much better kiss than earlier. It was slow. It took its time. I kissed him back.
“Drive safe, okay?” he said.
“Yeah.” I paused for a second. “Actually, can I use your bathroom?”
Peeing is always weird after sex. Especially when you’re kinda high. Especially in Xander’s bathroom. When I entered, I tried flicking the light switch to get the overhead light to come on, but after a couple tries, I realized it must be broken. The room was still lit, thankfully, but only very weakly by a single dying plug-in nightlight in the wall socket and a quivering, perpetually burning candle on the countertop. At least it didn’t smell nasty—aromas of teakwood, mahogany, and lavender filled the tiny room. It was almost overpowering. It sure did its job of covering up the smell of two big sweaty college boys sharing a bathroom, that’s for sure—the toilet seat had been left open; an opened tube of toothpaste sat on the counter looking used and abused; a single, messy, dripping bar of soap sat at the edge of the sink; at least five different half-used deodorant sticks lay strewn across the counter; a beer can sat in the corner; there was a hairy hairy hairbrush full of hair just lying there; there were weird stains on the walls in the flickering candlelight, at least maybe those were stains?; the wire waste bin was full of crumpled tissues and god-knows-what-else; there were a few discarded pairs of sweatpants, tank tops, underwear piled on the floor; underwear piled on the floor… he probably wouldn’t notice if I smelled some of his clothes, I want to smell him again so bad—ew, you dirty pervert, that’s sick; and anyway, who’s to say those aren’t his roommate’s? God, concentrate. Concentrate. Piss. Piss. In the bowl, asshole. Fuck. Shakily making my way over the counter, I rubbed some of the depressing little soap bar on my hands and washed them thoroughly, staring at myself in the huge mirror, looking ghostly, looking like I’ve just been fucked the hell up, looking like tears are falling out of my eyes, god why are they doing that? I splash the warm, soft water on my face several times, but it’s no use, I think I’m still crying and I’m freaking out and I’m—
I heard a faint sound from beyond the bathroom door. I focused the best I could. There it was again, no mistaking it, that iconic Grindr notification sound. Must’ve been Xander’s phone. Huh, must’ve been Xander’s phone.
I guess it’s fine. It’s not like I was about to delete the app either.
I grabbed a deep blue body towel from the rack behind me and dried my face off, gently as I could—mm, the towel really did smell like Xander. I thought for a split second about going back to his bedroom and saying… something, I’d figure that out. But no, no there really wasn’t anything more to say—we’d had an excellent time, and that was that. Who cares if some other guy was coming over here after me? At least he’d bothered actually talking to me afterwards. Most guys don’t even care enough to do that.
After exiting the bathroom, I tiptoed straight for the front door, not saying anything to avoid disturbing his roommate, grabbing my flip-flops from the entryway on the way out.
Back outside, the midnight was even more gorgeous. The patchy clouds had rolled away and the stars were out all the way. The moon was a beautiful sliver in the sky. Fuck, it was beautiful, everything was so beautiful. He must have given me some good ass weed. The cool nocturnal air clung to my still slightly sweaty arms and shaking legs, making it feel colder than before.
Thank god I was headed back to my thickly-blanketed bed. I hoped dad was asleep by now so he wouldn’t ask any annoying questions.
Once I got to my car, I stripped off my tank top again under the flickering white street lamp. I used it to wipe the rest of the sweat, and the last residue of Xander away.