Chapter 14
14
GERARD
C arving pumpkins is a messy business. Innards tend to go flying, and there’s a genuine possibility of slicing a finger and bleeding out.
Impressing somebody is also a messy business. There’s the potential to spit, sneeze, or even choke on your saliva.
So, how should one dress for both occasions on the same day?
Casually? A little better than usual? Same as always?
I’ve never been the most inquisitive guy, but today is a day of firsts, which means it’s time to call in the big guns.
Me
Dude! Need your help. Got a few minutes to come down the hall?
Oliver
For you, boo, I have several minutes. Be right there, man!
I haven’t even had the time to finish reading Oliver’s response when I hear my bedroom door swing open. “Gerard?”
“In here!” A blue polo shirt falls from a hanger and onto my face.
“The closet? Something you want to tell me, G? ”
The irony isn’t lost on me—hiding in a literal closet while grappling with metaphorical ones. I want to tell Oliver what’s going on inside my head, but I haven’t fully figured it out myself yet.
“Just trying to figure out what to wear.” I step out of the closet with a heap of clothes in my arms. Oliver leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking.
“Date night?”
“It’s not a date,” I say, maybe too quickly. “It’s pumpkin carving day.”
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Then what’s with the wardrobe crisis?”
I shrug. “I want to look…presentable.”
Oliver uncrosses his arms and walks over, taking the pile of clothes from me. “You always look presentable, G. But if you want my expert fashion advice, let’s see what we’re working with.”
As Oliver starts sorting through the clothes, my mind drifts.
After reading that chapter on bisexuality in Elliot’s Introduction to Human Sexuality textbook, it’s all I could think about.
About me. About how maybe this thing with Elliot isn’t a phase or an experiment.
I needed to know more, so I went to the campus library to check out the book myself. Thank God Elliot wasn’t working, but his friend Sarah was. The whole scene played out like a bad sitcom.
“Hey, Sarah,” I said as I casually strolled up to her. “I’m looking for a book.”
She pushed up her sleeves and smiled big. “Well, you’ve come to the right place! Which one?”
“Uh, it’s called Introduction to Human Sexuality .”
Her eyes widened a bit, and I could see the wheels in her head turning. “For a class?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “For…research.”
She pointed me to the right section, and I made my way through the stacks as if I were sneaking into enemy territory. When I found the book, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Carrying it back to the front desk, I worried someone might jump out and take a picture, like in those old-timey scandal rags. Thankfully, I wasn’t that important.
Sarah didn’t say anything as she scanned it, but her silence was loud enough to make my ears burn. As she handed it back to me, she paused and gave me one of those knowing looks. “Good luck with your…research.”
I bolted out of there so fast I nearly took out a freshman on a skateboard.
“Earth to Gerard.” Oliver is waving a shirt in front of my face. It’s a plaid flannel, totally something Drew would wear.
“Huh?”
“I said, what do you think of this?”
“No. I don’t want to look like Drew. Would you?”
“Right. So, what you want is something that says, ‘I’m effortlessly stylish and put together, but I’m also not afraid to get down and dirty with some pumpkin guts.’”
“Which is the truth. I’m all of those things and then some.”
“That you are.” Oliver chuckles and digs through the pile of clothes some more. “So, what’s the deal with you and Elliot? I heard you invited him here to carve pumpkins with you and Alex?”
“We’re friends. That’s all. And…he’s helping me read more.” Good one, Gerard.
Oliver snorts. “Reading. Right.” He picks up a tie-dyed shirt and holds it against my chest appraisingly. “You know we’ll support you no matter what, right? Me, Drew, Kyle…Even if you’re reading gay erotica now.”
I freeze for a second. How does he know?
Oliver laughs. “Dude, relax. I’m kidding.” He sets the tie-dyed shirt down gently on top of the flannel and pulls out a faded black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. “What about this? It’s got a rugged, bad-boy vibe, but it’s also old enough that you won’t mind it getting dirty.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know, man. I wear that shirt all the time around the house. I want to put in some effort, you know?”
Oliver nods insightfully before tossing the shirt aside. “Fair point.” He dives back in until he finds a dark brown Henley that’s distressed from years of washing. “How about this one? The color brings out your eyes, and the buttons give it something extra. Pair it with dark jeans, and you’re golden, Holden.”
I study Oliver’s selection but can’t see anything wrong with it. “I think we have a winner. Thanks, man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably end up walking around naked since you clearly can’t dress yourself. Oh wait, you already do that.”
I shove him playfully. “You’ve only ever walked in on me a handful of times. I’d hardly call that a pattern.”
“A handful of times is a pattern, G.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
For a moment, the tension and uncertainty of the past week disappear, and we’re just two best friends goofing around.
After carefully selecting the final pieces of my outfit, including a pair of dark Timberland boots and a leather bracelet, Oliver leaves me to join his study group for lunch in the city. He even spritzes me with my favorite cologne before he goes.
Glancing at my phone, I frown at the time. I’m dressed and ready to go, but Elliot won’t be here for two more hours. I guess I could jerk off to pass the time.
Taking a seat at my desk, I unbutton my pants and slide them and my boxers down to my ankles. The fabric of the Henley is soft against my chest, but it’s doing nothing for the hard-on that’s been building since I decided to beat my meat .
I boot up my laptop and go to my favorite porn site. The thumbnails load slowly, one by one, showing a mix of tanned bodies and exaggerated expressions. A familiar warmth spreads through me as I click on the “Newest” tab and start scrolling.
Sometimes, I can find a video within seconds, but today is proving to be a lesson in patience. It’s not until I’m on the fourth page that a thought strikes me like a flash of lightning in the dark recesses of my mind.
If I’m really bi, wouldn’t that mean I have to enjoy intimacy with a man too? The very idea makes my toes curl. But attraction is one thing. Acting on it is another.
It’s kind of funny worrying about this when I’ve never even had sex with a girl. I’m twenty-one years old, in college, and still a virgin. Not that anyone but my teammates knows that.
If you asked the Ice Queen or any of the puck bunnies who follow the team, they’d probably assume I’m screwing a different girl every night. The reality is much less exciting.
Hockey has always come first for me. Between early morning practices, late-night games, and trying to keep my grades up, there’s never been much time for anything else. Even now, with the season in full swing, I’m exhausted most of the time. The rare moments when I’m not completely wiped out, I’d rather spend hanging with the guys or just chilling by myself.
And it’s not like there hasn’t been an opportunity. The so-called “puck bunnies” are a real thing—they throw themselves at us like we’re rock stars. I could have cashed in on that a million times over, but it’s never appealed to me. The idea of hooking up just for fun, without any real connection, feels empty.
In high school, it was the same story. I had a few girlfriends, but we never went all the way. It wasn’t because I was scared or anything; I simply didn’t feel the rush that other guys seemed to get from making out or fooling around. My hand did me just fine then, and it still does now.
Speaking of my dick, I look down at it standing at attention like an eager puppy. It wants to be played with, and who am I to deny him such pleasure? After all, what’s the worst that could happen, jerking off to gay porn? I go soft?
Resting my chin in my left hand, my right hand comes off my throbbing cock to search through the gay porn videos. Each thumbnail proves to be more ridiculous than the last.
There’s one with two guys in pirate costumes. Another with a trio wearing nothing but aprons and oven mitts. There’s even one of a guy dressed as Spiderman. I almost click on that one.
Then I see it—a beefy jock riding a pink dildo. Something about the image makes me pause. Does it have something to do with the fact that we’re both beefy? Or is it the contrast of the bright pink toy against his milky-white skin that catches my eye?
The more I think about it, the more I can see myself in his shoes. Or bare feet, in this particular instance.
I click on the video, and I’m gifted with an immediate moan from the jock. He’s in a dimly lit room, kneeling on a bed with his back arched and his hands braced on his thick thighs. The camera angle shows every detail of his body as he bounces up and down with a look of pure ecstasy on his face.
I’m not totally dense. I’ve heard of the prostate before. But I never thought about playing with my own. The idea always seemed too…invasive.
But watching this guy get off so intensely makes me wonder. Could it really feel that good? Would I even have the guts to try it?
My hand moves almost on its own as I spread my legs wider and let my fingers graze my perineum. I know you can access the prostate from here; Drew once explained it in far more detail than was necessary. At the time, I cringed and told him to shut up, but now I’m grateful for the knowledge.
I apply a bit more pressure and imagine what it would be like to have something inside me, hitting that spot over and over. The guy in the video is moaning loudly now, his whole body trembling as he nears his climax.
My touch sends a strange new sensation through me. Something deeper than surface-level pleasure. It’s like a spark that threatens to ignite a much bigger fire. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this kind of heat.
The guy in the video explodes, his load shooting across his chest and abs. His cries mix with the sound of my heavy breathing as I watch every last second of it.
I release the pressure on my perineum and take hold of my cock again, imagining Elliot’s hands instead of mine.
Would he touch me like this? Would he be gentle at first, then rougher when he knew what I liked?
I don’t last long with those thoughts in my head. My orgasm crashes over me, and I jump to my feet in the nick of time to spill my load across my desk.
The pleasure is almost too much to handle, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from shouting. My hips buck uncontrollably as I ride out the aftershocks.
Closing my laptop, I lie back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. What am I doing? Exploring is one thing, but diving in headfirst like this? It feels dangerous.
With a sigh, I wipe down my desk, pull my pants up, and check myself out in the mirror. The Henley really does bring out my eyes, exactly like Oliver said.
Maybe this is why I’m confused about Elliot and everything else right now. It’s not only about liking guys or girls; it’s also about figuring out what I actually want from another person.
And from myself.
I’m so caught up in my worries that I don’t hear my phone buzzing. It isn’t until it vibrates off the nightstand that I snap out of it and grab it off the floor.
The screen flashes my dad’s contact photo—an image of him with his eyes crossed and tongue sticking out—and I answer it.
“Hey, big guy!” My dad’s deep, booming voice crackles through the phone. “What’re you up to?”
My eyes dart from my desk to the garbage can filled with cummy tissues. “Uh…playing some Xbox while I wait for a friend to come over. ”
“A friend, huh?” A knowing tone in his voice makes me stiffen. “Who’s this friend? ”
“His name’s Elliot. He works part-time at the library.”
“Oh, a library guy. That’s new for you.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “He’s cool. We have some stuff in common.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve taken up reading now.” My dad laughs, and I can’t help but smile.
“Nah, we just…I don’t know. We get along.” I leave it at that, not wanting to dive deeper into my confusing feelings for Elliot.
“So, what’re you and this Elliot doing today?”
“We’re going to carve pumpkins for the Hockey House Halloween party. Alex is getting the pumpkins with Kyle right now.”
“Sounds like a blast! Remember when we used to do that every year?”
“Yeah, Dad. I remember.” I think back to when Lily and I would make a huge mess in the kitchen while our parents supervised. Those were some of my favorite memories growing up.
“We need to get a pumpkin this year,” my dad says, also reminiscing. “Maybe when you come home for Thanksgiving, we can do one then. A turkey pumpkin or something.”
I laugh. “A turkey pumpkin? That sounds ridiculous.”
“It’ll be awesome! So, you’re coming home for sure?”
“Of course, I’m coming home.” I pause. “But I might have to come back early for practice. Coach is cracking down since we almost lost last night.”
My dad grunts in acknowledgment. “You guys pulled it off in the end, though. That new defenseman is something else.”
“Yeah, Nathan’s been killing it.” I think about how Nathan took down a guy twice his size, which allowed me to get in one final shot on goal. “He’s a good dude.”
“So, how’re you feeling about the season as a whole?”
I take a deep breath. This is the question I’ve been dreading because I’m not sure of the answer myself. The season is going well—we’re winning and not losing—but something has been off for me lately.
“Okay,” I say, trying to convince him and myself. “We’ve got a strong team this year.”
“You don’t sound too excited there, Gerard.”
“I’m just tired, Dad.” It’s not a lie; I am tired. Tired from practice, school, and trying to figure out my life.
“Well, make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” he says, softer now. “We want you healthy and happy.”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair. “Thanks, Dad.”
There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “Alright, I’ll let you go. I wanted to check in; I hadn’t heard from you in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll do better, Dad.”
“I went to BSU, too, you know. I remember how crazy it can get when hockey is in full swing.”
“I miss you.”
After my dad says nothing for a few minutes, I pull the phone away from my ear to check that we haven’t been disconnected.
“I miss you, too, bud.” I hear his voice and put the phone back to my ear. “You can call me whenever you want. I’ll always answer. You know that, right?”
I nod. More silence.
“Gerard?”
Oh, right. He can’t see me. “Yes, I know that, Dad. I love you.”
“Love you too, Son. Have fun carving pumpkins. Don’t slice your hand off!”
With a roll of my eyes, I hang up. I don’t have time to contemplate the conversation with my dad because the sound of the front door opening reaches me through the open window.
“Yo, G! Come help us sort these!” Kyle yells.
I take one last look in the mirror and head downstairs. The smell of pumpkin already fills the air, mixing with the lingering scent of my cologne.
Alex holds up a particularly lopsided pumpkin and grins. “This one’s got your name on it, Gerard.”
I take it from him and weigh it in my hands. “Looks like someone sat on it.”
“Probably more aerodynamic for chucking,” Kyle says as he starts clearing space on the kitchen table.
I gasp in mock outrage and clutch the pumpkin to my chest like a protective mother hen. “How dare you, sir! We do not throw pumpkins around here. I’ll have you know that this pumpkin and I share a deep, spiritual connection.”
“Yeah? How so?” Kyle leans against the counter and eyes me with the slightest bit of amusement.
I close my eyes and take a deep, exaggerated breath. “It all started in the pumpkin patch. I was lost, searching for my one true gourd. Right when I thought all hope was lost, a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated this poor, misshapen soul.”
Alex hides his snickers behind the other pumpkins as I continue.
“It was love at first sight. I could see myself in its crooked stem and uneven surface. We’re both creatures of asymmetry, struggling to find our place in a world that demands perfection. Holding it in my hands now is like holding a mirror to my own lopsided heart.”
Kyle’s face is a mess of conflicted emotions. He wants to burst out laughing, but he also appears to be contemplating if I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have.
“I took it in my arms and cradled it gently, whispering sweet nothings about carving it into a beautiful lantern. A flicker of life sparked in its empty eyes as it imagined a future filled with candlelight and Halloween glory.” I pause for dramatic effect. “And that, dear friends, is how we became spiritually bonded.”
Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Alex loses it. His quiet giggles turn into full-blown laughter, and even Kyle can’t hold back a smirk as he shakes his head. “You’re such an idiot. ”
“An idiot with the cutest pumpkin ever!” I say proudly.
Without warning, Kyle snatches the pumpkin from my hands and bolts for the front yard.
“You bastard!” I yell, sprinting after him.
Alex follows us to the door and watches from the porch, still laughing as he shouts, “Don’t kill each other! Or the pumpkin!”
Kyle is fast, but I’ve got longer strides. We tear across the lawn like kids playing tag, dodging around trees and parked cars.
“Think of the children!” I holler as I close the gap between us.
“Run, Kyle, run!” Alex cheers from the porch. “Don’t let Gerard catch you!”
“Traitor!” I yell.
We run round and round until we can’t go on any longer. Kyle and I collapse on the grass, chests heaving. My pumpkin rolls to a stop beside me, miraculously unscathed from our shenanigans.
“Truce?” I extend a hand toward Kyle.
He eyes me carefully before clasping my hand in his. “Truce. But only because I don’t want to be responsible for the tragic demise of Sir Lumps-a-Lot over there.”
I gasp. Nobody bullies my pumpkin.
“The truce is over,” I say before wrestling Kyle while Alex films it for posterity.