Chapter 6 The Not-So-Cowardly Lion
Matt was a new man—albeit one who walked with a “hitch in his giddyap” as they said in Oklahoma, on account of William’s rigid key in his small keyhole Saturday night.
It wasn’t just that getting fucked changed him. He’d been fucked once before—technically, although another word for it was rape. (Puh-tay-tah, Po-taw-toh.)
The first time had scarred him, set him back on his lifepath, caused him to lock himself in the closet. This second time had—what was the word, ‘revived’ him?
His religion framed such experiences in terms of rebirth and renewal; burial of the old self and resurrection of the new man; the whole “once I was blind and now I can see” bit.
Those explanations didn’t quite fit.
The way Matt saw it, he had been born gay, been brainwashed and brow-beaten into believing he was broken, and now, having been baptized in semen, had been restored. He’d been born with sight, been blinded by others’ hate and could now see again.
What he saw—clearly now, thanks to William—was that he’d been trying to cut off his nose to spite his face, which wasn’t exactly bright, and which had earned him the reputation for being aloof.
Friday night, as Matt and William had lain, post coitally, in the back of the Jeep (arms entwined, cum and sweat and lube drying on their skin, their dicks looking like hungover worms wallowing in their own puke), they had taken their own tentative steps towards friendship.
They had talked about how Matt didn’t want to be at MCU and how his dad had forced it.
William had listened quietly, then asked if Matt thought he was punishing his dad by being standoffish on campus? Wasn’t that like sitting on the sidelines, self-benched, watching his teammates score the goals?
So, there Matt stood in the communal bathroom, naked—save for his shower shoes, Dopp-kit, and a towel slung over his shoulder—waiting for a shower stall, same as he’d done for the last thirteen days. This time, though, he wasn’t going to ride the bench. He was back in the game.
And he’d brought a boombox! He set it up in the back corner of the room, keyed up a Boyz II Men cd.
A couple of kids were at the sinks. One was shaving, the other brushing his teeth. A third kid was in the shower line with Matt.
Matt struck up a conversation with the kid in line beside him. The kid, of course, had a towel wrapped around his waist, ready to circumspectly wriggle out of his undies when the time came.
Matt remembered the kid’s vital statistics, having heard them repeated ad nauseum in the previous week. Name: Seth Freeman. Hometown: Perry, Oklahoma. Major: Accounting.
“Seth, right?” Matt began.
Seth nodded cautiously. He glanced at the showers to see if any were coming available.
Matt guessed it would be several minutes before a shower was free. He suspected that their dormmates had figured out that the shower stalls were the only place to jerk off in private.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a future accountant,” Matt said to Seth. “When did you decide that’s what you want to be? Like, were you the banker in Monopoly and caught someone cheating? Or did God speak to you in a dream that He’ll need you for an important audit someday?”
Seth chuckled. “I’ve never much liked Monopoly.
And God’s never spoken to me, at least that I know of.
Nah, my story’s kinda boring. My dad was doing his income taxes one year—getting frustrated and angry, like he always did.
I asked if I could see what all the fuss was about and just fell in love with it. I’ve been doing his taxes ever since.”
“Cool!” Matt enthused. “That’s anything but boring. How old were you when this happened?”
Seth blushed. “I dunno. Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“I’m impressed, dude! My old man can’t do his taxes either. It seems very complicated.”
Seth stood a little taller. He was a gangly red-headed kid who hadn’t yet grown into his feet and hands.
Matt patted Seth’s shoulder. “You could end up being the Chief Financial Officer of Ditch Witch! I’ll probably be asking you for a job someday.” (Ditch Witch was a world-renowned manufacturer of excavation equipment, headquartered in Perry, Oklahoma.)
Seth grinned. “No offense to my hometown, but I’m hoping to live in a big city. Perry’s population is 4,984. Our church has 79 members, and they are all up in each other’s business, burning up the phone lines with gossip, but calling it ‘prayer requests.’”
“Planning to go wild once you’re free of the fCOC prayer warriors?” Matt teased. “Stay up late on a Saturday night and watch SNL?”
“Something like that,” Seth said. “I’d just like to be more like you, you know, brave enough to walk around naked and not worried about what people think.”
Matt pointed to the towel girding Seth’s waist. “You’re far away from Perry now. Help me stir up some gossip around here. Lose the towel.”
Seth’s eyes went wide with fear.
“You can do it,” Matt urged.
Seth slowly untied the towel, draped it over his shoulder. He stood there in his tighty-whities, grinning.
“Attaboy!” Matt cheered. “Now, do you want to go for the whole kit and caboodle? Or stop here?”
“Oh, what the heck!” Seth stripped off his underwear, stood there in the buff with Matt, proud as a peacock.
Matt gave him a thumbs-up.
“Just think. If your preacher could see you now, he’d call an emergency prayer meeting!”
Seth laughed.
The two of them, friends now, stood naked together, waiting for their dormmates to finish wanking.
(Matt, the only person in their communal group to have a private room, didn’t have to worry about a place to jerk.
Frustratingly, though, he was under another interdiction from William against engaging in such activity.)
“In the Still of the Night” started playing on the boombox.
Matt fished in his Dopp kit, retrieved his shampoo bottle, then, using it as a makeshift mic, began lip syncing to the song. “C’mon dude,” he said to Seth. “I need some backup here!”
Seth laughed, then joined in.
The guys at the sinks watched in fascination.
Later that morning, between classes, Matt searched out the Dean of Students’ Office, where he filled out a one-page form declaring himself a candidate for one of two freshman Representative positions in the Student Government Association (SGA), elections to take place in one week’s time—on his birthday.
This, too, had been William’s suggestion.
“Are you serious?” Matt had asked. “Like student council? A bunch of kids debating things they have no power to control? No thank you.”
“Power and influence are two different things, dahling,” William had said. “You’re right that SGA has no power. They do have influence, though, because the administration thinks they represent the rest of us. You could make a difference.”
“No one cares what I think.”
“You’d be surprised,” William had said. “Are you a Leo, by chance?”
“You weren’t raised in the fCOC, were you?” Matt had asked.
“No, dahling. Why?”
“Because astrology is a big frowned-upon sin in the fCOC, not quite ranking with sodomy—which we just committed, as an ABOMINATION—but much higher on the ladder than, say, gluttony.”
William had feigned shock. “Heavens to Betsy! And to think that God led those wise men to Bethlehem with a star!”
Matt had laughed. He had also, of course, asked what made someone a Leo.
It had turned out he was a Leo, his birthday being on August 21.
William hadn’t been surprised (about the Leo thing for sure, maybe about the birthday news as well).
“Leos are natural leaders,” William had said. “They inspire and motivate people. They’re self-assured and fiercely loyal. Does that remind you of anyone?”
“Not really,” Matt had said. And meant it.
“Let me tell you about the Matthew I’ve seen,” William had said.
“The night of the freshman mixer, all the other kids were hugging the walls. You marched into the middle of the room and started talking with Debbie. There were almost five hundred kids there. You were the only one who did that. Then I joined the two of you. You were obviously nervous around me, but you weren’t intimidated.
You even called me ‘Bill!’ Shall I continue? ”
“I just don’t see myself that way,” Matt had said.
“Suit yourself, dahling. You do know that Leo means Lion, right? That it is literally written in the stars. Your sign is a constellation shaped like a lion. You’re a lion alright. Only you can decide if you’re the cowardly kind or the ‘king of the jungle’ kind.”
“Well, I did sort of just roar,” Matt had said, referencing his noisy orgasm.
“Whimpered, dahling. You whimpered, as I recall,” William had joked.