Chapter Ten
Larenz
For three weeks during winter intersession, B.D.
and I spent time daily in my room reading and discussing E.
Lynn Harris’s novels and themes. Some days, I’d use some of the money Macy paid me to tutor B.D.
and splurge on pizza or Chinese food delivery for us.
Others, we’d get to-go boxes from the cafeteria and eat and talk in my room before getting to B.D. ’s assignments.
Surprisingly, he had done most of the classwork enthusiastically, leaving me to serve more as a guide to draw out his thoughts rather than doing most of the work that Macy had asked me to do.
No guilt, I needed the money. I was impressed by how deeply B.D.
connected with the characters of Raymond, Sela, Kelvin, Nicole, and of course, Basil Henderson, the closeted professional football player.
He was far from being dumb, as Macy had alluded to.
On his last day of the intersession class, and after basketball practice, B.D. walked to my residence hall through what was beginning to look like a hefty Midwest snowfall on the way.
“I like me some Basil,” B.D. said, laughing in the elevator on the way up to my floor, punctuated by a playful tap on my arm. He’d gotten used to checking in at the front desk, where I met him daily, as the nosy front desk attendant stared and signed him in. “That is one cold playa.”
“I’m glad he resonates with you. I think I’m more of a Raymond enthusiast myself.”
“Of course you would like Raymond, Larenz.”
“Of course you would like Basil,” I said as we entered the elevator. As we listened to the six beeps before exiting on my floor, I asked, “What is it about Basil?”
“There was just something mysterious and charming about him. He even got straight-laced Raymond to fall for him. I never thought about opposites attracting in real life. Until now.”
After another playful tap on my arm, B.D.
continued about the character Basil as we walked to my room from the elevator.
There, he stomped the remnants of the snow and ice caked in the soles of his size thirteens on the carpet outside my room.
He ducked as he entered and kicked off his boots in my hallway entrance before making himself comfortable at my desk.
After twisting the blinds shut to the windows overlooking the quad, he pulled the laptop he rented from the library out of his book bag and beckoned me over.
“This is my final paper I turned in today for Dr. Darder’s class,” he said as he opened his computer. “You can skip to the personal issue section and then the conclusion if you want.”
I slid a chair next to him to read his screen. I’d seen most of his progress during his rough drafts. The conclusion, however, was new and a part of the paper he didn’t want me to help him with.
He scrolled to where he wanted me to begin reading.
Discovering and reading E. Lynn Harris’s novels was important to me for three reasons.
One, to see Black and gay men in books made me feel validated as a person who’s been thinking lately about who I am and how I identify.
Two, to see an openly Black and gay man writing novels about Black gay characters, especially the closeted athlete Basil Henderson, empowered me to feel that being a Black gay athlete was possible.
Three, to see a Black gay man writing novels about his own lived experiences and observations lets me know that it’s important to find one’s voice.
I am grateful to Dr. Darder for having E.
Lynn Harris’s novels as a choice to read in this class.
I can’t wait to read more in his collection.
I am also grateful to my summer orientation leader and now friend, Larenz Ross, as someone who lives his truth and motivates others to be their best. Larenz has become someone I have grown to trust and love as I navigate my life as a Black student athlete thinking about his own labels and identities when it comes to race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and more.
I looked at B.D. He looked at me and tapped his leg against mine.
“Is this for real? What you wrote in the paper?”
“Nah, man, all lies,” he said, tapping his leg against mine again.
“Do you mind if I ask how you identify?”
“Would you mind if I didn’t answer? It’s bad enough what I wrote in the paper.”
“There’s nothing wrong if you’re—”
B.D. put a finger over my mouth and shushed me. “The less I say…”
“I’m just saying,” I said. “Well, as someone who’s out and proud on campus…”
“No shit, Sherlock,” B.D. said. “The little rainbow flag next to your door. I clocked you from day one at summer orientation, ‘Love Is a Contact Sport.’ ”
He mocked the hand and arm movements I often did with the dance routine.
“You’ll never let me live it down, huh?”
“Never.” He tapped me on the shoulder again in that way little siblings try to tease older siblings. “You want to hear something else?”
“Sure.”
“That’s also why I ignored you all my first semester. Seeing you was like seeing me, if that makes sense. Like seeing something I knew was in me but didn’t want to see. I really admired how you were just like ‘whatever’ with how you are. Avoiding you was a way to not think about it.”
“Serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He tapped his leg against mine again, this time adding another playful punch against my shoulder. “Enough deep talk now. Do you have more E. Lynn Harris books here? Beyond the first two I had to read for Dr. Darder’s class?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, going over to my wall of milk crates. “I keep them in order here somewhere.”
As I browsed the shelf, B.D. approached me from behind.
“I think I’ll help you look,” he whispered in my ear as he gently rested his arms on my shoulders, stretching his hands out to touch the milk crates.
“B.D.,” I said, confused. His breath was warm and too close for comfort near my ear. “What are you doing?”
He lowered his arms to my waist, folded them around me, and held me.
“I do like women. Always will, I think.”
My heart raced, with B.D. embracing me from behind.
“I see.”
We stood in silence for what seemed like minutes.
“But I think I’m open to guys. Maybe one guy. I don’t know. I got a lot going on in my head.”
“Do you?”
He leaned down to plant a kiss on the side of my neck, first a dry peck, then with a little more lip, wetness, and tongue.
“Is this okay?”
“I guess.”
“Just wanted consent.”
Then he continued with more tiny kisses along my neck, then my ear.
“What are you doing? What’s this all about?” I froze. Couldn’t move. I was dumbfounded and confused, yet enjoying the initial tender kisses from B.D. B.D. King, from the freaking basketball team. Kissing on me. In my dorm room.
“What do you think this is about? I like you, Larenz.”
I paused as B.D. nervously, hesitantly, planted more tiny kisses on the back and side of my neck.
“You can’t like me.”
“You can’t tell me how to feel.”
“You have a girl.”
“We’re on a break.”
“You can’t like me, B.D.”
“I can. And I do.”
Ignoring the books and his comment about being on a relationship break, I closed my eyes as B.D. pulled me back and pressed into me from behind. He moved his hands under my sweatshirt and tank top, touching my chest.
“Fuck,” I panted while B.D. flicked one nipple then the other with his fingers, all the while gently kissing my neck.
“Your body is nice, Larenz.”
“I’m no athlete.”
“I don’t care.”
“Have you done this before? Anything with guys?”
“I’ve wanted to,” he said. “Haven’t had the courage to try. Until you.”
“Not even a crush on a guy?”
“There’s my teammate Jalon, but I don’t want to talk about that now. He’d never and I’d never.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been with guys, Larenz?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this all right? Is this how it’s supposed to feel?”
“This feels good.” I closed my eyes, indulging in the feeling of being in B.D.’s arms, his biceps gently squeezing my shoulders. He felt down my stomach to my waist again and pulled me tighter into him. I could feel his dick growing firm as he pressed against my lower back. “Feel good for you?”
“Yeah. I’m down to do more. If and when you’re ready.”
“As long as you’re really on a break from Macy.”
“I am.”
“Then I’m down,” I said, reaching behind me to feel for B.D.’s dick through his sweats. “Tonight, if you are.”
“You sure?”
I took my hands out of his sweats and turned to face him. I looked up at him and ran my hands up the front of his sweatshirt, feeling his leanness and muscles, until my wrists rested on his shoulders. I couldn’t believe what we were about to do. The basketball star and the college poster boy.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t want it. But we can chill until we’re really sure. Until you’re really sure.”