paused, taking a drink. “Look, I can write a paper and come up with a theory that maybe 200 other people in the world give two shits about. Will it make an impact on society? Maybe, but not likely…..but a dining room table, a family heirloom chest, a new house – those last. You’ve got something tangible and real to show for your work.” He glanced down at the table. “To be honest, I don’t think of myself as an academic. I drive a beat-up old pickup truck that belonged to my grandfather. It suits me just fine. I don’t care about status or ego. I really don’t need much in this life. So, I guess in my heart, I am a blue collar guy.” He met my eyes.
I looked away quickly, unable to maintain a connection so powerful. His words had rendered me open-mouthed and, for once, completely silent. Someone finally vocalized my thoughts. “Wow. That’s an amazing philosophy.”
I was thinking it was amazing, too. I was thinking it was full of heart and substance. My mind was thinking it made me like him more. My body was thinking it made me want him more. Ms. L. was thinking, “Fuck you, Shay!” Not my heart, though. My heart was thinking, “Stay away. Stay away. Stay away. He would ruin you completely.” That’s what my heart was thinking.
Mama’s Boy broke my heart at the age of twenty-three and it took me two years, literally two years, to even think about dating again. My only safety zone was the recent foray into Decent Pete territory. But Thad? Him? I would break. Completely shatter.
Chapter Ten
All of us continued hanging out that summer. I noticed that things between Thad and I became more intense the more we got to know one another. Our emotional connection was getting stronger as we learned more about each other beyond that of a professor and his grad student. We had serious talks about things that went well beyond school. We connected in ways that most people do when they date – similar senses of humor, aligned political and religious views, appreciated music tastes, etc. When the emotional connection intensified, it only exacerbated the constant sexual temptation between us.
We never addressed it. But it was there – mocking, hovering, waiting…….
Grant wasn’t helping at all. He’d gotten it in his head that Thad and I were “meant to be”, so he was constantly teasing and pushing me about it. No telling what he was saying to Thad, too.
One particularly embarrassing episode happened one day in the computer lab that summer. Grant and I were the only ones in there and we were sitting on the couch, on the opposite side of the door. We constantly tried to one-up one another with “Who’d You Rather”, a game where you pose two to three choices of people and the other person has to choose one of them they’d rather fuck. You can explain why you chose that person, but the best questions are those with terrible, horrible, awful choices so that they have to make a hard decision between them. Sometimes the reasons they give are the funniest part. Every once in a while, though, we’d throw in some hot choices just to see what the other would say. I’d gotten up to throw something away when Grant posed, “Who’d You Rather? Dr. Reeding, Dr. Grambling or Dr. Hanover?” With my back turned to him still, I replied quickly, “That’s not even a choice and you know it, Queenie. I’d do things to Reeding that’d make a porn star blush.” Grant started snickering and I turned around.
There, standing in the door, was none other than Pickup Grinner himself. My face went blood red and I turned back around quickly, pretending to look at something on one of the desks.
I heard him clear his throat. Then silence. Awkwardness. His voice was tense. “Not funny, Grant.”
Then he walked off.
I turned around to face Grant, rage ensuing. “I swear, I’m going to kill you. I know
I looked away quickly, unable to maintain a connection so powerful. His words had rendered me open-mouthed and, for once, completely silent. Someone finally vocalized my thoughts. “Wow. That’s an amazing philosophy.”
I was thinking it was amazing, too. I was thinking it was full of heart and substance. My mind was thinking it made me like him more. My body was thinking it made me want him more. Ms. L. was thinking, “Fuck you, Shay!” Not my heart, though. My heart was thinking, “Stay away. Stay away. Stay away. He would ruin you completely.” That’s what my heart was thinking.
Mama’s Boy broke my heart at the age of twenty-three and it took me two years, literally two years, to even think about dating again. My only safety zone was the recent foray into Decent Pete territory. But Thad? Him? I would break. Completely shatter.
Chapter Ten
All of us continued hanging out that summer. I noticed that things between Thad and I became more intense the more we got to know one another. Our emotional connection was getting stronger as we learned more about each other beyond that of a professor and his grad student. We had serious talks about things that went well beyond school. We connected in ways that most people do when they date – similar senses of humor, aligned political and religious views, appreciated music tastes, etc. When the emotional connection intensified, it only exacerbated the constant sexual temptation between us.
We never addressed it. But it was there – mocking, hovering, waiting…….
Grant wasn’t helping at all. He’d gotten it in his head that Thad and I were “meant to be”, so he was constantly teasing and pushing me about it. No telling what he was saying to Thad, too.
One particularly embarrassing episode happened one day in the computer lab that summer. Grant and I were the only ones in there and we were sitting on the couch, on the opposite side of the door. We constantly tried to one-up one another with “Who’d You Rather”, a game where you pose two to three choices of people and the other person has to choose one of them they’d rather fuck. You can explain why you chose that person, but the best questions are those with terrible, horrible, awful choices so that they have to make a hard decision between them. Sometimes the reasons they give are the funniest part. Every once in a while, though, we’d throw in some hot choices just to see what the other would say. I’d gotten up to throw something away when Grant posed, “Who’d You Rather? Dr. Reeding, Dr. Grambling or Dr. Hanover?” With my back turned to him still, I replied quickly, “That’s not even a choice and you know it, Queenie. I’d do things to Reeding that’d make a porn star blush.” Grant started snickering and I turned around.
There, standing in the door, was none other than Pickup Grinner himself. My face went blood red and I turned back around quickly, pretending to look at something on one of the desks.
I heard him clear his throat. Then silence. Awkwardness. His voice was tense. “Not funny, Grant.”
Then he walked off.
I turned around to face Grant, rage ensuing. “I swear, I’m going to kill you. I know
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