“Honestly, I’m not the least bit homesick for Tulsa,” Evan admitted. “I’m looking forward to having the residence hall to myself for two weeks.”
“Well, I’m throwing a bit of a holiday party to kick off the season,” Jonathon offered. “You should come. It will help stave off loneliness.”
That’s how it began. Evan arrived fashionably late with the party in full swing. The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt conspicuous. Younger by a generation than the gathered revelers, he realized he was a naif amidst an elevated strata of the New York art world. A quick appraisal of the crowded flat, with its clamor of witty banter vying against the ironic backbeat of seasonal music, and he was prepared to bolt out the door. It was then that Jonathon rushed to greet him. With an arm across his shoulders, Jonathon ushered Evan around the room, introducing him to the other guests as one of The New School’s brightest young stars. He felt curried by his mentor’s praise.
Yet, Evan was still that hatchling and he found it daunting to be amidst such urbane company. Fortunately, alcohol quickly calmed his inhibitions, and he was soon swept within the party’s flow. He was especially susceptible to the flattery of the older gay men who were giddy at the prospect of new blood in such an attractive form. However, Jonathon kept his eye on Evan and was quick to come to his rescue.
Evan woke up in Jonathon’s bed the next morning, horribly hung over but unmolested. Coffee failed to revive him, and he awoke a second time well after noon. He was embarrassed by his dissolute state, but Jonathon simply laughed his discomfort away. He slept again in Jonathon’s bed later that night but as a lover, not an inebriate.
The rest of the holiday break was spent as much in Jonathon’s company as it was in the dorm. They went arm-in-arm to the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall, a concert in the atrium of the Guggenheim, the opening of an exhibition at the Whitney, and The Book of Mormon on Broadway. Evan knew Jonathon’s friends viewed him as arm candy, but he felt a deep relationship cultivating between the two of them, the first great love of his life. A scant few months before, he had been a veritable hayseed from Oklahoma, and it was thrilling to be so suddenly ensconced in the privileged society of New York’s art scene. He was reminded of the old joke: six months ago I couldn’t even spell sophisticate and now I are one.
Once the Spring Semester began, Evan resumed his life as a student and tried to keep his liaison on the down low. Still, there was a libidinous frisson between him and Jonathon in class and field trips and there was no way to disguise from his roommate the frequent overnight absences. They were each studying at their desks when his roommate chimed, “You know, there’s a policy in the Student Handbook against what you and Mr. Fitzpatrick are up to.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Evan snipped.
“Don’t be coy, Evan. I mean, he’s hot as hell but you could get him fired. He’s everybody’s favorite lecturer. You don’t want to be ‘that’ guy.”
Evan started to protest but became defensive instead. “Isn’t there an ‘everybody mind your own fucking business’ policy as well? Something about respecting privacy?”
“I’m just saying …”
The trysts continued unabated. One night after dinner and drinks with friends, Jonathon said, “It would be fun if you made yourself pretty for me, tonight. Would you do that for me?”
Evan was confused. “Aren’t I always pretty?”
“I’ve laid some things out on the bed. Just try them on. Okay?”
In the bedroom, he found silvery sheer stockings, a lacy garter, and a whisper-thin thong waiting. Over the back of a chair hung a violet silk kimono. On the bed stand was a case of make-up.
At this point, I interrupted Evan’s narrative. “What? He wanted you to dress in drag for him?” “No, no, no,” Evan corrected. “Drag is burlesque. It’s all about camp. Jonathon wanted me to wear men’s lingerie. To be alluring. Sexy. You know, a gay guy’s Victoria’s Secret.” “I’m sorry.” I was more than a little flustered. “I didn’t realize there was such a thing. So you wore make-up?”
“Nothing garish. I never use more than a little color on the eyelids and some lip gloss. I prefer subtle accents.”
Evan continued his story. “Anyway, it obviously worked. I came out of the bedroom so nervous my knees were knocking. But Jonathon’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. I mean,” he said with sincere modesty, “I know I’m an attractive guy. I notice the way men look at me. Women, too. But I had never elicited this reaction before. I suddenly realized I possess a sexual charisma.
“I did my best Mae West impersonation, opening the kimono and pulling it aside as I slowly twirled. Jonathon was practically drooling. I pranced for him inches out of reach, allowing him to ogle every inch of me. He was aroused by the sight, feverishly so, and I felt glorious.
“It was the most romantic night of my life. It was more than lovemaking. It was adoration, and it lasted for hours. I was in heaven.”
Back in school, Evan had to work doubly hard to keep up. His trysts, though delicious, took precious time from his studies, and the friendships he had cultivated in the fall semester suffered. Murmurations of gossip followed him through the corridors like an odor. Few details were known, which gave the speculation a wide berth. It was a vast city of myriad temptations and young minds are capable of wild imaginings. His roommate kept his confidence and those closest to him were discreet. So long as Evan kept apace with his studies, his frequent absences were tolerated. Still, mystery shrouded him.
But Evan savored his time alone with Jonathon. More and more frequently, Jonathon asked Evan to “pretty himself” and the wardrobe of lingerie expanded. Corsets. Fishnets. Crotchless body stockings. Evan gleefully complied. Jonathon was always gentle and, when their amours became raucous, it was in a mutual carnal frenzy.
Then one day as he prettied himself, Evan heard Jonathon conversing with someone. When he emerged from the bedroom, there was an older man on the couch with Jonathon waiting.
“Now, I’m not going to pretend I had never had a threesome before,” Evan confessed. “Every gay man has. But it was always consensual, naughty fun. This was different. This was some old lecher leering at me like livestock.”
Evan gathered himself before continuing. When he resumed, his tone betrayed how deeply angered he was with himself. “I should have walked out right then and there. Just got dressed and left. But I didn’t. I went along. And the old fuck couldn’t even stay hard enough to do anything but paw at me and call me ‘his lovely’ while Jonathon had his way with me. Gruffly, brutishly. I felt ashamed.”
Evan sat on the couch across from my desk with Lucy in his lap and stared at the window gleaming with sunshine. I sat mute and incapable of breaching the silence. Thankfully, there was no clock ticking. Neither of us needed a measure of the sadness that stretched for soundless minutes.