A gay story: Varsity Low Ch. 13
In a restless world
On the open highway
My home is where the heart is
Sweet to surrender…
to you only…
I send my love to you
Erasure —- Blue Savannah Song
*******
I stood in the empty living room of the off campus apartment I had just leased for me and Anders. A large one bedroom in Canal Place, with Griffin’s flat in the building next door. Excellent galley kitchen, big bath with tiled walk-in shower and long dual basin counter. Glass sliders out to a large, semi-recessed porch-like balcony. Views of a quiet, deep, wooded ravine. Anders loved it, and I had just nailed it down for us. Cool, cool, so very very cool.
A shiver of apprehension ran thru me. This was all so very ‘adult’; not just the lease but living with Anders. We needed to make this work. His easy jock confidence and boyish joy around the prospect of our sharing off campus digs were infectious and made me smile thru my doubts.
The leasing agent had the biggest fake boobs I’d ever seen. Truly amazing given the epic augmentations some of stepmomster Vera’s Richmond friends sported. The delivery guys from Macy’s who had just set up our new bed called me ‘sir’ without even a hint of irony or innuendo, and I tipped well.
The bed was a gift from Vera. A king size Stearns & Foster mattress on a rock solid teak platform, it promised excellent fucking, spooning, sleeping, and cuddling. Vera had insisted on such a large bed, telling me quietly that ‘nothing ruins a live-in relationship faster than trying to share a too small bed…trust me’. Her generosity and strategic gifting expressed her unquestioning belief in us.
Anders had taken charge of furnishing the flat. He and Grif made the rounds of thrift stores, CraigsList, and local on-line estate sales, Caleb backing them up with his truck and his muscle. Vera was sending stuff up from the Richmond place, and she followed Anders’ lead on what he did, and did not, want from the house. I stepped back, offering advice only when asked, underwriting his purchases sight unseen.
>>
The next day Anders, Grif, and Caleb moved us in, while I attended a mandatory all-day orientation for my newly declared major, Communications & Media. I hurried to the flat as soon as I was free, finding Anders standing in the now furnished living room, a red steel ‘All American’ toolbox in one hand, a green bottle of Rolling Rock in the other. He was wearing worn 505’s and a dirt smudged sweaty wife beater that soooo alarmingly enhanced his wide shoulders, thick muscular physicality, and warm soft fur.
“Hey, welcome home swimmer boy!” giving me his wide easy grin.
“Whoa…you should always wear that shirt, and like, never wash it, wrestler boy!” I leered. “How did move-in go?” I went in closer and openly huffed his manly Anders moving day funk. “Mmmm…”
“Everything’s done, well almost everything. Have a look around…” he said, bursting with pride. “Grif and Caleb moved in the stuff we stored at Grif’s, then the truck came from Richmond. We placed the heavy stuff before they had to go, and then I just kept working at it, hammer & tongs. Sheets on the bed, towels in the bathroom, kitchen sorted, put our clothes away. I even did the self-install for the WiFi and cable. I wanted to get it all done, and make it real nice for you, Trav.” he said sweetly, suddenly bashful.
“Wow. I love it! Looks great. You are the best BF in the history of the world.” I declared, looking around. A pair of ’80’s vintage easy chairs in burnt orange corduroy were grouped with the small leather sofa from my old room in Richmond. They faced my flat panel, now on a 1940’s sideboard of blond wood, with chunky squared hardware, seemingly teleported from some ghastly Joan Crawford film. A round game table with four castered chairs was in the dining area, something I recognized from the great room at the Richmond house. In the bedroom, one large Danish modern chest held all our clothes, and a pair of profoundly Jet Age ’60’s floor lamps flanked the bed. “You’ve got a good eye.” I said approvingly.
“Thanks, Vera said that too. I already sent her the pix.” he told me.
“She’s right, and that is high praise coming from her. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do. Vera is totally cool, and it was fun working with her on all this.”
“She likes you. A lot. None of this would’ve happened if she didn’t, trust me.” I said.
I fetched two cold Rolling Rocks from the fridge, and we settled into the orange chairs, facing each other. “Is there anything left I can do at this point?” I asked.
“Nope. Except keep praising me and maybe lick my balls later,” he teased.
“That will so not be a problem,” I laughed. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the extra key and fob to my VW GTI, sliding them slowly towards him across the cocktail table, a low rectangular box of Formica the color and texture of dark slate. “These are yours. I’ve added you to the insurance policy.” I said, low and even.
“Thanks, Trav, for trusting damaged goods like me with your cool Trav car.” he said, with a sardonic grin.
“Our car, Anders. And you are so NOT damaged goods, bro. I can scarcely believe my good fortune when I look at you; it’s like I hit the BF Powerball every day.” I half-teased.
“OK. Keep thinking that way. Can we make this work?” he asked, gesturing at the room with his green bottle of Rock.
“As President Obama always says, ‘Yes we can!’.” I laughed.
“You made this happen, Trav. You pitched Sam and Lydia over Christmas at the farm and got them onboard. You went heads up with Jasper and stared him down. You even reassured Coach Gafton that I would never miss practice ‘cuz I would be living off campus.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But you managed Vera. She would have sent up enough furniture and stuff for a ten room house if you had not reined her in and kept her focused.” I reminded him, laughing. We leaned forward and clinked our bottles together.
We gulped the Rock. Jasper texted me:
JASPER: I hope the move-in went well. Vera shared the pix; looks good. I have increased the monthly pay-out from your trust. I want you boys focused on academics and athletics and not on rent and groceries. Apparently I have two sons now, and I fully intend to look after you both.
ME: Thank you father, we will make you proud.
I slid my phone over to Anders. He read the text several times, his eyes now wet and shining.
“Should I…respond? Text him?” he asked.
“No need. Every now and then he does or says something sweet, on the unspoken condition that no one ever calls him out on actually being sweet. It is just his way.” I sighed.
“OK. Jasper is cool. Still plenty scary, but cool.” Anders grinned. “Grif is bringing take-away from Sapphire Thai for supper.”
“Nice. I am starving. Do we want him to stay over? Some Grif time would be fun.”
“Yeah. Grif helped a lot on all this. We all need some randy play time.” giving me his full-on green eyed male gaze. “The agenda will be all yours, Trav…think about what you want us to do to you.”
“Ah, yeah, OK. I have some ideas.” I smirked. As if we had conjured the living devil, Grif arrived, big bag of Thai food, two bottles of champagne, and a big fat spliff behind each ear. Worn sweats, new Merrells, green and white baseball shirt, shaggy and scruffy as ever.