This story is fiction. The city of Clifton, and the University of Clifton, exist only in my imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. These stories have as their main character a sexually active gay college student. If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.
This story involves a search for personal acceptance, worth, and meaning. There is a religious element in these stories. If you don't like that, maybe now is a good time to leave.
My stories develop slowly. If you're in a hurry, this is probably not for you.
Thanks to Colin for editing.
Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail at perti@live.com.
Bryce, Chapter 10 - First Full Week
During the first full week of classes, Bryce was so busy keeping up and learning the ropes that he had little time to devote to his project of "answering a few vital questions." His classes were demanding for the most part, although, as Professor Dickinson predicted, when he first met his Freshman Orientation class on Monday, it was taught by a graduate student in Education, who told the class his major subject was Secondary Administration. He wanted to be a high school principal. Why anyone would want to be a high school principal remained a mystery to Bryce. The only factor going into their grade was attendance, he was informed.
The real surprise came on Tuesday afternoon when he met his karate class for the first time. The students waiting for class to begin were nearly half male and half female, so Bryce assumed there were two classes, one for each gender, meeting at the same time. He was wrong. The instructor for both was female! She was a member of the PE faculty named Juanita Cheng, which in itself gave Bryce something to think about. Was she half Chinese and half Hispanic? That was not the sort of information given out by the instructor, but she did not look Oriental. Bryce later found out that she was married to Dr. Cheng in the Electrical Engineering Department, and was not Hispanic at all. Ms. Cheng (she had a Master's degree, but not a doctorate) acknowledged the surprise on the faces of most of the male students in the class, when she told them she was to be the instructor of the entire class. She stated that she had studied the martial arts in Japan and Korea, and would challenge any student present, male or female, to try to throw her to the mat. Two students, both male, made the attempt, and both almost immediately found themselves flat on their backs. After that, no one questioned the instructor.
One way in which Bryce coped with the stress was his early morning work-outs. He simply got into the habit of rising around six each morning, and visiting the gym for an hour or hour and a half, depending on what else he had to do. Then he would wake Damon, something which sometimes involved a delicate operation. On Monday he walked to a store a few blocks from campus and purchased a toy water pistol, which proved almost as effective as the wet washcloth, and could be employed from a safer distance. Damon was a real bear first thing in the morning. After that, the two went to breakfast, almost always on campus, merely because it was the most convenient and time saving venue. They often met for lunch as well.
It was on Tuesday when they met at the gym that Curtis told Bryce about the basement level of the University Center. Whereas the ground level cafeteria was run by University Food Services, putting out bland, often marginally recognizable comestibles, on the basement level there were franchises of various fast food chains, like Taco Bell, Captain D's, Burger King, and KFC, a veritable food court, open for lunch and dinner six days per week. The building was on a slope, so one entered through the main door onto the ground level, where the cafeteria was located, with its patio at one end of the building. The basement level opened onto a different patio on the opposite side of the building from that of the cafeteria. Even Damon had been unaware of this entire arrangement. The main difficulty about that, as far as Damon was concerned, was that his scholarship included a meal ticket, which was only good in the cafeteria. Despite his protests, Bryce insisted on treating him to the basement level lunch twice that week and to dinner off campus three times. Damon kept a strict account.
Every class Bryce was taking except PE and Freshman Orientation had some kind of outside requirement, a term paper in History, English, and French, and a "research project" in Psychology and Biology. Taking into account the natures of the various disciplines, they added up to pretty much the same thing. Bryce had become involved in researching his paper for his Milton class first, and it was there that he spent most of his time that first week. He expected that requirements would be stiffer for his upper division courses, and so it developed. The required length of the completed paper was greater: the types of sources to be used was stricter. Another complication was that the required style for composition and citation varied. Dr. Drake required what she called the MLA style sheet, which Bryce quickly learned was the format advocated by the Modern Language Association and officially entitled The MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers, whereas Dr. Dickinson required what he called "Taurabian," which turned out to be what some others called The Chicago Manual of Style as edited by Katherine Taurabian (at least in its early editions), and in the version required by Professor Dickinson entitled A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations. And so it went. The learning curve was pretty steep that first week.
On Tuesday morning Bryce called on Dr. Drake in her office about fifteen minutes prior to class. He presented her with his proposed term paper topic, which was tentatively entitled "John Milton, Champion of Liberty." He proposed to gather information from various secondary sources about Milton as an advocate of personal freedom and toleration, and then to back up these assessments from Milton's own works, both prose and poetry. Dr. Drake warned him that the topic was too all-encompassing (not unusual with freshman proposals), and suggested that he return later with a more focused topic. She praised him, however, for his diligence, saying only one student had preceded him in proposing a topic.
At class that Tuesday, Bryce spoke to Maddy Moore. She was still having a rough time coping with the loss of her brother, of course, but she no longer seemed to have any resentment against Bryce based on their unfortunate encounter at the fraternity party on Friday. He also exchanged greetings and a few words with Mike Sandoval, who invited him and Damon to a party at his fraternity the coming Friday. Bryce felt he was doing pretty well, establishing positive relations with his fellow students, and students several years ahead of him, which helped when he needed advice about how to deal with any situation which might arise.
When Bryce checked his e-mail on Tuesday evening, he found a lengthy e-mail from his mother, complaining that he was never around when she tried calling. Bryce knew his mother regularly went to bed around ten o'clock Central Time, so he made it a point not to return to his room most evenings until after that time. As much as he loved his mother, he could not see spending a minimum of half an hour, and more likely twice that, listening to her worry about him. Things were stressful enough as it was. However, she did remind him of his dissatisfaction with the Newman Center on Sunday, and asked what he was doing about finding a more compatible Mass for the coming weekend. Bryce knew that, at the very least, he would have to speak with his mother on Sunday, as he did the previous week, and she would be certain to repeat that question. Consequently, he admitted, in his return e-mail, that he had done nothing as yet, but promised to take steps the next day. In keeping with that promise, after his History class on Wednesday afternoon he went by the Newman Center. There was a female student sitting at a desk near the entrance to what Bryce thought of as the office and social hall, who agreed to put him down for a meeting with the chaplain at five o'clock the following afternoon, as that was the earliest time which fit both his and the chaplain's schedules.
Also on Wednesday he was accosted by Jack Datillo before their History class. Jack told him he had spoken with Curtis, who reported that everything went very well last Saturday, when Bryce played host to him and Maddy. He apologized for jumping to conclusions about Bryce's intentions, but Bryce dismissed that, saying he had only acted like a good friend to Curtis and Maddy. Besides, it was his suggestion that he take them to El Rincon Latino which had made the evening a success.
Bryce had his Biology lab until 4:30 on Thursday. After lab that afternoon, he went by the student center and grabbed a coke, trying to relax before what he imagined might be an unpleasant interview at the Newman Center. After all, he was about to tell the chaplain that he did not like the way he did things, and ask for a referral elsewhere. When Bryce arrived at the Newman Center he encountered a different student worker at the reception desk, who told him Father would be along any minute. It seems the chaplain was in the chapel. Even as they spoke, however, a man in his forties came walking rapidly towards them.
"Hello. You must be Bryce Winslow. I'm Father Miller."
"Yes, that's right," Bryce admitted.
They shook hands, and Bryce followed the priest into his office, a fairly spacious room with comfortable chairs in addition to a desk, bookcase, and filing cabinets. They took seats in the comfortable chairs.
"Now, Bryce, what can I do for you?" the chaplain asked.
"I was at Mass last Sunday. I really appreciated your sermon," Bryce began.
"But ...," the priest encouraged him.
Bryce looked at him questioningly.
"I can usually tell when there's going to be a qualifier," Father Miller smiled.
"I'm a freshman, so my only contact with the Newman Center was last Sunday. Maybe I shouldn't be making a judgment based on that one time. But, I didn't really feel comfortable at Mass."
"Why not?"
"There was almost no ... reverence. People were talking about all kinds of things right up to the minute you entered the chapel. Many of them looked like they barely woke up, and certainly not like they had made any special effort. It just left me with a very negative impression." Bryce was embarrassed to be complaining this way, so he was not as articulate as he would have liked.
Father Miller thought for a moment. Then he asked, "Tell me something about yourself, Bryce."
Surprised at this turn in the conversation, Bryce gave a brief summary of his background and his desire to pursue a career in history.
"Thank you," the priest said. "That confirms my initial impression that you belong to the more conservative type of Catholic."
"Really? I always thought of myself as pretty much in the middle of the road. You know, moderate, like."
"With respect to the Church as a whole, yes, perhaps. But with respect to the student population, pretty definitely conservative. Remember, my 'congregation' consists almost entirely of unmarried kids in their late teens and early twenties. A very large part of this demographic is only marginally interested in pursuing their faith at this point in their lives. When they marry and have children, that will change, but they most likely will no longer be students by then. My job is to keep the lines of communication open during these transitional years, so when they began to seek something more solid than their day-to-day concerns and passing enthusiasms, they will have a comfortable starting place. Consequently, we try to accommodate the students as much as possible without actually violating the canons, both with respect to the liturgy, and in other ways. I try not to alienate anyone. A liturgy committee makes most of the incidental decisions."
"I see," Bryce replied. "I'm not sure I agree that this makes the irreverent atmosphere I encountered on Sunday acceptable, though. But I really didn't come here to argue about that. I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be comfortable here even if some things changed. What I did come for was to ask whether you could recommend a parish where I might fit in more comfortably."
"Yes, I can and will do that. However, before you give up on us entirely, let me ask you a few more questions."
Bryce grinned. "That's the least I can do. After all, I did come here telling you I didn't like the way you do things, and you've been very gracious about it."
"I'm just a little surprised that you have asked about other venues," the priest said. "Well over half the students who list Catholic as their religious preference when they register don't bother to ever come by here, and I doubt that they are all attending in local parishes every Sunday. Most who do come and don't like what we have to offer, don't go anywhere, as far as I can figure out. What motivated you to make the request?"
Bryce grinned. "My mother," he answered. "Mom is very devout. I told her about my impressions after Mass last Sunday, and she told me to look elsewhere. Recently, I got an e-mail from her reminding me that I needed to do this before this coming Sunday."
"Good. I'm glad to find that you don't intend to just skip Mass."
"I have been going every Sunday for as long as I can remember. It just wouldn't seem right to do anything else," Bryce admitted.
"May I assume that you would prefer a very traditional liturgy?" Father Miller wanted to know.
"I suppose. I definitely did not appreciate the casual attitude I found last Sunday, and I'm no fan of guitars at Mass. Especially in the hands of kids who haven't practiced."
"Okay, I think I have someplace which might suit you. St. Boniface is an older parish, originally a German ethnic parish dating to the mid nineteenth century. It's in a pretty rough neighborhood today, but I think you'll find the liturgy more to your liking. Here's the address and a reference to their web site," the priest said, writing both on a note pad.
"Thank you, Father. And, I really did appreciate your sermon," Bryce insisted.
"Even if you decide not to attend Mass here, Bryce, feel free to stop by if you just want to talk about anything. And we do have various other activities, including some pretty freewheeling discussion sessions. Here's a schedule of our activities for the semester, as far as they have been set at this time," the priest said, as he rose and shook Bryce's hand.
Leaving the Newman Center, Bryce thought, That went better than I expected. Father Miller's pretty cool, even if I don't like the way he says Mass.
Thursday evening was one of the times Bryce took Damon out to dinner. They decided the student cafeteria was only for quickies, like for breakfast most days, both because it was quick and because it was the easiest place to get something before class. The fast food outlets in the basement were fine, but fast food has limited appeal. After a while, it all began to taste the same, no matter whether it said it was chicken or fish or burger. So, the two wanted something different, which meant off campus. They returned to the same small restaurant they had patronized the previous Thursday, which advertized 'Home Cooking' and delivered, at a reasonable price. Damon refused to accept Bryce's suggestion that they try a more expensive place, and insisted that he was keeping a record of everything Bryce spent, so he could pay him back someday. They spent the time over their meal discussing fraternities. Rush week began on Monday, and they were a little intimidated by all they heard. They agreed that, in addition to Sigma Alpha Tau, they would visit the black fraternity where Mr. Aeropostale was an officer. It said in its postings and flyers that it was "historically black, but open to all interested male students," so Bryce would accompany Damon and see what was going on there. They also discussed the party on Friday at Mike's fraternity, which they definitely wanted to take in.
Other than English, all Bryce's classes with outside requirements met on a MWF schedule. It was Friday before he was able to get a firm idea of what his outside work would entail in most of those courses. Obviously, the assignment in which Bryce was most interested was his History paper. As he indicated in his initial meeting with Dr. Dickinson, he long had an interest in King James II, who was overthrown in the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688-89. James was the only openly Catholic monarch of England after Queen Mary over a century previously, and generally had a negative reputation both in popular memory and among historians. Bryce wanted to do something about his religious policy. Again, he was told that his topic was too broad, and so he would have to return to the library and the computer to try to narrow it.
In the French literature course, Bryce opted to tackle something entirely new. Perusing his anthology of works, he came across a late medieval poem entitled La Roman de la Rose, with the notation that the early part showed a distinctly different outlook than the later part, the two being the work of two authors living about a half century apart. He thought that would be an interesting study, although he knew nothing about it beforehand. After reading a few references, he made the proposal to Dr. Anjot that he compare the two parts, and found it accepted, his first proposal to be accepted rather than remanded for narrowing.
The "research project" required for the Psychology course turned out to be quite personal. Dr. Greeley presented the students with a series of five different tests, or evaluation guides, used by psychologists to understand personality, including Myers-Briggs, Rorschach, and one developed by Professor Greeley himself (although he did not tell the students that) based on his Freudian assumptions about the place of sex in determining human personality. The students were to evaluate themselves using each of the tests, and compare the results in a written report. If anything came close to the "vital questions" Bryce thought he should be asking himself during these first few days, this seemed to be it. Maybe he could find something significant which would shed some light on his inner turmoil.
The Biology project could take several forms, one of which was nothing more than another term paper. As Bryce considered that he was better with words than with scientific instruments or mathematical calculations, he was eager to see the list of possible topics which Dr. Harris passed around. As he perused the list, one leapt out at him. There it was: Biological Factors in Human Sexual Orientation. Without knowing quite what he was doing, Bryce put his name down next to that topic, and passed the list on to the next student, who happened to be Damon. Damon looked at the list, noted Bryce's choice, and gave him a questioning look. Bryce was about ready to ask for the list back so he could select something different, when Damon wrote his name next to another topic and passed the list on down the aisle. Well, maybe he would discover something here which would be helpful in his personal search as well.
When that class was over, Damon teased Bryce a bit. "Still trying to figure it out, eh?"
"Shove it, Damon. It's an interesting topic, and very much in the news," Bryce defended himself.
"Oh, sure, I know. But you'll never convince some people to change their minds, regardless of science."
"You're probably right about that. What topic did you pick?"
Damon paused, then admitted to "Racial Characteristics - What's Genetic, What's Cultural?"
Bryce laughed. "Seems like you picked a more predictable topic than I did. The old nature verses nurture argument again."
"Oh, I don't know," Damon cryptically commented, then refused to discuss the matter until later. Just when later was not made clear.
Thus, by Friday afternoon, Bryce had something more or less definite in the three classes in which he was less interested, but had been sent back to the drawing board in the two in which he had the greatest interest. He intended to spend a good deal of time over the weekend working on a more focused approach to both his English and his History paper.
Before giving further attention to these academic matters, however, there was the party at Mike Sandoval's fraternity to enjoy. Bryce had a feeling Friday evenings were going to involve parties quite often. Naturally, he and Damon would attend together, and equally naturally they would again wear their matching Aeropostale shirts (just in case 'The Man' himself was there, Damon said, as they giggled over this decision at supper). They found that Mike's fraternity was located only a few houses down from the Sigma Alpha Tau house. It had the same basic requirement for entrance: twenty dollars and a student ID for non-member males.
When they entered, they soon found Mike, who welcomed them and told them where various amenities were located, including the keg and the restrooms. The basic arrangement was not really much different than the party the previous weekend. During the evening, Bryce encountered Curtis and Maddy, who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Curtis remarked that at someone else's party he did not have to feel responsible for anything, so he and Maddy could just relax and have a good time. As at the Sigma Alpha Tau party, Bryce and Damon would meet from time to time, but were often separated from each other.
On one occasion, Damon appeared with a very attractive blonde on his arm, introducing her to Bryce as Kitty. They then moved into the center of the room for dancing. As they did, Bryce heard someone nearby say, "Who's that nigger fag Kitty's dancing with?" Appalled at this double insult to his friend, Bryce immediately looked to see the speaker. To his disgust, but not his surprise, he found that it was none other than his nemesis from the gym, Bick Lomax. Bryce was about to challenge him when another guy standing next to Bick responded, "Kitty can take care of herself, which is more than I can say for some narrow minded drunk I could name." The other guy then walked off, leaving Bick looking stunned. Bryce decided that was answer enough, and faded into the crowd.
The remark did cause Bryce to wonder about Damon, however. He recalled that Damon had several times mentioned that he was different than others in the projects, which Bryce took to refer to his desire to escape, but it could mean something more. And, last Friday, when he was drunk, Damon called himself some word which Bryce had learned was a slur meaning homosexual in Spanish. What was it now? Butterfly? Oh yeah, mariposa. Nice sounding word. These thoughts caused Bryce to doubt himself once again, so he sought to bury his doubts by dancing with all the hot looking girls at the party.
Over an hour later, Bryce was dancing with a really attractive brunette named Betty for the second time. She was rubbing herself against him, giving him some pretty definite indications she would welcome something a good deal more intimate than dancing. Bryce felt himself with the beginnings of a hard-on, not there yet, but definitely on the way. She softly mentioned that he was a great dancer, and wondered whether he was as good with other kinds of moves. He responded with compliments to her figure and her hair. They danced near the doorway, beyond which was the hall and the stairs up to the second floor, where, he knew, individual rooms were located.
"Think you might want to take a trip upstairs?" Betty murmured.
Thinking this just might be the test which would prove that he was not in the same category as Damon, Bryce assented. They moved to the edge of the dancers, then she took his hand and headed towards the hall.
All of a sudden, Bryce was visited with a premonition of impending doom. An icy feeling shot down his spine. His cock, which had been getting chubby, suddenly felt as though it had shrunk to nothing. He had a mental image of not being able to perform in the bedroom. He began to sweat. He pulled back, a stricken look on his face.
Betty looked at him, puzzled. "What's wrong, Baby?"
"I can't do this. It just seems wrong," Bryce stammered.
"What?" she practically shouted.
"I just can't, Betty. I'm sorry. I just ...."
"You son-of-a-bitch! You led me on, you asshole!"
"No, really. I just don't feel right about this," Bryce lamely defended himself.
"Fuck off!" Betty screamed at him, slapping him across the cheek.
She turned away from Bryce and, seeing another guy whom she obviously knew (in more senses than one), Betty grabbed his hand, and began practically running for the staircase. The surprised male merely grinned and went with her.
Bryce was aware of the stares from what seemed like the entire room. He felt panic wrenching at his guts. He rushed to the nearest restroom, where he fortunately found a toilet not in use, and emptied the contents of his stomach. After several minutes, he felt marginally better, but was totally exhausted, his brow damp with sweat. A brown hand proffered a damp paper towel. Bryce looked up and encountered Damon, looking concerned.
"You gonna be okay?" Damon asked.
"Yeah, I guess," Bryce said, accepting the towel and laving his forehead. "I think I'd better head back to the room, though."
"It's only a little past midnight," Damon protested.
"You don't have to leave. I can make it back on my own," Bryce assured him.
"Nah. You helped me last week. The least I can do is make sure you get back okay," Damon insisted.
Over Bryce's repeated protests, Damon walked back to Clay Hall with him, and saw him up to his room. Then, with Bryce safely home, Damon declared his intention of returning to the party. As he left, Damon remarked, "You'd better come to grips with this, or it's going to really screw you royally." Without waiting for a response, Damon disappeared.
Bryce lay on his bed, still in his clothing. He was sweating profusely. That never happened before. I never had trouble keeping a hard-on before. What the hell is going on with me?
He spent another restless night.