A week later Julie and Roger were having lunch at a small dive near campus called Captain Baillie's. Since the holidays were coming up the place was nearly deserted except for some stragglers making their final rounds. Julie, who was biology major hoping to go to medical school, had the excuse of some lab work she wanted to clean up before she went home. She was anxious to finish it off quickly so that she and Roger would get to her parents place for dinner and there was a lot to do before the one hour drive.
They weren't paying much attention to the other patrons until Julie spotted someone familiar ordering his lunch from the counter a few feet away, though she couldn't place quite place him at first. Suddenly, she realized who it was. Brad hadn't noticed them at all until Julie snuck up from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, you're Brad, right?"
"Yea, hi, you're umm -- Julie, from the other night, at the Convention Center, the company party." It took him a moment to recognize her in this different context but he was genuinely happy to run into her again. For many reasons these people had piqued his interest and he was glad have the opportunity to see them again.
"How are you?" Brad tried to stay focused on Julie as he picked up his cheeseburger and coke, trying gamely to do it with one hand.
"I'm great; it's really good to see you! Hey, if you aren't running out, would you join us at our table?"
Even though the invitation was very welcome, he had to admit that he was a little apprehensive about meeting everyone again. From what he saw of them that night he thought that they were quality people and would probably make good friends, but he sure didn't want to get attracted to a straight guy that he couldn't have. It didn't look like that guy was even there anyway, so maybe it would be OK.
As they approached the table she strolled behind Roger and introduced him as her fiancée. Brad put his food on the table as Roger got up and gave him a pat on the shoulder and a handshake, with a grip that practically crushed his hand.
`Her fiancé?' Brad thought to himself as he sat down.
Before he even got ready to eat, Brad turned to Julie. "How's your friend?" he said, looking directly at her. It was not a token question said just for conversation.
"Well, we think it's a full recovery, but he still has a pretty serious bruise. You can judge that for yourself, though. Here he comes," she said as she nodded toward the front of the restaurant.
Brad looked outside and saw him standing next to a small Honda motorcycle. Mike was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket and had just taken off his black helmet. Recognition was immediate. He thought he looked really cute in the biker gear, especially with his hair all messed up from the helmet.
"That guy out there, next to the motorcycle, right?" He asked Julie, just to confirm what he already knew.
"Yea, that's him. We told him about you and what you did, but he said he didn't remember any of it. But I'm sure he'd still want to thank you."
"Well, that's nice, but like I said I didn't do much. He was the one who really put himself on the line." Julie noticed as he was saying this that his left hand had remained in the pocket of his thick down jacket.
Mike approached their group at the back of the restaurant, saying hello to Julie and looking at Brad curiously, acting as if he didn't recognize him. But he enthusiastically reached out his hand to introduce himself, not waiting for Julie to make the introduction.
"Hi, I'm Mike Kovar"
He stood up to return the greeting. "Brad North, glad to meet you," he said, with a bit of anxiety that he intuitively tried to suppress. He even noticed that his palms were sweaty. This was definitely weird for him. He was almost never nervous around straight guys, although he had to admit that Mike was really cute. He also noticed that he still had a major bruise on the left side of his face, right below his eye, and had an almost uncontrollable impulse to reach over and gently stroke the wound. And, if he wasn't mistaken, he thought that Mike had a very slight accent of some kind.
Stepping into the awkward pause after Brad's greeting, Julie jerked them back to reality. "Mike, this is the guy I was telling you about, the one who decked that jerk who punched you."
Mike turned and looked at him. He was trying to keep himself calm, seeing this guy again, but didn't want to let on too much. . "Oh jeez, thanks so much, Brad. That was really great of you; I hope it didn't screw up your evening too much. I think that asshole caused a lot of people a lot of problems that night, but it's in the cops' hands now. Thank you again..."
He was rambling a bit; clearly nervous for some reason, but Julie reasoned that it was probably because he was just meeting a new person. She knew his shyness and also suspected, in a minor way, that it had something to do with the fact that Brad was pretty good looking.
As Mike was speaking he grabbed Brad by the shoulders and gave him a hug. He was what Americans would call a very "physical" person, meaning that he actually touched other guys. He remembered as a small child in Europe that he always hugged or embraced his friends, and that they would walk together from school with arms around each other's shoulders. Teenagers did the same, even guys, and there was nothing unusual or perverse about it, it was just what you did with friends. Though he had adapted himself to the American style of social distance, which means almost no touching between real men, he still made physical contact impulsively if he felt strongly about something or someone.
To his huge embarrassment Brad threw a quick boner, and was hoping that no one noticed as he tentatively returned the hug with one hand, giving Mike a solid pat on the back. His faded jeans were somewhat loose fitting but he could still imagine a little bulge still being visible. `Fuck, what is going on! Not around this straight guy, goddamit,' he thought to himself. But he wanted to stick around and get to know these people better, and struggled in the meantime to will his pole down.
Brad had a genuine interest in people, at least those he thought had some spark. While he enjoyed sleeping around, or thought he did, he did look for smart people who had some personality to them. Unfortunately, they were few and far between at this school, where football and Greek life were at the center of the universe. Most guys were better off with a dick in their mouth, preferably his, rather than talking the nonsense that normally came out of it. He didn't know where Mike fit in this world, but he was at least a strong person with integrity and loyal friends, and that counted for a lot.
After the guys sat down again, they all made small talk for a few minutes, a little bit about the incident, what they did since then, how Mike's wounds were healing, what they were all studying and so on about all sorts of stuff. When Brad heard that Mike was an avid soccer player it him a bit nervous again. He had a major weakness for soccer legs. In the meantime, Mike had ordered a sausage dog with fries that took extra long to cook and it had just arrived.
Roger asked Mike if he was going to press charges. He gave a sigh and said he didn't know.
"According to the police, he just went through a really bad divorce, and lost his kids and everything. His boss also called me and said he's not a bad guy, just hitting a rough patch in his life that he can't handle." Mike said this in a matter-or-fact tone without much emotion, at the same time offering his french fries around the table.
`Well," he continued, "I think that the boss could just be self-serving, covering his ass, who knows. But I do believe the police. The guy has three kids, and the whole episode has just wasted him. He even sent me a note, through the police of course. There's no permanent harm to me, I'll be fine, and he took a pretty good lickin' there, so maybe we should both just get on with our lives." Brad was impressed with not only the lack of vindictiveness in Mike's thinking, but his ability to size people up and read their motives.
Mike's comment brought Roger's mind back to the fight that night. Though Roger wasn't big on the macho stuff off of the football field, he still respected a guy who could throw a punch, He had just caught the finale when Brad had knocked the guy out with his 1-2 combination, and complimented him on his technique.
He didn't get exactly the response from Brad that he was expecting, but it didn't disappoint him, either. "I'm not proud of what I did, but there wasn't a choice" he said, looking down at the ground and fidgeting in embarrassment from the compliment. "It's just something that I had to do. My dad made me take boxing lessons as a kid to `toughen me up,' as he used to say. I didn't do too badly at it, but I really hated hitting people."
Roger looked at Brad and pointed at his left hand, hidden under the table. "I know what a punch can do on both sides of the fist, dude. Let's see that hand." Like Julie, he had also noticed that Brad was hiding it and was pretty sure why.
"It's nothing, really. I just banged it up a little bit." He was obviously reluctant to reveal it, but when Mike also asked him he finally put it up on the table. He still couldn't control it very well with the extra weight of a cast and it hit the table with a thud.
"Oops, sorry. Guess it's got a mind of its own," He chuckled and smiled, trying to introduce a little humor and not seem so serious about the injury.
"This is from last Saturday isn't it?" Mike's voice was suddenly very serious.
"Uh, yea, but it's going to be OK. Just a small fracture, but they always overdue these things, you know." There wasn't any more pain from the break, just the annoyance of the cast. But when Mike's hand gently brushed against his fingers as he reached over to touch the cast it felt like someone had connected him to a car battery, the tingle and charge was so strong. `God, what is it about this guy?' he thought to himself.
Julie had noticed that Brad was real quiet, and saw his mouth hanging open as Mike was very gently touching the white, hard shell. Concerned that he was possibly in some pain, she asked Brad if they should leave it alone. The only sound she heard from him was a soft, barely audible, nuh,' which she took for no.'
Suddenly realizing that he was handling it a bit too long, Mike gently released the cast, but not without a final pat. "Jeez, Brad. I didn't realize that you were hurt so bad. I'm so sorry." He was getting such a lump in his throat that he could barely squeak out the words, thinking about what Brad had done for him and the price he paid. "Is there anything that I can do to help? Please, I want to do what I can."
Brad barely heard Mike talking as he shook himself back to reality. "No Mike, not at all. There's nothing you can do, except maybe realize that I'm glad I was able to help you and I'd do it again if I had to. That asshole was not only mean, but was an unfair fighter. You put yourself out there and deserved some help. And he got what he deserved."
Now Mike was seriously choked up, but only Julie really noticed as she moved the conversation along to less emotional subjects. After a few minutes a recovered Mike and all of them proceed to thank Brad again and spend a few more minutes fussing over the cast, finally convincing Brad let them sign it. It was getting late though, and Julie and Roger had to move on.
"Well, boys" Julie had to interject, "it's been nice, but we've got to get going. Sorry that I have to run and you have to eat, Mirek, but Rog and I have to get going. I told mom we'd be home for dinner, and I've got a ton to do before we leave."
Mirek?' Brad thought. What's that?'
"No prob. I'll stop over your place next week, say hi to your folks, OK? Rog, you going with her?"
"Yea, her parents are expecting me, which means her mom is already cooking for 3 more people. We have some wedding stuff to go over with them, too. And since they're footing the bill, we thought that we'd include them in a minor way." Julie and Mike both laughed as he said this. "Maybe I'll see you up there, Mike."
"OK, guys, take care!" Mike called out to them as they left.
Brad didn't want to seem prying or anything like that, but was still very curious about the relationships between of these people, since he had obviously gotten it wrong. He was hoping that Mike didn't have to leave so quickly, too.
"Hey Mike, are you OK sticking around?"
"Yea, you have some time? We could hang out for a while. I've just got to pick up some drawings at 3:00."
Brad wasn't the kind of guy who was timid about being gay. But he wasn't quite ready to let Mike know about that side of him yet, that might cut the friendship off too soon. He just wanted to see what he was like as a person. Gay could wait. He'd talk about anything but that.
He already knew from their earlier conversation that Mike was an Architecture major, but that didn't mean much. Though it was known as one of the toughest program on campus, he had known a few of them and wasn't impressed. Mostly, he thought, glorified draftsmen in vocational training. After of few minutes of idle chit-chat, Mike looked around a bit, smiled and thought he'd tee one up, some relatively arcane question, and see if Mike would go for it.
Brad had some interest in modern art as part of his thesis focus on modern German History, and thought that Mike might have an interest too, or at least should, considering that he was studying Architecture. "So Mike," he started, looking straight at him, with his arms folded across his chest, "who do you think is the greatest German Architect of the interwar period, Mies van der Rohe or Marcel Breuer?"
He looked at Mike, who was deep in thought. He wondered to himself, "Huh, I wonder if I stumped the guy. Oh well, it is kind of an out-in-left-field question. Maybe I should...."
"Well, first of all, Brad" Mike said very politely, jarring Brad back out of his thoughts. "I think the question itself might be a little overly reductive, like, what does "great" mean? Also, if I take your question at face value, than what if the answer is "neither?" But let's start with the basics. Do you mean German, as in ethnic Deutschland uber alles German or German speaking, because Breuer, as I'm sure you know, was Hungarian, even though he taught in Germany at the Bauhaus....."
The careful dissection when on, demolishing every pretense of Brad's leading question. Damn, he thought to himself, he didn't realize that Breuer was Hungarian; he just assumed that he was German because he taught at the Bauhaus and his last name sounded sort of German. For the coup-de-grace, Mike corrected Brad's mangled pronunciation of Mies' name. As he did this he looked straight at Brad without the least trace of malice or condescension, with his eyes only occasionally wandering as he tried to focus a thought.
"Do you speak German?" Brad said, clearing his throat in slight embarrassment. He sort of knew German because of this thesis work, but mostly in written form, which would have been immediately obvious to any fluent German speaker.
"Yea, my Dad insisted on it. My family is Czech, and to my Dad a cultivated Czech speaks German. He sent me to the Jesuit high school because the priest who taught it was actually German, and promised to be rigorous in that German kind of way. My folks sent me there even though the're pretty much agnostics and generally don't have a whole lot of affection for the clergy. Anyway, he interviewed all the German teachers in local schools and ran them ragged, since he's fluent himself. He said a couple of them were really bad."
Brad cleared his throat again and then rephrased his question, but he knew right then that this guy was no pushover. In fact, Brad might just be the laggard of the two, so as they continued to talk he took Mike seriously and didn't try to test him again. He decided that he could just relax and chat without holding back anything and enjoy the give-and-take of an intense conversation. It was the part about being a History major that he loved, and it showed in his spirit and passion, which Mike clearly shared.
They bantered back and forth like this for over two hours, and Brad actually scored a few points of his own to regain some of his wounded pride. But then Mike realized that it was way past 3:00 which meant that he had to hustle to the printers if he was going to get there before they closed.
"Oh, one more thing, Mike. What was the name that Julie called you before she left?"
"Mirek? Oh yeah, that. To make a long story short, I'm not just ethnic Czech, but I was actually born in what's now the Czech Republic. I came over here when I was 10. Mike is just an American name I gave myself during high school, because my Czech name doesn't have an English equivalent and no one could pronounce it. Oh yea, and they made fun of it, too. Anyway, my legal name is Miroslav, and Mirek is a short form, like Bill for William. But Czech it conveys a bit more, and sort of implies familiarity and affection. It's usually just used by family or someone you're real close to." He rambled through this as he was putting on his jacket and leaving some tip money on the table.
"Julie is third generation Czech-American, and doesn't really speak it, but she loves to use that stuff. In fact, her mom is actually Italian. But I humor her," he said, laughing and zipping up.
"Yea, interesting. That's funny! But I guess I'll still call you Mike. It's a little easier," Brad chuckled as he also stood up to leave. Mike spoke perfect colloquial English, but this explained the slight accent. He thought it was kind of cute.
"Let's do this again, OK? I've really enjoyed talking with you, Brad. Here's my number here in town if you want to give me a call. I'll be gone for break, but back during the first week in January. It would be great to get together again." He said this looking directly at Brad, giving every syllable emphasis to make sure that his message went across. He thought that this was his one chance, for what he didn't know, but wanted to give it his best shot.
"I've got to run now, but take care, and Merry Christmas!" he was about to run out but took time to pause for one more thing. "And thanks again so much for what you did for me!" As he said this he gave Brad another hug and a friendly punch to the stomach and then made for the door. "Bye, guy! And take care of that hand!"
Waving his good hand, Brad returned the goodbye with a big smile. "And you take care of that bruise. And Merry Christmas!"
He reflected while getting ready to go and questioned wether Mike was just super friendly and kind or was flirting with him. He had no reason to believe Mike was gay, as this kind of horseplay and punching is often done between straight guys. But that punch gave him an instant hard-on, again. In fact, every time Mike touched him or came close he got a tingle or whatever you call that. It also got him a bit more excited when he realized that Mike and Julie weren't a couple. He had to remind himself that that didn't mean he was gay. And even if he was gay, it didn't mean that Mike would actually be attracted to him.
When Mike got on his bike, he was as happy as he'd been in a quite a while. He felt like he could fly his bike, not drive it. He sure enjoyed talking to Brad, who was pretty nice to look at, too. He worried a bit about whether he stared at him too much, at those cute brown eyes, the muscular neck with a trace of stubble. He would have tried to steal glances down Brad's shirt, but as it was winter he also wore a crew neck t-shirt which effectively cut off that view.
Even more than this, though, he enjoyed the companionship. Brad had ideas and thoughts, and that was really exciting, almost a turn-on for Mike. While not an intellectual in the typical sense, he was drawn to people who would engage and challenge him. And the banter between him and Brad was so much fun and came so naturally. He felt like they could have kept talking for hours.
Just when he was about to pull out of the parking space he saw Brad come out of the door, his bad hand put back in a sling while his good one was stretched across his chest in a somewhat futile attempt to hold the jacket together without being zipped up.
"Hey, Brad, is your jacket OK? Won't it zip up? It's pretty cold out here?" Mike was confused and concerned about what was going on.
Brad seemed shy and a little flustered. "Oh, ugh, I'm OK. I just can't get the zipper up with one hand. I don't have far to go though, I'll be OK, but thanks. Don't you have to get going?"
The helmet practically flew off of Mike's head as he got off his bike and ran over to Brad. "Here, let me give you a hand. It's cold out here, and you'll be warmer. May I?." Mike had his hands poised at the base of Brad's jacket.
"Um, yea, sure. Gosh, go ahead. Thanks, Mike. I hope this doesn't make you late." With Mike's hands hovering only inches from his dick, It was all he could do to contain another instant hard-on.
"No problem. I can get there tomorrow if I have to." That was a lie. He knew they would be closed tomorrow, but he'd make do somehow. Taking care of Brad, this guy who had done so much for him, was a lot more important. He zipped up the jacket and gave Brad another punch to the shoulder. "There, you should be OK now."
Even though is was below freezing, Brad had suddenly gotten so warm that he didn't think he even needed a jacket.
Later on as evening approached, this being a Saturday night even though a bit close to the Holidays, Brad was primping to hit the bars. After spending the afternoon with Mike, he also found himself on kind of a high, but with a lot of questions, too. He wasn't that enthusiastic about going out now, but it was such a habit that he just automatically did it.
Once he got to the Palm, the town's biggest dance club, he did his usual stroll around the dance floor. Pounding music, hot bods, big dicks, booze, drugs, it was all there, right in front of him, ready for the taking. A guy came up to him, a little full of himself, presumptuously putting his arm around Brad. Then he rubbed the front of Brad's shirt, which was tight around his chest.
"Looking good, stud...."
A week ago, Brad would have allowed the guy to feel him up, showing off his smooth chest with well defined pecs and abs. And that would have been enough to close the deal. Brad knew he had the goods, at least the goods that these guys wanted.
Then a question popped up in his mind - `what am I doing here?' It was a thought that confused and scared him. Picking up these guys was something he enjoyed, although to be honest he always knew something was missing.
He did really like a guy once, back in high school, but the guy let it be known that gay feelings didn't mean anything beyond a great blow job, period. Feelings that were strong and sincere on his part were treated like garbage by a guy he really cared about, and he was crushed. He told himself he wouldn't let that happen again, to be that vulnerable.
He then just looked at the guy, moved the hand off of his shirt and said "No thanks," and left the bar. He had more thinking to do.