The Learning Hours(11)
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just not what I was expecting, that’s all. The people I’ve met are…” His voice tapers off and I finish the sentence for him in my mind.
The people I’ve met are assholes.
The people I’ve met fuck me over.
The people I’ve met lie.
The people I’ve met can go to hell.
“The people I’ve met aren’t who I thought they would be when I decided to enroll here. I’ll leave it at that.”
I don’t reply because I feel like a jerk, like one of his teammates that’s yanked him around, left him hanging, humiliated him publicly.
I contributed to that.
I’m doing it right now.
In the background, I hear banging, muffled shouting. Rhett covers the mouthpiece of his phone and demands, “Hold on one fuckin’ minute, will you?”
He returns. “I should get goin’. Team meeting in twenty.”
“This time of night?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, well…” Why do I feel like I’m standing outside on a first date, waiting for my date to make a move? To ask me out again or try to kiss me? Weird.
“Thanks for callin’.” That smile is back in his voice.
“You’re welcome.”
“Alex?”
I cringe. “Yeah?”
“Want to go to a frat party Saturday night?”
My heartbeat hitches and shockingly, I find myself a little breathless.
“I’d love to.”
Me: What are you up to?
Rhett: Just walked in from practice. Eating dinner with my dickhead roommates.
Me: How many of them are there?
Rhett: Two, but it might as well be ten, they’re such pains in my ass.
Me: Who do you live with?
Rhett: Assholes from the wrestling team. The team manager and a senior named Eric. What about you?
Me: I live with my two best friends, a guy and a girl. How did you end up living with your roomies if you can’t stand them?
Rhett: When I first transferred, I obviously didn’t know anyone. Coach set it up.
Me: So you’re a transfer…I don’t think we talked about that.
Rhett: Yeah.
Me: So you don’t get along with your roommates? Doesn’t that make it hard being on the same team?
Rhett: They’re total assholes. They won’t stop hazing me and I’m getting tired of it. Jesus, now I sound like I’m whining.
Me: No you don’t. Everyone knows hazing is against school policy and I’m sure it’s against your athletic policies, too.
Rhett: Absolutely it is.
Me: I never understood why people—guys, especially—put up with that crap. Fraternities and sororities are the worst…
Rhett: Maybe, maybe not. Athletes are really bad, but no one ever hears about it.
Me: Should you be telling me this?
Rhett: Honestly? Probably not. I almost did the other day on the phone, but since I don’t know you, figured it was a horrible idea.
Rhett: So what about you. You get along with your roommates?
Me: Yes. I live with a guy named Donovan, and my best friend Lana.
Rhett: Donovan is the guy?
Me: Yes, lol. Does that bother you?
Rhett: Why would that bother me?
Me: I don’t know; sometimes when a girl has a male roommate, the guy she’s talking to gets all weird about it.
Rhett: Is that what we’re doing?
Me: I mean…I think we’ve slipped into the weird beginning of something. Don’t you?
Me: Hello? Why did you go radio silent on me?
Rhett: Sorry. I guess I don’t know what to say.
Me: I didn’t mean anything by it.
Rhett: I know; I’m a fucking idiot. Ignore me.
Me: Impossible
Me: Did you have practice today?
Rhett: Always.
Me: Always? As in, every day?
Rhett: Some form of practice, every day, yeah. Sometimes we just work out.
Me: How much can you bench press?
Rhett: Three hundred plus, easy.
Me: What else can you do?
Rhett: What do you mean?
Me: What else can you DO, wink wink. LOL. Sorry. I was trying to be flirty, but I guess that didn’t translate via text message.
Rhett: Yeah, I missed the flirting part. I was about to tell you my workout routine LOL
Me: Well, if I close my eyes, I can almost picture it.
Rhett: Speaking of which, you do know that you could have looked me up on the university’s website by now for all my info, right? You know my face from the poster, and you have my name.
Me: How do you know I haven’t already?
Rhett: Have you?
Me: No. This way is more fun, don’t you think?
Rhett: It is.
Me: Are you smiling?
Rhett: LOL, yes. Are you?
Me: Of course.
Rhett
Alex: Hey stranger.
I roll over in my bed and yawn, eyes squinting at the brightness of the phone against the dark as it buzzes, her text an unexpected surprise.
To be honest, I’ve been waiting all day for a message from her; when it didn’t come, I felt a stab of disappointment. Climbed into bed and tried to forget about it. Jerked off once to some dirty pictures on online.
Me: Hello back. What are you doing?
Alex: Catching up on some homework. You?
Me: Lying here, deleting some of the pictures and GIFS chicks have been sending me the last two weeks to clean up my storage space. There are a ton.
Alex: Oh Lord, I can’t even imagine. What’s the craziest thing a girl has texted you this past week?
Me: You don’t want to know, trust me.
Alex: I DO I DO I DO!!! SHOW ME! PLEASE!
Me: Hold up. Give me a second and I’ll show you.
I grin as I hold the phone above my head, pressing the side and home button. I take screenshots of the last three pictures in my gallery.
Alex: What’s taking you so long? Now I’m getting scared—do I want to see these?
Me: Probably not, but if I have to see it, YOU have to see it. Please hold while I continue screenshotting for your viewing pleasure.
Alex: Oh God. I’m scared. Hold me.
Me: You should be. It’s horrifying. I mean, it’s naked chicks, so it’s not really a hardship, but you get what I’m saying.
I screenshot texts from three girls who sent me very pornographic pictures of their tits, their waxed pussies, bodies the likes of which I will probably never see naked in person.
I screenshot their promises of rim jobs. Heather’s text bragging of her talents in bed, her pledge to get me off in various creative ways, to handcuff me to the bed and break my cherry.
Attach the photos to Alex’s message. Add a few comments.
Hit send.
Watch for the delivery.
Her reply comes within seconds.
Alex: DAMMIT RHETT, MY EYES!!! WHY WOULD YOU SEND THOSE?
Me: LOL, you asked!
Alex: You know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t ask to see BOOBS, and…and other things! WHAT KIND OF GIRL SENDS THOSE?
Me: Dude! You told me to give you the craziest shit girls have been texting me!!! Those three chicks are the craziest! Tits and ass.
Alex: Wait, ass?
Me: Yes!
Alex: Um…
Me: You wanna see those pictures, too?
Alex: GOD NO!!! Don’t you dare send me pictures of some girl’s butt. No.
Me: LOL. Sorry.
Alex: Obviously you haven’t deleted any of the boob shots.
Me: Obviously not. That’s what I’m doing right now, remember?
Alex: Guys are so gross.
Me: How am I gross because I haven’t deleted a few naked selfies girls sent to a random stranger? What’s up with the double standard? Come on Alex, you seem cooler than that.
Alex: Well what are you doing with them still on your phone?
Me: What do you think I’m doing with them? LOL.
Alex: Oh my God. I don’t even want to know.
Me: I don’t sit and jack off to them if that’s what you’re getting at.
Alex: Have you shown your friends?
Me: Obviously. Those girls have great bodies with some really great…boobs.
Alex: Do you want me to send you pictures of MY boobs?
I pause, hesitating to reply. Do I want to see her boobs?
My twitching dick certainly does.
I have no idea who this chick is, but I’d really prefer she didn’t stoop to the same level as the girls who texted me have stooped. Don’t want her to cheapen herself for the sake of getting some guy’s attention, even if it is mine.
However, that doesn’t stop me from asking, Do you WANT to send me a picture of your boobs?
Alex: LOL no, but I will tell you this: they’re better than those. Mine are bigger. Round. Perky.
Shit.
I try to visualize what her tits might look like—pale and plump, maybe, in the palms of my callused hands. I’d run them down her smooth skin.
I swallow, the stirring of an erection in my pants a burgeoning distraction as I tap out a reply.
Me: Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
Alex: I have to say, you’re one of the toughest guys to flirt with. Why is that?
Me: Because I don’t know you. I have to trust you first, I guess.
Alex: Do you have to trust me to sext me?
I stare down at my cell, at the word sex wrapped in the promise of erotic messaging. Try not to imagine a soft hand that doesn’t belong to me wrapped about my hard dick.
I squeeze my eyes shut, take a few deep breaths.
My phone pings again.
Alex: Have you heard of sexting, Rhett? Have you done it?
Me: Of course I’ve heard of it. I don’t live under a fucking rock.
Alex: But have you DONE it?
I don’t reply; I’m not going to admit to some stranger that I’ve never sexted—a stranger that knows what my face looks like yet still insists on flirting.
I could have passed her a hundred times on campus this week and never known it was her. It’s a vulnerable place to be when I’m already feeling beaten down.