Free Arkansas by David Leavitt

For that let’s just wait until you get your grade. Then we can—”
    â€œNo, I’d rather get it over with, if you don’t mind. Not have it hanging over my head.” He played with his collar. “Obviously we can’t do it here. Where can we do it?”
    â€œMy dad’s place,” I said swiftly. “He and his wife are in Singapore.”
    Without a word, Ben switched on the ignition and drove me back to my car. “Follow me,” I said, and he did, down Santa Monica to Cahuenga and Barham, then onto the 134, the flat, trafficked maze of the Inland Empire.
    Around one-thirty we pulled into my father’s garage. “Come on in,” I said, switching off the burglar alarm. “Make yourself at home. You want to take a swim in the pool first?”
    â€œI didn’t bring a suit.”
    â€œYou don’t need one. No one will see you but me.”
    â€œActually,” Ben said, “I’d rather just—you know—get down to business, if that’s all right with you.”
    â€œFine,” I said. “It’s this way.” And we headed together down the long corridor into my bedroom.
    â€œThis is nice.”
    â€œThanks. It’s not really mine. Just the guest room. But I try to put in some personal touches when I’m here. That little painting, for instance. My friend Arnold Mesches did it.”
    â€œWhat is it, a turkey?”
    â€œA portrait of a turkey.”
    â€œThat’s funny.”
    I took off my shoes. “By the way, would you rather I leave the lights on or off?”
    â€œOff.”
    â€œAll cats are gray in the dark, right? All right, then, why don’t you just ... take your clothes off and lie down on the bed. And I’ll be back in a minute.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Like a discreet masseur, I stepped into the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and got out some condoms. Then I walked back in. Ben was sitting naked on the edge of the bed, shivering a little.
    â€œAre you cold?” I asked.
    He shook his head.
    â€œWow,” I said, sitting down next to him. “Lucky I’ve got extra-large condoms.”
    He wrapped his arms around his chest. “Mr. Leavitt, you embarrass me when you say things like that.”
    â€œLook, Ben,” I said, trying to sound paternal, “I’ve been thinking about it, and if you don’t want to—”
    â€œNo, it’s okay.”
    â€œBut it’s also okay if you don’t want to. I mean, you can still have the paper. Don’t tell Tony, though.” I winked.
    â€œWhat’s his like?” Ben’s voice was surprisingly urgent.
    â€œTony’s? Oh. Fine. Smaller than yours, of course.”
    â€œStraight or curved?”
    â€œStraight.”
    â€œThe other night he was telling me that in his fraternity, they take the pledges and shave their balls.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œIf they pass out from too much drinking.”
    Something occurred to me. “You’re not in a fraternity, are you, Ben?”
    â€œNo.”
    I brushed my fingers against his scrotum.
    â€œYour balls are pretty hairy. I could shave them for you, if you wanted.” I hesitated. “You know, we could pretend you were the pledge.”
    Ben started shaking.
    â€œOr that I was Tony—”
    â€œShut up.”
    And pulling my face toward his, he thrust his tongue down my throat.
    Â 
    Don’t think he wanted me. He didn’t. Yes, he stayed that night, allowed me to initiate him into even the most specialized modes of intimacy—and initiated me into one or two as well. Yet as we sat down across from each other at breakfast the next morning, I could tell from his eyes that it wasn’t me he was thinking about. Maybe Jessica, or God. Probably Tony. Not me.
    He left shortly thereafter, having first extracted from me a promise never to tell anyone what had happened between us—a promise I naturally kept. And