The last time you saw me, I was about to embark on my first trip to Europe. There’s no reason for me to bore you with how I feverishly read up on Spanish history the whole two months before we embarked for our study abroad trip, so for time’s sake, I’ll just start at the Memphis International Airport. On that cloudy, somewhat chilly day, I first met the two really attractive guys, as mentioned in the prior blog.
One was muscular, a man’s man, with sapphire eyes distinguishable from yards away. He was also a frat guy, and though I was enamored with frats, I approached their individual members with caution, knowing the notorious reputations that followed. This would be my first time actually getting to know a frat boy, and it would prove to be a learning experience about myself, but we’ll get to that in a bit.
I remember this guy wearing a hoodie, opened slightly to reveal a t-shirt pressed against his built chest. Though hidden at the time, I would become familiar with his bulging biceps soon enough.
The other guy was everything a Southern Mom dreamed of for their daughter: Well-mannered, gentlemanly, Kennedy-esque, and — the most important — never failed to miss a single church service. With his gleaming, perfect smile and cobalt blue eyes, he radiated innocence, attracting boys and girls alike to his very presence. When he spoke, he sounded reminiscent of a surfer dude, but with his vintage Southern aesthetic, it worked. He could have easily been the inspiration for any romance novel’s love interest. It was as if he was otherworldly, floating above the fray.
Over the span of the trip, I would attempt to ingratiate myself with Mr. Kennedy, taking extra measures to spend time alone with him. Whenever he wanted to run, I would be there. Whenever he wanted to go out at all, I would be there. When others asked why I was so bent on befriending this guy, I would just say that I enjoyed his personality.
What made it more than friendship — on my side, at least — was my mission to exclude all others from our escapades. Whenever anyone wanted to join us on our runs, I would get overly defensive, telling my intimates, “I don’t know why they have to join us on OUR runs. This is our thing, and it’s the only time I have alone with him.”
Meanwhile, Frat Guy and I became actual friends, and he and I still talk to this day. I’ll admit, his was the friendship I should have invested in more. Since I put the majority of my energy into “befriending” Mr. Kennedy, I can’t help but think I missed out on an actual friendship.
I’ll admit, I was also very attracted to Frat Guy. I remember staying in a hotel room with him for one of our excursions, and one night, he stripped down to just his boxers, showcasing his perfect abs and biceps. At the time, the exhaustion of the trip, coupled with the fact that we were around each other nonstop, had caused me to tire of almost every person, including Frat Guy. But to this day, I have never been in a room with someone whose body looked like his.
I often wonder what could have happened if I could have just brushed his abs with my hand, or if we could have made out, just for that one night. (Don’t get me wrong. He’s straight, but a boy can dream.) At that time, I was still the closeted Christian Republican who never did anything of which his family would disapprove, but if I had been the person I am today, I would have at least asked to touch those bulging biceps a couple times. A missed opportunity for sure.
Besides being in a room with Zac Efron (though I think even Frat Guy’s muscles rivaled Efron’s at the time), we also struck up a conversation about fraternities. He told me he had joined to change the culture from within, which I had never considered. It changed my perspective on fraternities, and it challenged me to stop looking at people from atop my pedestal (We love growth).
Toward the end of the trip, my obsession with Mr. Kennedy came to a head when he started to spend an inordinate amount of time with another guy — for our sake, we’ll call him Preppy. Even though I wasn’t out, my jealousy flared over Preppy, who I had convinced myself was out to take Mr. Kennedy from me.
One night, I left Mr. Kennedy’s room because I couldn’t stand to be around Preppy for even another second. When I made it back to my room, I let my roommate know that I was NOT okay. (For the sake of the blog, I will replace the boy’s actual names with their nicknames.)
“Preppy’s only in there because I’ve been with Kennedy all day!” I said. “Now he’s trying to stake his claim.”
“Okay?”
“He has to be around him all the time. It’s disgusting really.”
“Clay,” he asked, “Why do you want to be friends with Kennedy anyway?”
“Because he has such a good personality.”
“Whatever.” He closed the bathroom door in my face, done with my ramblings about Mr. Kennedy.
Looking back, I know that I was being territorial about Mr. Kennedy because I had a crush on him. I justified it by saying that I was fiercely loyal to all my friends, but everyone could see through it.
Europe was a sexual awakening for me. It was a good thing I got the opportunity to get away from everything I had ever known, because it gave me the space to be my unabashed self. It was made all the more special because I was able to foster relationships with lifelong friends, people who served and continue to serve as sounding boards whenever I need advice. I didn’t know it at the time, but Europe prepped me to become the person who would undergo unimaginable change over the next couple of years — years I would make decisions that would alter the trajectory of my life completely.
In the next blog, I’ll finally start discussing my actual coming out. And boy, is it a doozy. Until next time. Kisses.
