fool of himself, so he wouldn't talk to a stranger. Well, that was why he got no sex. But what about guys who buzzed around every good-looking fellow who came their way? They obviously let it be known that they were looking for a bed-partner. And did anyone respect them? No! And did they get any more sex than John? It was doubtful. Besides, John was not out for sex alone. He wanted this guy Alan to like him. He wanted intimacy and warmth. Didn't Alan want the same? So what was keeping them apart? Was it a fear? Of what?

The lights flashed. Closing time! For God's sake, do something! Think of something! Alan was starting to pick up his books and pencils. He stood, his legs quivering, all the little hairs erect.

Now! Now! Think!

He couldn't think. He couldn't make any plans. His eyes were fixed on Alan's legs, staring wantonly. His legs, his legs, his legs standing near John, rubbing against him, tickling him, massaging him gently, clamping around him hard. Alan couldn't leave now. John wouldn't let him go. He must have him. He would have him! Why had his heart and tongue failed him? Why was he dumb when he wanted so much to speak? His heart tore within him.

He would follow him. Walk behind him about half a block. Follow him right to his fraternity house. Then then....

They would stop. Alan would turn and John would be right there. He would put his hands gently on Alan's slim hips and look into his eyes.

"Look," he would say, "I like you. I...

Alan would look surprised. Then he would look flattered. Then his eyes would glow and his heart would open. Their lips would meet . . . .

No! Oh, God, this would be too preposterous! What assurance did John have that Alan would react that

way? What possible assurance? It was only a dream. Could he gamble on a dream? Did he dare?

Alan scuffed past him.

"Well," John said to himself, "If you're going to follow him you'd better hurry. After all, he's not going to wait for you."

He followed Alan with his eyes, all the way to the door. Did he dare? Did he dare?

Frantically he grabbed up his belongings. Quick, quick-hurry! Come on! Out the door! Out the door to Alan!

"Wait. How are you going to approach him? I mean really-how? What will you say?

"Wait-be hanged. You've waited long enough. Are you going to wait your life away? Don't worry about what you are going to say. The words will come. Just let it happen!"

He was trembling and shaking from head to foot. He had never done anything like this before in his entire life. He was actually going after a guy he liked. Oh, sure, he had always hung around guys he'd liked before, and let them come to him. But now he was taking the initiative.

He couldn't believe his own actions. He was really going after Alan. It wasn't just fantasy. He was really going to do it.

Hurry. Catch up.

He felt funny-hollow and wooden, like a zombie walking in his sleep. His mouth was dry and his face had drained. He felt a little faint. His legs were heavy and cumbersome. With a conscious effort he put one foot in front of the other and began to move in Alan's direction.

Ready? Forward... march!

One step. Two steps. Three. And then a dull, heavy sense of finality enveloped him.

"You'd better go home and act your age," he said to himself as he walked slowly and painfully out the door toward his car.

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