If anyone ever saw us holding hands in the dorm, we’d invite all sorts of trouble. Bags of shit on fire outside the door, attacks in the shower, midnight raids on our room… One little kiss in the hallway and the next thing I know, the resident advisor has me moving out and my next roomie wants to kick my ass because I’m queer. I read the stories online. We might be safer on campus than off but we don’t have to broadcast our relationship, you know?
He’s my first in every way and back when we hooked up, I used to have nightmares about getting caught by one of the jocks on our floor. They were horrid dreams where the guys would chase me from the room—not him, he’s pretty built and could hold his own against an angry mob, but me, I’d bolt. In these dreams the jerks would get closer and closer. I’d feel them touching me, their hands grabbing at my clothes, and just when I tripped and fell and they all crushed against me, I’d wake up in a cold sweat.