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Hiking in Colorado is way different than Arizona.
I’m used to air that’s almost too hot to breathe and landscapes that are more red than green, but these trails are rocky instead of dusty. My lungs burn due to the altitude, not the environment, and for the first time in… well, ever, I'm hiking alone.
Back in Arizona, before everything went to shit and my mom became a shell of herself, we’d go hiking together at least a few times a month. She loved it–my dad, not so much–so it became our thing, and after my sister was born, Mom would strap her to a backpack to bring her along too.
We’d try to pick a new trail at least half the time we went out, but we had our favorites, and no matter how many times we’d walk them they never got old. I thought they never would…
I scale a few rocks on a moderately steep uphill section, using the trunk of a tree for balance. That’s another thing I’m not used to, giant ass trees. More specifically, the shade they provide. It makes the climb infinitely more comfortable.
There’s something about being on the trail that makes life’s bullshit fade away. I guess that means I should’ve kept hiking even when my mom was no longer capable of going, but like pretty much everything I enjoyed before, I stopped doing it. At first, that was because it seemed wrong to do something fun when my family was slowly breaking apart. Then, when it became clear my mom was never going to be herself again I sort of boycotted the things we used to do together.
I’m not sure if that was to preserve the good memories or to protest things that would remind me of them. Either way, I haven’t set foot on a trail in years, and I’m only doing it now since I’m trying to put the past behind me.
That’s easier said than done.
I huff out a few ragged breaths as I navigate over a fallen log, the irony of coming upon an obstacle on the trail an eerie reminder that I’m facing one in life right now—starting over.
As Cruz so helpfully pointed out at dinner the other day, I’m not great with people who aren’t him. Yeah, part of that is due to the fact we’re roommates, but part of it is just him being such a sunny, happy boy scout who never thinks the glass is half-empty. He doesn’t have some superpower to make me drop my guard entirely, but the more time I spend with him the more I think his good boy persona is who he is, not just a face he wears.
And what a face it is.
He’s got the sharp angles of a man covered in the smooth skin of a runway model, if those guys had some bulk instead of lean, sinewy muscle. And those damn cerulean eyes… When they’re focused on me it’s hard to keep my train of thought.
It’s funny he thinks I’m personable with him. Half the time, I wonder if I’m babbling instead of forming words.
No, I don’t have a crush on the guy, I just really appreciate the way he looks, and the fantasies those looks inspire. The fact that he’s like a happy puppy makes me comfortable with him, too, as long as we aren’t talking about my family or my hometown. After all, you can’t get beyond the past if you don’t leave it behind.
That’s why I’m on this trail. I’m reclaiming hiking on my own terms. Or at least I’m trying to, since hiking solo means I only have my own thoughts to keep me company. Fortunately, it’s hard to be pissy when you’re outside. Even for me.
It takes a little over an hour to reach the top of the trail, revealing a three-sixty view with taller mountains to the west and campus to the right. At some point I’ll go farther into the forest, but for now just the sight of those snow-capped peaks stretching into the sky as far as the eye can see is enough.
There’s something calming about them, the way they stand so sturdy and imposing through wind and rain and snow. They’ve been battered by the elements, and despite looking smooth and majestic from a distance, they’re actually rough and ragged up close. Somehow that only adds to their beauty.
I know it sounds corny as hell, but knowing they can take a beating and still stand proud makes me feel like I can do the same thing. That I can carry the scars of my past without letting them define me, and get back to a place where I actually enjoy life.
I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the golden retriever level of happiness my roommate exists in, but peopling better than I do now seems like an achievable goal, especially since Cruz and Aiden are the only two people I’ve talked to for any length of time, and I’m not even sure Aiden counts since we spent more time screwing than talking.
We’ve hooked up three times now, and while it’s definitely nice to not have to hide the fact I’m hooking up with a guy, I’m also conflicted about it.
It’s physically satisfying, sure–and Aiden is someone I do actually enjoy–but it’s not like I have this burning desire to see him or talk to him all the time. When I do see him, he constantly hints that I should join his frat. I don’t know if he’s trying to recruit everyone or just me, but it makes me feel like we want different things, and I don’t want to be the guy leading someone on.
Damn, I knew hiking alone with just my thoughts would make for interesting company, but this is like therapy.
Figuring I’ve done enough self-reflecting for one day, I make my way down the trail and back to campus, which is oddly quiet for a Saturday. People must either be at the game or watching it on TV, making this the perfect time to do laundry.
As expected, most machines are open, but once I’m done with that chore, I realize I’ve got nothing else to do. No homework, no projects to get ahead on, nothing. So, in the spirit of being a good roommate, I turn on the game.
It’s the start of the third quarter, and Colorado is up by seven. We have the ball, and the image on the screen is one of a circle of guys in a huddle. Not gonna lie, all those butts in tight pants are an intriguing sight for a guy who likes butts, especially since I can admire them without being creepy.
The guys break the huddle right as the camera is passing by one particularly round ass, and as the shot pulls back to take in the field I catch sight of the name on the back of the jersey. Chambers.
Oh. My. God. That’s my roommate.
I knew the guy had a killer body, but in a football uniform he’s…there aren’t words. Sturdy thighs, a trim waist, and biceps that are positively bulging from the obvious workload he’s incurring… It’s been hard enough to avert my eyes here in the room, where he’s relaxed and casual, but seeing his body at work… Fuck, I live with a god. It's the only explanation.
Colorado snaps the ball, and after a few seconds the quarterback throws a pass downfield, right into Cruz’s hands. It’s such a fast, direct shot it almost seems like there has to be a magnet–or tractor beam–that pulls the ball right into his grip. No sooner does he have it, he turns and sprints downfield, hurdling over a guy who tries to tackle him. He gains another fifteen yards before he’s brought down by an opposing player who literally has to hop on his back to stop his progress.
My jaw is hanging open by the time the play is finished. This is dangerous… This is how lusty obsessions come alive and I'd argue that I already have an unhealthy infatuation with Cruz’s physique.
