Page 9 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Then, I furrow my eyebrows, trying to look disappointed.
“Ah, shit, my phone died.” Isurreptitiously shut off my phone. “I’ll show you later.”
Oscar shrugs. “Oh, well.”
He seems to believe me, seems to buy the lie that the gay porn I was watching was actually some viral video my brother forwarded to me. (My brother has never forwarded me anything.)
That was close. Too close. Note to self: stop beating off to gay porn at school.
“What you been doing all lunch?” Oscar asks.
“Just studying. I’m gonna go find Emma. Come with me.”
Oscar turns away from me, moves to a urinal, and unzips his pants. “Nah, man, you two are all annoying when you’re together.”
I turn to a sink, look down, and wash my hands. “What do you mean?”
“You two always calling each other ‘baby.’ Kissing on the lips gently like you in middle school. When you gonna hit that shit already?”
“Tonight, actually. Emma and I talked about it. We’re banging tonight.”
Normally, I wouldn’t offer up that kind of private information so easily because I try to be as sensitive to Emma’s feelings as I can. But this is the perfect counterpoint to the gay porn Oscar just heard coming from my laptop. What better way to erase suspicion of my homosexuality than to assert that I’m about to have heterosexual sex?
In the mirror, I notice that Oscar hasn’t leaned into the urinal. He stands several significant inches back. From my angle, I can catch a glimpse of the thick head of his penis.
“For real?” he asks. “You fucking?”
“Yeah.”
“Dude!” Oscar exclaims.
When he finishes peeing and zips up, I quickly look back down into the sink. He moves to his own sink and starts to wash his hands.
“Emma wants it bad,” Oscar says. “I can see it in her eyes.”
We both dry our hands with paper towels.
Oscar raises his palm for a high-five. “My man!”
I slap my palm against his, perhaps a little too hard.
“I was starting to worry about you,” Oscar says.
“Worried why?”
“Mygirl was blowing me the first week we went out,“ he says proudly. “Second week, we were fucking.”
“I know.”
“I mean, she’sthicc. Youknowhow I can’t resist that.”
I nod.
“And I know howyoulove them supermodel-looking girls. So when you got someone like Emma, I don’t understand how, after six months, you still . . .“ Oscar starts pecking the back of his hand with little kisses.
I punch him in the arm. “Shut up, dude.”
Oscar laughs, as I follow him out of the restroom.
