eye contact noun
1. a meeting of the eyes between two people that expresses meaningful nonverbal communication
2. contact that occurs when two people look directly at each other

Escape. Some take up a hobby, some rely on substances, some find it through television and the internet. However for me, on those weekends free of classes and work, the only things to look forward to were the quarreling of my many siblings, the morbidity that was my mother, the detachment that was my father and the dystopia that all these entities caused when they clashed together. My escape was going to my university library to study, to get away from it all. On those sunny Saturday afternoons, as I walked from the parking lot to that century-old building, I would watch the glistening golden bodies running around campus, throwing a football to one another, tackling each other. I would watch in pleasure and pain.

Fifteen Years Ago…

I was always the odd-one-out at school…that little boy who neither fit well with the other boys, but certainly could not acclimate with the girls. During recess periods, where the room was our domain, where we could play board games, paints and crafts, make magnet designs, etc…a schism would occur in which all girls would go play with the dolls and “play house” and act as mothers, while the boys would go play with the big blocks, build forts, cause destruction, and fight wars. I was not attracted to either, my only escape being the desk that I sat at, observing the other children for the entire half-hour, making split-second eye contact with whoever happened to acknowledge the little boy sitting at his desk, and finding escape in the eyes of my teacher whose eyes locked into mine in what I consider now in retrospect, empathy.

Eight Years Ago…

With pubescence came my parent’s paranoia and fear that I would tarnish my soul with the worldly desires my hormones were opening my eyes to.

“You should not look or speak with any girls.”
“Do not shame us in public, all eyes are on you.”
“Look without lust.”
“Avoid eye contact with women.”
“Stay away from committing adultery of the eye.”

What was one of my only ways of communication with others was now turned into a sin. I grew up to feel guilt when my eyes met with those of a female, and yet my attraction to males only made eye contact with boys embarrassing due to the fact that such eye contact was what my parents had warned against, lustful. In order to survive however, I managed to overcome that enough to be able to interact, to look into a girl’s eyes, to avoid being labeled as “shifty-eyed”, I became personable and a joy to be around. But the damage was done, I would remain meek, I would never pass the line from weak personality to strong personality, I would remain the type of person who could easily be taken advantage of, remain a drone in my family’s household.

Two Years Ago…

As summer came along, I had my own car, I was taking summer chemistry course, I could escape at my whim. At that time I had decided that if I couldn’t accept the face that looked back at me in the mirror, at least I could build myself a body to be proud of, and so I headed to the on-campus gym. The gym was going through renovations, which was not a problem since it was summer and only a minority used the facility, the faculty and students who had not gone back to their hometowns or hadn’t gone on vacation. Because of the limited equipment, those of us using it would have to share and “work in” sets by taking turns on certain equipment. Eventually there was no need to verbalize, in order to take turns on a piece of equipment with another person, all that was needed was eye contact and a quick mutual nod to seal the deal. To one man there who regularly worked out, making eye contact and nodding would have a whole different context…

One Saturday Afternoon…

On a sunny autumn weekend, walking to the library to study, my excuse to leave the house unquestioned, my method of escape, watching the sweaty frat boys throwing around, passing by the campus McDonald’s and the smell of warm French-fries, I had no clue that I would get absolutely no studying done that day. I walked into, used the bathroom, and as I washed my hands and left the bathroom I recognized a familiar face. I had never heard him speak nor new how his voice sounded like despite having shared the gym facility with him all summer long. He wasn’t the type you’d find out of place on campus or attention-grabbing, just a tall, shirt-cap-and-jeans type and a nice handsome yet silent face. Nothing special, but definitely not hard on the eye, he was the type that just blended into the background and never stood out. As I had trained to do with any of my acquaintances, there was eye contact made, and a nod. I settled my books down on a table in a giant silent area reserved for intense studying, silent and nearly empty as was expected on a sunny Saturday afternoon. A left the area to head for the water fountain which was next to the men’s room, only to see my acquaintance again.

Make eye contact.

Nod.

As I brushed past him, our shoulders collided, to which I turned my face backwards to him apologetically. His head had turned back towards me simultaneously, and as I walked to my destination, I felt the ruffle of someone quickly turning and rushing behind me, as we both headed towards the bathroom/water fountain. I knew it was him, and I had an idea of what he wanted. A sixth sense? Common sense? My subconscious kicking in screaming he wants to screw around with you in the bathroom? I sped up and avoided the water fountain totally and found myself in the middle of bookshelves and just kept walking, going to areas in the library I had never seen and eventually ending up full-circle to where I began. I found my table and seat, and sat back down again, confused and laughing at myself for thinking that he wanted me, nevertheless wanted to have me in the bathroom stall of a library. He passed by my table.

Make eye contact.

Nod.

He reciprocated with a smile. Something he had never done before. This smile was in no way a smile of acknowledgment, his entire face changed from dullness to a wide bright-eyed, grinning snap shot of a Disney villain (or a Hollywood homicidal maniac, whichever frightens you more). If I had not been extremely alert to what was happening, I would’ve found it comical. He repeated this again and again, passing me by, hoping that I would acknowledge him, take a hint and follow in the direction he was heading (the men’s room). He literally circled around my little table, only he would do it by circling around the area from the outside and reentering so as not to seem obvious. He got tired of walking I guess, and decided to sit at a computer that was in my direct view a couple of feet away. He was not only ambitious, he was clever. Every time I would look up from my book, there he was, the back of the computer monitoring facing me, his head hidden in front of it, and his legs spread open in front of me with his hand firmly grabbing and caressing his groin, an effort to tease me or make his message clear, I don’t know. And even from a few feet away the message was clear to me, he definitely didn’t have a gigantic permanent marker in his pocket, he was excited about something. He would quickly move his head to the side to check if I was looking at him or if I had decided to join him in the bathroom.

As hard as my heart pumped, no blood rushed to my dick. I never got hard. Despite the fact that he was probably among the great bodies I had checked out discretely at the gym over the summer, I just wasn’t excited. That only added to my confusion and war of thoughts. He was way beyond my league yet he was stooping down to propositioning me for some sort of sexual interaction in a public toilet! He probably could get with any girl or guy he wanted to be with at a party, club or pub, in the comfort of his own bedroom (or any bedroom for that matter). I had neither a good body (I had only begun a workout regimen), nor charm (at least not any that had been shown to him), nor a great face.

Why me? Is this how I want it to be like? My first time in a smelly public bathroom stall? Did I send him the wrong message? Did I send him the right message and was just too coward to finish what I started? Am I a wuss? a pussy? a prude? Why me?

If I were to follow him into a bathroom stall, what would be awaiting me? Would he want me to blow him? Give him a hand-job? Would he reciprocate? Would he strip me down and bend me over, giving me a great view of the graffiti on the bathroom walls as he fucked me? Does he use protection? Why me?

Would we get caught? Is he a regular? Has he ever gotten caught? How loud would we be? How would we clean-up? Will I get stained? Should I tell library security about him? Why me?

He eventually gave up the crotch-grabbing and tried other methods like sitting at a table near me with his back towards me (and loudly sighing as he got up to leave the table) and doing his “circling of the vultures” dance again. After spending about four hours at the library, in which he did not seem like he would give up, I sneaked off when I could tell I wasn’t in plain sight of him.

As I got to my car, I wondered why I had stayed for so long, heart-pumping, distracted, and unable to study. In a perverse way, did I like the attention I was getting? I had left in disgust of this man, but as I drove away from campus, passed the library I saw him walking on the side-walk, his face had returned to its previous expression-less state. I tried to imagine what he was thinking and feeling…that deep annoying feeling in the gut you get when you don’t take care of your full erection; resent at getting rejected by someone below average like me; or simply thinking “well it’s his loss”.

I noticed in his hands he was holding nothing more than a notebook and a folder. Had he really gone there to study? What was a stud like him doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon at the library? I had judged him and felt disgusted by him, concluding that if he was interested he should at least respect me and invite me to his dorm room or at least someplace significantly more sanitary. Maybe that was his escape. I sought refuge in the library; he may’ve sought refuge through sexuality, a sexuality that couldn’t be satisfied in more conventional ways (through a girlfriend, boyfriend, and one-night stands). He could’ve been a conservative farm boy attending university yet not absolutely free from the demons set upon him by his upbringing, or a wealthy heir who couldn’t fulfill some pleasures due to his class and society, or a popular guy (a frat?) on campus whose public social obligation was to spread as many sperm cells throughout the female population as humanly possible. There may’ve been a void in his life that could only be filled by a hard dick in a bathroom stall. We may’ve been on the same figurative lifeboat, just drowning at a different pace.

In the end of it all, I only lamented him for turning something I had grown to use as a form of communication when my tongue was unable to speak on my behalf into the same thing my parents had warned me against.

My Parents. Him. They both drove me towards the same thing …escape.