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Dayne Mora

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About Dayne Mora

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  1. It was later that evening when I woke up again, with Efrain’s warmth wrapped around me. I’d woken up an hour or so ago for more kisses and orgasms. He’d been lightly grinding his big dick against my ass, and how could anyone say no to that? We’d exchanged handjobs while he massaged my still-tender hole, and I begged (unsuccessfully) for him to fuck me with his fingers. The arm Efrain had flung over my waist twitched, and for a moment I panicked--my mind was finally clear enough for me to think critically about what I had done. A friend, who I’d initially assumed to be straight, came on to me and I couldn’t get on his dick fast enough. I let yet another closeted gay teammate fuck me. And my dumb ass hadn’t even bothered to ask whether he was gay or closeted until after the second orgasm. I had no clue what he wanted from me either, but I had no problems letting him tap out complex messages in Morse code on my prostate. Lord knows I probably still had remnants of his dried-up precome on my lower back. I’m such a fucking dumbass. I berated myself as images of how all of this could go wrong ran through my overactive imagination. This could fuck up our friendship. Or I’d catch feelings, when he had no interest in going any further. Or I’d end up playing side-chick, while he ran around with a goddamn beard, claiming that he totally wasn’t fucking her. Or, worst of all, after treating me to the most Earth-shattering, mind-blowing sex ever, Efrain had no interest in fucking me ever again, and I’d return to being cock-thirsty. I sighed quietly, deciding that some distance would help me calm down enough to think rationally about the situation. I carefully left his arms and got out of bed. I was in the middle of pulling my underwear over my hips when he woke up. “What’re you getting dressed for?” “I have class in the morning,” I lied. “Skip it,” he said groggily and patted the bed, as if asking me to come back. “We also have conditioning tomorrow.” Efrain’s wolf-like grin lifted the corner of his full mouth and sparked a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Skip that, too.” I chuckled and pulled my t-shirt over my head. “I don’t think I could go again.” “That’s not why I’m asking you to stay.” “Sure it’s not,” I said, shaking my head. “You know, you shouldn’t be so keen on getting out of bed. I rarely give a second chance to white guys who call me papi when I fuck ‘em,” he said. “When the hell did I call you papi?” I picked up my shorts and bent to step into them. Efrain cocked his eyebrow. “Fuck, papi, you’re so thick,” he said, moaning for emphasis. “Damn, papi. Please, papi. More, papi.” “I…” “You probably didn’t realize you were doing it, huh?” he said. “Or that you were screaming in Spanish.” “What?” My shorts slipped from my hands. His hand dipped back beneath the blankets, ostensibly to grab his dick. “Could come from listening to that alone.” My brain frantically searched through the hours before I had hyperventilated and blacked out. It was pretty hazy, but I still had a faint recollection of the word papi used at least once. “Goddamnit.” It was (slightly) possible that I’d been begging for a finger-fuck earlier in my second language. Dedos. Usa tus dedos. Chingow. “You should consider yourself lucky that I like when you come in two languages and get back over here before I change my mind.” “Oh?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It seems you forgot telling me about how you’d been lusting over my ass for months.” He shrugged at that. “I think I have a pretty good chance of getting back in bed with you.” “Don’t push it.” He crooked his finger at me. I stepped back to the bed and bent over to kiss him goodnight, only to find myself pulled back into bed. Efrain rolled me over like he was a fucking gator or some shit and slanted his mouth over mine in another toe-curling kiss. I lost myself in him, trailing my hands up his arms, feeling all those well-developed muscles under his warm skin, to drive my fingers into his thick hair--something I’d been dying to do for as long as I’d known him. My legs hugged his hips as he rocked against me. The man could kiss, and holy hell could he fuck. I forgot why I was attempting to leave, or why I’d tried to put on clothes in the first place, until my stomach grumbled. I broke the liplock. “I need to get food too.” He nibbled my earlobe. “I’ll feed you.” “Actual food, dude.” I laughed. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Not what I meant.” “Yeah, sure.” “I can cook,” he said. “Or we can order out.” I shook my head. “I’ll see you at practice.” I wiggled out from under him and kissed him. “Good night, ’Rain.” “Good night,” he said with what seemed like a note of disappointment in his voice. With my shoes in my hand because they were still soaked, I let myself out and locked the front door behind me. When I got back to the dorms, I let myself in quietly, trying to bring as little attention to myself as possible. Romero was sitting in bed reading for one of his classes when I came in. “The walk of shame, eh?” “Why’d you assume that?” He pointed to his neck. “Light hickey.” Love bites because literally biting me wasn’t enough. I pulled off my shirt and jeans and started rummaging in my dresser for pajama pants and an undershirt. “Holy fuck!” “What?” “What happened?” He pointed to my shoulder. “He bit me,” I said without thinking. “Bit you? Wait, he bit you?” “Yes, a guy bit me.” “Hard enough to need a bandage?” “Seems so,” I answered as I dragged on my pjs. “During sex?” “I’m not going to answer that.” “You let him?” “It felt good,” I said defensively, flopping down on my bed. “Were you always this masochistic?” “No idea, no one’s bitten me before.” “So back to the guy.” “You know, you’ve never given the third degree when I hooked up with girls.” “So, was it--what’s Preston calling him now?” “Asswrecker McFrostybitch,” I said. “And, no, it wasn’t Indie.” “So, who was it?” “None of your concern.” “Last time it was your TA, so given your love of problematic hookups--” “Hey! It was only that one time!” “--ten bucks says you banged a teammate.” I said nothing, which was probably the worst thing I could have done. “Oh, shit! You fucked a teammate!” Romero cackled gleefully. “Anyone I’d recognize?” I rolled my eyes. “Probably.” “That’s gonna be so awkward.” “You’re already making it awkward.” ~*~*~*~ I sat in the back of the auditorium, only half-assedly listening to the professor droning on about some aspect of Newtonian physics. Like every other person my age, I’d already mastered the “take a pic on my phone” skill, so I wasn’t even bothering to keep track of the formulas the man scrawled endlessly upon the old school blackboards. He had half a dozen of them on tracks that he could raise and lower. The guy had already filled and erased them twice, and I’d dutifully taken photos for use later, even if I had no intention of taking notes. Most of my focus during this morning's lecture centered on hiding the Cory-induced hard-on that wouldn’t quit.I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position for the damn thing because there wasn’t a more discreet way to adjust it with my hands. If he’d just stayed in bed with me, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Even if we didn’t end up playing hooky to keep fucking throughout the morning, I’d have worked out some of my horniness and wouldn’t have a steel bar down the leg of my pants. At least, I could have taken his ass again because using my hand did precisely fuck-all, especially when I tried to clean up in the bathroom and remembered how enthusically the guy had bounced on my dick in the shower last night. Talk about a wild ride. Who knew that Cory had that in him? I knew he had a killer body, but never anticipated just how responsive that body would be. Like those pretty little nipples--all it took was a little tongue and his back arched like a fucking cat. And each part of his body proved more sensitive than the last, even before I got to his fun bits. Every touch on his cock, every inch thrust into that practically-virgin asshole, made the boy quiver and moan. I shouldn’t have been so surprised that I had him screaming my name and scratching the ever-living-fuck out of my back. I thought I’d have Cory out of my system if I got to fuck him, but I was still starving for him. If anything, tasting him made the hunger worse. I desperately needed to get him under me, taking my dick like a good boy. Last night I had sunk my dick into the most spectacular ass in existence and there was no way in fucking hell I was letting that ass, or its owner, get away from me. Little wonder that I was hunting him down during football conditioning. I found him using the reclining leg press machine to run through some exercises--multiple sets of reps with his feet in different positions on the platform meant to hit various parts of his thighs. His shorts rode up over his compression underwear, powerful thighs rippling under the skin-tight material, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was thankful for my own compression pants holding me down under my workout clothes. I managed to work enough moisture back into my mouth so I could talk and crouched down next to him as he lined up the safety bars for a short break. “How are you feeling?” Not many of our teammates were working at the leg equipment (there were some you had to force to do a leg day), but I still kept my voice low. “Not bad. Yourself?” “Hungry.” I gave him a meaningful look. His cheeks got a touch pinker as if he realized what I meant. “Are you free today?” “I got a class this afternoon.” “And after that?” “I’m wide open.” “Oh, really?” I shouldn’t be flirting with him when there were possible witnesses, but I couldn’t help it. “Text me when you’re ‘wide open’ then.” I fist-tapped his shoulder before I walked off. ~*~*~*~ I answered the door, and judging by Cory’s reaction, I’d picked the right outfit. And by outfit, I mean nothing but a pair of charcoal grey pajama pants that rode low on my hips. I braced my arm against the doorjamb as Cory looked me over. The way the soft, light-weight cotton hugged my legs and ass bordered on obscene. It certainly felt obscene when the fabric rubbed my naked cock. As Cory’s eyes tracked down my naked chest, I adjusted my dick, which was outlined so clearly you could practically see the veins. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help smirking. Wordlessly, I pulled him inside the house and my mouth was on him before he could speak. My tongue dove between his lips, tasting him, and my arms pulled him close. His heat radiated into me. He ran his hands up my arms, fingers lingering over my biceps. My own hands slipped down the back of his shorts to knead his ass through his trunks. He whimpered. Goddamn, it’s hot when he whimpers. I pulled his hips tighter to mine, feeling our dicks hardening alongside each other, and kissed him deeper. I was only vaguely aware that we were no longer alone in the foyer. “Hate to interrupt, but I need to get by.” My eyes flew open at the sound of Indie’s sarcastic tone. Cory’s body tensed, and he tried to pull back. “Sorry man, I forgot you were still here,” I said and pushed Cory toward the wall, pinning him there for the second time in as many days. I hadn’t bothered to stop massaging his ass under his shorts, pressing him against the hard length tenting my pants. If Indie noticed the movement or Cory’s reactions, he didn’t say anything. Not like I was going to give a fuck if he did notice--I wasn’t letting go of Cory’s hot ass for nothing. “Bringing hook-ups home, I see,” Indie taunted as he passed. Over his shoulder, he said, “Didn’t think you liked the legion of guys you fuck to know where you live.” I narrowed my eyes at my roommate. Indie had his chance with Cory, not my fault he blew it. And Indie had no business with that judgemental shit. Legion of guys? Fuck you, man. But Indie just gave a mock salute before he dipped out the front door. That’s it, eboy, keep walkin’. “I really forgot he was home. You cool?” I gently bit the side of his neck and Cory moaned. I gave a short laugh, which seemed to give him goosebumps. “Take that as a yes.” Fucking Indie. Cory is mine! Mine. The word snarled through me. I didn’t understand this urge to stake Cory out as my own. I knew nothing happened between them, but I still felt like I had to show Indie that the kid belonged to me. I had spent months losing my head over Cory, then another couple weeks making damn sure he lost his over me. I was not going to let someone else waltz in on my conquest. I sucked his neck hard, making my marks physical. He inhaled sharply, his breath hissing between his teeth, and his head fell back. “You said you were hungry. I didn’t think you meant literally.” It still echoed in my head, so I growled and bit him again. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a moan. I chose another spot on his neck and added another love bite. “So, are you going to eat me here? Or, will we make it to the room?” “Don’t tempt me,” I said, pulling back to admire my handiwork. Cory smiled, dimples and all that shit. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” A quick kiss, a brief meeting of tongues, and I grabbed the front of his cargo shorts and pulled him down the hall and into my bedroom. I had a playlist of chillstep and chillstep-adjacent music flowing from the speakers on my desk, filling the room with ambient sound. The music pulled me into a better headspace, and I felt like I was more in control when I pulled Cory’s shirt over his head. I tossed it in some random location and drew Cory in for a deeper kiss. All those weeks of build-up until I could finally touch him the way I’d always wanted to made things between us crazy yesterday. Today, however, I was going to take my time and feed him some of this gnawing need. Cory had other ideas. He drew in my lower lip, sucked on it, held it between his teeth. “Your mouth is incredible,” he purred. “Oh yeah?” I unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts and eased them over his hips. “My dick was hard all day thinking about what your mouth can do.” “I’m more than happy to do it again.” “No.” “No?” “I want to return the favor.” Goosebumps slid across my skin as he started backing me up until my legs hit the chair at the desk. “Although, I don’t think I can take you as deep as you can take me.” I sat back in the chair, my arms on the armrests, and grinned up at him. “There’s a trick to it.” He took position on his knees between my legs and rubbed his hands up my thighs. I lifted my hips so he could peel my pants down my legs and angled my dick towards him with a thumb at the base. His blue eyes locked onto mine as he lowered his head. The head of my cock passed between Cory’s lips, his tongue lapped the underside, swirled around me. He pulled back, his lips catching on the crown. “Teach me.” I was already fighting the urge to moan with just a small gesture. I didn’t know how long I would last with him doing more. He grabbed my shaft and trailed small nibbling kisses down its length. Cory sucked my nuts into his mouth, giving each a light tug, and I was almost unable to answer him. The whole time, his eyes never left mine. His gaze was too blameless and pure for a man wrapping his cherubic lips around someone’s ballsack. “Fuck, boy. This sweet and innocent game is killing me.” He dragged his tongue along the underside of my shaft from base to tip and sucked my head into his mouth again. God, he was doing this shit on purpose. I ran my fingers through his hair and let my hand rest at the base of his skull. “So, you’re not going to show me how to deepthroat your cock?” he asked guilelessly. How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that? I coached my willing and eager student through the first steps. He gradually worked me into his mouth, pushing himself further each time he slid my dick between his lips. My fingertips gently pressed him forward, encouraging him to take more. I listened to Cory’s unabashed slurps and satisfied hums as he worked. His tongue rolled against me. He still had a few inches to go, but I was already breathing hard. Every couple trips down, he’d test the limits of his gag reflex with obvious results, but even the sound of him gagging on me drove me wild. Damn, my boy can suck cock. Deep throating would be overkill, but that’s what he wanted to do, so who was I to stop him? “Now pretend like you’re swa--” The rest of whatever I was going to say, all coherent thought, was lost as I slid into his throat. His pleased hum vibrated on my head and I moaned. Cory slid my dick back before he took me into his throat again. The sight of his small mouth stretched around my shaft, disappearing into my pubic hair, was just as arousing as the muscles in his throat massaging my head. I loved a good pair of DSLs, but his perfect bow lips sent me over the edge. I was panting hard, fighting the urge to grab his head and fuck his pretty little mouth. He bobbed on my dick a few more times, but that was all I needed. I meant to warn him, but the only thing I could get out was a loud grunt. I fisted my fingers in his hair, making him take those first shots of come down his throat. I let him pull back so he could taste the rest of my orgasm. After the last spurt, he pulled off my cock and opened his mouth, eagerly displaying the come pooling on his tongue. Cory then swallowed, looking pleased with himself, before he bent back down to lick clean my spent member. I lifted his head off my dick and kissed him until he was breathless. “Are you still going to look that smug when I fuck you senseless?” I pinched his nipple hard and he whimpered. “Only one way to find out,” he said, standing up. I stripped him of his shorts and underwear and led him over to the bed. He got one knee on the mattress and I stopped him. I bent him over there, half kneeling on the bed. He brought his other knee up and leaned down, resting his cheek on my comforter. I nudged his knees wider and he automatically arched his back. Probably the most perfect presentation for such a spectacular rear. I grabbed an asscheek in each hand--my dark skin tone contrasting with his untanned flesh. I ran the pad of my thumb over his dusky-pink hole and he practically purred. “Damn,” I murmured. I dribbled spit down his asscrack, then ran my thumb over him again. He looked even better slick. I pressed more firmly and continued rubbing him, making him pant harder. He braced his knees further apart and I paused to admire my work thus far. Cory grunted, pushing his hips back against my hand. “Please, more.” I decided to push things and bent down to drag my tongue over him from taint to tailbone. With a surprised grunt, Cory lifted himself up on his hands and tried to look back at what I was doing. I licked him again and he cooed. I circled his hole with the tip of my tongue before pressing into him as I had with my thumb. “Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Like that?” I said, biting and sucking on the skin to the side of his ring, bringing up a slight mark. My hands gripped his ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging the beautifully shaped mounds. “Yes,” he whispered. “Good.” “No one’s ever--” He cut off in a moan as I squeezed his ass cheeks together, sandwiching my face between them, and shook my head--lightly abrading his sensitive skin with my five o’ clock shadow. Cory pushed his hips back against me, and I knew I had him. I placed my hand between his shoulder blades and gently pushed his upper-body back down. Then, I went to town, pulling out every trick I knew. Flicking, laving, fluttering with my tongue, going at every pleasurable spot I could find until he was calling me God in both tongues. By the time I wore my tongue out, he was quivering. His pretty hole, an even pinker shade than before, tensed and relaxed as if grasping. It was time to take things further. I pulled the bottle of lube off my nightstand and dribbled it down over his hole. He shivered as the cool liquid slipped over his crack and the back of his balls. I distributed it evenly with my fingers, making sure to coat all of those as well. Cory whimpered when I gave him my middle finger, the digit sliding in with little resistance. I worked the lube into him before I added a second finger. His toes curled as I started slowly easing in and out of him. I grabbed his asscheek with my free hand and spread him open. I added a third finger, and he started cursing in a mix of Spanish and English. My hand twitched against his ass, fighting a sudden and overwhelming urge to spank him. I didn’t understand this anymore than I understood the need to bite his neck yesterday, or the need to leave physical marks on him earlier this evening. Something about Cory’s body screamed hurt me, like he was releasing some weird pheromone that flipped a switch in the darker parts of my psyche. I kneaded his ass, spreading him so far open that it had to hurt. I worried briefly about hurting him, but if anything Cory seemed to be into it--pushing his ass onto my fingers and making noises that would be best described as “mewling”. And so I gave in. I gave him a light smack on his ass as I finger-fucked him and felt his answering tremble under my palm. He reached back to grab the opposite asscheek and pull himself open further. His mewling intensified, making the possibility that I would slip up and call him pussyboi that much greater. Of course, he seemed onboard with good boy, so he might like that one, too. I smacked him again, this time hard enough to leave a bright red mark. He moaned loudly and thrust his ass onto my fingers. My dick, which had more than recovered while I ate him out, jumped. His cock was leaking so much pre-come it looked like it could drip on my sheets at any moment. I worked his ass harder with my fingers and spanked him again. “Cogeme, papi,” he purred, clenching his fist in the bedspread. Purring, mewling, back arched like a feline in full stretch. I’m about to put my dick in a wildcat. “Pussyboi”, indeed. I picked back up the bottle. “What was that?” I spread my fingers out a little and shot lube down into his ass. His whole body quivered. “Cogeme duro,” he pleaded. “Cogeme sin sentido.” He had to be senseless already if he was begging to be grabbed. It didn’t occur to me at the time that our dialects were really that different. ~*~*~*~ “En ingles,” Efrain demanded. He laid another smack on my ass First, Efrain fucked me until I cried, then he bit me until I bled. He called me good boy like I was some fucking dog, and I ate that shit up. And now, he had me with my ass up in the air, presenting like a cat in fucking heat, getting spanked. “I’m still waiting, Cory,” he growled. A warm sting spread across one side of my ass, blending into the slight scruff burn inside my ass cheeks and along my taint. I had nothing in my experience to explain why the radiating heat of his palm drove me crazy, but I wanted more of these little bits of pain. Taunting, rough handling, biting, slapping. Maybe Romero was right about me being a masochist. Just how far was I going to let Efrain push me? Was he going to pull my hair next? Oh God, I hope he pulls my hair next. “Por favor,” I whimpered. “English,” he demanded in response. He thrust his fingers deep inside and ground his knuckles against my rim, as if to taunt me. I was whimpering, and I hated it, but I couldn’t stop. “Please, ’Rain!” “That’s at least one English word,” he said, laughing. Fuck, even the laughing… “Come on, Cory,” he said. “Your hole is all pretty and tight--it’s been a while since you had dick, hasn’t it?” “Goddamn it,” I moaned in frustration. “Answer me.” “Yes,” I whispered. “You need this fat dick your in your ass, don’tcha?” I nodded and grunted in the affirmative, which was apparently the wrong response. Efrain slapped my ass a couple times while pumping his fingers in me. “Use your words.” “Yes,” I whined. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” He continued finger-fucking me, playing the hell out of my prostate. “Tell me how much you need my fat cock in your tight little asshole.” “’Rain.” Since when have I been so whiny? “Tell me,” he growled, pushing my hand out of the way so he could spank my other cheek until it stung just as much. His fingers fucked me harder, making speech even more strained. “Oh, fuck! ’Rain, please.” I sobbed. “Oh my God!” “‘Please’?” “I need it, papi. Please, I need your dick.” “Yes,” Efrain hissed, without letting up with his fingers. “Fuck me! Please, fuck me.” “Good boy.” He gave my ass a squeeze as he abruptly pulled out his fingers, leaving me to shiver and pant while he put on a condom. I couldn’t tell if I was shaking because I was still feeling his fingers or if I was anticipating what he was about to do to me. Condom on and lubed up, he rubbed against me, then he slapped his dick against my hole. I felt the shock of that slap all the way in my toes. He slapped me with his dick again, and I moaned. I was shaking hard when he finally sank his head into me. My ass clenched hard around him and he pushed in a little deeper, his entrance eased through the ministrations of his talented tongue. I buried my face in the covers and moaned. Even with the fabric pressed around my mouth, and the music as loud as it was, the sound of those moans were carrying too far. However, he pulled me up until my back pressed into his chest. He thrust deeper into my body, and I gasped as his cock head dug into my prostate. “Don’t muffle yourself, boy,” he told me. “I want to hear you scream.” His words hummed in my ear. I knew I was already in trouble, but I couldn’t help egging him on. “Then give me a reason to scream.” Efrain slowly slid out of me, then pushed back in. His arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me tighter to his body. His cock slipping in and out of me felt so good that I couldn’t help moaning, but I wondered for a moment if he was really going to talk a big game then slow fuck me to death. I was about to say something smart when he slammed into my ass hard, knocking the air completely out of my chest as he entered me completely. He hit me again and again and again, his hips slamming into my smarting ass cheeks. His arms helped drive my ass down on his dick so brutally that I was too winded to cry out. Little black spots swam in front of my eyes as he assaulted my hole, and I felt like I could pass out. And just as suddenly, he slowed down, resuming the long, slow fucking from before. This time, my ass was so keyed up that even the smallest movement made me cry out. My voice rose as he drove me closer to coming. I reached up to stroke my cock, but he slapped my hands away and told me no. He laughed when I started whining. With how hard I was clenched around him, there was no way he didn’t know how close I was to climaxing. Infuriatingly, he grabbed both of my arms and twisted them behind me, crossing them across the small of my back. He pinned my arms there, pitching my body forward, and began fucking me hard again. It was just as fast and vicious as before, but I was able to breathe this time. I just ended up screaming more than breathing while he thoroughly wrecked my ass. I was shaking, barely able to hold myself up. My shoulders and hips hurt. It hurt and felt impossibly good all at the same time, and I edged closer to the brink. He was right there with me; his dick felt thicker than before and his bucking thrusts went wild. He growled as he plowed me. His grunts got tighter and closer together. I felt the tell-tale pulse along his shaft. Soon, he was coming hard, but he didn’t stop. I was so lost that the only words I could remember were “oh fuck”. I wanted him to slap me again, to jerk my dick, to fuck me harder, to let me come, but the only thing I could get out were those two little words. I started repeating them over and over, trying and failing to communicate these needs. I just needed that little bit extra to make it over the top. He released one of my arms to reach under me, wrapping my aching dick in a firm grip. And then, I came. It spilled out of me, spread across the sheets. He let go of my other arm and I fell forward. With my face safely buried in the covers again, I screamed louder than I’d ever screamed. Efrain milked my dick, squeezing out the last remnants. He slapped me, and my ass returned the favor. ~*~*~*~ Efrain didn’t give me a choice whether or not I spent the night. He managed to trap me in an almost endless loop of snuggling and fucking. He was nice enough to let me get in a little power nap after pounding my ass through the mattress yet again, but it wouldn’t take long before he came after me with that meaty dick once more. By the third time, my throat was too raw to speak and my legs were too weak to stand. I couldn’t walk to the bathroom to clean myself up, let alone walk out the door. He had to bring me hot tea and a washcloth in bed. And he still woke me up later for more fucking. I suppose I could have turned him down, but who in their right mind turns down a man who can fuck like that? Alright, there may have been a couple times where I initiated. And, regardless of who initiated sex, I always begged for the fuck. Like I said, who in their right mind turns down a man who can fuck like that? All told, I got in three good hours of sleep that night. My hips ached, and my voice barely existed. Luckily, he didn’t get too crazy with the spanking after the first round or my ass would have been toast. Football practice is going to be a bitch. I booked it early, mainly because I had a mid-morning lecture that I couldn’t miss. However, I think I would risk losing the use of my legs entirely if we woke up together. My roommates all had early morning classes or work, so they were milling about in the suite when I finally stumbled in after eight. I immediately nabbed the massive bottle of ibuprofen we kept on the kitchenette counter and filled a glass of water. “The biter strikes again,” Romero said, leering. I growled. “He did not...” Gio pointed at his neck without looking up from his notes. “What’s up with your voice?” “Sounds like he enjoyed himself,” Romero said. I ignored their commentary and hurried over to the mirror on my closet door. On the side of my neck were two thumb-print sized hickeys. I pulled down the collar of my shirt and found a full constellation starting at my collarbone and trailing across my pec. I had a slight tan still, but the marks stood out against my skin. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” “How did you not notice him giving you a hickey?” Al asked. “How did you not notice three?” Romero said. Gio laughed. “Same way he didn’t notice when the guy bit him.” Since I had to take the bandage off in the shower, both the guys in the locker room and my roommates saw Efrain’s teeth marks. My teammates thought it was a girl, but Romero blabbed to Al and Gio. He’d been trying to get me to tell him which guy since yesterday morning and felt that enlisting the help of our roommates had the highest chance of success. I ignored them all and grabbed a quick shower. I was already running late by the time I got on my clothes and nabbed a protein shake from the fridge. Thank fucking God that my legs were less gelatinous or else I wouldn’t be able to book it to my nine o’clock class. At practice later, I punched Efrain’s arm when no one was looking. “What was that for?” he said, rubbing his arm. I narrowed my eyes. “You know exactly what that was for,” I hissed. He laughed. “I couldn’t help myself.” I punched his shoulder in the same spot, winning a satisfying yelp from him. “The fuck? That shit’s gonna bruise.” “Oh man, I couldn’t help myself.” He rubbed his arm. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he said with his characteristic wolfish grin. “No.” “What do you mean no?” “Already have plans.” “Because I left hickeys?” “Because I’m going out dancing with some friends.” An odd look flashed across his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was jealousy. “Tomorrow night, then?” “Study group,” I lied. “On a Friday?” The odd look again. “Well, yeah.” Fuck, telling him No was almost as fun as telling him Yes. He sighed. “Fine, but you’re coming over Saturday after the game.” “Oh, I am?” “Yeah, so clear your schedule.” “You’re so sure that I’m going to cancel my weekend plans.” “Damn straight.” He smirked. “Oh, and bring a toothbrush. Your ass ain’t sneaking out while I’m asleep this time.” “You gonna tie me to the bed or something?” “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “But, if you’re a good boy, I may make you breakfast.” He sauntered off before I could respond. It seemed he was not giving me a choice about spending the night again. ~*~*~*~ “Why are you still in your underwear?” I walked my bikini brief-clad ass back to my bed to peruse my wardrobe choices, leaving Cory to close the door. “God, Preston,” he complained. “We’re supposed to pick up Berta and Luz in ten minutes.” “Oh, please,” I shot back over my shoulder. “They’re probably more behind than I am.” Marina’s friends Berta and Luz had been whining about her ditching them for lez-Delia. Apparently, Cory and I were to blame for the hook up, and they demanded that we go out dancing with them as compensation. I didn’t know why, but they chose country line dancing. I hated country music. Country music is why we can’t have nice things. But it was a good excuse to make Cory wear his Stetson and Western boots. He even had his plaid shirt tucked in with a respectably sized belt buckle. He slipped off his boots and flopped down on my bed while I tried to decide what I was going to wear. “Don’t overthink it,” he said. “Solid colors are a pretty safe bet.” He rolled over on his back and put his hat over his face as if he was going to take a nap. The first three buttons of his shirt were open over his muscular chest, and a simple braided leather cord hugged his neck. Above that were two lovebites. You little slut. I pounced on him and straddled his lap. His hat fell off his face as I tickled the side of his neck. “Where’d you get these? Hm? Have any more?” I tried to look under his shirt, but he grabbed my hands and fought me off. Thus routed, I started bouncing on his lap and chanting, “Tell me, tell me,” over and over. He rolled over and pinned me under his body. “Could you at least put on clothes before you start jumping on me?” I wrapped my arms and legs around him. “Bitch, this is closest you’ve been to a dick in weeks.” He smirked down at me. “No way. Who?” “I’m not telling you that.” I tightened my hold on him. “I’m staying naked until you tell me!” He rolled his eyes and reached around to pull his phone out of his back pocket. “Alright, but you can’t tell Romero and them who it is.” Cory quickly scrolled through his phone and showed me a picture. It was a bathroom selfie with the message, You turned this down to go dancing???? Damn, Cory knew how to pick ’em. The guy was totally of the tall, dark and handsome variety. He was shirtless, exposing his gorgeous, lightly furred chest. His thumb hooked his waistband, drawing it down teasingly, but the fabric was thin enough that you knew exactly what he had going on under there--a lot. God, I wonder if Cory can be persuaded to share. Then, I got a good look at his face. “He looks familiar, Cory,” I demanded. “Why does he look familiar?” “We play together.” “You clearly have,” I said, pointing out his hickeys. While rolling around, I’d noticed a series of them across his upper chest. “No, literally. Football. He’s on the team.” “You skank!” I gasped. “Oh, you wouldn’t hesitate to hit it, given the chance.” He reached between us and poked at my dick, which I admit was a little hard. Though, to be fair, I’d been rolling around in my underwear with my legs wrapped around a seriously cute football player that I’d already had the pleasure of sucking off. “So, you’ve managed to land a boyfriend.” “We’re just fucking around.” I poked at the hickeys on his neck. “That’s not fucking around, that’s marking territory.” “I doubt that.” “No, seriously. Ever try picking up someone whilst sporting visible lovebites?” “Can’t say that I have.” “It’s not easy,” I explained. “He’s cock-blocking you.” “He has no reason to cock-block me.” “He wants to keep you for himself.” Cory seemed to think on this for a bit, and a half-smile began to form. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” “I guess so.” “You guess so. Bitch, please. You’re already in love with him.” “I’m not in love with him.” “But, you really like him.” He sighed forlornly. “Yeah, I really like him.” “So,” I said, bouncing up. “How big is his dick?" “Oh my God, Preston.” “On a scale of Micro-to-Indie.” “You’re such a fucking size queen.” “Bigger than me? Bigger than you?” I gasped. “Bigger than Indie?” He groaned, but finally fessed up. “Closer to Indie’s size.” I jumped on him again. “Bitch, who’s the size queen?” Then I noticed a bandage sticking out. “What happened there?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret this,” he said as he lifted one side of the bandage. “But, I already regret enough about this conversation.” Underneath was a scabbed-over bite. “This guy?” I pointed to his phone. “Yeah,” he said as he rolled me off his lap. “Right at the climax.” He put his hands over his face as if in shame. “I came so hard I passed out.” “Damn, Bo Peep, you just went from bears to wolves.” ~*~*~*~
  2. Maluma in Calvin Klein boxer briefs spraying himself with a garden hose... I'm very parched all of a sudden.

  3. Those two are too much fun to write--I couldn't possibly do without them. Plus, there's still a lot more to do with their characters. I still plan to complete Wild Card eventually. I just have to work this revision out of my system.
  4. I think the issue I really have with hands-free orgasms stems from all the romance novels I read when I was a teen. It was really common for the heroine to be unable to experience a non-clitoral orgasm (or to experience an orgasm period) until Mr. Right makes love to her, ya know, cause how else are you gonna know he's Mr. Right? The case could be made that this promotes an unrealistic expectation about sex within a romantic relationship. I started seeing parallels with hands-free orgasms in gay fiction and couldn't unsee them.
  5. Ch 4 -- Here for the Bro-down! I watched Rice and Cory weaving through the crowd waving red plastic cups at any teammate whose attention they could catch. People packed the balcony and player’s lounge. It was on the ass-end of July, but the coaches finally had the early freshmen in good enough shape to bring them into the fold, or had weeded out those who wouldn’t work on the team. To celebrate, the coaches and trainers were hosting a massive barbeque in the locker complex for the team. They had invited most of the university’s top brass, along with some good ol’ boy alumni and business partners with deep pockets. There were even some select members of the press on hand--because everything about college football had to be about getting good press if it wasn’t about making money from the efforts of young men. Thus, we all had to look presentable and act like our mothers had taught us manners. Which meant matching burgundy polo shirts with orange stitching and piping--tucked in, with all the buttons done up (sorry to sound true to stereotype, but an ugly shirt is an ugly goddamn shirt)--and pressed khaki pants that actually fit. If that sounds like a bunch of children made to wear clothes they don’t like and forced to interact with stuffy grown-ups, all while being stared down by their fathers and reminded to behave or else, then you’re not far off the mark. I was coming out of my redshirt season, which generated some interest around me. I spent the better part of the luncheon shaking hands with some random rich white dudes and doling out soundbites to a handful of reporters. Not something I wasn’t used to, but I was getting more attention than I had when there wasn’t a chance that I’d end up on the playing field during an actual game. However, most of the attention centered on Cory, who left Freshmen Camp weeks ahead of the others. It was all anyone could talk about--which meant that I had to talk about it. The coaches announced today that he would be playing with the team this fall, the only freshman without a redshirt. He was a natural with crowds, so everyone wanted to talk to him, and I couldn’t even begrudge him that. He’d worn his glasses today, which seemed to draw more attention to his eyes rather than hiding them. A couple times throughout the afternoon, our eyes met as we socialized. He’d grin at me, and I’d grin back at him. Then I’d feel really fucking stupid for how attracted I was to him, and that shit always made me cranky and irritable. I need to get a grip before I embarrass myself. After a couple hours of dutifully seducing old white guys into forking over their cash (to the Football Program, ’cause heaven forbid we make any bank off our own hard work), we were allowed to relax. I even got to undo one of the buttons on my fucking shirt. Cory had been running around with Rice, trying to convince a bunch of people to put weird shit on fruit. A couple days ago, Cory got a care package from his mother that contained--among five more pairs of Converse--some Mexican candies and a big bottle of chamoy, this blood red condiment that looked rather revolting. Apparently, it went on everything, including watermelon, which, like sweet tea, was never in short supply at a Southern barbeque. Both guys had plastic cups packed with fruit and doused in chamoy and some chili-lime salt they’d called “lucas”. I was their next target. “Dude, seriously,” Rice said. He’d already tried to get me to eat it a couple times already. “Just try it.” Cory speared a piece of melon on his fork and waved it in my face. A drop of chamoy fell off and plopped wetly on the concrete. Good thing we were outside or Vuis would pitch a fit. “Come on, Efrain. You know you want to.” I knew I wanted to do a lot of things. They all involved things he wouldn’t like. But, the kid says my name with that taunting voice and good boy grin, and suddenly I can’t say no to him. “Fine.” I bit the fruit off his fork and immediately wished I hadn’t. This weird mix of salty, sweet, and spicy, and I swore there was this kind of pickled flavor somewhere. “Oh, I ask you three times, but the first time Card says something…” Rice threw up his hands in frustration. I was probably more infatuated with Cory than I should be, but I seriously did not do everything he asked me to. I finished chewing and tried to swallow, if only to defend myself. Yet, the longer it was in my mouth… “Huh, that’s actually pretty good.” Cory turned to Rice. “I told you I could get him to eat it. You owe me lunch.” “Dammit, Garza,” Rice swore. I should have felt offended at being tricked, but Cory beamed at me and shoved more sauced fruit in his mouth, his tongue peaking out to gather sauce off his bottom lip, and my indignation slipped away under that deep blue gaze. Thankfully, Rice led him off to sucker in more of our teammates before I lost my wits completely. ~*~*~*~ Nope, my wits are completely lost. The last time I’d boned up in the locker room was early high school. There I was, just minding my own fucking business, when Oh hey, guys, this is my penis. I wasn’t even looking at my peers, my dick just made a grab for attention in a room that just happened to be full of guys in various states of undress. Of course it was embarrassing, but I wasn’t the only one it had happened to, so it didn’t matter to anyone. My dick was just doing what adolescent dicks do. If only I could still use that excuse. Okay, it wasn’t like I was actively creeping on my straight teammate. I just happened to see Cory, out of the corner of my eye, coming out of the showers, towel around his waist and water still clinging to his chest. His upper body was a full expanse of tight, rippling muscles, with just enough body fat to keep him from looking too hard and veiny. My mouth watered just thinking about lapping droplets off his warm skin. He took another towel and started drying his hair. And that’s when the towel around his hips slipped off. I looked away and focused on getting my shorts on. “Damn, Card,” I heard Teague say. “Are you sure you aren’t black, too?” Against my better judgement, I looked over. Lithgow and Cory were giving him almost identical flat stares. Cory held the towel in front of his crotch, but the entire length of his powerful legs were exposed. All of it, from trim ankle to the rounded swell of his ass, covered in blonde hair so fair as to be non-existent, burned into my eyes before I had the good sense to look elsewhere. I got my shirt over my head and tried not to think about the blood rushing to my dick. “Could you be less weird, Teague?” I dealt with my embarrassment the same way I dealt with any other emotion I didn’t like. “Oh, lay off him, Lithgow. When you’re that small, every dick is monstrous.” I got my shoes on and sauntered over to lean against the last locker in their row. “Fuck, we must be talking micro-peen,” Lithgow said. “If the size of his truck is any indication, Card’s dick can’t be that big.” “Vehicle size seems like a poor measure,” Cory reasoned, looking Lithgow up and down. “Or else you’d need a semi.” “Damn, Lithgow,” said one of the guys on the other side of their section. “I think the trainers might have some cream for that burn.” Card smirked. He set down his towel and started stepping into his underwear--these cute short boxer briefs he called “trunks” the other time Teague made a comment about Cory’s lower half. I tried and failed to not look at what was nestled in his light brown pubic hair. Even flaccid, I could tell that he didn’t need to compensate for anything. “So, is everyone done creeping on my dick?” Nope. Not on your life, kid. He looked at each of us. “You guys good?” He included the guys at the lockers behind him. “Great,” he said when no one offered an argument. Then, he turned to pull on the rest of his clothes. “It seems that we have been dismissed, gentlemen,” I said and walked off before I really embarrassed myself. On my way out of the locker complex, Vuis stopped me to talk about my progress. “You’ve grown a lot, son. It was good thinking to put Card on your ass.” I realized that’s when all this started. That first tackle. Fuck you, well-meaning coach. It was all I could do to say something polite and leave. I’d been pushing myself lately, mainly to keep up with Cory, but it had paid off. I just wished the price hadn’t been so steep. On the way to the bus stop, I started messing with Grindr. I’d lost interest in hooking up a month or so ago, which could have been why I was panting after Cory. I just needed to get balls deep in someone’s ass, that’s all. Once I’d satisfied that urge, his rolling “r” and slate-blue eyes and… Fucking hell! I spent the whole bus ride discreetly swiping through matches and pretending that my hard-on was from the pictures on my phone and not a certain baby-faced lineman with delicious thighs and glistening pecs. I had a date before I reached my stop. ~*~*~*~ I leaned back against the wall watching the crowd mingle. There really wasn’t much in the way of music to be had, this being more mixer than full-on frat party, and the brothers of the house were more interested in hooking up with the drunk sorority sisters they’d roped into this little shindig than chatting up underclassmen outside of rush season. Efrain leaned his shoulder on the wall next to me. He’d worn his dark hair unbound, letting it fall down the side of his head in thick, glossy waves. Chin-length strands occasionally fell into his eyes, at times compelling my fingers to tuck them behind his ear. Not that that wasn’t the first time I’d wanted to get my fingers in his hair. He handed me a bottle of water before opening his own. “Found these hiding in a cooler.” “Thank fuck,” I said gratefully. “Now I can stop pretending I’m drinking this shit.” I set aside the warm cup of beer some frat guy had shoved into my hand an hour or so ago. Efrain smirked. That fucker had no business smirking. I was only here because one of his buddies from aerospace had been all over him about rushing here and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Efrain was then all over me about coming with him, kept bringing up how I could hook up with all these fucking sorority girls, and it was just easier to go along with him than to explain that I was too hungry for dick to pay attention to girls, let alone the sisters on offer tonight. He better be grateful that I did come because that little buddy of his ditched him as soon as he introduced us to one of the frat officers, his job of bringing in lambs for the slaughter apparently done. “Your first time at a frat party?” Efrain asked. I shook my head. “Nah, went to a couple parties with my brothers when I toured their schools last summer. They were all in frats.” “So, this must be old hat then.” “Nobody in Virginia knows me as so-and-so’s brother, so I’m treading new ground here.” I rolled my eyes. “Although, I’m counting the days until Phi Gamma Delta finds out I’m connected to three brothers from two different chapters.” “The guys at Theta aren’t that bad,” Efrain said looking around. “Been here before?” “Yeah, during last rush,” he said. “Jef wanted me to rush with him last fall, but did about the same thing when we got here.” He rolled his eyes. Last we saw of him, his aerospace buddy was in a darkened corner, tongue-deep in some drunk girl’s face. “But, the girls are fucking ridiculous tonight,” he added, running his fingers through his hair. I couldn’t blame him--several girls had dug their manicured claws into his hair before we’d escaped. I couldn’t blame them either. “You mean they aren’t crawling all over you like that all the time?” “Yeah. Groupies are bold as hell and all that, but they’ve never been that demanding.” “A bunch of them were whining that our teammates don’t dance,” I said. The little music the frat had played left much to be desired, and while I did dance for a bit, the combination of grabby sisters and shitty music got old fast. “We don’t,” he said. “Unless we want to catch hell for it later.” “I haven’t.” “Of course not.” He scoffed. “You had three women on you at once.” “If I recall, you were in the middle of all that, too.” “But, you took ’em all home. Rumor is you’ve fucked them all. At the same time.” I chuckled. “Nope.” “Really?” “Not a single one.” “‘Just friends’, huh?” he said. I nodded. “I haven’t gotten into picking up people at bars and parties yet.” Efrain arched his eyebrow. “It’s not like I’m not into NSA fucking,” I clarified. “I’m just not a big fan of random hookups.” “Fair enough.” “Although,” I said,. “I could probably hook you up with one of them.” “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Over Efrain’s shoulder, I noticed a brother stumbling over to us. “Ryan!” He clapped Efrain on their shoulder. According to Efrain, “Ryan”, a “close enough” pronunciation of his nickname ’Rain, was what he usually introduced himself as when dealing with drunk white people. The guy looked at me with that “I have no idea who you are” look. “Cory,” I said. “Cory!” he shouted, fist-bumping me with the hand that still held his beer. Warm, weak-piss colored liquid spilled on to my shirt. Beer goggles apparently made it difficult to see when you’d pissed off a two-hundred pound lineman, so random frat bro didn’t clear off. He instead jostled Efrain shoulder rather vigorously, similarly blind to the darkening moods of shredded wide receivers. God, no wonder these assholes have issues with consent. “There’s tons of hot girls out here tonight, man. Don’t let this guy cockblock ya.” “Eh, I’m good,” I said. “’Sides, guys in my family have a bad habit of stealing girls from frat officers, so Imma behave myself tonight.” I caught Efrain suppressing what looked like a giggle, but random frat bro barely noticed. “Aw, fuck, there’s two of you now,” he whined. “Bad enough this asshole thinks VT girls aren’t good enough for him.” He shook Efrain’s shoulder again. “VT girls ain’t got anything I’m interested in,” Efrain said, coolly finishing off his bottled water. “More VT girls for you,” I added with a shrug. “Speaking of which,” Efrain said. “Cory promised he’d give me his notes from that ape fucking class.” Efrain gave me a pointed look. Finally! An Exit! “Ape fucking?” the guy said. “Oh, yeah, I totally forgot,” I said, slapping my forehead. “Should go get those before my dumb ass forgets them again.” “Now?” he said. “Now works.” Efrain pulled the guy’s hand off his shoulder and shoved the empty bottle into it. “Tell Jef that I’ll see him around.” He then jostled his shoulder enough to slosh the cup of beer in his hand. “Yeah, what Ryan said.” I also jostled the guy’s shoulder, taking perverse pleasure in increasing the amount of beer spilling over the rim onto his hand and clothes. Efrain and I edged around him and wound our way to the front door. “Do you even know that guy’s name?” I asked. “Nope.” “Do I need to know that guy’s name?” “Hell no.” I chucked and he grinned crookedly. A breeze shifted the balmy night air, rustling through my hair and drying the sweat I’d accumulated at the frat, as we walked away from Oak Lane, the Greek on-campus housing area. “Kinda nippy out,” Efrain said. I looked down at my chest where my nipples had pebbled against the thin fabric of my t-shirt, especially where I’d been soaked with beer. I heard Efrain’s short, quiet laugh and rolled my eyes. “So, you don’t fuck VT girls.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded. “First I’ve heard of it,” I said. He shrugged. “The team doesn’t make a big deal about which girls you’re fucking as long as you aren’t fucking theirs. And they don’t need to know who I’m fucking, anyways.” “I see.” “Besides, I told them I had no interest in their sloppy seconds, or running into old flames when I’m tryin’ to get somewhere.” “Fair point,” I said. “That’s what they said.” “I suppose it’s more of an issue for frats.” “How so?” “Well, if you don’t fuck with VT girls, but their main selling point is that VT girls will fuck with you,” I said, “they’ve basically got nothing to sell you on.” “Which is why I’m not in a frat.” “I mean, what could they sell you on at that point?” I said. “Bro-downs?” “With or without the homoerotic connotation?” he asked dryly. “I thought the homoerotic connotation was a given.” “It’s always a given, just latent and in-denial.” I snorted. “No homo, my ass.” “Well, if you’re putting your ass out there…” I giggled. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” “A hole is a hole.” “Any hole is a goal.” “Any port in a storm.” “One up the bum, no harm done.” By that point, we were stalled on the sidewalk laughing our asses off while he tried to get out something about taking the dirt track and I tried to get out something about taking one for the team. We ended up bent double because we’d run out of air, but managed to stop long enough to catch our breath. Only for him to make a joke about bending over which set us off all over again. After that, all it took was looking at each other to start another wave of laughter and half-wheezed man-sex jokes. Unable to stay upright, I plopped down on my ass in the grass, and he collapsed beside me. It took a while, but we eventually calmed down. There was still the occasional hiccup of laughter, mainly because we lacked the energy to handle anything more vigorous. Efrain rolled onto his back and groaned, rubbing his flat stomach. “God, that hurts worse than ab death.” “Ab death” was what we all called the ten-exercise core circuit they sometimes made us do during conditioning--only they didn’t have us do like three runs through the circuit. No, those assholes set a timer and told us to do as many as we could, without breaks, in half an hour. We’re competitive enough as it is, but get a bunch of dumbass football players doing ab death circuits together and you suddenly find yourself trying to run through the damn thing several dozen times just to say you beat someone else’s record. You’d barely be able to move the next day, but when ab death reared its ugly head again, it would be painfully obvious that none of us had learned our lesson. I took a careful breath, trying to ease the cramping in my stomach. “Worse than ab death” is right. “Dude, are you trying to fuckin’ kill me?” I said, my eyes still watering. Efrain stood up. “Of course I am,” he said. “Can’t have some punk ass freshman showing me up all the time.” “Like hell I am!” He reached down to give me a hand up. “Like hell you ain’t!” I grabbed his hand, but dug in my heels and jerked down as he tried to pull me up. I rolled away quickly and jumped to my feet, leaving him sprawled on the ground. “You’re as much of a punk ass freshman as I am.” He gaped at me. “’Sides, I’m not showing you up,” I said. His eyes narrowed. “You just suck that fucking bad.” He growled. “Fuck. You.” “No,” I growled back. “Fuck. You.” Efrain launched himself at me, and I bolted, laughing and screaming (but, you know, manly screaming) until he finally got close enough to tackle me. ~*~*~*~ Sleep, eat, practice, creep on Cory, fuck some random guy, sleep, eat, practice, accidentally flirt with Cory and hope he doesn’t notice, fuck some random guy, sleep, eat, practice, spend an entire night chatting with Cory at a party, fuck some random guy because he kinda looked like Cory, sleep, eat… I threw myself into football and fucking around, but my mind kept going back to Cory. I probably wouldn’t want him as much if I could just have him. I tended to lose interest in a guy not long after the first fuck, and it was rare for a guy to last more than a week. I’d never even had an actual boyfriend. It was probably for the best that he was straight. Fucking the guy and getting bored with him soon after would mess with our friendship. I liked him. I liked hanging around him. I just wished my dick would get with the program. But, it wouldn’t. And thus, I was looking up pictures of him on Facebook. The recent ones from hanging out with the team all the way back to stuff from before he came to Virginia. There were the ones of us dancing with Marina and her friends that, let’s be honest, I’d already jerked off to a couple times. Ones of him in his practice uniform. Ones of him laughing with me at parties. I probably liked those more than the professionally done press photos. I kept going back in his feed. I found pictures of him with old friends during homecoming week wearing football jerseys and these weird garters over their biceps that were weighted down with ribbons in their school colors reaching down to their hands. They were so heavy with all the bells and whistles (no, literally, bells and whistles), that I didn’t know how they kept them from falling down. He wasn’t the Homecoming King, but he should have been. Even without the muscle definition he currently boasted, he was still fucking hot. And further on I went. Cory playing football with his high school team. Cory with longer hair. Cory with shorter hair. Cory in a million different pairs of Chucks. Cory in a cowboy hat and boots. Cory in swim trunks. Cory when he still had braces. Cory sending each of his brothers off to college. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. As much as I wanted to deny it, I had it bad. I managed to make it this far without losing my shit over a teammate, yet here I was, a fucking idiot lusting over pictures of my straight teammate’s fifteen-year-old self in a soccer uniform. I thought I’d be safer creep-stalking him in the living room, where I couldn’t immediately whip out my cock and start pumping, but the urge was just as strong. I was at my limit when I finally noticed his profile information. All at once his “column A, column B” comment made sense. Why didn’t I notice this before? I suddenly felt like shouting. Then, Indie stumbled in, drunk and rambling about how he fucked up. ~*~*~*~ I sped down the hall to Cory’s dorm suite, looking like my usual cute self in a polo-shirt and rolled-up jeans. I knocked on his door. “It’s open!” he called. When I walked in, he was sitting on the common room sofa with his laptop open on the coffee table. I didn’t even let him get a word in before I bounced onto the seat next to him and started in with my carefully rehearsed speech. “So, we need to make leggings a thing. Or not even leggings, like a legging equivalent. Some kind of casual athleisure wear thing that we can justify as legit pants. By the way, you look hot in glasses. You should wear glasses more. You know there are some basic bitches who wear leggings when they really shouldn’t. I could totally pull off leggings. We got manbuns. Manbuns are a thing. Your roomie, Fabio, totally has a manbun. It’s cute. Leggings are like the next logical leap. Come on, man, leggings! Leeee-eeee-eeee-eeeeggiiii-iiii-iiii-iiiings.” I gripped his shoulders and shook him on each added syllable. “How much coffee did you have?” “Not enough,” I said as I hung off his neck. “Oh, speaking of roommates. I know you said no. Well, your exact words were, ‘Hell-fucking-no, Cumdumpster.’ But I digress. Anyhow, I still think you should let me turn one of your roommates gay. Or partially gay. At least gay enough that I can cop a feel every once in a while. Just have to identify the most likely candidate. Maybe I should turn all of them. That would be fun.” Cory pinched the bridge of his nose and I heard a peal of laughter from the laptop. His entirely too bangable best friend was laughing his ass off in an open Skype window. “Your roommates are there, aren’t they?” he asked. “All of them.” I looked up. The gloriously golden Al (he of the manbun) was in the kitchenette with a spoonful of cereal frozen mid-way between his bowl and his mouth. The darkly handsome Gio peeked out from their room as I heard the sweetly cute Romero yell, “I volunteer Gio as tribute!” from his and Cory’s room. I smiled charmingly and waved. “Hi, guys.” “Hey, Preston,” Keenan said. We’d chatted via comments on Facebook, but this was the first time I’d heard his voice and it was making me a little wet. I purred and snuggled into Cory. “Hey, Cutestuff.” “So, what are you calling Cory this week?” “The Dread Pirate Blueballs,” I said in my most dramatic and serious voice. Al choked on a bite of cereal. My little pet names for Cory had become a thing now. Kiley, wonderful box-eating Kiley, even let me add it to the GSA minutes. Seriously. The words Secretary Preston James Finnegan motions that Member Cory Frederick Card be known as The Dread Pirate Blueballs until otherwise decided were on the official record. It was quickly seconded and granted, despite Cory’s objections. “I have to hear this.” Gio came out and eagerly plopped down in one of the armchairs. Cory had told me about “Tex”, and now that these three were in on my name game, I imagine that he regretted it. “No,” Cory said. “You don’t.” I ignored him. “So, last Friday, we were at this party, see, and Blueballs has been chasing his TA all over the place.” “One of Professor Collins’ TAs?” Romero moved from the doorway, grabbed one of the chairs from the breakfast bar, and sat in it backwards. Hmmm…there’s nothing hotter than manspreading. “Yup.” “Wait, which one? Mike Tran or Indie Norman?” “The tall one with blue hair.” “Indie? Seriously?” “Yessir. And our main man here managed to pin him down in Kiley’s room.” Cory dropped his face into his hands. “Could you not tell them this?” “And they’re all over each other.” “I was not all over him.” “Norman?” Romero asked in a disbelieving voice. “Yep, turns out he has a ten-inch dick,” I said. “That guy?” “I wasn’t exactly able to measure,” Cory answered, his forehead resting on his fist like he was The Thinker or something. His cheeks were an adorable shade of red. “But, he’s hung like a goddamn horse.” Romero’s face was stuck somewhere between awe and horror. “So, yeah, Blueballs is facing off with the Asswrecker.” The guys got a kick out of that. I think I have a small talent for these names. “But guess who ends up running off with his tail between his legs.” “No shit,” said Keenan from the laptop. “So, Cory struck out with Mr. Freeze.” Damn, Gio wasn’t too bad with nicknames. “Bitch is colder than Elsa,” I confirmed. “Poor guy is like would you like to build a snowman? and that ice queen was like nope!” “Whatever. He probably had a reason,” Cory said, bravely putting up a confident front despite the crushing rejection he had suffered. My little trooper. I pressed his face to my chest and stroked his hair. “It has nothing to do with me.” “Come on, Anna,” I said soothingly. “Let’s go to the gay bar and bait bears.” Gio looked confused. “Do I want to know what Tweaker Bell just suggested?” “No,” Cory answered, quickly putting a hand over my mouth and cutting me off. “And he’s not going to explain it.” He narrowed his eyes at me and lowered his voice. “Ever.” ~*~*~*~ I got all of a weekend to be bummed out about Indie. Just two days to feel sorry for myself. Then I had my hands full with Efrain. I’d been hanging out with him a lot for the past few weeks. He said he liked chilling with me because I was the only one who could pronounce his first name (“I told those assholes ‘It’s Ef-RYE-een, motherfucker’ but they still don’t get it!”). It was just hanging out at parties at first, then he started asking me what I was doing for lunch, or if I wanted a workout partner, or wanted someone to show me around campus. But, I liked his dark humor, and it didn’t hurt that Efrain was nice to look at. Okay, “nice to look at” was understating it--the man was fucking hot as hell. Like ten times hotter than Indie. And it was getting harder to ignore the more we were around each other. He was beautiful from top to bottom, inside and out. And I was a sucker for his eyes. He’s all dark features and rugged lines, making his gaze--shifting somewhere between light green and gold--that much more striking. Then, there was his mouth. The gods made that mouth, then wept that it would never touch the cocks of god or mortal. In my weaker moments, the way his mouth curved into that easy wolfish grin of his made the blood rush to my groin. It took all of my self-control in those moments to not beg the man to eat me up. That part had become more of an issue lately. I was already hungry for a man, and I knew I was just deluding myself, but since the Indie incident it felt like there had been more to the casual joking. More and more, it felt like flirting. It wasn’t even a gradual change. One week we’re just teammates rough housing in the grass on the way back from a lame party, and the next we’re all but glued at the hip. I had made a point to stop drinking, especially around Efrain, because the last thing my ego needed was to send another man screaming and running out of the room because my drunk and desperate ass crawled into his lap like an overgrown kitten searching for some lovin’. I guess getting shot down by Indie hit “Cockthirsty Cory” harder than I let on. In any case, I was pretty sure that Efrain wouldn't spend hours joking and rough housing with me at parties if he knew I liked men. Yet, whether or not he was aware of what he did to my head, the effect was the same. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, which had led to my rising dilemma. Efrain had already showered and changed after today’s practice, yet lingered to joke around with Teague and Lithgow. He’d been doing it for a while now, which was fine most of the time. But I was finding it harder to hide the way Efrain affected me, and sometimes the fact that we were in a room full of other guys changing in or out of their practice uniforms made the effect stronger. His deep voice made me flush enough; meeting his eyes, or remembering what he looked like under his clothes (sneaking a peek was the worst idea ever), would undo me. I liked Efrain, even in the platonic not-trying-to-fuck-him sense, and I really wasn’t trying to fuck him. But could he have some sense of self-preservation, for fuck’s sake? When I finished getting dressed and headed out, he fell in step with me. I had been trying to limit how much time I spent alone with him, and only let myself relax only when we reached the atrium. He sighed. “Well, this sucks.” “Hm?” Efrain gestured to the glass doors where a light drizzle fell on the other side. “It’s not that bad,” I said. “Unless you have a half-hour wait for the next bus.” “Your fault for living in the suburbs.” “Hey, I don’t live that far.” I shrugged. “My truck’s only two blocks away, if you want a ride.” It would take me well out of my way to get there, but I’d never been out to the house he shared with two older students and my curiosity was getting the better of my caution. Efrain accepted my offer and followed me to the parking lot. Light summer rain had given way to heavy summer deluge before we could make it there. “Fuck, if you didn’t take so damn long in the shower,” Efrain laughed as we jumped in. “I’d be standing out there like a jackass when that hit.” We remained quiet while the cab warmed up and we gradually stopped shivering. Even with him getting soaked, I could smell his cologne--YSL’s La Nuit De L’Homme. Some random chick gave it to him last season, hoping to get in his pants (she apparently didn’t get the “I don’t fuck VT girls” memo). The dark spicy notes had fit him perfectly and he’d worn it ever since. He smelled so goddamn good that I wanted to rub myself all over him. I put the truck in gear and got on the road before I could give in to my baser urges. After sitting with me in companionable silence for a while, Efrain turned in his seat and turned down the stereo. “Okay, so get this,” he began. “A couple weeks ago, my roommate, Indie, comes home…” “Indie?” “Yeah, Indie Norman. Grad student, glasses, tons of piercings, tall as fuck, blue hair--I think he dyed it something else last night, so who knows what color it is now.” My stomach dropped. This is where I get my ass kicked, isn’t it? “So, he comes home plastered, bitching about how he wasted the whole night at this party fooling around with some freshman football player.” “Oh?” Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! “Apparently, the guy had cornered him in a bedroom,” he continued, as if he was letting me in on some great big conspiracy. “They were totally down to fuck, too. But, the guy turned out to be bisexual, and Indie has this fucking lame ass hang-up about men who are bi.” I remained silent, remembering the teasing and flirting, the questing fingers and tongues, the sudden shitty excuse about grading some fucking exam papers (that I knew he’d already graded because one of them was fucking mine) which left me high and dry. At least I finally know why he ran out though. Fucking bi-phobia. “I asked if it was you.” “Me? Why’d you think it’s me?” Efrain arched an eyebrow. “Facebook profile.” Seriously, that status had been on my profile for fucking months and still no one from Texas had noticed. Not even my mom, and she is all over that shit. “I also showed him a picture to confirm.” “Oh.” Caught. I suddenly felt hot and cold all over. “So, why’d you want to know that?” “Curious, really. Plus, he and I seem to lust after the same guys, so it was a reasonable assumption.” We came to a stop sign and I hit the brakes harder than I meant to. “What?” I turned to find him grinning wickedly. “Indie and I have similar tastes--blonde, blue-eyed muscle cubs.” I barked out a sudden nervous laugh as I turned the truck into the neighborhood. “The fuck is a muscle cub?” “The kind that I like to make cry.” I tried to ignore the heat pooling in my groin. “Seriously? Like tears and all that shit?” “Nah. Nothing like that. Like coming so hard you can’t control how loud you are,” Efrain said, giving me an appraising look. “Although, making a guy like you scream and get weepy would be interesting.” I rolled my eyes. “We need to find you some better pick-up lines.” “Not really.” I pulled into his driveway and put the truck in park. With the rain continuing to pound against the windows, the truck felt too confining, the man in the passenger seat too close for me to keep calm. I hoped my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Besides,” he added. “I can’t put my finger on why, but that line seems to be working just fine.” “You know, most guys who brag about that kinda stuff seem to be the least likely to actually deliver,” I bluffed. While I lost my virginity to a girl in middle school, I had done very little with guys aside from fooling around until my mid-teens. My experience with men was pretty limited. “That sounded like a challenge.” “And that sounded like a waste of time.” I sat back and turned toward Efrain, trying really hard to sound bored and totally over it, only so I wouldn’t sound completely desperate. “I’m sure there’s a point to this.” “There is,” he said simply. And with that, he leaned over the center console, bringing his full, generous mouth close enough to brush against mine as he spoke. “I want to make you cry, Cory.” Lame ass pick-up line or not, a small shiver ran up my spine as Efrain took my mouth, nibbling my lips and drawing me deeper into the kiss until it made both of us breathless. His hand tickled up my inner thigh, finding the erection straining the front of my damp jeans. He teased me while his tongue invaded my mouth. A moan escaped my throat and I gripped the sides of my seat to keep from grabbing him. He broke off the kiss and pulled back far enough to meet my gaze. The naked lust in his hazel eyes warmed me all the way down to my toes. “Come in with me.” It seemed more command than request. “We’ll get soaked, but I have a shower big enough to fuck around in while we warm up.” I didn’t trust myself to respond, and instead killed the engine and removed the keys from the ignition. “Hell yeah,” he said, as if my agreement was a personal triumph. We opened our respective car doors and made a run for the house. He opened the front door and pulled me inside, pinning me against the wall with his body. Here, our kissing became more aggressive and insistent. Hands frantically peeled off sodden clothing, forming a trail as Efrain guided me back to his room. Once in his room, he went to pull something from his nightstand, leaving me shivering, nervous, and wearing nothing but my trunks in the middle of the room. “The master suite, huh?” He shrugged. “It happened to be the room open when I moved in.” He took me by the hand and led me into the adjoining bathroom. He was carrying a small black bottle and some condoms in his other hand. “Water-based lube in a shower? Sounds super effective,” I joked. My lust-hazy thoughts were finally starting to wrap themselves around the developments of the past half hour and it was making me a little light-headed. Somehow, You’re about to let another closeted teammate fuck you, you fucking dumbass! had been drowned out by all the other voices in my head singing the goddamn Hallelujah Chorus because I was finally getting some dick. “Nope, silicone.” Efrain reached in the shower to set both items down on a small bench and turn on the water. Satisfied, he turned back and tugged at my hand. I stepped into him and melted against his body. His tongue explored my mouth while he skimmed my underwear over my ass and down my thighs. I pushed his boxer briefs over his hips and he shimmied out of them. Now that the room was starting to warm up from the steam, I felt the blood pooling in my groin again and signs of his arousal pressing against my thigh. Efrain nibbled down my neck and shoulder, so I finally allowed myself to admire his body. Dark olive skin stretched over tightly corded muscles, with a light dusting of dark hair over his pecs and a trail of hair from his navel down. A nice contrast to my own bulkier muscle mass and sparse body hair. The cut of his obliques and abs angled down into a thatch of dark, curly hair from which his long, thick cock proudly stood. As he dug his fingers into my rounded ass, I wrapped my fingers around his dick. Efrain yelped. “Dude, your hands are fucking freezing.” “There’s an easy way to fix that,” I said and pulled away to step inside the shower. He wasn’t kidding about the size of the thing. You couldn’t lie down in it, but there was plenty enough room to bend someone over. Hot water flowed out of two showerheads, hitting my body from two different directions, and my eyes about rolled up into my head. Efrain entered behind me. “Oh fuck,” he grunted. “Nevermind about your hands.” He placed his hands (which were also cold) on my hips and rubbed his cock against my ass. Goosebumps tightened my skin as I pressed my hips into his groin. “Goddamn, your ass is fuckable.” “What makes you think I’ll let you fuck my ass?” I asked him over my shoulder. “You can’t have an ass this good and not let a man get it,” he growled into my ear. “Besides, everything about you screams that you need a big dick to fill you up.” “Is that how you’re gonna make me cry?” Efrain brushed his lips against my earlobe. “I have my methods,” he rumbled in a voice that made my cock throb and my nipples harden. The tip of his tongue traced the shell of my ear. “You have methods?” I mocked as he nibbled the side of my neck and shoulder. “Seems like all you’ve done so far is tease.” “Is that so?” Efrain abruptly turned me around, and shoved me against the cold tile wall. I whimpered when he took my mouth in another bruising kiss. His hands grabbed my ass, squeezing and spreading the cheeks. A finger would intermittently stroke over my hole, eliciting more whimpering. “So, no teasing, huh?” “No,” I moaned, widening my stance. Those fingers had begun massaging and pressing into the furled ring of my entrance. Efrain nibbled down to my nipple and teased it with his tongue and teeth before switching to the other. I grunted, unable to decide which of the two sensations I wanted to press into the most. Efrain was now the second guy to play with my nipples and it seemed that I was very much into it. Efrain licked a trail along my abdomen while he lowered himself down onto his knees. I whined at the loss of sensation on my nips and hole, but then his mouth played with the head of my dick, nipping at the glans and toying with the frenulum. “Not even this kind of teasing?” “That’s tolerable.” I was still trying to maintain a poker face, but my voice faltered when Efrain slid his tongue around the head. I barely noticed when Efrain picked up the little black bottle until his slicked fingers began drawing lazy circles between my cheeks. “Oh God.” He slid the other hand behind my knee to bend the leg and guide my foot onto the corner bench. Fingers continued to rub in little circles from right behind my balls all the way back to press firmly against my hole. I struggled to hide how much I wanted to beg for more as the mouth on my cock continued to draw me in. Efrain’s hazel eyes locked with mine and he slid the very tip of his finger inside. “Fuck,” I let out in a shuddering breath. Efrain’s finger worked in deeper, plying open my ass, letting my now rocking hips work my cock further between his lips. “Fuck!” I moaned again, repeating the word over and over as Efrain ground his knuckles against my sensitive ass. I arched my back, adding my own resistance to the grinding. He pulled his finger back and thrust into me slowly. “More,” I mewled. “Please.” He pulled free and pressed a second finger inside. I hissed, enjoying the stretch as he worked me slowly until I’d opened enough for him to fuck me on his fingers. “God, ’Rain,” I grunted. He’d found my prostate and seemed to take perverse joy in tapping and massaging the bundle of nerves until my legs started shaking. As fingers worked, his mouth stayed busy on my dick. I thought I gave great head, and thought I’d received it too, but Efrain was something else. Nipping and nibbling with his lips, teasing with both the tip and the flat of his tongue, alternating between shallow and deep throating. My length wasn’t exactly monstrous, but it wasn’t small either. Yet he still got the whole thing in his mouth without gagging. I knew I wouldn’t be able to return that favor, especially since he was definitely larger than me. Randomly, he paused and held me between his teeth, firm enough for the sensation to register. Everything I’d ever read or had been told on the matter absolutely forbid teeth during oral, and I’d had enough experience with bad blowjobs to know how much it hurt when teeth slipped, but, God, if I didn’t moan louder each time Efrain used his. Our eyes locked as he bit, licked, teased. Between his skilled hands and mouth, and the sight of the man languidly working his own dick with his free hand, I felt like exploding. I wanted to come so bad, but I didn’t want this to end. “I’m getting close,” I panted. “Dial it back some.” Efrain looked up, my twitching dick between his teeth, and cocked his eyebrow. His free hand moved up between my legs, and I felt his tight grip on my raised thigh. Then, he attacked, working my hole harder with his fingers and keeping an almost constant pressure on my prostate. Suddenly weak-kneed from overstimulation, I threw out my hands to catch myself on the small inset shelves on either side, sending bottles and soap crashing. He pushed my thigh towards the wall and kept me from reflexively closing my legs to him, leaving me vulnerable to the onslaught. I tilted my head back and braced my shoulders against the tile wall, thrusting my hips as best I could despite the almost bruising grip on my thigh overriding what little control over my legs I still had. Efrain had stilled his mouth on me, possibly to focus on finger-pounding me, but those limited thrusts were enough to keep up the sounds of him slurping and growling around my dick. I clenched my teeth, ragged breaths hissing between, feeling the throbbing coil tighter and tighter in my lower body. I was going to come, I swear, but couldn’t even gather enough of my wits, let alone enough air to breathe, so I could warn him. My climax was right there, so close that all I needed was a little push and I’d have it. And then, Efrain just stopped. Pulled his mouth off me, slid his fingers free of my body, let go of my leg. Suddenly bereft of those supports, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I moved my foot off the bench and slid to the ground with a whine. Efrain moved up between my knees, kissing me and stroking my abs, which were still contracting from the force of my non-orgasm. “That was fun to watch.” “Fuck!” I whined again “Why did you stop? I was almost there.” “I told you I had ways to make you cry.” “I didn’t scream.” “You were trying really hard not to.” I had to concede that point. “Also, I’m not done yet and,” he tapped my still hard cock with his finger, making me gasp, “neither are you.” “Please, ’Rain.” He sat back and drew me onto his lap. “I’ve wanted you for too long, Cory,” he said before digging his fingers into my hair and tilting my head back for another bruising kiss. “I need to feel you come on my cock.” I watched as he unwrapped a condom and rolled it down his dick before adding lube. Efrain lifted my hips and lined up his cock. He rubbed there, as he had with his fingers, distributing lubricant and relaxing my hole. The feel of his member against my tender and overstimulated flesh drew forth more shuddering moans and gasps. Satisfied, Efrain positioned himself against my ass. “Ready?” Suddenly unable to speak coherently, I simply nodded and braced my hands on his shoulders. He carefully eased me down on his cock. “That’s it, open up for me,” he murmured in my ear. I shivered and clenched around the thick member slowly stretching me open until he bottomed out. In all that time, my dick had yet to stop throbbing and my balls were still pulled up tight to my shaft--I still felt like I could blow at any minute. Efrain gave me some time to adjust to his length and girth, gently massaging where my ass held him with still lubed up fingers. “You’re fucking tight,” he murmured. Arousal deepened his voice and his breathing was heavier--he was feeling this as much as I was and wasn’t trying to front about it. My ass spasmed around him and I whimpered. “I’m not hurting you?” I shook my head. It hurt a little--it’d been a while since I’d had something in my ass and nothing as big as his cock--but the ache felt indescribably good. His fingers teased my ass some more before he lifted my hips, sliding himself almost entirely out. He eased me back down in one slow, fluid thrust. I let out a moan that lasted from tip to base, and he repeated the move. He continued rolling me up and down the length of his dick until I picked up the smooth, easy rhythm he’d set for me. “Good boy, take it just like that.” I rode Efrain, feeling things getting tight inside of me. The sounds of our mingling gasps and moans made me bold. I wanted to pay him back for how much he’d made me squirm. I wanted him to feel me more. I thrust down hard, bringing out a clenched-jaw growl from Efrain. I made him squirm all right, but the angle thrust him over a sensitive spot in just the right way, and I ended up feeling it more than he did. I cried out, head thrown back, back arched, fingers digging into his shoulders. “That hurt you more than it hurt me, huh?” he chuckled between panting breaths. He dug his own fingers into my ass, spreading me apart. He wasn’t bothering with pretense. He was into what I was doing to him and not afraid to let me know. “Keep moving,” he growled and drove my hips into a hard thrusting pace, moaning and murmuring in my ear about how sweet and tight my ass was and how much of a good boy I was for giving it up to him. My continued cries accented his growled praises and the wet slapping of my ass hitting his hard thighs. As my climax mounted, the only way to let off the excess pressure was to scream louder and louder. My voice rose and echoed through the small room as I drove myself harder down his cock. He grabbed my dick and let the thrusting move his hand along the shaft. I almost cried at the feel of his hand and begged him to let me come this time. I heard him reminding me to breathe, but I was too far gone to heed him. I broke in waves, my come spilling over his hand, crying out until my voice gave out. Efrain wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed me on still. He grabbed my shoulder between his teeth, the bite sinking into my skin as his own orgasm took him. The pain from the bite and the feel of Efrain’s spasms triggered aftershocks, and I clenched and shuddered around his throbbing dick. Even with how loud I’d been earlier, my voice still rose in octaves as I moaned, harmonizing with his grunts. I rocked my hips against him; my still twitching dick rubbed against the man’s abs. I couldn’t tell how long we fed off each other’s orgasms, prolonging the climax until we both wound down. Lightheaded and breathless, I was barely able to move, but I managed to disentangle from Efrain and ease myself off. I sat next to him, knees drawn up, shivering despite the warm water pouring over me from two separate showerheads. My hips ached and my hole felt tender. The water stung where he had bitten me; most likely, he had broken the skin. I whimpered when a final aftershock hit. “Holy fuck,” I whispered, my voice too raw and broken for anything else. “God, that was fucking incredible.” Efrain shifted himself over to sit closer to me. He looked as shocked as I felt. He slipped his arm around my waist and let me rest my head on his shoulder. “Yeah,” I agreed weakly and then passed the fuck out. ~*~*~*~ I woke up with a sore ass and a sore throat in a bed I didn’t recognize. Efrain had taken care of me after he fucked me into oblivion. A bandage covered my shoulder. The contents of my pockets sat on the nightstand in front of me. Under them were the clothes he had pulled off me earlier. They smelled like fresh laundry. The man himself lay next to me, curled up against my back, an arm flung over my waist holding me tight, his soft cock against my ass. “Fuck, is it going to be like that every time?” he murmured, apparently noticing that I had woken up. “God, I hope so.” I turned to him, getting a nibbling kiss for my efforts. He grinned. “Although, I could do without having to drag your unconscious butt across the bathroom again.” “I could do without the bite marks.” I chuckled. “If I grow fur, I’m coming for your ass.” Efrain pulled me back against his chest and nuzzled into my neck with growl. As we settled down to go back to rest, I realized that I rather liked being made to cry. ~*~*~*~
  6. It took a while to get everything in the chapter 4 revision just the way I wanted it. Part of it was adding in new scenes and dialogue. Cory says he and Efrain hang out and become closer, but I never actually show it. Efrain also has friends or associates outside of the BrainTrust (he wasn't out with teammates when they ran into each other in chapter two), hence Jef, who may be used later as needed (dunno if he'll be a full character). Outside of being the object of Cory's longing, I didn't really do enough to establish Efrain's character. Even his primary flaw, his self-absorption, was incidental and went unnoticed until my husband read the earlier chapters (Yes, my heterosexual, cis-gendered, recovering-broflake husband read up through Efrain and Cory's second sex scene in the earlier, less polished drafts--shocked the hell out of me, too!) and pointed out how much he hated that trait in Efrain. The other major change was in their first sex scene. There were a couple things that I cringed over when I re-read earlier versions and wanted to revise. **WARNING: REALISTIC SEX-IN-EROTICA/AUTHORIAL SELF-LOATHING RANT** At the time, I was still operating under the assumption that erotica didn't need to conform to reality because readers were there for the fantasy. However, there are things that are so unrealistic that it breaks immersion within the moment. Like Efrain holding off Cory's orgasm with some hair-brained pressure point technique that I'd looked up. WTF was I thinking?!? I can't even use the fact that I'm female as an excuse. It has been a really REALLY long time since I've slept with a person under the legal drinking age, but young people (regardless of sex) are more known for their enthusiasm and vigor in bed than their technique and skill. This isn't to say that young people lack skill, just that they are less likely to be masters of the bedroom arts. Hell, your average person (of any age) isn't going to be a world-renowned lover. And here I have a nineteen-year-old guy who's hot as hell and intelligent--and a jock to boot. Then I made him an amateur Latin ballroom dancer and apprentice chef. Oh yeah, and he's a soft-BDSM power top. Barf. I had to cut out the teenage Tantric sex master bullshit or else I'd hate myself forever. Especially when that little ability of his was just a plot device to get them from one sex position to the next (seriously, I just needed an oral-to-anal transition) and doesn't ever show up in later scenes between them--I don't even recall Efrain using similar abilities. Plus, it's really weird that he could do this his first time with Cory, when a lot of Tantric sex practices are founded in the relationship between its practitioners (and Efrain doesn't even do relationships). It's for this same reason that I have a personal vendetta against the "hands-free orgasm" trope (when the bottom comes exclusively from penetration with no stimulation to their primary sex organs) or the "hands-free orgasm because love" trope (when that orgasm is sign of the couple's deep/deepening emotional bond). There's one that comes up between Efrain and Cory in a later chapter that I want to fix. Like the shower Tantra, occurs maybe once as a plot device but never shows up again, so why bother with it in the first place? Especially when I can do something more meaningful. I like to think thoughts like this are signs that I'm growing, and remind myself that this was my first writing project (the shower scene was the first erotic scene I'd ever written). But, it's still hard seeing the evidence of my inexperience and knowing that people have read it. Maybe there's something to be said for not publishing your neophyte writing. **END REALISTIC SEX-IN-EROTICA/AUTHORIAL SELF-LOATHING RANT**
  7. I think I FINALLY have chapter 4 the way I want it.  I think.........lemme check again.......................................dammit.

    1. Thorn Wilde

      Thorn Wilde

      Give it until tomorrow so I can have a look at your changes. I'm too tipsy right now... lol

  8. FINALLY finished re-writing ch 4.  Good grief.

    1. Page Scrawler

      Page Scrawler

      Hey, Dayne.   :hug:

    2. Dayne Mora

      Dayne Mora

      Heya Pagey!

    3. Starrynight22

      Starrynight22

      You're amazing.   Take a deep breath. Doing a great job over there 

  9. Part One--GSA, Yaoi, Chimps Fucking, and Other Things That Don’t Interest Straight Guys After all that complaining I did about being mindlessly bored, by late summer, I suddenly found myself with a lot to keep me busy. Football conditioning and practice took up the better part of my morning and afternoon. I was still kicking it with the GSA (which, by the way, was a really strange name since practically no straight people showed up). I went out with Preston every other week for Latin Night and got invited to more of the team’s get-togethers, owing in no small part to my and Garza’s performance. I should probably thank him for helping me fit in better. At Romero’s recommendation, I started taking an anthropology course called Human Sexuality and Culture. He said it was like that class in the movie Kinsey. I said, “Cool,” then looked it up on Netflix the moment he was out of the room so I would know what the fuck he was talking about. There ended up being some BAM! GAY SEX! in the movie, so I figured that it was my kind of class. Mind you, it was now a full week into the mini-mester and the class had yet to deliver on this promise. Hot as fuck TA with piercings, yes. Anal wreckage, no. The doctoral student leading the course was knowledgeable and engaging, but my attention kept getting diverted back to his assisstant--tall as hell, slim runner’s build, strong nose, chocolate brown eyes, long shaggy hair dyed a brilliant blue, and enough metal in his face and ears to make magnets a dangerous prospect. Although, it didn’t help matters when they switched roles. Cockthirsty Cory was fucked either way. I was currently a little peeved with Romero, and him trying to bum a ride off me wasn’t improving my feelings towards him. "I'm not driving your ass out in the middle of nowhere because you have a pizza craving," I said. "But it's Satchel's," he said. “Their pizza is the best ever, and they have a fuckton of beers on tap.” “Neither of us is old enough to order beer.” “Come on, Cory. I need some Satchel’s.” "Get Al to do it." He bounded out of bed to lean out our door and shouted over the sound of our roommate strumming his acoustic guitar, "Hey, Al! Make Cory take me to Satchel's!" The music stopped. “What’s this about Satchel's?” he called out from his room. As I followed Romero into the common room to set them both straight, the front door opened and Gio walked in. “I heard something about Satchel's,” he said. “Romero said Cory’s driving,” Al said. Gio looked at his cellphone. “It’s still early. If we leave now, we should be early enough to get a deep dish!” Romero shot me a triumphant look. Goddammit, Mackey, I will make you suffer. We got all of two minutes off campus before Al was like, “Wait, do y’all have cash?” Turns out, Satchel’s only took cash, and nobody trusted Romero to pay them back. Since nobody carries cash these days, this meant driving even more out of the way to hit up multiple ATMs because bank fees. As he was the architect of my misery, I resolved to make Romero suffer the whole ride with my music. I’ve mentioned it before, but I listen to a lot of stuff--pop, country, rap, Tejano, you name it. I even had a bunch of music I ripped off my brothers’ CDs back when people still bought CDs. However, I passed all of this up for a playlist of my most offensively raunchy music, things I would never play if my mom was around to hear. On the way to Al’s bank I treated them to Colt 45 by Afroman. Bitches by Mindless Self Indulgence and Go Cart Racing (Accidentally Masturbating) by Garfunkle and Oates provided the soundtrack for the jaunt over to Gio and Romero’s bank. And whilst in the longass drive-thru ATM line, we listened to both of The Bloodhound Gang’s songs about oral sex--Kiss Me Where it Smells Funny and Yummy Down On This--and I threw in Sex Slave by deadmau5 for the comically autotuned orgasm screams. I had enough relatively normal songs in between, including some Christian Contemporary (What? I liked the rhythms and if you weren’t paying attention too closely it sounded more like an erotic love song), that I could act like I was completely innocent. What, offensive? I have no idea what you’re talking about. See? There’s some Flyleaf (right after There’s No Cock Like Horse Cock). Sadly, not only were they not offended, they were doubled over laughing and asking me to play another. I forwarded to Do You Take It? by The Wet Spots. They looked a little perplexed at first, but started rolling soon enough. To this day, I still don’t know if they ever realized the song was as much about getting pegged as it was about poking girls in the bum. Al was the first one to talk. “Fuck, Tex.” I’d learned that if Preston hadn’t given them a more recent name to call me, they reverted that stupid fucking nickname. However, it was still better than them calling me “Bearbait” (even though they’d yet to figure out what it really meant). “Where did you find all this shit?” “Around,” I said. “I got a lot from my brothers. They thought it was funny when I freaked out Mom by repeating what I’d heard.” “Didn’t you get in trouble?” Romero asked. “Naw, they did,” I replied. “Connor Frederick Card Junior! Why is your baby brother fucking singing about putting goddamn chocolate sweaty balls in his goddamn mouth?” Gio snorted. “For some reason,” Al said, “I expected a playlist of nothing but musicals and Cher.” “Because?” I did actually have some non-Avenue Q musicals and old Sonny and Cher era songs. “Because you’re gay,” said Gio, as if the answer was that obvious. “Dude, he swings both ways,” Al corrected. “Yeah, motherfucker fucks more girls than Gio--” “Gio doesn’t fuck any girls,” Al said. “I do fuck girls!” “No, you creepstalk my bassist,” Al said. “--And then he turns around and fucks a bunch of dudes. The man gets laid more than all of us combined!” The way Romero talked, it was like he was proud that while the guy sharing his dorm room did suck cock, he was still a lady killer. Although he was seriously overstating my pimp game, I was getting the verbal equivalent of a slow clap. And the way they all talked, it was more genuine than malicious. “How’d you guys...?” “Figure it out?” Al said. “Most gay men can’t clock me.” Total lady killer, totally dead to men. “GSA pamphlet on your desk,” Gio answered. “Yeah, no straight guy goes to GSA,” added Romero. “It was on your Facebook profile, dude,” Al said. “Oh, yeah.” I’d left it up to see if anyone back home would pick up on it. Not even the people who knew I also liked guys had noticed the edit. “Then there was the time you left your tablet out,” Romero said. “You were reading some comic. Caw-ee something or other.” “Kawaii Akuma? It’s something some girls back home got me into.” “Yeah, that’s the one. It was pretty funny actually.” “Fu-Fuuta, it’s bad to force people!” Al mimicked. “Wait, you read it?” My brain has turned inside out. “I just pretended that Akiyoshi and Hisashi were chicks,” Gio said. And my brain has just imploded. “The middle brother is a fucking trip.” I was sure the three of them wouldn’t be as amused by the Tiger and Bunny doujinshi that I’d been reading lately. There was no way you could pretend Tiger was female (Bunny x Tiger is my OTP!). “So, I go for guys and y’all are okay with this?” I asked to be sure. “Remember that optional questionnaire you did with the housing application?” Al said and I nodded. “You probably checked the little box that said ‘Bisexual,’ correct?” “Yeah…” Al turned down the music. “Housing figured out years ago that they get fewer requests to change room assignments if they screened applicants first.” “There’s a little box next to the one for ‘Straight’ that says ‘Not a Raging Homophobe.’ We checked both,” said Gio. “The lady at the housing office said something about that,” I replied. “But you never really know sometimes. I mean, there’s the whole ‘I’m okay with fags as long as the don’t hit on me’ thing that I hear from straight guys. And knowing that a guy you know isn’t straight is different from knowing that a guy you live with isn’t straight.” “Fair enough,” Romero said. By this point, we had arrived at our destination, which looked like it had been a scrap yard or auto mechanic’s garage in a past life. The building had been renovated, keeping the bones of the building but adding eclectic touches like artwork on the wall and ceiling, and stained-glass in the building’s industrial window panes. A brightly-painted classic Volkswagen van sat next to a few wrought iron dining sets in front of the restaurant. I peeked inside and found that it had been gutted and furnished with a dining booth and appropriate lighting. A group of early twenty-somethings were seated there, chatting over brews and pizza. The place was packed, but they just happened to have a table they were cleaning off. “So, how ‘out’ are you?” Gio asked once we were seated and had given our drink orders. “Like, should we be careful about saying stuff?” “I’m not, like, announcing it to the world, but I’m not really hiding it in Virginia,” I said. “What about in Texas?” Al asked. “Nobody except my closeted ex-boyfriend and one or two very close friends,” I said. “All the other guys I fooled around with probably thought I was just experimenting, or that it was ‘bros helpin’ out bros’.” “Family?” Gio asked. “Nope.” “Not even your brothers?” Al asked. “You have all those pictures of them, so I figured you’re close.” “We are close,” I said, “but they don’t know. Which sucks because they think the only reason I came out here was to get away from the ‘Card Football Dynasty’ bullshit that kinda built up around us, and that it’s all their fault because ‘you can’t be yourself here’.” The server brought our drinks over and took our order. Two deep-dish pies, each half with our respective toppings because none of us could agree on which were the best. Al would eat pretty much anything, but Gio was picky as hell. I was a traditionalist, but Romero, of course, would be the type of person who ordered pineapple on pizza. Romero took a sip of his coke. “What’s this ‘Dynasty bullshit’?” I sighed. “They sometimes make a big deal about my brothers in Texas. All three of them were playing for the two major college teams, and were really good at it, too.” “No shit,” Romero said. “Then they saw me,” I grumbled, “and I got dragged into it.” “So, you’re famous in Texas?” Gio said. “Not really. Just a bunch of people speculating on recruiter gossip.” I shrugged. “It’s bound to happen when you have a whole family of boys going into one sport.” “What about your dad? Has to be something in the genes.” “There has to be,” I said. “But, here’s the annoying thing, there’s been whole online discussions about how my dad never made it past high school varsity, and was barely third-string material, while my mom’s brother Johnny was a big deal on the Naval Academy team. So, basically, my brothers and I just look like Cards, but are built and play like Fredericks.” “Low blow for your old man,” Romero said. “Oh, yeah,” I said, then laughed. “The only reason I know about most of that is because Dad spent a whole night a couple years ago yelling at Mom about slander and illegitimate children.” “Damn,” Gio said. I grunted. “No wonder you got the fuck out of there,” Al said. “It had its moments, but it wasn’t all that bad.” The arrival of our pizzas interrupted the slightly morose mood around the table (or, at least, three quarters of it). “Now,” Romero said while dishing up a slice of his pizza abomination. “Explain the beaver thing.” ~*~*~*~ The first thing I noticed when I got up to the study room was Card’s blue low-top Chucks. He was not the only guy on the team that wore the brand, but somehow I knew the ones sitting on the floor were his. I’d seen him wearing at least five different versions, but I could instantly recognize the ones that belonged to him. They were usually the ones that did not have feet in them. What is with this kid and not being able to keep his shoes on? He sat Indian-style in one of the arm chairs (I know it’s not politically correct, but fuck you if you think I’m going to call it what they made me call it in kindergarten). His textbook and notebook were balanced on either knee as he carefully jotted down notes and highlighted in both books. He got this look on his face, like he suddenly had an idea, put the highlighter between his teeth and started looking up something on his phone. I noticed then why his face looked different today. Since when has he worn glasses? The narrow black frames looked good on his face, adding a touch of seriousness I wasn’t used to seeing in him. It seemed that he found what he was looking for, made note of it, and went back to his textbook. The highlighter was still in his mouth. He didn’t even look up when I flopped down in the armchair next to his. “What are you so engrossed in?” “Social functions of non-reproductive intercourse in hominid species.” He at least spat out the highlighter before attempting that mouthful. “Seriously?” “Most of it tends to be about bonobos and chimpanzees,” he said absently. “And humans of course. But, I’ve been finding some interesting stuff on other primates.” “You’re shitting me.” He handed me his notebook, which was full of idle drawings with research notes scattered throughout. Yeah, it was all about chimps fucking. “Fuck, you’re one of those brainy types? My roommate would fucking love you, Card.” He looked up from his notes and grinned. “Dude, call me Cory,” he said. “Efrain, right?” The way he said it--ef-RYE-een. It was the first time anyone had gotten my name right on the first try. The guys had known me for a year now, and none of them could say it. He even rolled the r. “I should thank you,” he said earnestly. “For what?” “Inviting me to go clubbing with y’all. You didn’t have to, but you really helped me fit in.” God, that. I only invited him because our crew needed another driver that we knew wouldn’t drink. Then, I started acting like an asshole, and now there was video of me dancing for my teammates to razz me about. “You were getting along with Teague, so you’d have joined our group eventually,” I said. “Basically how I ended up hanging out with them.” “So, he collects freshmen?” he asked. I chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” I jutted my chin at the books in his lap. “So, the fucking chimps--that something you’re pursuing here?” “Nah, I got bored and took a random class.” “Sounds a little involved for a random class.” “I’m learning some cool shit, though,” he said. “Because watching monkeys fuck is cool.” Cory barked a short laugh. “Fuck off.” I smirked. “I’m jus’ sayin’.” “It’s not like I’m going to major in this,” he said. “Besides, it’s apes.” “My bad,” I said, holding up my hands. “So, if not apes porking apes, what are you majoring in?” He dragged a hand over his face. “The football staff have been all over our asses about that, but I sure as hell don’t want to do any of the bullshit majors they suggested.” “I know what you mean.” “My brothers all went for that--Sports Medicine, Sports Nutrition, Sports Journalism,” he said. “If I did that, I’d be stuck in sports forever.” “Could be worse, my brother got a marketing degree,” I said. “And guess where that left him.” “Marketing?” “Ha! He’s stuck in an office job that has absolutely nothing to do with marketing,” I said. “He bitches about it all the damn time, but is too attached to making money to quit.” Cory shrugged. “Sounds more interesting than arguing with a bunch of entitled brats on athletic scholarships about what they’re allowed to eat for the rest of your life.” “Fair enough.” “What about you?” he said. “Have you decided on a major?” “Aerospace engineering.” “And you said I was the brainy type.” “Eh, just following in my old man’s footsteps,” I said. “I want to design airplanes and shuttles and all that crap. I thought the Navy would be the best bet, but Dad threatened to disown me if I enlisted.” “Still pretty damn cool,” Cory said. “Most guys our age don’t have their heads on that straight, so I’m still impressed.” I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but he looked at his watch and I was spared. “Shit.” He shoved his feet back into his shoes and stuck his books back into his pack. “I have to get to my class.” “The ape fucking class?” “You got it in one,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was this late.” “Primate mating habits are pretty distracting.” “They are, aren’t they? See you tomorrow, Efrain.” “Yeah, see you, Cory.” He grinned when I said his name before heading off to his class. Guys his size weren’t supposed to be cute, but the glasses and his smile were a dangerous combination. And there was something about a man saying my name correctly that got me thinking about what it would sound like mid-orgasm. Head thrown back, hands fisted in the sheets, back arched, thighs gripping my waist... It took me a while to realize that I was slowly losing my head over a straight guy. ~*~*~*~ Part Two - Along Comes Indie I studied my two best friends, Mike Tran and Laurel Sage, from where they had me crammed in the backseat. The fact that they had my six-foot-six self shoved in the back of a two-door car (when they definitely had a vehicle big enough that I didn’t have to sit with my knees tucked under my chin) with both doors locked was sketchy enough without taking into account the scant details about our destination. A little voice in my head kept repeating, No, Indie, you are not being paranoid. “So, why is it that I haven’t heard of this documentary?” I asked. “Oh, it’s a student project,” Mike answered from the driver’s seat. Since he was shortest, it was slightly (and I mean very slightly) roomier behind him, and thus I was limited to using the rearview mirror to tell if he was lying. “Yeah,” Laurel said. “College of journalism.” I was able to see her face, tall-ass Polish Hoyden-Goddess, but my observations were inconclusive. Maybe she’s finally managed to make a poker face. Only took her a fucking decade. “You dragged my ass out here to ‘screen’ a Goddamn class project?” “No, Indie,” Laurel said, exasperation lacing her tone, which made me more suspicious. Exasperation was one of her tells, especially when one started testing the limits of her bullshit. “A senior seminar project. Meggie and Lacey heard about it from one of their sorority sisters.” “It’ll be great. I promise,” Mike added. “You said the same thing about being your TA,” I replied. “How could a documentary on pornography censorship policies in China not be awesome?” “There are undergrads involved,” I said. “Given what I’ve learned while doing your little ‘Kinsey’ class, undergrads are the antithesis of awesome.” “Oh, Indie,” Laurel sighed. “And why are we bringing boxed wine and PBR?” I asked. I hope they don’t expect me to drink that swill. “It’s a house party,” Mike said. “What?” “What Mike means is that one of the journalism students, Kiley, is hosting it at her house,” Laurel said as we turned down a residential road. “No, what Mike means is that it’s a fucking house party,” I said, pointing to the lines of cars leading up to a packed driveway. Some couple of indeterminate composition was leaning against one of the cars sloppily kissing and groping at each other, while a crowd of college kids with clove cigarettes and those ubiquitous red drinking cups loitered on the front porch. “Why the hell are we at a house party?” “Uhm, well, we thought…” Mike stammered. “We thought socializing with someone other than us might be good for you.” “I do socialize!” Laurel sighed. “Hanging out with your roommate doesn’t count, especially when you don’t actually hang out with him that much.” “And neither does grouching at students during conference hours,” Mike said. “They all come to me now, which defeats the purpose of having a TA.” “It’s been well over a year, hun,” Laurel said. Ah, and now we get the truth. Laurel and Mike had been on my ass for most of the time since Jameson had dumped me. It was getting fucking old. “Maybe you just need to get your dick wet,” Mike said, which sounded seriously odd coming out of a comparatively shorter Vietnamese-American doctoral student. Laurel nodded. “Sometimes the easiest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” “How do you know I haven’t--” The look they both shot me effectively shut me up. I slouched back in my seat. “Tell me again why I have to go to this party?” “Because you’ll sit at home and be fucking lame if you don’t,” she said. “And watching a bunch of underage kids get drunk and make out is supposed to be better.” “Yes,” Mike said flatly. “Yes, it is.” “There could be students here,” I protested. “College parties tend to have those,” Laurel said. “It’ll be fine,” Mike said. I was almost twenty-three in a town where you were too old at twenty-one. And I had better things to worry about, including actual academic research on pornography and censorship. Yeah, it was shitty that Jameson left me for some girl he had knocked up, but it left me with more time to devote to my Master’s thesis. Time that I really did not want to waste on pursuing random dick at some damn house party. “Honey, petulance isn’t a good look for toddlers. It hardly looks any better on a grown ass man.” I resisted telling her that I was not being petulant, mostly because I knew it would sound petulant. “Just give it a little bit,” Laurel said. “It can’t hurt to try.” “Don’t be so sure about that.” “Please, Indie,” she said. I grunted. “Fine.” And only then were the doors unlocked and I was permitted to unfold myself out of the backseat. Mike and I, carrying the alcohol, trailed Laurel into the house. Someone directed us to the kitchen where we could drop off our shitty booze haul with the rest of the shitty booze. Kegs of Bud? Check. Stoli? Check. Costco rum? Check. Everclear? Check. Mike and Laurel nabbed cups of beer and wine, then traipsed off hand-in-hand, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Deciding I could at least make this ordeal more tolerable through alcohol, I found the least objectionable liquors and mixers and made myself a drink. Turning to face the living room, I leaned against the door frame while I tried to find the least populated spot to eventually occupy. The party delivered on what I assumed it would--drunk college kids publicly dry-humping each other while trying not to vomit. Straight girls performing for male gaze by pretending to be bisexual was a common enough trope at hetero parties. It was interesting, in a strictly academic sense, that gay people pretended to be straight while under the influence. Case in point, two women and two guys were huddled up in a corner of the living room, sloppily sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths. I didn’t recognize the first pair, a twinkish guy with short brown hair and a pretty Hispanic girl. I did know the second, a junior that everyone called lez-Delia with this kid Cory that I recognized from one of the classes Mike and I taught. Barely legal and barely a freshman (and a “student” athlete to boot), but he came to class consistently, sat in the front row, and earnestly took notes. At least, I thought he was taking notes until I saw pages and pages of doodles with some words mixed in. Yet, he still aced every test and his essays were interesting and thoughtful. Which was more than I could say for the rest of the students in that section, who were at least a year older than him. The drunken farce continued for a bit before they separated. “Completely unarousing.” This was from the twink. Lez-Delia wiped her face. “Yeah, I felt nothing.” “That’s weird,” said Cory. “I got nothing from that either.” And the Spanish girl (who I later learned was named Marina) agreed that she was similarly unaffected. And so they traded. Twink with lez-Delia and Cory with Marina. They made out as if they really were trying to accomplish something. Then, they separated and compared notes. “Still nothing,” lez-Delia told them. “No offense, Preston.” “None taken,” he answered. “It’s not that you ladies are bad or anything.” “What about you guys?” Marina’s cheeks were a little flushed and Cory flashed a grin. Lez-Delia grabbed the front of his pants and he jumped. “BeavReaver has a chub!” She cackled, then patted him again. “Man, you’re packing.” “Could you not do that?” “Why? You let bi-Delia.” The next round paired Preston with Cory and lez-Delia with Marina. Lez-Delia attacked her partner, body pressed against her, hands exploring her backside. The girl looked absolutely helpless in the onslaught. It was pretty obvious that Marina got more out of this than kissing either guy. Cory and Preston seemed to have done this before. Cory held him by the back of the neck and nipped his lower lip. Both mouths parted, tongues extending to fold against each other, and their bodies flowed into each other. Preston didn’t lift his arms to touch Cory (by contrast, Marina and lez-Delia were all over each other by this point), and only Cory’s hand on his neck held them together. Yet, their bodies were so glued to each other that it didn’t matter. Of all three of the experiments I’d observed, this one lasted the longest and all four seemed to forget where they were. Then someone in the living room yelled at them to get a room and they separated and started laughing. The outcome of that trial was pretty obvious. There were a few good-natured jokes, including some more about Cory’s hard-on, before the guys moved on to other diversions. And as soon as they thought no one was paying attention, the girls slipped off by themselves. I was so distracted by the women that I didn’t notice the person trying to get by me until a body brushed against mine. I looked down as Cory looked up, the both of us slightly pressed together by the door frame. He was big enough, and the frame narrow enough, that I could tell he was still partially erect. “Hi, Indie.” “Hello, Cory.” “What brings you here?” “Well-meaning friends. You?” “Like-minded people and alcohol.” He looked at my hand. “Oh, what are you drinking?” “Uh--” “Lemme try.” And he took my drink from me and gulped half of it down. I was too dumbfounded to respond. “Oh, that’s good.” He licked his lips. “What’s in it? Could you make me one?” “You’re eighteen.” “I’ll be nineteen in November.” “As if that actually makes a difference,” I said. “You’re still underage.” “So’s almost everyone else here,” he said with a shrug. I gave up and walked off. It’ll be fine, Mike had said. My ass. ~*~*~*~ I ran into Cory a few more times throughout the house. When I was socializing, like Mike and Laurel wanted me to, he was getting another drink from the kitchen. When I went back for a refill, he was doing jello shots in the dining room. At some point, I’d gone looking for Mike and Laurel so I could go home, and saw him chatting with a group of students on the patio out back. No matter where I was, or what I was doing, the kid was somewhere nearby. Not following me, per se, just there in my general vicinity. I wasn’t sure who was stalking who. Once I’d resigned myself to the fact that Mike and Laurel had dumped me here and bolted, I figured I might as well stick around and caught myself watching him dance in the living room. No drunken dancefloor dry-hump, actual dancing. There were steps. It was hard to not watch. Even when I’d briefly stepped away, and came back to him swaying and grinding to a dance track, he was hard to not watch. I wondered if he could still move that smoothly on the field with all that gear and padding. I’d had a couple drinks more than I intended by this point and had to take a piss. On my way back up the hall, I noticed one of the bedrooms. The door was ajar and no one seemed to be in it. It was the first room (aside from the bathroom) that wasn’t filled with people, so I snuck in and pulled the door almost closed. The room was large enough to fit a queen-sized bed, desk with chair, and the rest of the typical bedroom furniture. There was even a row of bookshelves and a small loveseat. In the middle of one shelf sat a book called You’re So Sexy When You Aren’t Spreading STDs that looked mildly interesting. I picked it up and flopped on the loveseat to read. A few minutes later, the door creaked open and a head popped in. “So, that’s where you went.” Cory walked in and shut the door behind him. I wasn’t sure, but I heard a small click as if he’d locked the door. He walked over and sat on the other side of the loveseat. “God, it’s fucking loud out there. My ears are ringing so hard. Great idea to hide in here.” Cory kicked off his Chucks and sat with his back against the armrest, one knee drawn up to his chest, his other foot resting on the floor. Then, for the second time tonight, he plucked something from my hands. “I was reading that.” “How is it?” he said, ignoring (or else oblivious to) my tone. “Seemed pretty balanced and non-heteronormative, at least from the reviews I’ve read.” It was startling at first, hearing this muscled-up kid, with his stretched beyond capacity t-shirts and cargo-covered bubble butt, suddenly spout informed and articulate assertions, but I’d had several weeks to get used to it. His words were a little slurred, but the fact that he could get them out at all was a feat. I made a non-committal grunt and tried to finish my drink before he took it from me again. We sat in silence for a bit before he started talking again. “So, there’s a huge party going on, and you’re in here hiding.” “Yep.” “You look like you’d rather be at home.” “Yep.” “So, why are you here?” “My so-called friends tricked me.” “Oh, really? There has to be a story behind this.” He grinned and slouched down a little, his legs getting almost close enough to touch mine. “Not really. They think I’m in a dry spell and need to get laid, so they dragged me here.” “What makes them think you need help with that? Can’t have been that long.” I thought for a moment, counting the months in my head. For some reason, I found myself being honest. “My ex and I stopped sleeping together about three months before he moved out, and that was last spring,” I said. “So, that would make it almost a year and a half.” “Fuck.” His face got a little serious and he sat up. “Still hung up on him?” “No, I just got really busy.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or kept yourself busy.” “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that.” “But, damn, that throws a wrench into my plan.” The look he was making, you’d thought I’d just told him he couldn’t have dessert. “Your plan?” “Yeah, I was going to seduce you.” I ended up spitting out the sip I’d just taken. “Seduce me?” “Of course. I spend enough time in class thinking about it, might as well act on it.” The grin crept back onto his face and I had a hard time not smiling back incredulously. If Jameson hadn’t been my high school sweetheart, if I hadn’t wasted all of high school and undergrad on that burnout, Cory would be the type of guy I’d chase after. Always had a weak spot for nerd jocks, which was everything Jameson wasn’t. “So, that’s what you waste your time on? And here I thought all you did was make crude illustrations of apes fucking.” I knew it was the alcohol talking, but the thought of this kid sitting in the front row of the hall, listening to my lectures while thinking about getting in my pants, made the blood rush south, leaving my brain bereft of the resources necessary for sane thought. “I don’t waste anything,” he purred, leaning forward. “Someone as hot as you spending a year and a half on the shelf--now, that is a waste.” “Hot?” What the hell? When did I turn into a goddamn parrot? “As. Fuck.” I rested my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. “I should not be doing this.” “But, you really really want to,” he responded, while drawing his fingers down the growing bulge in my shorts, and I bit back a moan. I lifted my head and looked at Cory, who gave his best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look. I sat up, about to say something, paused to think it over, opened my mouth again to speak, then stopped myself. Finally, I said, “Fuck it,” and jumped the kid. My tongue invaded his mouth, practiced enough in kissing that the rhythms came naturally to me, even without any action in the last year and a half. Though the bar in my tongue and the two hoops on either side of my bottom lip were for show, I knew they added an extra sensation to my kiss. Cory moaned into my mouth and I responded in kind. Cory stroked his hands up my arms and down my body, then slipped them under the hem of my shirt to trace the contours of my stomach and ribs--not that I had much compared to him. I broke the lip-lock long enough to whip off my t-shirt, and he pulled off his. “You have piercings here too,” he murmured, fingers tickling over my nipple ring and dermals, then down to the post in my navel. I half knelt on the couch and pushed Cory back against the armrest, my mouth hungrily taking his again. Seemingly unable to wait, he started unbuttoning my fly and reaching in after my cock. His fingers wrapped around my shaft and my breath hitched. God, it’s been forever since someone has touched me. Emboldened, he stroked my full length and I gave in to the urge to thrust my hips into his hand. “It feels longer than it did when I was rubbing you through your shorts,” he said. “Like, substantially longer.” I could only chuckle as he carefully pulled me out. “Fuck,” he grunted and licked his lips. I’d seen enough porn to know that I was much longer than average and quite thick. He stroked me a couple times before turning his wide-eyed gaze back up. “You could wreck someone with this.” He giggled nervously. “Not someone.” I bent my head and nibbled a line across his jaw to his earlobe, his head falling to the side to give me all the access I could ever want. “You.” He shivered and purred, “Yes. Please.” I rolled one of his nipples between my finger and thumb before sending my hand lower to rub his dick through his cargo shorts. I could already feel precum soaking through around his head. I felt along his length. Nothing average here, and with a decent girth. Definitely something nice to ride. Bet he’d have the lower-body strength to hit it hard, too. Goosebumps raced along my skin. “Seems like you could do some damage yourself,” I said, but he was too busy panting to reply. I sucked on his neck, gradually making my way down. My tongue lapped at his nipple, hardening the small bud. I held it between my teeth, tugging slightly, then flicked it rapidly with my tongue. He arched his back, eagerly pressing his nip into my mouth. I repeated this on his other nipple, even though he was already grunting and whimpering. “I’m ‘bout ready to beg you to wreck my ass now,” he said, and I gave a short laugh. You wouldn’t have to beg very hard. But, then I just had to say something fucking stupid. “I wonder if my roommate realizes,” I said, my tongue working down his stomach, my hand tugging open his shorts, “that he isn’t the only gay guy on the team.” My mouth worked over the lower part of his belly and I grabbed the waistband of his trunks between my teeth. “But, I’m not gay.” “What’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of his underwear, teeth drawing the band down, exposing his dick. “I’m bi, not gay.” I froze. The band slipped out of my mouth and snapped against his exposed head. He moaned and his back arched--hinting that the sharp sting had somehow registered as both pain and pleasure--but I was too shocked to notice. Thoughts of Jameson and our history battered the inside of my head. Fuck, I’ve fucking fucked up. Cory--half-undressed, flushed, beautiful--writhed under me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. And with him of all people. Fuck. I sat back up, shoved my hand through my hair. “Listen, I’m sorry.” I made up some lame excuse for why I couldn’t continue. Hurt and confusion crossed Cory’s face. I felt like I’d kicked a puppy, but I still grabbed my clothes and bolted. I walked out of the house, the August heat pressing my anxiety tighter. If I called Laurel or Mike to come get me, I knew I’d have to explain what had happened, and the thought of it scared the shit out of me. I waited until I got a few blocks away to call an Uber, beating myself up until I made it to the safety of my own front door. I fucking flipped. I lost my shit because the guy said he’s bisexual. How the fuck am I supposed to fucking explain that? ~*~*~*~
  10. The day I start working over the scene in which Preston harasses Cory about making leggings a thing for men, MikeMGTV releases a video in which he tortures his straight roommates by trying on yoga leggings and doing yoga in their living room. He even finds Uggs in his size and drags them out to do Basic Bitch things while "Man, I feel like a woman" plays in the background.

    Like I need anymore reason to hear Mike Mulderrig's voice when I write for Cory.

    "I Tried on Yoga Pants And Became A Sex God"

    BTW--If Mike, Kyle, and Aristotle seem familiar, they were on Lindsey Lohan Beach Club together. But, they probably don't b/c no one watched LLBC.

  11. Don't worry about it. I'm really excited about writing again, even if I'm retreading ground I've already covered, and I want to keep this going for myself.
  12. It's a tight rope to walk, but I'm working on keeping a weekly update schedule.
  13. As a fellow Nifty/LitErotica refugee, I approve mightily!
  14. I neglected a few plot lines when I first wrote WLM--like, the fact that there should be friction between Efrain and Cory because Rain's a total Narnia boy and Cory came to VT specifically because he didn't want to be in the closet anymore. Kind of a glaring plothole, especially when Cory starts sharing their relationship with more of their friends. The characters should have some more depth to them, which I developed through extended dialogue and narration (you'll see this in ch 3 with Al, Gio and Romero, but I've also put in some work on them in earlier sections). Previously, side characters were just randos with names and weren't given much consideration until I needed them for something. I'm hanging in there! Oh God, I avoid Nifty just so I don't have to be reminded of just how bad I sounded back then. lol I'm glad you're here on GA--there's lots more talent to find here (and significantly fewer stories that involve pee).
  15. Part One--Bareback SteersNQueers So, here’s the thing: I was bored out of my fucking mind. I had come up here early to practice, but not early enough to start classes. I had nothing to do but go to preseason conditioning, binge watch Netflix, and crash from a combination of fatigue and ennui. I’d gotten so bored, I had to find newer and more pretentious words for expressing this boredom. I’d gotten so bored, I was too bored to beat off. And that’s like the answer to fucking everything. Since the summer term was divided into two six-week sessions, Romero and the others in the dorm were already swamped with midterms when I arrived and were now wading into the morass of mini-mester finals. I’d already signed up for a class for the second half so I would have something to occupy my extra time. Preseason would be a welcome respite, but I didn’t get to practice with the rest of the team. Instead, they had me and the incoming players in Freshmen Camp memorizing a massive ass playbook because the coaches didn’t trust us to not fuck up regular practices. I was used to having to only know nine or so plays, nine being all that high school football coaches could remember themselves (or be creative enough to come up with in the first place). I compared notes with the other guys; no one else had to learn this many at once, and the ones we did learn were so simple we could still draw them out more than seven months after our senior season had ended. Luckily, I could participate in conditioning with the rest of the team. I fucking hated double burpees, but I hated them a lot less than memorizing playbooks. Like the coaches, the trainers counted on the freshmen to suck balls since most guys don’t keep active between their high school football seasons. But I always kept busy with varsity soccer in my off seasons, and did a lot of running and weight training besides. I had maintained my muscle mass and my forty-yard dash stayed somewhere around 4.7 seconds. Not perfect, and the words “small for a linebacker” kept getting added to sentences in which I was mentioned, but they decided I was fit enough to run with the big guys after a couple weeks of breaking me of every bad habit I had learned playing high school ball. Because of this, I got to know a few of my new teammates, but since I was the lone pseudo-freshman training with them, and they didn’t see me at practice, I still wasn’t part of any of the social cliques yet. I had been chatting with the guys assigned to the lockers on either side of mine, this white guy from the Midwest named JJ Teague, and a massive black redshirt sophomore from Atlanta named Mitch Lithgow. They seemed friendly enough, but I hadn’t seen them socially outside of football. So, with no classes to attend, no parties to get invited to, and nothing else to occupy my time, I had been going slightly insane. The one bright spot happened to be Monday evenings, when I would go to GSA meetings and hang out with Preston. We decided our drunken roll in the sheets was a one-time thing and kept it at that, but we’d met for coffee or food a couple of times since then. Today, the GSA was meeting up for dinner. I was so thirsty for this that I enthusiastically offered to drive to the restaurant where Kiley had called in the reservation. Ironically enough, my gas-guzzling truck was more fuel efficient than their small, but much older, two-door coupes. When I offered, Preston called shotgun and two other members--called bi-Delia and lez-Delia in order to eliminate the need for the question, “Which Delia?”--hitched a ride with us. “So, SteersNQueers, explain the truck,” Preston teased. “SteersNQueers” was his current nickname for me and was only slightly better than last week’s “Brokeback”, especially since it most often came out as “Bareback”. Sadly, everyone in the group had picked it up. Then he got ahold of my Stetson and pranced around my dorm room quoting Brokeback Mountain, so my roomies had to start calling me that, too. Admittedly, it was still better than Romero calling me “Tex”. “Not much to say about it, Virgin.” Ya know, ’cause he’s from Virginia. And a manslut. “My parents bought Caiden and Connor cars when they turned sixteen. But when Cameron turned sixteen, Mom bought a new car and handed her old Chevy Suburban down to him. So, Dad used my turning sixteen as an excuse to buy a new F250.” I was ambivalent about trucks, but it pissed Cam off to no end because he fucking loved Dad’s Tacoma. “God, your parents’ naming conventions are pretty fucked up,” lez-Delia said. “We all have the same middle name. Of course, it’s Momma’s maiden name, so it’s not that weird.” “No, the weird part is that you all look alike,” Preston said. He turned and addressed the Delias. “All fucking four of them looking like a gay man’s wet dream in might-as-well-be-painted-on Wrangler’s, rodeo shirts, bigass belt buckles, and cowboy boots, posing in a field of blue flowers--” “Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!” bi-Delia said, giggling. “Hey,” I protested. “Don’t be shittin’ on my Texas bluebonnets.” “Same damn hair, same damn eyes, same damn face. If they didn’t come in different sizes, you’d never know who was who.” “We’re not that bad.” “But, goddamn are they hot. Except Cory.” Preston cooed at me. “Widdle Cory is a widdle cutie.” I damn near swerved into the next lane when lez-Delia’s hands crept around the headrest and poked my dimples. “However, we’re getting off topic.” He pointed to the beaver wearing a red t-shirt and cap hanging from my keychain. “That. Explain that.” “Oh, the Buc-ee.” “‘All day I dream about beavers’,” he read, waving a hand at the air freshener dangling from the rearview. “‘I heart Beavers.’ ‘Puro Pinché Beavers.’ Whatever the fuck that means. Are you compensating for something or just trying to remind yourself that you still like tits?” “Whatever.” “Should see his dorm. Has beaver posters and everything," he told the others and rolled his eyes. “There’s even t-shirts.” Okay, so I may have gone a little overboard on the merch on my way out of Texas. Preston turned back to me. “Bitch, you are the most cock-thirsty straight guy I know.” “For starters, I’m not cock-thirsty.” “You swallowed mine readily enough.” The Delias laughed. For some reason, everyone thought Preston and I were merely talking shit and not referencing something that had actually happened. “And, secondly, I’m bi.” “You’re just being indecisive.” “Uhm, bi-erasure?” bi-Delia said. She may or may not have been trying to ride my dick. I may or may not have been interested in said riding. “So, back to the beaver,” lez-Delia interrupted. “You would focus on the beaver.” “Suck my dick, Virgin.” “You don’t even have a dick.” “I’ll grow one for the occasion.” And so on and so forth until we reached the restaurant. Preston jumped down and the Delias tumbled out of the back seat. I saw Kiley heading in, so I led the way over. Just as I was about to open the door, it swung open and the person behind it walked into me. I found myself face-to-face with Efrain Garza, one of the red-shirt freshmen on offense. I knew of him and had run into him in the locker rooms a few times since our sections were across the aisle from each other. But I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him outside of the occasional “sorry” or “excuse me.” Lez-Delia and Preston, who were still bickering, walked into me from behind, just as someone leaving the restaurant bumped into Garza. We made full body contact, and I was instantly aware of how great he smelled. Men shouldn’t be allowed to smell that good, especially my straight teammates. “Oh, hey, Card,” he said, smirking. Of course, it seemed like he was always smirking about something, as if everything was just one big inside joke that only he was in on. “Hey, Garza.” I waved awkwardly as I slid past him into the restaurant. I hoped I didn’t appear as flushed as I feared I was. I’d managed to go my whole life without getting into a fight with a straight guy who thought I had the hots for him, and it would be rather insulting to break that streak by getting my ass kicked by an angry teammate before I even got to actually practice, let alone play, with the team. But, he just tipped his chin and said he’d see me at conditioning tomorrow. I nodded and waved again before I followed everyone inside, thanking any deity I could remember from my dual credit World Religions class that I hadn’t chubbed up during that whole ordeal. Preston and the Delias, by the time I caught up to them, had lost the original argument and had started exchanging insults, completely oblivious to my predicament. “Cumslut.” “Twatwaffle.” “For fuck’s sake, get a room.” “You get a room, fauxbian.” “Nancy.” “Lug.” ~*~*~*~ “So, defense is here on the line of scrimmage.” I pointed to a row of taco sauce packets with O’s marked on them in permanent marker. “And, here’s your offense.” I pointed to the ketchup packets marked with X’s. At lunch, Martinez had looked like he was going cross-eyed trying to memorize these plays, so I set up our little condiment scrimmage. Pretty soon, the rest of the freshmen crowded in around the table and it snowballed from there. They added symbols to the packets to represent specific positions and we started running through the plays. “Wait, which play is this?” Blanco asked. Montalvo flipped through the playbook and called them out. I didn’t remember the exact names yet, but I remembered the configurations. I was pretty sure the Virginia Tech coaching team would shit themselves if they knew just how similar they were to some of the University of Texas plays Connor shared with me and my brothers--back before Caiden had signed with Texas A&M, and both the Longhorns and the Aggies saw the wisdom in making my brothers sign agreements that explicitly forbid them from sharing privileged team information with any of their brothers (including me), unless, like in Connor and Cameron’s place, they happened to be teammates. I had the guys split up to move around the packets to the next position in the play, then we started debating the merits and pitfalls of their next moves. At some point, we started marking hypothetical moves on the table in dry erase marker because we kept forgetting the original positions. We were so wrapped up in this, all the guys talking loudly and all at once, that nobody noticed when Coach Vuis walks in. “What the fuck is this?” He gestured down at the carefully arranged packets and dry erase arrows and squiggles. “Scrimmaging, sir,” I said. “It was all Card’s idea, coach,” Martinez said. Vuis dragged his palm down his face in exasperation. Montalvo thought for a moment. “Wait, maybe you can settle this.” And he started laying out some issue we’d been arguing about regarding some hole I had found in one of the plays. “Fucking hell, Card.” “What?” “Just, fucking hell.” And next thing you knew, I was pulled from Freshmen Camp and thrown in with the rest of the team. ~*~*~*~ “Oi! Garza!” I heard the yell coming from a group of Freshmen Camp guys, looking like the out-of-their-depth high school boys they were, sitting in one of the lounges outside the locker room. I acknowledged them with a chin nod and then thanked God that that satisfied them, and I wouldn’t have to pretend that I could remember their names. Seem to have no fucking problem with remembering who Card is. I remembered him from the brief introductions when the in-coming freshmen arrived to join preseason conditioning. From my own experience, it would be awhile before they started working with us regularly, if at all, so I wasn’t really paying attention. Card, however, was hard to ignore. His looks were that kind of prototypical All-American football hero handsome. Roughly my height, broad in the chest and shoulders, with a trim waist and an ass you could sink your teeth into. If he were a bit lighter and faster, he’d be the quarterback and... God, why the fuck am I checking out straight guys again? But, yeah, Card stood out. He ended up joining us for conditioning, ahead of the rest of the little freshies, and ran circles around the more seasoned players. We were fucking sweating buckets, and he was bragging about how it was in the triple digits in whatever tiny tourist-trap town with a name that wasn’t pronounced like it was spelled the recruiters had fished him and his biteable ass out of. Then he started going on about how much he fucking loved double burpees, and I think we all wanted to slug him. As I entered the locker room, I thought back to last week, when I literally ran into him while I was out getting dinner with some Aerospace people. At first, I’d just noticed Card, then we got shoved into each other again, and I’d finally noticed the group he just happened to be with. I didn’t know the guy personally, but I recognized him as one of the guy cheerleaders and from the commons where he tabled for the GSA. (I know most of the guys on the squad aren’t gay, and I shouldn’t stereotype, but come on, what straight man dresses that impeccably in the middle of hot-as-fuck July?) And I saw Card out with Mr. Out-And-Proud and thought, Well, that’s interesting. Which I immediately thought I’d said out loud when he got this odd look on his face. I’d decided to act like nothing had happened and told him I’d see him at conditioning, and we went our separate ways. Today, he was in the locker room, gearing up for practice with the rest of the team. “Hey, Baker.” I gestured over at Card, who was chatting with Teague and Lithgow. “Isn’t he supposed to be with the freshmeat in camp?” “The fuck you talking about ‘freshmeat’ when you’re still a freshman?” said one of the guys behind me and another guy in our section slapped the back of my head. “Naw, get this,” Baker said. “I heard Vuis saying that he’d memorized the playbook a couple weeks ago and was pointing out holes in the plays.” Fuck, I’d poured over that fucking thing for two months before half of it even stuck. “He’d been running the rest of Freshmen Camp through something he called 'condiment scrimmage' when the other coaches left the room.” “You’re shitting me.” “That’s what I’m saying. They redshirted me my first season. I didn’t get to practice with the team until the season started.” I nodded; I was a redshirt myself, like every other guy who played college ball, and I thought I was liking this kid less and less. No matter how fuckable his ass looked in full gear. “I wonder if they’ll put him in the line-up this season,” he said, which I ignored and finished changing out. Once on the field, the coaches ran us through the typical warm-ups and drills. Satisfied with our progress, they decided to divide the senior players from newer guys like me and run us through some plays separately. We set up on the line of scrimmage. This play had Card on the outside, but I seriously doubted they had him out to handle me. Not only was he not used to playing against real athletes, he was still too small and slow to be much use against a wide receiver with experience. The ball snapped. I ducked through, dodging the bigger outer linebackers and darting close to Card. I flew out the other side and the quarterback passed to me. I caught on the run and bolted. Pretty soon, I saw Card coming at me from the side. He had followed me out and was gaining. I ramped up to a full sprint. The other receiver had a huge pocket around him as I was supposed to pass to him in this play, but I already had the ball and Card couldn’t match me at full speed. I was within ten yards of the next goal line. I added one last burst of speed, just to rub it in. Then, I felt his arms around my waist. He crashed into me and we both fell over. The air left my lungs in a whoosh and the ball slipped from my fingers. How the fuck did that happen? He looked down at me and spat out his mouth guard. “You alright?” He jumped up and grabbed the ball, then offered me a hand. Coach Vuis bellowed at us from the sidelines. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who ran outside of the play. “‘No battle plan survives contact with the enemy,’ sir.” Card was so smug I'd swear he was quoting someone. “Goddammit, Card.” “If I remember this play correctly, Garza’s supposed to pass over to another player,” said the little shit as he tossed the ball from hand to hand. “But he didn’t, so I harried. Figured I’d at least run him out of bounds. He’s surprisingly easy to tackle. Best not leave him without protection in the next play.” If he’d had a mic, he’d have dropped it. Vuis started bitching about showboating freshmen and then yelled at us to set up the next play when he didn’t think we were moving fast enough. Once they were out of earshot, Card looked back over his shoulder at me, face split into a rather charming grin, and winked at me. “You’re fun to chase,” he quipped and jogged back over to the formation. I was torn between wanting to kick his ass and wanting to fuck it. Not that the rest of the practice helped to resolve that conflict. But I could at least take comfort in the fact that few of the guys on the team that I regularly hung out with saw Card repeatedly handing me my ass (although, I knew they’d eventually hear about it), and someone finally managed to block him in a couple plays. As we were walking back to the locker room to shower and change, we passed the cheerleaders on their way to the studio for practice. One, the guy I saw Card with the other night, moved to the edge of the group and exchanged a fist bump with him. I moved over to get in step with Card. “They frown on us dating the cheerleaders.” “Oh, you mean Preston?” he said and shrugged. “We’re just friends.” No denials, no insistence that he was totally straight. Just “we’re friends.” Interesting. ~*~*~*~ Part Two--Twink on the Dancefloor Now, let’s bitch about my dating life. The good ol’ ass poundings I had envisioned for myself had failed to materialize in the weeks I’d been at VT. I could pull all kinds of girls, but could never bring in guys. Or at least the ones I wanted. Twinks loved me, but most expected me to bend them over and not the other way around. Of the few tops that approached me, they either weren’t my type or there was something sketchy about them. And for some reason, I seemed to be a rough trade magnet. Some GSA peeps had the brilliant idea that one of the clubs that wasn’t frequented by a lot of the college kids would be the perfect setting for my first experience at a gay bar. While my friends were having a blast, I was getting my ass and dick felt up the whole damn time. And Preston thought it was absolutely hilarious that some hairy brickshithouse of a guy told me I needed to “ditch the fairy” (meaning Preston) and get broken in “by a real man”. Preston called me “Otter Pup” for weeks after that, which I looked up and I highly doubted he even knew what that meant. I had about sworn off gay bars for good when I was accosted by a hot as hell DILF and liked it. I was just walking my happy ass back from the bathrooms when I was suddenly pinned against the wall by six-feet-two-inches of tanned and sculpted muscles growling into my ear about how everything about me screamed, “Make me submit!” and that if he was into younger guys he’d already have me collared and on my hands and knees, begging to be spanked. I was already panting and feeling light-headed because as much as he’d said he wasn’t into men my age, he had still been kissing and licking my neck between growls and grinding his dick into mine. But then he kissed me, and I eagerly kissed him back--collars and spankings be damned. I had to lock my knees so I didn’t slide down the wall when he broke off without warning and admonished me to be careful about the signals I was apparently sending, before sauntering off like nothing had happened. I had most certainly not told Preston about that encounter because who knew what he’d call me then? I still hadn’t resolved my somewhat justified fear of gay bars when, about three weeks after I’d started practicing with the team, Preston begged me to go out to one of his favorite clubs. “Come on, Cory,” he whined. “It doesn’t matter if you aren’t that good at dancing. You scare off all the tops, and I need someone to keep them away so I can enjoy dancing without a bunch of guys trying to pick me up for once.” I’m gonna call that narcissistic fuck “Twink Toes” until I think of something more clever. So, yeah, Twink Toes was rubbing it in that he was getting all this male attention, when I couldn’t seem to lure anyone in that I didn’t immediately want to throw back. “It’s the first Latin Night in ages that I can actually enjoy--” “Wait, Latin Night?” The high school I went to had a pretty big Hispanic population, so Cumbia and Tejano were just as popular as American Top 40. I had talked the Mexican kids into teaching me the moves, which was what I was doing with Alonso Rios in the tool shed in the first place (before we ended up doing what we were doing when Cam walked in--fun times). Among all that music on my phone, I still had a fuckton of Spanish dance music. “Alright, I’ll go.” At the club, I made a good show of reticence as Preston dragged me out on the floor. Then the music came up and I moved, swinging my hips into a solo bachata. I wasn’t the most amazing dancer in the world, but I was good enough that people gave me space and Preston gaped at me like I’d sprouted horns. I might have also pissed off a go-go boy or two. I grabbed Preston’s hand and spun him around, then pulled him up close and rolled my hips against him. “Chingow! No sabes bachata?” He looked confused. Obviously, he didn’t know Spanish either. “Te enseñare. Mira.” I pointed down at my hips and legs; he at least understood that. I showed him the basic steps, which he emulated. I put my hand at the small of his back and we moved together. When he mastered the basics, I added in a new step, and another, and another, until we’re spinning on the floor, moving in that sensual way of people who have been intimate, as if every movement is loaded with sexual intent and promise. At least, this was how my dick was interpreting things. But, from what I could feel every time our bodies touched, his was too. If we had been drinking, and/or a little more hard-up, what we were doing could easily have put us back in bed. We had a pretty decent audience by the third song, other dancers who observed us as we danced. Plenty of cat calls and “yaaass girl, slay!” came at us. More ignored and pissed off boys in designer underwear. Our fellow patrons were disappointed when we moved off to get water instead of throwing down and fucking right there on the dance floor. “Fuck, where’d you learn to move like that?” “Mis amigos.” “Would you fucking stop that?” “Lo siento.” Preston growled at me and I laughed. In my head, I transcribed it as ja ja ja ja. “Some friends in middle school.” “You learned that in middle school,” he said doubtfully. “Not the bachata,” I told him. “I learned cumbia and salsa first.” Preston’s face lit up. “Oh! Teach me to salsa next!” I would totally love to bachata again, but it was just as well. I feared I’d end up embarrassing myself if we rubbed against each other anymore than we had already. The salsa, while still one of those really suggestive dances, was more involved and required some space between us. We danced until we were sweaty and thirsty, stopped for water, then rinsed and repeated. Preston and I were too exhausted to walk by last call. This performance earned me another spot in Preston’s social rotation, and I got to add Latin Night to my list of things to look forward to each week. ~*~*~*~ It was taking longer than I’d expected, but the team seemed to be warming up to me. They finally realized that I was being fucking sarcastic when I enthused about loving double burpees. “I mean, it’s all about yoga burpees,” I told Teague, who rolled his eyes at me. Luckily, Lithgow was still hip to my game. “I know man, nothing beats a good yoga burpee,” he said. “For real, dude, it’s like a religious experience or something,” I said. “I thought body blasters were the shit, but--” “Fuck, man. Body blasters. That’s like some nirvana shit,” he said. “But, you know you haven’t lived until you’ve tried parkour burpees.” This was about the fourth or fifth time we’d had this conversation since I started conditioning with the team and we still hadn’t exhausted the Wikipedia entry of cracked-out variants. “Fuck, we did those in middle school.” “We did them in pee-wee league.” By this point, Teague had given up on holding an actual conversation with either of us, but Garza walked up before I could think of something more absurd. “We still on for tonight?” he said to Lithgow. He nodded in my and Teague’s direction. He had looked fucking pissed when I first tackled him, but he seemed to have gotten over it quickly. Good thing as too many scrimmages since then capitalized on me throwing Garza on the ground. Not that I really minded throwing Garza on the ground. “Yeah.” “By the way.” Garza pointed at me. “You’re coming.” With that said, he walked off. “I’m coming where?” I asked Lithgow doubtfully. “Ah, some nightclub. Since he’s the only one of the crew underage, I think he wants a partner in sobriety.” “We also need another designated driver since Whitlock’s now old enough to drink,” Teague tactlessly added. Their crew was sometimes called the “brain trust”. Jocks were supposed to be dumb as fucking bricks, but their little six-some liked to defy that. Lithgow was the salutatorian in high school, Garza graduated from the IB program, and Teague finished his undergrad in Physics in less than three years and was already working on his Master’s (he only acted like an idiot because his brain was consumed with what he called the “three F’s--football, physics, and females”). The other guys on the crew--Paul Baker, Denholm Whitlock, and Adrian Rice--were just as gifted (although I suspected Baker was more of the savant variety). They weren’t the only smart guys on the team, but they were some of the only ones not afraid to own up to their intelligence, something I rarely saw with my old teammates. It was actually kinda hot, and I felt honored that I got included in their group. When I got back to my dorm, I knocked out a brief nap before getting ready. After a quick freshening-up, I threw on a pair of dark blue jeans and a hunter green t-shirt. I added a grey linen button-up shirt and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. This got topped off with black oxfords, leather belt, wrist watch, and a quick finger tousle of my hair. “Unless you’re going line dancing,” Romero said from the doorway in a disinterested voice, “the cowboy hat stays.” “It’s a Stetson, bruh,” I said. “And, I wasn’t seriously thinking of putting it on.” “Of course you weren’t,” Gio called out behind him. “Have fun, Tex,” Al added. I flipped them all off as I backed out the door. I rolled up to Teague’s place at the appointed time. I was taking him, along with Whitlock and Rice in my truck. Garza had picked up Lithgow and Baker and would meet us. Teague asked me to explain the beavers. So, I told them all about the magic of Buc-ees. “Dude,” said Whitlock. “Remember when we played in Austin? They had signs for this place all over.” “What’s so awesome about ‘beaver nuggets’ and a big fucking gas station with clean bathrooms?” Teague asked. “You don’t understand,” said Rice, who had lived in Houston since Katrina knocked out his hometown in Louisiana. “Buc-ees is like an institution or some shit.” We were still arguing about beavers when we met up with the others. Teague grabbed my hand, which was still holding my keys, and said, “Look, he’s got a Garza keychain,” while pointing to Buc-ee. “Don’t get it,” Baker said. “You don’t get shit, man.” “I don’t get it either,” Whitlock said. “The red shirt, man, the red shirt!” Garza leveled Teague with a flat look. I was so used to seeing everyone in a uniform that it was a little jarring to see them dressed up. Admittedly, they were all wearing some variation on the basic jeans and button-up/polo, but Garza looked anything but basic. Black slim-fit jeans, black short-sleeve button-up over a blue v-neck that hugged his pecs, and black Doc Martens. He wore this all effortlessly on his tall, athletic frame. His near-black hair was pulled back into a top-knot, highlighting his ruggedly attractive face--high cheekbones, Roman nose, full mouth, hazel eyes, strong chin with a couple days’ worth of stubble. Modest diamond studs glinted in both ears. In the most simple terms, the man was fucking gorgeous, and I seriously needed to stop looking. Yet, when he turned around to lead the way, it was all I could do not to fall over myself while checking out the way his jeans hugged his ass. He didn’t ever “walk”, his steps were somewhere between prowl and saunter. He was currently prowling, and I considered myself lucky that I had decided against tucking in my shirt because I was already getting close to half-mast watching him move. And, fuck me if he didn’t smell like heaven with a hint of something edgy and dark that reminded me of the muscle daddy who had threatened to collar me and made me dizzy with need. I shook my head to clear it and fell in with the pack. Our conversations flitted between subjects, barely staying on one topic for very long, changing as much as we changed conversation partners, as we walked the rest of the way to the nightclub. The guys confidently passed the line of people waiting to get inside, and the bouncer took one look at our entourage before letting us in ahead of the line and without charging cover. Good-looking football players brought in hot chicks, and hot chicks meant more college guys buying them drinks. It didn’t hit me until later that I’d just experienced my first perk as a player. A second bouncer checked our IDs and Efrain and I got a small black “x” across the back of our hand to signal that we were under twenty-one. We could have gone to a club that served minors (especially VIPs like we apparently were) under the table, but that would have defeated the purpose of bringing us along as designated drivers. The nightclub was already in full swing when we walked in. The DJ was spinning some reggaeton at the moment, but was well-known for mixing subtle Latin rhythms into everything he played. I liked this guy already. People chatted at the bar and in the lounges around the sides of the room. Steps led down to the dance floor where women danced together in clumps. Men prowled the edges looking to pick one of them off or else fist pumped in time to the pounding rhythms. I scanned the crowd and recognized a chick named Marina, who I’d met while out dancing with Preston, dancing off to one side with a couple of her girlfriends. “Excuse me, guys,” I said and broke away to say hi. ~*~*~*~ Most of my teammates cleaned up nicely. I could say this objectively, without any hint of sexual intent. I wasn’t interested in straight guys, but they weren’t half bad for breeders. Card, on the other hand… For some baby-faced eighteen-year-old kid, who I’d only seen in Chuck Taylors and cargo shorts when he wasn’t in uniform, he knew how to put himself together. I was so busy checking him out without looking like I was checking him out when Teague made some dipshit comment about red shirts and some stupid beaver keychain that I couldn’t think of a decent thing to shut him down with. But then we walked into the club and the fucker barely stayed with us for longer than a minute before he walked off to talk to random Latina. They hugged and she started enthusiastically introducing him to her friends. He made some gestures that looked like him trying to bring the girls back to our group, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him further onto the dance floor. I got the guys’ attention and pointed over to where Card and the girl were taking their places. “This should be good.” Baker’s face split in a sadistic grin. “We need to find a good place to watch.” I hadn’t been there to witness it, but I’d seen enough videos and pictures of the night Baker got shitfaced and danced like an asshole. He still hadn’t lived that down, and it seemed his only respite was to inflict the same pain on any other guy dumb enough to dance while out with teammates. We found a high-top table near the bar, and he, Whitlock, and Teague all whipped out their phones to record Card’s imminent flailing. On the floor, Card pressed the girl against him. “Smooth,” Lithgow said. “I’m-a call this ‘Card’s Texas Two-step’,” Whitlock said. They traded quips back and forth, you know, guys being guys. “Shit,” Rice said. “You know you’d be out there making an ass out of yourselves if the chick was that hot.” “You’re just saying that because he’s from your state,” said Teague. “But, he has a point,” Lithgow added. “God, I’d flop around like Baker on a rager for an ass like that.” She was beautiful, even I could admit that despite not being into women. Warm-toned skin, dark glossy hair, generous curves, and a classically beautiful face. However, this did not stop us from cracking jokes. “Twenty bucks says he steps on her,” I said. The jokes stopped when Card and his partner started moving. Their steps were small at first, relying more on the motion of their hips. Other dancers noticed what they were doing and a pocket gradually opened around them. Their steps expanded to work the opening space, and they were given even more room. In less than a minute, he had enough space to dance her through complex dips, turns, and spins. Head, arms, shoulders, hips, legs, feet thrown into his movements. Those immediately around him stopped and gaped. He was fucking good. I looked over at the guys, their faces looking as confused as I felt. No one knew what to make of what they were seeing. “How’d a white kid learn to move his hips like that?” I wasn’t sure who said it, but I nodded in agreement. For the moment, Card had his back to us and his hips rolled almost as much as hers did. Those rolling hips would haunt me at night for weeks to come, but I was still too stunned at the moment to appreciate this. “You still recording this?” asked Rice. By this time, another song had started. Card and his friend kept dancing. I thought they had switched styles because I recognized some of the steps as merengue. Just how many styles did he know? They danced for a bit before her two friends joined them. I didn’t know how, but he worked it to where he was dancing with all three girls--bringing one in close then spinning her back out, grabbing her friend and moving through some steps, taking the third by the hand and twirling them both around, spinning out the second, dancing close to the third, and on and on. He switched back and forth between them so no girl went long without being involved. The girls were all breathless and laughing. He seemed a little sweaty, but completely in command. The guys cat-called at him and he sent back a smug grin. “Fuck, man,” Lithgow clapped me on the shoulder. “Are you sure you’re totally Puerto Rican? He’s more Latino that you are.” “Puerto Rican and Cuban,” I said. “Also, fuck you.” For some reason, Lithgow’s comment and Card’s face pissed me off. I’d had to deal with the comparisons ever since the first time Card took me down--that he’s as fast as I am, or as good as I am at reading the field, or able to think as fast as I can, or any number of things. Every scrimmage had him hounding me, and it drove me insane with how he knocked my ass over every damn time. Then he turned around with that smug fucking look and I wanted to deck him. I didn’t care how good he looked in grey linen and hunter green. Without thinking, I hopped off my barstool and wound my way over. When I got to the edge of their group, he spun one of the girls and she went a little wide. She fell against me, so I cocked my eyebrow and offered her my hand. She took it and we danced. I didn’t know multiple styles like Card; I preferred to master one, rather than be merely competent in two or three. For his part, Card seemed undaunted in facing off against a much better dancer. He grinned that fucking good boy smile of his and said, “Sup, Garza!” I smiled back, you know, because no hard feelings or anything, I was just there to dance. ~*~*~*~ By last call, Card, the girls, and I had paused only long enough to get water and catch our breath. The five of us went to look for the other guys and only found Teague and Rice waiting. The rest had long since left with whatever hookup they had found for the night or to drink somewhere else. We all decided to head home, and started heading for our vehicles. Card had a girl under each arm and the third hanging off his back. The four of them were chatting animatedly in Spanish. My mom is half-Cuban, half-Castilian and my dad is Puerto Rican, like immigrated-from-Puerto-Rico Puerto Rican. I grew up in a Spanish-speaking household, but I could barely follow what they were saying. Fuck me if I’d actually be able to respond in Spanish. Teague, Rice, and I walked behind them in disbelief. Teague still had his phone out, snapping pictures because no one would believe us if we told them. He’d apparently been live-Tweeting the whole thing and people still doubted it. “What the hell are they talking about?” Teague said to me quietly. “How they can’t believe he’s only eighteen and something about finding a third guy, I think.” “Damn, if they weren’t hanging on him like that, I’d say you have a decent chance of pulling one,” Rice added. “By the way, since when have you been able to dance?” I didn’t answer. Card was now talking about his friend Preston, who was a cheerleader and also knew how to salsa and bachata. He showed them a picture on his phone and they made appreciative noises. “I taught him everything he knows.” Berta, the one on his left said “Espera!” and leaned in to whisper something. The other two girls leaned in, too. He nodded his head and Berta and Luz, the one behind him, squealed. The one on his right--Marina, I think--giggled, then shot me a look like she knew something I didn’t. “What about you?” said Luz. “Column A, Column B.” “Ala,” Berta sighed. “The good ones are either gay or taken.” “You’re only half right,” he said and the girls giggled. So, he was taken. Which confirmed that he was definitely not gay, even if he did hang out with the GSA and considered the openly gay cheerleader “just a friend”. I felt let down. Then I felt more pissed off because I felt let down. When we got back to the corner where we had first met up, he turned back to us. “Hey, Garza, do you mind taking Teague and Rice back? I’m not comfortable leaving the girls alone to wait for a cab.” He didn’t even wait for a reply, just said, “Thanks, man.” The girls took turns hugging me and kissing me on the cheek. They even hugged Teague and Rice and promised to friend us all on Facebook (which they did the next day). Then, Card and his entourage walked off, giggling and talking over each other in Spanish. “Card’s Texas Two-step” never dropped. Instead, a series of videos and pics blew up the collective VT football social media machine, and no one would shut the fuck up about “The Night Card Stomped Garza in a Dance-off Then Went Home with Three Senoritas.” Fuck. Card. And fuck his biteable ass. ~*~*~*~
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