Wolf Like Me - 1. Cory Arrives

Part One – Eat a Dick, Texas

Before I get anywhere, I would like to make this point understood: Texas can eat a dick. In fact, Texas can eat a big fucking bag of dicks. It was only 9 AM, but it was hot as balls already and mine were currently stuck to my leg. Kinda awkward to give my mom goodbye hugs and kisses while trying to discreetly unglue my family jewels from my thigh.

But, hug and kiss I did, rubber-cemented nutsack notwithstanding, and said my goodbyes to Dad before I climbed into my truck. I turned the key in the ignition and rolled down my window for final goodbyes. I promised to take frequent breaks, and they threatened to check my credit card charges to make sure I stopped at the appropriate number of hotels to get a decent night’s sleep.

“There’s 24 hours in a day,” I argued. “What’s the harm in using 19 of them to drive?”

“Two days, minimum.” My dad got this really stern look on his face.

“I really do wish you’d take at least three, Cory.”

“I’m like the fourth son you’ve sent off,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be so over child rearing that you let me do whatever?”

“Two days. Minimum.” He set his jaw and folded his arms over his chest and I immediately 86’d the “why” game.

I sighed. “Fine.”

Satisfied, they waved me off. I put the truck in gear and got on the road to my new life as a freshman at Virginia Tech. My friends thought I was crazy to move so far away; we’ve lived in this small Texas town for most of our lives. There were some upsides to being a big fish in a little pond. Everybody knew everybody. But then again everybody knew everybody’s business. I was ready to be a little fish.

Not that I was little. I’m just shy of 6 feet and weigh close to 200lbs, mostly muscle. This being Texas, I naturally ended up playing football. Now that I thought about it, I did look like a walking (driving?) Texas stereotype. Country music just happened to be playing on the radio (although it was one of twenty songs out of 2000 songs on my phone), my Stetson sat on top of my bags (mainly because I didn’t know where to put it without it getting crushed), and I even brought my boots (along with half a dozen pairs of Converse). And I was driving a big fucking truck. To be fair, it was a Toyota and it used to be my dad’s. Still, I had a sinking feeling that someone was going to nickname me “Tex.”

However, there is one thing that didn’t fit the stereotype. I’m bi. Which was why I really wanted to get out of this town, and why I jumped at VT’s full ride. I had enough with living in the closet because I was too afraid of what people would say. Like I said, little fish. I could come out, get my ass pounded, and no one would even notice or care. I’ve managed to keep that part of my life hidden here in Cibolo, but I was over it.

I thought about telling Mom and Dad about me. I thought about it a lot. I mean, I’m sure I could bring them around and they wouldn’t care. I even thought about telling my brothers. One of my middle brothers already knew (Cameron kinda caught me in the tool shed with my hands down a friend’s pants) and he’d been okay with it. I could’ve pulled a dick move the day before and peace out before they could react.

I thought about all these things, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Skipping town just seemed easier.

Before I left town, I took a quick detour past Mamacita’s, my favorite Mexican place, for some breakfast tacos because I knew I would never get decent tortillas in Virginia. I wolfed down my chorizo and egg, and vowed to visit every Buc-ees from here to the state line because this might be the last time I ever saw a nice, clean gas station bathroom. If I didn’t hate Texas so damn much, I’d consider crying for that alone.

I knew I should feel a little more nostalgic for all the stuff I was leaving behind in Texas. I should also be upset about only getting in a couple weeks of summer vacation before I had to report for preseason training, but I was too excited to start my new life.

Once I got to the Texas state line (a little later than schedule because I had to stop for a kolache…four times), I decided to get a little crazy. I logged into Facebook from my phone and changed my profile to say that I’m bi. I fully expected a shitstorm, but my phone wasn’t blowing up, and nobody had commented on my status change by the time I logged in at the hotel.

I called my best friend Keenan (who’s beyond straight, but okay with my semi-gay ass) to see if he had heard anything.

“Dude, no one gives a fuck.”

“I doubt that man,” I said. “Remember when Juan’s little brother pranked him on Twitter? Everyone went insane. And he wasn’t even remotely gay.” Despite my efforts to convert him.

“Whatever. You left and we already forgot about your faggy ass.”

Biggest. Let down. Ever.

~*~*~*~

I made the trip in a very Mom-pleasing un-record time.

I tried for two days, but I figured I would have gotten in too late to check into my dorm, so I might as well take it easy. I got in Saturday afternoon, right before the dorm admin closed shop, so I was able to get my keys.

I was really fucking lucky with my assignment. One of the two-room suites had an opening, and my name was pulled out of the lottery. I’d be sharing a room with one other guy, and a common living area with two others. This actually wouldn’t be much different from how I lived back home. Until my older brothers all left for college, I’d shared a bedroom with one and a bathroom with all three. I got a set keys – one each for the suite, room, and personal closet.

I bought a parking pass, but I soon learned that “parking pass” didn’t mean that you got a spot to park, just that you got to fight for a spot to park. I managed to find a space two blocks from the dorms, and I was glad my mom talked me out of taking more stuff with me. I was in great shape, but I was still huffing by the time I got my things over to my room. As it was, I still would need another trip or two to get everything up. The only upside was that it wasn’t so goddamn hot out here and I wouldn’t meet my roommate looking like a drowned rat.

I hauled my shit into the elevators and down the hall. The white board outside the suite was covered in scribbles – a welcome message for me with three names underneath: Romero, Gio, and Al. There were some other messages and crude drawings which, judging by the differences in penmanship were from more than just my new suitemates.

I opened the door and took a tentative step inside. A small living area with a modest looking couch, armchair and a TV took up most of the common area. To one side sat a galley kitchen with a two-range stove, fridge, a pitiful amount of counter and shelf space, and a small dining table with two chairs. An open door, leading to what I assumed was the shared partial bathroom, was on the other side.

There were no air conditioner units in the rooms, which freaked me out a little. I hoped I didn’t die before my freshman year officially started.

Along the back wall were two doors with two smaller white boards for each door. These were the bedrooms. “Al” and “Gio” were written in two different hands on the ones on the left. On the right, “Romero” was written on one. “Also Romero” was written on the other. When I got closer, I noticed that Al and Gio had written some pretty unflattering jabs at Romero on the second board. I decided to wait before I erased everything and claimed the board as my own.

As I unlocked the door, it occurred to me that I should have found a way to contact this guy, instead of just walking in on him. Figured someone had to have told him I was coming this weekend. I opened the door and peeked in, the guy was a pretty normal looking dude – a little bookish in the face, preppy clothes, decent body, and short light brown hair. He was actually pretty cute, but looked kinda confused. He told the person he was talking to on the phone that he’d call back and stood up.

I set down a duffle bag and extended my hand. “I’m Cory Card.”

“Ah,” the look of confusion faded into one of those polite business smiles, “You’re here to invade my fortress of solitude.”

“Sorry, not sorry?” I ventured.

“Romero Mackey.” He shook my hand.

Damn, he was really cute. This is like the premise to half the gay porn I’ve seen – ya know, two roommates just chilling when BAM! GAY SEX!

Romero had been in this room since the fall term, so his side was pretty settled in. I noticed a couple pictures of him and a girl thumbtacked to the wall above his desk. Damn, no BAM! GAY SEX!

He looked at me strangely then, and I realized he’s waiting for a response.

“Huh?”

“I heard you’re on the football team.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Fucking sweet! You can score me some tickets.”

“Sure, I can try,” I said. Then I got this idea “…only if you help me get the rest of my stuff.”

This had the intended effect and his business smile became more genuine.

“Was going to offer anyway.”

We made quick work of getting my things in and I busied myself with getting the essentials unpacked.

Romero picked back up his phone, probably to call back whoever he was talking to earlier, and began talking about random shit. I made my bed up and flopped onto it. I should call home to let them know I got in alright, but I was just too tired. I at least forced myself to call Mom and chat with her for a few minutes so she wouldn’t blow up my cell with “are you there yet?” texts, then repeatedly call all three of my brothers to bother me until I called her back.

By the time I hung up, Romero had picked up my Stetson from where I tossed it on my desk.

“So,” he said, examining my hat. “Texas license plates, cowboy hat, accent, big ass truck…”

“Hey, it’s a mid-size.”

“Big ass truck,” he repeated. “I bet you listen to country music and own cowboy boots.”

“I don’t just listen to country, and” I pointed to my Chucks laying on the floor by my bed. “I own other shoes.”

“’Other shoes,’ he says.” We both laughed a little. “You know what, I’m going to call you ‘Tex’ from now on.”

Fucking knew it.

~*~*~*~

Part Two – On Finger-Banging Cheerleaders

I wasn’t completely sure why we were tabling for yet another week during the summer session. But, Kiley thought she could keep the GSA active even though most of our members went home for the summer, and somehow I was roped into this.

“Preston,” she said when I complained. “Fucks given = zero.”

And then she told me to quit crying and get my “swishy ass out there.”

Bitch, my ass does not “swish.”

I honestly doubted we’d get any new members since so few students start here in the summer – anyone who wanted to join would have done so already. I was seriously about to pack up here and lovingly tell that dyke Kiley that she could go fuck herself.

“Oh, cool, there’s a gay-straight alliance here!”

The voice was a soft baritone with a slight Texas drawl. When I looked up, I found its owner to be the mass accumulation of every brotastic dumb jock that made fun of me for being gay and/or a cheerleader in high school.

Tall, broad shouldered, so muscled up that it made his t-shirt and cargo shorts fit snuggly in the most eye-pleasing ways. Overall, an amazing body and the face was just as nice. His sandy blonde hair was cut short on the sides with a longer tousled fringe on top that he kept brushed to one side, under were dark blue eyes, a small mouth with perfectly bowed lips and dimpled cheeks.

His hand was out-stretched and his smile at least seemed genuine. I figured Kiley would kick my ass if I didn’t greet everyone properly, even if he did turn out to be a homophobe, so I might as well talk.

“Name’s Cory,” he told me.

“Preston,” I replied and seemed at a loss, so I shoved a pamphlet into his hand.

“So,” he said after an awkward pause. “When do you guys meet?”

I considered giving him wrong information, but it was printed on the pamphlet anyway. I supposed I could take care of him if he got violent.

“Mondays at 7:00 PM.”

“Will you be there?” he asked warmly.

“I’m the secretary; of course, I’ll be there,” I said.

“Awesome.” His smile stretched across his face. A man could kill with a smile like that. “I’ll see you then.”

“You do realize what the GSA…”

I trailed off as it occurred to me. Was this guy really..?

You can’t be serious.

I looked back at him, his expression, the way he held his body.

“Wait, are you hitting on me?”

~*~*~*~

Preston and I fell through the door and rolled on to the floor.

We fumbled with zippers and buttons, our tongues buried in each other’s mouth, all heavy breathing and roaming hands, while we tried to get back up.

We managed to pull off our shirts before we tripped onto his bed, and he seemed satisfied enough with this state to return to making out with me. I laid half on top of him, my leg pressed between his. He rolled his hips to rub his hard-on against my thigh. I grabbed his leg and guided it around my waist. He panted into my mouth as I rubbed myself against the leg I had trapped under me.

“We should finish stripping,” I told him. “Or I’m going to cum in my pants.”

“Been that long?” His perfect eyebrow arched up.

“Fuck. You have no idea.”

He laughed at that.

I’d like to say that I sealed the deal on Preston the day I met him – a 5’8” classic twink looking cute as fuck in chino shorts, button-up shirt, and bowtie with his short brown hair all styled up in the front. He was pretty, but in an effortlessly masculine way. The way his sex-flush stole up his neck and onto his cheeks just made him hotter. I was definitely attracted to him, but we became more like friends. Since he was the person who introduced me to the group, I naturally gravitated to him, but he was a pretty nice guy and easy to talk to. I never thought I would end up befriending one of those sassy gay types.

The only reason we were here ripping off clothes and humping each other’s leg was because someone gave us a few beers and we had stupidly low alcohol tolerances (For fucking real, how could three cheap beers be enough to get a guy my size buzzed?). He started giggling about wanting to fuck a football player, and I started giggling about wanting to fuck a cheerleader that had a dick. And he was all like “Wait, you’re a football player!” And I was like “Dude, you’re a cheerleader AND you have a dick!”

Then we got bummed because we’re both bottoms.

“We could still blow each other.”

“Shit. I would suck the hell out of your dick.”

And so we dipped out of the party and hurried back to his tiny studio apartment before one of us could regain the ability to really think this through.

He took too long getting the door open, so I pinned him against it and laid one on him. His mouth was hot and tasted like cheap beer, which was actually pretty fucking arousing. Preston still tried to unlock his door and open it while my tongue clashed with his. I was leaning into him with my whole body, so when he did get the door open, we went down.

Back on the bed, he was pushing my shorts and trunks over my hips. I got them to my ankles and had to stop to take off my high tops before I could consider myself stripped. Preston wore flip flops today, which were kicked off the moment we regained our balance, so peeling off his clothes was easier. Pretty soon, we were back to rolling around on the bed, just with significantly less clothing.

“Fuck, your body is incredible,” he said.

“Could say the same thing about yours,” I said.

His hands were all over me, but I wanted my mouth to do my exploring. He was used to picking up and tossing 120 pound girls and doing gymnastics, so his body was fucking tight – pecs, six-pack, Adonis belt, defined arms and legs.

Goddamn.

He waxed off most of his body hair, except for his legs and forearms. The most I could bring myself to do was man-scape my pubic area.

I sucked his neck, salty from the sweaty press of bodies in Kiley’s living room, and kissed a trail down his chest. I drew a hardened nipple into my mouth and lightly bit it, which made him gasp and arch his back. Not content to stay, I licked sweat from the ridges in his abs, dipped my tongue into his belly button, and continued south.

I put my head in his lap and lowered his cock to my mouth to lap the underside of his head. He wrapped his fingers around my dick and lightly stroked it. I gave him a little more attention with my lips and tongue. When he got bolder with his hands, I put him further into my mouth as a reward.

Preston soon intuited my game and repositioned himself so we were both laying on our sides with our heads resting on the other’s thigh. His lips passed over the head of my cock. I rewarded this by putting him as deep as I could get him. He was smaller than me, a little bit longer than the width of my hand, so he easily bottomed out in my mouth.

He moaned loudly around the mouthful he had taken so far, and, as if by some unspoken cue, we started sucking each other off. Our mutual slurping and heavy panting, punctuated by the occasional moan, were the only sounds filling the room.

I lifted his leg, bending it up and wedging it under my arm to get a better angle at his balls. I sucked them into my mouth, one at a time, while he made cute little noises that were muffled by my dick. I pushed his leg a little more, and he extended it and lifted it higher until he was in a full split. I paused to lift myself up on my elbow to appreciate the view, admiring how this move exposed his most vulnerable parts. I rubbed my hands over the insides of his thighs and pert little ass. He liked to tan in the summer, so there was a nice line at his waist and below his ass. He stopped sucking and I caught him watching me with a smug expression.

Preston would later tell me that the split was his signature move.

Not breaking eye contact, I licked my middle and index fingers, getting them as slicked up as I could. He probably knew where I was going with this because he started panting in anticipation before I could start rubbing his puckered hole with my fingers. He paused himself and I felt his fingers on me.

He folded his leg down and wrapped it around my upper body, pulling me in to him. I put his dick back in my mouth and started bobbing on it again as I slowly pushed my middle finger inside.

He whimpered and followed my lead.

I whimpered, too.

When I slowly finger fucked him, he finger fucked me. He added his index finger when I added mine. We found each other’s sensitive spots and built speed at the same time.

Preston was doing his best to make it hard for me to keep up what I was doing. I persevered, his dick pinning down my moans in the back of my throat. At some point, he put his foot on the back of my head (don’t ask me how, but he did) and shoved my face into his groin. In retaliation, I fucked his tight little hole with my fingers, finding his weaknesses and exploiting them – knowing that every bit of punishment I dished out will be paid in kind. We fucked each other’s mouth -- smooth, rolling thrusts at first, but that devolved into wild bucking the closer we got to climax.

He came first, shooting his load deep into my mouth. I sucked it up and enthusiastically swallowed. Not a drop of my cum escaped when it was my turn to nut. I slipped free of him and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me as I caught my breath.

When I left Preston’s a little while later, I texted Keenan.

“Dude, we haven’t started college yet and I’ve already pulled a college cheerleader.”

“It was probably a dude,” he texted back.

“Doesn’t matter, man. Still a cheerleader.”

“Does matter, man. Still a queer.”

“Whatever. You can’t kill my spirit!”