Wolf Like Me - 3. Things That Don't Interest Straight Guys

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, I suddenly found myself with a lot to keep me busy.

Football conditioning and practice took up the better part of my morning. I was still kicking it with the GSA (which, by the way, was a really strange name since almost 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 the class in the movie Kinsey. I said “cool,” then looked it up on Netflix the moment he was out of the room so I’d 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. I was currently a little peeved with Romero, but somehow he wrangled me into driving him and our suitemates, Gio and Al, to get pizza.

“It’s on the other side of town,” he said. “But, man, it is the best pizza you’ll ever have.”

Thing was, they only took cash and you had to get there early if you wanted deep dish. 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 before they all left home. 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.

Currently, the guys were being treated to “Colt 45” by Afroman. Before that was “Bitches” by Mindless Self Indulgence and “Go Cart Racing (Accidentally Masturbating)” by Garfunkle and Oates.

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 G&O singing “Fuck me in the ass, ‘cause I love Jesus”).

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. I didn’t know if they realized the song was as much about pegging as it was everything else.

Al was the first one to talk.

“Fuck, Tex.” He also picked up that stupid fucking nickname. God, I missed Preston calling me “Bearbait.” “Where did you find all this shit?”

“Around.”

“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, man, mother fucker gets more play from girls than you both combined.” The way Romero said it, 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 still 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?”

“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.”

“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?” Some girls back home got me hooked on yaoi and shonen-ai.

“Yeah, that’s the one. It was pretty funny actually.”

“’Fu-Fuuta, it’s bad to force people’” Al mimicked.

“Wait, you read it?” I thought my brain had just turned inside out.

“I just pretended that Akiyoshi and Hisashi were chicks,” Gio said. And my brain 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…”

“Housing figured out that they get fewer requests to change room assignments if they screen applicants first.”

“There’s a little box next to the one for ‘straight’ that says ‘not a raging homophobe.’ We checked both,” said Gio.

“Hm, fair enough.”

“Now,” Al said over Awkwafina rapping about her epic queef game. “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’s not the only guy on the team that wore them, 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. It was usually the ones that did not have feet in them. What was 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 kinder). His textbook and notebook were balanced on either knee as he carefully jotted down notes and highlights in his book. 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 had 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 arm chair 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, Card. You’re one of those brainy types. My roommate would fucking love you.”

He looked up from his notes and grinned.

“Dude, call me Cory. 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 never got to thank you,” he said earnestly.

“Thank me for what?”

“Inviting me to go clubbing. You didn’t have to, but you really helped me fit in.”

God, that. I only did that because we needed another driver that we knew wouldn’t drink. Then, I started acting like an asshole. And this kid thanks me? I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but he looked at his watch and I was spared.

“Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late.” He shoved his feet back into his shoes and stuck his books back into his pack.

“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 and headed 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.

It took me a while to realize that I was slowly losing my head over a straight guy.

~*~*~*~

Part Two - Along Comes Indie

Laurel and Mike had been on my ass for most of the year since Jameson dumped me. It was getting fucking old.

“You just need to get your dick wet,” Mike said from the driver’s seat.

“Indie, the easiest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” This was from the wise and most sage Laurel riding shotgun.

My best friends tricked me into the car by telling me that we were going to screen a documentary on pornography censorship policies in China. They were kind of an odd couple, a short Vietnamese guy and a Polish amazon, but they couldn’t care less what others thought of them.

“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.”

“And watching a bunch of underage kids get drunk and make out is supposed to be better.”

“Yes,” Mike said flatly. “Yes, it is.”

I was almost 23 in a town where you were too old at 21. 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 knocked up, but it left me with more time to devote to my graduate work.

“Honey, petulance isn’t a good look for toddlers. It hardly looks any better on a 6-foot-6 grown man.”

I resisted telling her that I was not being petulant, mostly because it sounded petulant.

We pulled up to Kiley’s an hour after the party was set to start. Mike and Laurel brought some cheap beers and rum to contribute, but everyone looked pretty deep in their cups already. I mixed myself a drink from what was available and 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. Straight girls performing for male gaze by pretending to be bi-sexual was a common 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 the anthro course I was helping my advisor with.

Barely legal and barely a freshman, 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.

He still aced every test and his essays were interesting. Which was more than I could say for the rest of the students in that section.

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 and attended the junior college nearby) 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?”

The Hispanic girl’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.”

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 she got more out this than kissing either guy.

But, there was a feel to Cory and Preston’s kissing that I didn’t sense in the women. For the latter, this was a beginning, while the former 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 in to 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, 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 regarding hard-ons, before they moved on to other diversions.

And as soon as they thought no one was paying attention, the girls slipped off to find a room.

I was too busy noticing the women that I didn’t notice the person trying to get by me until his body brushed against mine. I looked down as Cory looked up, the both of us slightly pressed together by the door frame. We’re both big enough, and the frame small enough, that I could tell he was still erect.

“Hi, Indie.”

“HI, Cory.”

“What brings you here?”

“Well-meaning friends. You?”

“Likeminded people and alcohol.” He looked at my hand. “Oh, what are you drinking? Lemme try.”

And he took my drink from me and gulped half of it down. I was too dumbfounded to respond. He begged me to mix one for him. When I mentioned his age, he insisted that he’d be 19 in November, as if it actually made a difference.

I gave up and walked off.

~*~*~*~

Once again, someone gave me alcohol when they shouldn’t have.

Drinking wasn’t very taboo in my family and if I really wanted a drink with dinner, they’d let me have it. I was even allowed a beer and some champagne last New Year’s. As a result, I didn’t see the big deal in drinking at parties and would end up spending the whole night nursing one cup.

So, you could blame my parents for me not knowing that not only did I have a low tolerance, I also got extremely horny when I was wasted.

Before we went to Kiley’s end-of-term party, I pre-gamed at lez-Delia’s with Preston, Marina, and bi-Delia (who may or may not have rode my dick). I rolled up to the party on a two-drink buzz and it went downhill from there.

I was already pretty drunk by the time Preston and I decided to play matchmaker for Marina and lez-Delia. Neither had shown an interest in the other, but I shipped them a little and Preston was along for the ride because he thought it would be funny.

I told the girls that I was conducting an experiment for my anthropology course and needed their assistance.

“Okay, so to make this as scientific as possible,” I said, not sure if all the words were coming out right, “You have to really try to arouse the other person, even if they aren’t in your strike zone.”

Everyone agreed to the research conditions and we ran through the trial pairings, pausing after each one to compare field notes.

I kissed lez-Delia first. From a technical standpoint, she was a pro, but I strangely didn’t feel anything. Marina wasn’t as good as lez-D, but she did more to make me hot, and I got a semi-hard-on that lez-D promptly felt up. We saved the same-sex pairing for last, because we were trying to hook the girls up. I knew I was supposed to be playing Cupid, but my dick really responded to Preston. Part of it was the alcohol, but I still remembered what that mouth could do.

And that split. Oh my fucking God, that split.

I was kinda lost in musings of fit and flexible cheerleaders with cute dicks for a little while, and when I finally remembered where I was, Preston was talking with friends and the girls were slipping off to find an empty room.

And that was when I noticed Indie.

Of course, it was hard to not notice Indie. 6’6”, 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. I knew him from the sexuality course I was taking this term. He was the aforementioned hot TA about which I spent an improper amount of time having very improper thoughts.

Right now, he was holding up the door frame wearing a plain red t-shirt, dark grey Dickies shorts, and canvas Vans. Indie drank from a plastic cup, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but Kiley’s.

There was only one word my alcohol-addled mind could think at this time: WANT. I decided this was the perfect time to get another maintenance drink.

Indie’s attention was focused somewhere else when I walked up, so I squeezed into the doorway with him, instead of asking him to move. I innocently looked up as he looked down. Girls dug it when I acted confident and aggressive, but I’d since learned that guys totally went for my little naif routine. It was astounding the amount of action I could get from guys just playing sweet and innocent.

His deep bass voice vibrated through me as we exchanged small talk and I used his drink as an excuse to flirt. I took it and almost drained the cup before handing it back to him. He gave me a stunned look and walked off.

Mark set.

~*~*~*~

I ran into Cory a few more times throughout the house. He was getting another drink from the kitchen, doing shots in the dining room, chatting with friends on the patio out back. No matter where I am, or what I’m doing, the kid is somewhere nearby. Not following me, per se, just there in my general vicinity. I’d caught myself watching him dance in the living room. No drunken dancefloor dry-hump, actual dancing. It was hard to not watch. I wondered if he could still move that smoothly on the field.

I 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. 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.

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 suddenly spout informed and articulate assertions, but I’ve 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 sound and tried to finish my drink before he tried to take 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 best 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 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 3 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 on to 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 undergrad on him, Cory would be the type of guy I’d be chasing after. Always had a weak spot for nerd jocks, which was everything Jameson wasn’t.

“So, you waste that much time thinking about your TA? And here I thought all you did was make crude illustrations.” 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. “What is a waste is someone as hot as you spending a year and a half on the shelf.”

“Hot?”

“Very hot.”

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.

~*~*~*~

Touching Indie was a gamble, but it paid off when he bit back a moan. He lifted his head and looked at me. I gave him my best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth-(but-you-will) look.

Indie sat up, looked like he was about to say something, paused seeming to think it over, opened his mouth again to speak, then stopped himself.

Finally, he said “fuck it” and jumped me. His tongue invaded my mouth, practiced enough in kissing that the rhythms came naturally to him, even without any action in the last year and a half. I thought the bar in his tongue and the two hoops on either side of his bottom lip were for show, but they added an extra sensation to his kiss. My cock got painfully hard thinking about how the piercings would feel on my head and shaft.

I stroked my hands down his body, then slipped under the hem of his shirt to trace the contours of his stomach and ribs. He broke the kiss to whip of his t-shirt and I pulled off mine. It barely registered through the thick fog of alcohol and lust that he had piercings below the neck as well. Indie half knelt on the couch and pushed me back against the armrest, his mouth hungrily taking mine again.

Unable to wait, I started unbuttoning his fly and reaching in after his cock. My fingers wrapped around his shaft and his breath hitched. Emboldened, I stroked his full length. It felt longer than it did when I was rubbing him through his shorts. Like, substantially longer.

I carefully pulled him out. Fuck. Over nine inches and fucking thick. My dick jumped in anticipation.

“You could wreck someone with this,” I giggled nervously.

“Not someone.” He nibbles a line across my jaw to my earlobe. “You.”

His bass voice sent a rumbling wave of shivers from head to toe. Indie rolled one of my nipples between his finger and thumb before sending his hand lower to rub my dick through my cargo shorts. I could already feel precum soaking the front of my trunks.

He sucked on my neck, gradually making his way down. His tongue lapped at my nipple, hardening it. He held it between his teeth, tugging slightly, then flicked it rapidly with his tongue. He repeated this on my other nipple, even though I was already panting hard and on the verge of begging him to wreck my ass now.

“I wonder if my roommate realizes,” he said, his tongue working down my stomach, his hand tugging open my shorts, “that he isn’t the only gay guy on the team.”

His mouth worked over the lower part of my belly and he grabbed the waistband of my trunks between his teeth.

“But, I’m not gay.”

“What’s that?” he asked around a mouthful of my underwear, teeth drawing the band down, exposing my dick.

“I’m bi, not gay.”

Indie froze.

The band slipped out of his mouth and snapped against my exposed head. I moaned, the sharp sting registering as both pain and pleasure, and my back arched.

~*~*~*~

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 his 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, and waited until I get a few blocks away to call a taxi. I didn’t even tell Laurel or Mike what happened.

I fucking flipped. I lost my shit because the guy said he’s bi.

How the fuck was I supposed to fucking explain that?

~*~*~*~