Wolf Like Me v5 - 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 nine in the damn morning, but it was hot as balls already, and mine were currently stuck to my leg. Fucking awkward trying to discreetly unglue my family jewels from my thigh with my mom hovering all of four feet behind me, going on about how I really didn’t need that many pairs of shoes, while I secured the last bits of crap in the backseat of my truck and shoved even more into the front passenger seat.

I stood back and tapped at my side, running through a mental list of all the things I thought I needed for my new life as a freshman at Virginia Tech.

“Cory, honey, be sure to stop every couple of hours,” she repeated for, I swear, the millionth time. Between that and trying to not give in to the overwhelming urge to shove my hand down the front of my pants and forcefully separate my nutsack and thigh, I was getting desperate to get on the damn road just to get it over with. She scooted around me to rearrange the things I had packed for myself.

“I planned out a bunch of breaks,” I assured her, again--also failing to mention, again, that nearly all of those stops were for every Buc-ees from Schertz/Cibolo to the eastern edge of Texas.

“Still, I don’t like you taking such a long road trip by yourself.”

“It’ll be fine, Momma,” I said as my dad joined us in the driveway.

“Remember, no driving late at night,” he added.

“There’s twenty-four hours in a day,” I argued. “What’s the harm in using nineteen of them to drive?”

“Two days, minimum.” Dad leveled me with that talk-back-and-see-what-happens-boy look, one that only the most idiotic--or at least my third oldest brother, Cameron--dared to test.

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

“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, so I immediately eighty-sixed the “why” game.

I sighed. “Fine.”

“And don’t think I won’t be watching your credit card charges to make sure you check in to a hotel,” Dad said. “Still pissed off at Caiden for the ‘I’ll just sleep in my truck’ bullshit he pulled on that Daytona Beach trip. Sixteen hour drive in one day, for Chrissakes.”

Momma rolled her eyes, and I had a hard time not cracking a smile. Dad sure as hell could be a hardass at times, but we could count on her to make light of it when it was appropriate (and sometimes when it wasn’t).

“You all packed up?” Momma asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then she started tearing up. God. Fucking. Dammit.

I gathered her up in a hug, despite sweating buckets though my own t-shirt, and avoided looking over at Dad, who I just knew would play the ‘look what you did to your mother’ card if it suited his purposes. While Momma didn’t like my moving halfway across the country because she wouldn’t get to see me for a while, Dad was pissed that I wouldn’t be playing college football in Texas like my older brothers.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said, wrapping her arms around me and sniffling into my shirt.

“I know, Momma.”

“I won’t get to see my baby for half a year.”

“I promise to call every week.”

“The other three said the same thing, but at least they had the decency to stay in-state,” my dad muttered, and Momma unwound one arm to blindly stab her finger in Dad’s direction.

“Connor Card Sr, don’t you dare ruin my moment,” she admonished before giggling and stepping back. “Thank God for waterproof mascara.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Now, give me a goodbye kiss, so you can get on the road. I can’t keep you here forever.”

I didn’t realize until how sad I’d be to hug and kiss my momma this last time, that I would probably miss her just as much as she missed me. But, hug and kiss I did, rubber-cemented nutsack notwithstanding, and said my farewells to Dad before I climbed into my truck. I turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of our driveway, waving to my parents before I drove away.

My friends thought I was crazy to move so far away; we’d lived in this small Texas town for most of our lives, only venturing out to San Antonio or Austin when we could get away with it. I’d have no friends or family in a college town that was significantly larger than our community.

And there were some upsides to being a big fish in a little pond. Everybody knew everybody. If you were Big Man on Campus, you were Big Man Everywhere Else. But then again, everybody knew everybody’s business. Nobody really had secrets, and I was surprised I’d been able to get away with keeping mine as long as I had. I was ready to be a little fish.

Not that I had ever been little. I’d always been big for my age, but was now just shy of six feet and weighed close to two hundred pounds, mostly muscle. This being Texas, I naturally ended up playing football, just like my three older brothers, not to mention my dad and my uncles on both sides. Now that I thought about it, I did look like a walking Texas stereotype. Country music just happened to be playing on the radio (although it was one of twenty songs out of over two thousand 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 Chuck Taylors).

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”.

Although being bisexual didn’t exactly fit in with the country boy stereotype. Which was why I really wanted to get out of this town, and why I jumped at VT’s full ride. I’d had enough with living in the closet because I was too afraid of what people would say about Connor/Caiden/Cameron’s baby brother who sucked dick and thought he could play football. Like I said, little fish. I could come out, get my ass pounded, and no one would even notice or care. And maybe this time I wouldn’t end up dating a closeted teammate who also had a girlfriend to keep up appearances. I’d 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 was sure I could bring them around and they wouldn’t care. Momma loved me without question, and Dad did too, even if he was sometimes harsh. I even thought about telling my brothers. Cameron kinda caught me in the tool shed with my hands down the pants of a friend (not the aforementioned closeted teammate) back in middle school, and he’d been okay with it. Maybe Connor and Caiden would be cool, too.

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

Before I left my home 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 cherish every Buc-ees stop on my trek 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.

While wolfing down some kolaches at my last Buc-ees stop, I decided to get a little crazy. I logged into Facebook from my phone and changed my orientation to “bisexual”. I fully expected a shitstorm, but my phone never even hinted at blowing up, and nobody had commented on my status change by the time I logged in at the hotel.

After I checked in with my parents, I called my best friend Keenan (who was 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.”

“Not for your lack of trying.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“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 realized that it would be too late to check into my dorm by the time I would have gotten in. I figured that I might as well take it easy--it wasn’t like I was the one footing the hotel bill. I ended up in Blacksburg on Saturday afternoon, right before the dorm admin closed shop. Just in time to get my keys.

The receptionist glanced up from whatever she had been doing on her phone. “Can I help?”

“Yeah. I’m Cory Card. I’m checking in.”

She asked for my driver’s license and began tapping away at her keyboard. “Well, aren’t you lucky?”

“Huh?”

“We usually put you boys in one of the freshmen dorms,” she said. “But, what with your orientation, we had to make a special arrangement for you.”

“What orientation?”

“Your,” she lowered her voice, “sexual orientation. You indicated that you were bisexual on your housing survey.”

I hadn’t forgotten that I’d told the recruiters that I swung both ways, despite not being out at home. I was actually quite proud of myself for that. However, forgetting that I also told housing the same thing was something I could only attribute to the paperwork overload.

“One of the two-room suites has an opening still. Usually, those rooms are assigned by lottery, but since the other three occupants indicated that they are accepting of LGBT peers, we felt it would be the best fit,” she said. “You’ll share a room with,” she looked at the screen, “Romero Mackey. Giovanni Carter and Albert Parker have the second room. All three will be sophomores in the fall, but have been in the suite since last August. The four of you will share a common area. Not too bad, eh?”

“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.”

“Must’ve smelled awful if you weren’t the only one who played ball.”

“Nah, Momma would’ve kicked our asses if we didn’t keep our rooms clean,” I said, shrugging. “She never played around when it came to chores.”

“I suppose it’s necessary if you’re raising four boys,” she said as she sorted through a drawer of hanging file folders, pulling out a pocket folder with my name on it and began a whirlwind tour of the contents. “Here’s some information about valet trash, dorm rules and safety guidelines, and important numbers--campus security and the like. You’ll be expected to go over this information yourself, but there will be a dorm orientation for all you boys on Monday--that’s this paper right here.”

She waved a neon green paper at me, and I nodded dumbly.

“My, if I had a dime for every time I saw that face.” She pulled out a brightly-colored map and unfolded it, marking it with her pen. “This is where we are, and your dorm is here. The closest parking lot is over here.” Circle, circle, circle, and then a line along some roads. “A handful of the campus roads are one-way, and many in this area over here are closed to vehicles. This is the best way to get there by car. I see you bought a parking pass--make sure that’s stuck to your windshield before you walk away from your car, or you will be ticketed. The parking pass ain’t cheap, but neither are those tickets.” She took out a small manilla envelope and emptied it into her palm. “These are your keys. You lose ‘em, you pay for ‘em.” She picked up the larger key. “This opens yours and Romero’s room, as well as the suite. The other is for your closet. Questions?”

I soon learned that “parking pass” didn’t mean that you got a spot to park, just that you got the right to fight for a spot to park. I managed to find a space two blocks from the dorms, nowhere near the one the lady had marked for me, and I was glad my mom had talked me out of taking more stuff. 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 unlocked the door to the suite and took a tentative step inside. 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 plain chairs. An open door, leading to what I assumed was the shared bathroom, was on the other side.

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 these guys on the way over, instead of just walking in on them. Figured someone had to have told them I was coming this weekend. I opened the door and peeked in. The guy lying on one bed 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. “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 college porn I’ve seen--ya know, two roommates just chilling when BAM! GAY SEX!

He looked at me strangely then, and I realized he was 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 thought for a moment. “But, 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.”

He followed me out to the truck, chattering the whole way. “Al’s practicing with his band, and Gio’s over there drooling over Hot Bass Girl, ya know the hot girl that plays with Al. Otherwise I’d call them over to help. We thought you were getting in tomorrow, or else they’d be here too.”

“No worries.”

“I keep telling him, Gio I mean, that he needs to shoot his damn shot, quit being such a pussy. I mean, dude’s been going on about her for months. Al gets all kinds of girls, and I got my girl.”

Damn, no BAM! GAY SEX!

“It’s about damn time he gets some, ya know?”

“I guess so,” I said with a laugh as we made it back to my truck. He quirked an eyebrow when I opened the passenger side door, lifted out my Stetson and plopped it on my head for lack of a better place to put it.

“Damn, son, that accent wasn’t just for show.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“And what’s up with this truck?”

“The suspension lift kit and tires Dad put on it when it was still his aren’t a lot by most standards, but I guess it’s enough to make a difference. My mom’s older brother says it’s because Dad has a Napoleon Complex since all four of us boys are taller and bigger than him.” Romero snorted a laugh and started loading up for the first of two trips we’d eventually need to get everything in.

Once we were done, Romero picked up his phone, probably to call back whoever he was talking to earlier, and began chatting about random shit, while I made my bed up and flopped onto it. I knew 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 had 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 on a lift kit with huge tires,” he insisted. “I bet you listen to country music.”

“I don’t just listen to country.”

“And own cowboy boots.”

I pointed to the bright green high top Chucks lying on the floor by my bed. “I own other shoes.”

“’Other shoes,’ he says.” Which made us both giggle 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 equals zero.”

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

Bitch, my ass does not “swish”. Muscle twinks do not “swish”. Not even if they were also cheerleaders.

I honestly doubted we’d get any new members since so few students start here in the summer, and 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 snugly 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. Underneath were dark blue eyes, a small mouth with perfectly bowed lips, and dimpled cheeks.

“Name’s Cory,” he told me.

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 they turned out to be a homophobe, so I might as well talk.

“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 seven 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.

“Are you hitting on me?”

~*~*~*~

Preston and I fell through the door and rolled onto the floor.

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

“Imma suck your brains out through the end of your dick,” I said, popping off a few buttons in my attempts to get him out of his shirt.

“I’m going to turn your balls inside out.” He fisted his fingers in my hair and roughly pulled my mouth back down to his.

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 lay 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 come 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 five-foot-eight 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 was stealing 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 at a party, 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, not that I had much in the way of body hair to begin with. But I liked the effect on him.

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 the sweat from the ridges in his abs, dipped my tongue into his belly button.

I knelt on the bed next to him and bent down to pull his cock to my mouth to tongue the 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 us so we were both lying 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 average, so I got a pretty decent mouthful of him.

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 asscheeks. 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 would be paid in kind. We fucked each other’s mouths--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. I’m living the fucking dream and you can’t kill my spirit!