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An Extra Year In The Dorm, Part 8
by Greg Scott


All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.


The rest of the day was unusually normal.  What the hell does that mean, you ask?  Well, it was normal in all ways.  Both Brad and I followed our normal routines for a Sunday, once he finally woke up.  We got together with some friends for a little touch football, had lunch together, talked about meaningless stuff and spent the smallest amount of time possible studying or doing homework, saving the brunt of the work for night.

But that's not the way things should have gone.  That morning, I had told Brad that I am gay, something that I had assumed that he must have known already.  He had heard something from one guy, but he discounted it without checking further.  All he would have had to have done was to check with practically anyone on campus.  I had never hidden my sexuality on this campus.  It was like he didn't really want to know.  That worried me.  I honestly didn't know how to deal with purposeful ignorance.

I'm curious about almost everything.  Every one of my friends is curious.  If there is something that interests us, we check it out.  If Brad heard from only one guy that I am gay, why didn't he at least ask one other person if it was true?  Wouldn't you?

The only thing out of the ordinary is that he seemed to be trying to be especially ordinary.  He woke up again when I came back from the showers.  I had a towel wrapped around my mid-section, just like I always do.

He said, "Good morning, again, Jim."

Nothing odd about that.  Right?  Right.

The thing is, his eyes never left my eyes, even when I dropped my towel to step into my underwear.  Usually, his eyes waver very rapidly to check out what the towel was hiding--a normal thing for a guy to do.  Not Brad; not that day.

While we were out in the quad playing football with our friends, he flexed a bit when some girls walked by, but he did it reflexively, just as he normally does.  

The only thing that was truly out of the ordinary happened after dinner, when he told me he was going to the library with some basketball players.  That was odd for two reasons.  First, he never went to the library unless I pressured him to look for sources beyond the Internet for a paper that he needed to write.  Second, I had never known him to hang out with basketball players.

Indeed, from then on, there was nothing normal about this otherwise typical Sunday.

Brad came back to the athlete's dorm about two hours later acting unlike I had ever seen him.  The basketball jocks had walked him to the door, then left without saying anything except, "He's your worry, now."

He was wobbly as he walked to his bed.  He flopped down on it from a fully standing position.  I thought the frame might give out, but it held true to its steel construction.

"So you're queer, huh?" he asked with his eyes only partly open.

"Yeah.  We talked about that this morning," I said.

"No we didn't."

"Yes we did, Brad," I said hoping that he would remember.

"I'm not Brad," he said.  "I'm his twin brother, Brick."

"Of course you are," I played along.

"Can you help me get my clothes off?  I want to go to sleep."

"Can't you do it?" I asked.

"No.  I'm completely out of it," he replied.

I knew that Brad would be written up by the dorm cop.  He wasn't really a cop of course, but he was a paid member of the athletic staff that sat at the dorm's desk all day long.  No, it wasn't the same guy all day.  Who it was actually changed every four hours, but whoever was on duty had one primary responsibility that they always fulfilled.  They had to report anyone who violated any of the athletic department rules.  Drinking or using other drugs under age was foremost among those rules.  I knew that I hoped they would report Brad, because otherwise I would have to fulfill my honor policy guidelines and report him myself.

Either way I would be asked to explain everything to our coach the next day.  Brad was my responsibility.  I had decided to give him a limited amount of freedom, and I would pay a price.

Of course, my price would be small to anyone looking in from the outside.  I wouldn't actually face any penalties.  The coach would tell me to keep a closer eye on him.  Still, I had made a commitment to help this guy adjust to college life, and I had failed.  He had broken the cardinal rule,  and I should have stopped him.

I didn't move.

"Hey, dude, get me out of these clothes.  You should have enough practice, right?" Brad restated his request but added what he thought must have been a zinger.

"It won't hurt you to sleep in your clothes," I said hopefully.

"I can't sleep in my clothes.  Besides, I might puke on them," he pressed the point.

"They can always be washed," I stated what seemed obvious.  I really wanted to get back to my English Literature paper.

"C'mon man, do a dude a favor," he pleaded.

"You're going to be in a shitload of trouble, tomorrow," I stated reality.

"Hey, that's Brad not Brick," he said, continuing his ruse.  

"Knock it off.  I know you don't have a twin."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't you have mentioned him before?" I asked seeming completely logical.

"I've never met you.  How could I mention it?" asked the guy in the bed, whom I knew to be Brad.

"Knock it off," I insisted.

"Only when you knock off these clothes, Jim," he said.

"What the fuck," I said half to myself and half to him.

I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing that dark, small but muscular chest that I had glimpsed so many times the past few months.  His nipples looked a little larger than I had remembered, but I attributed that to having an opportunity to look at them more directly and longer than I had ever really allowed myself.

He was dead weight as I struggled to get his arms out of the long sleeves.  I eventually needed to unbutton the cuffs to be able to accomplish my task.

I moved to his feet, untying first one shoe and then the other.  I spread them apart at the tongue, making the task of removing them from his feet comparatively effortless.  A slight foot odor reached my nostrils, and I felt myself becoming erotically charged.  I silently cursed myself for the reaction.

In my mind, there are few things that are as much of a turnoff as a guy who is under the influence of whatever it was that had Brad in its grip.  I didn't have enough experience with alcohol to recognize the particular odor coming with his every exhale.  Still, his mental state did nothing to detract from his physical appeal, which even in this condition reminded me of my former lover, Juan.

When I had removed his socks, I said, "There you go."

I was hoping that his mind was blurry enough that he would think that I had fulfilled his request, even though I knew that I hadn't.  Unfortunately for me, it didn't fool him for a second.

"Pants," he said breathlessly, as if uttering a single syllable was an exhausting undertaking.

I saw no point in arguing with him.

I loosened his belt buckle, and laid it out of my way.  I went to work on the now visible button.  After what seemed like a long time, I realized that the apparent button was actually a snap.  Once that relevant fact was clear to me, I disengaged it with ease.

I started to ease down the zipper.  I flashed momentarily on a memory of doing the same to Juan, before his mother had discovered our secret, during a time when everything seemed carefree, and I thought that we could go on as we had been for the rest of our lives.

Although removing Brad's shirt had been a major ordeal, as I began to pull his pants down, he raised his hips so that they would slip off with ease.  I pulled them down to his ankles, baring his shapely legs covered with downy hair, very different from Juan's manly dark hair that was nearly stiff as an old man's beard.

I moved toward his feet again so that I could grasp the cuffs of his trousers to finish pulling them completely off.  My hand brushed his right foot in the process, and I had an urge to kiss his feet or at least massage them.  Of course, I kept my mind on my mission, and followed my more pristine plan instead, if pulling off another guy's pants can ever be described as pristine.  The sweat on his feet served as only a slight impediment to the pants as they slid completely off my roommate.

I pulled the bedspread from my own bed to cover his body, pulling it down along the sides while being careful not to make contact with his skin as I did.

"No," he said clearly.

"What, now?" I asked, showing my frustration.

"I can't sleep in my underwear; never could."

"Well, you're going to tonight," I insisted.

"C'mon Jim boy.  It' not like you've never seen a guy's dick before."

I ignored him.

"Right, Jimmy.  You've seen lots of them, haven't you?"

"Go to sleep," I said.

"I can't," he replied.  "Not with my underwear constraining me."

"Fuck you," I said.

"Now don't get nasty.  Just help me out, here," he pleaded.

I'm sure that deep down I actually wanted to finish the job of getting him completely naked.  I wanted to pull his underwear off, throw it to the side and fuck him until he screamed out in either pain or ecstasy.

Instead, I grabbed my towel from the hook on the back of my closet door.  I needed something to cover the growing rigid lump in my pants as I walked down the hall to the corridor's bathroom.

"What are you doing, Jim?  Brad's not going to be happy when he comes back and discovers that you didn't treat his twin with your usual hospitality."

"Fuck you," I repeated.

As I left the room, I looked over my shoulder at the innocent face that belonged to my roommate who I thought was my friend.  What the hell had changed so quickly?

I walked down the hall.  I took the farthest stall from the door in the empty room.  I dropped my pants and took a seat.  I leaned back, thought of the barely conscious Brad pretending to be his twin Brick laying almost naked in my room.  I gripped my familiar cock with a hand moistened with my saliva, and I began to stroke at a furious pace, consistent with my mood and my level of arousal.  

I stroked as if I were possessed.  I tried to keep the images in my mind confined to Juan, but instead I found myself thinking of my drunken roommate.  I saw his chest with ample nipples and more than ample pecs.  I could almost smell that intoxicating slight odor that met my nostrils when I uncovered his feet.  In my mind, I could even feel the downy covering on his legs, even though I had never touched them in reality.  Despite my determination and my anger, I wanted him.  I wanted to lick his entire body and plant my juices deep inside him.

When I had finished, my shirt was covered with my cum, but I didn't care.  The only thing I cared about was the way that Brad had manipulated me and still managed to turn me on.  I needed Juan.  I needed his empathy.  I needed his touch.  I needed his love, again, but he was nearly two thousand miles away, protected by his extended family from the kind of guy that I represent.

And then I got mad at myself for my self-pity.  I should have stayed in the room and fucked that little asshole's brains out.         

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