|An Extra Year In The Dorm, Part 9
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.
------------------------------I had expected to be called in to talk to coach the next morning about Brad's night of partying, but I wasn't that lucky. Instead, I was awakened at 8:30 by a call from the athletic director, himself. I was told to be in his office right after my ten o'clock class.
As I sat on my bed, trying to clear my head, I stared at Brad's empty bed. The events of the previous night seemed surreal. I had never been around anyone who pretended to be his own twin brother. Neither had I ever had anyone ask me to remove his clothes unless it was in a "romantic" situation.
Unlike most mornings, I actually had time to grab some breakfast from the dining hall before showering and getting ready for my first class. Getting up a little early has its benefits. In this case those benefits were in the form of about six strips of turkey bacon and four slices of whole wheat toast with too much strawberry jam. Add a plateful of scrambled eggs, and you know how I felt afterwards.
I came out of the athletic director's office feeling a bit guilty for not sticking up for my roommate. I had confirmed the dorm "cop's" report that Brad had in fact come back drunk, although I did report that I thought that Brad had been set off by finding out that I am gay.
We all call the athletic director "Boss," and Boss was surprised, almost dumbfounded, that Brad hadn't know my sexual orientation previously. He told me that he could overlook the infraction if I could guarantee that Brad wouldn't drink again during the academic year. Of course, he would chew him out, but otherwise there would be no disciplinary measure.
"I can't vouch for him, anymore," I had said. The words still haunted me as I walked across campus back to the dorm.
A stomach that was unusually full for this early in the day seemed to serve to nourish and renew the anger that I had felt toward Brad the previous night. I did not appreciate his disrespectful treatment of me. As far as I was concerned, he was on his own. In fact, if I wouldn't feel as if I was bailing on my coach, I would ask to be relieved of my mentoring duties entirely and try to get out of the dorm completely for the rest this year and next.
When I walked into my room, I was startled to see Brad seated at his desk using his computer.
"What are you doing back here so early?" I asked, knowing that he was not supposed to be back until almost noon on Monday.
I had memorized his schedule that well, if for no other reason than to schedule my jack off sessions so that I could be sure that I wouldn't be interrupted.
"My eleven o'clock was cancelled," he said as he swung his chair around to face me.
"Is that true?" I asked, although even as I spoke the words I didn't know why I bothered to care.
"No," he admitted. "I wanted to talk to you before you went to lunch."
"You're in a shit-load of trouble."
I said it to divert his attention from whatever he wanted to say more than I hoped to warn him of his impending doom.
"I figured," he said. "What are they going to do to me?"
"I don't know," I admitted. The Boss didn't give me any clues.
"I have to meet with coach at noon. What can happen? What's the worst?"
"They could take away your scholarship," I said.
I knew it was true, but I was almost certain that they wouldn't go that far for a first offense. I said that in hopes of scaring him. It worked.
"I couldn't afford to stay here if they did that," he said with panic in his voice.
"They probably won't," I admitted, showing a touch of mercy. "They will probably just suspend you for a game or two."
"But the season's over," he pointed out with a hope that I could hardly wait to dash.
"There's always next season," I pointed out. "That is if you're lucky enough to have another season."
"Fuck. I really blew it, didn't I?"
"A lot of guys have done worse," I found myself starting to feel sorry for him, although I was still mad for the way he treated me.
"I'm really sorry for the way I acted."
"Do you mean you or Brick is sorry?" I asked, giving in to my desire to get in as many jabs as possible.
"Yeah, I am especially sorry about that," he said, sounding as if he really meant it.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I asked, knowing what he would answer.
"I wasn't thinking" he said. "I just invented Brick in a moment of panic."
I wanted to kick myself for setting him up for such an easy line.
"You were thinking something," I said. "What was it?"
I surprised even myself that I had managed to recover and take the initiative back without letting him off with his automatic response to my previous question.
He paused, obviously thinking. I was feeling a little sluggish from my breakfast too full of saturated fats. I needed the break, so I let him think undisturbed.
"I was hurt--no, I was mad that my roommate would keep a secret from his best friend--an important secret," he blurted out when he finally broke his silence.
"I wasn't keeping any secrets," I said. "Everybody knows I'm gay."
Only as I was saying those words did I realize that he had referred to himself as my best friend. Sure, he was my roommate, and I had come to think of him as a friend, but was he really my "best" friend?
"I didn't know. Why didn't you at least mention it? Were you afraid I'd ask for some special favor or something?" he asked.
He was right, and he had me on the defensive. It was a decent question, but it didn't keep me from an automatic response in keeping with my left-over anger from the previous night's activities.
"Weren't you asking for a special favor when you asked me to undress you last night?" I asked.
"I was drunk."
"That's a problem, not an excuse," I countered.
"I just wanted to go to sleep," he claimed.
"Is that why you wanted me to take off your underwear? I know that you don't sleep naked. We're roommates, you know. I think I would have noticed." I was ready to declare victory.
"I asked you to take off my underwear?" he seemed dumbfounded.
"Several times," I confirmed.
"I'm sorry. I don't remember that."
"Several times," I repeated.
"Of fuck," he muttered.
"Do you remember now?" I asked.
"No. Fuck, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," I said, but I didn't mean it. "You better get to the coach's office."
Brad looked at the wall clock.
"Yeah," he agreed.
"Good luck," I said.
"Yeah, thanks," he said absentmindedly. "I'm sorry, Jim."
"Good luck," I said again, meaning it this time.
I filled my backpack with books I needed for a couple of afternoon classes and went back to the dining hall for lunch, promising myself that I would just have salad and maybe a tuna sandwich. Hell, maybe I would just scrape the tuna off the sandwich onto my salad and throw away the bread.
Shortly before dinner I came back to my room, and again Brad was seated at the computer apparently working diligently. Of course, he heard me come in.
"Two game suspension," he said without facing me. "There goes any chance for All America recognition."
"You will only be a sophomore next year," I said. "Sophomores don't become All America in soccer. It's mostly seniors."
"You made it this year," he pointed out.
"I'm a junior," I said. "That's possible to do. I'm not the first."
"But I wanted to be the first Sophomore," he said.
"Still, you got off easy," I said, meaning it.
"That's not all."
"What are the other penalties?" I asked feeling just a little guilty knowing that I could have spared him any repercussions at all if I had just been willing to vouch for him.
"Just one," Brad said. "I have to join the Gay-Straight Alliance, so that I'm not such a 'homophobe.' Where did they get that idea?"
"I couldn't tell you," I said, trying to digest this bizarre penance.
"Yeah, I bet you couldn't."
"Really, I don't know," I claimed, confused until I remembered that I had told the Boss that Brad had just learned I was gay and maybe that was the excuse for his drunken spree.
"Right," he said sarcastically. "That's not the worst part."
"What's the worst part?" I asked playing along.
"I have a sponsor at the GSA," he said with a smile. "It's one Reginald O'Brien."
"Okay. Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Only that it is your very queer friend, Antoinne. Quite a French name, Reginald O'Brien, eh?"
"Oh fuck," I muttered.
"When's your first meeting?"
"Tonight at sixty-nine o'clock according to Antoinne," Brad grimaced. "Or what real people call nine."
Brad and I had dinner together barely looking at each other, and then I headed off to the library to have some quiet time while I checked some digital journals for a psychology project that was due in three weeks. In a couple hours he and Antoinne would meet up at the GSA meeting. Why was I thinking about that?
It was after eleven when I walked back into the dorm room for the last time that day. I had made some progress on my psych research, but I kept thinking about the previous night with Brad and wondering if I should have agreed with Boss about me vouching for Brad's future behavior. I knew the Boss didn't really want to impose any penalties and was looking to me to save him from having to do so.
I realized that I had taken the honorable approach. I couldn't really guarantee anything about Brad, and I had been forthright with the athletic director about that. Being honorable, though, could be a bit of a burden. I sometimes grew weary of my ethical code.
As soon as I walked in I saw Brad sitting up in bed, shirtless reading a textbook.
"Hey man," I greeted him.
"I'm a queer," he said.
"Don't use that word, even when you just kidding around with me," I said.
He had hit a nerve.
"I'm not kidding," he said with a straight face. "I'm gay."
"How did you suddenly come to that conclusion?" I asked.
"Antoinne kissed me tonight after the meeting," he explained.
"Antoinne kisses everybody, but that doesn't turn anybody gay," I explained, exaggerating only slightly about the guy's tendency to push boundaries.
"Yeah, but I liked it," he said.
I couldn't tell if he was being serious or if this was some sort of game that he was playing with me.
"He's a good kisser," I said, trying to respond in a way that would play along with his joke or provide a rationale if he was actually being serious.
"Yeah, he is," Brad agreed as I felt something close to jealousy. "Do you know why I liked it?"
"I'll play along," I said.
"Because I pretended it was you, Jim."
"Very funny!" I turned to go to my desk.
"I'm not kidding," Brad insisted.
"What game are you playing tonight?" I showed my irritation.
"No games. I'm not Brick, and I'm not drunk," he said patiently. "I've had a crush on you this whole school year, although I didn't really know it until tonight. Well, maybe last night I knew it. I don't know."
"Okay. So you have a man crush. That's normal. It's even understandable. It doesn't make you gay, though," I pointed out.
"Why haven't you ever shown any interest in me in that way?" he asked.
"I don't come onto every guy that I think is cute and interesting," I said.
"You think I'm cute?" he asked.
"No comment," I deferred.
"I've been wondering for a couple months what it would be like to be with you and, today, that's practically all I've thought about," he proclaimed.
"Being curious doesn't mean anything," I said. "Have you ever been with another guy?"
"I never even thought about it with anyone else."
"Then you're not gay. You're just curious. You'll get over it," I laid out my logical argument.
"There's only one way to find out," he said, as he threw back the covers, revealing his nude body and his very hard cock standing proudly in the air.
"Look, I'm not going to do anything to ruin our friendship," I said, although my instincts wanted to take me into an entirely different direction.
"This is not going to ruin anything. I need to know. I really want to be with you in a sexual way. Please?" Brad's voice rose in pitch as it decreased in volume.
I was out of my clothes before I even bothered to think about it, my own dick pointing at his face as I finished removing my underwear. He licked the head twice before looking up at me grinning.
I got into his bed with him, even though there wasn't really room. I pulled him into a kiss, and he showed me what our mutual acquaintance, Antoinne, had taught him about the art of tongue kissing, which seemed to be quite a bit.
He pivoted on the bed and took me into his mouth. Since his cock was pointing directly into my face, I did the natural thing. I swallowed its considerable length entirely, making him moan.
I only had to caution him about his teeth scraping my rod three times. That's not too bad for a beginner, really. He quickly learned to imitate what I was doing to his penis, as he did the same to mine. I was either a very good teacher, or he was a very fast learner. He seemed like a master cock sucker, despite his lack of experience.
His constant low moans provided a tingling sensation on my cock, which was locked firmly in his mouth. That provided an exquisite bonus to his oral attentions.
His sounds grew louder as his circumference increased along with those magical tinglings on my own dick. I felt myself nearing my end. At this stage, his diameter must have come close to that of Juan, although Brad's length was considerably greater. Isn't it odd how I always compare the feel of all cocks to that of my former lover?
His cum was exceptionally bitter--no doubt the result of the previous night's over-indulgence. Still, the excitement of knowing that Brad's seed was trickling down my throat triggered my own eruption. I felt him swallow greedily, and I remember thinking that maybe he was more than just curious given his thirst for my semen. I lost track of how many shots I fired into him, but he outdid me. He was still shooting long after I had finished.
He swung around in the bed, but he didn't approach me for the traditional kiss. Instead, he rolled away from me, making me fear that he was feeling regrets. However, as he pushed his naked butt back and wriggled it against my deflating cock, my fears eased.
He fell asleep rapidly, and I quickly followed without any regrets--at least, not yet.
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