Author’s Note - Another chapter in.  Next chapter will have some erotic content, but we’re still a little ways away from the Efrain and Cory throw down.

I love getting feedback from you guys.  I’ve already adapted some things in the text to make it a little clearer on which narrative point of view I’m using.  I should probably also clarify here - the football players all use each other’s last names (I haven’t even bothered to give most of them first names because they’ll never get used).  Thus Cory and Efrain are known as Card and Garza respectively.  I’ll add this note to chapters featuring the team to prevent confusion.

Quick question - The second vignette I wrote for Efrain and Cory involves a character that you’ll meet in chapter 6 and happens some 6 months in the future.  However, after going back and really developing all three men, and their plots, it doesn’t fit.  Plus the third character threw a serious bitch fit about E and C using him like a plaything.  But, it’s still fucking hot, even if it doesn’t fit the storyline and I can’t bring myself to 86 it.  I thought about putting it out there as a doujinshi.  So, would y’all be interested in a non-canon one-off?  (Fuck, that question wasn’t quick at all.  I know tops who couldn’t last that long.)

Thanks for reading!  Tell me what you think dayne.mora@gmail.com.  And make it rain for Nifty for hosting me and fucktons of other erotic writers - http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ~ Dayne

Chapter 5 – 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 find myself with a lot to keep me busy.

Football conditioning and practice take up the better part of my morning.  I’m still kicking it with the GSA (which, by the way, is a really strange name since almost no straight people show up).  I go out with Preston every other week for Latin Night and get 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’s now a full week into the mini-mester and the class has yet to deliver on this promise.  Hot as fuck TA with piercings, yes.  Anal wreckage, no.  I’m currently a little peeved with Romero, but somehow he wrangles me into driving him and our suitemates, Gio and Al, to get pizza.

“It’s on the other side of town,” he says.  “But, man, it is the best pizza you’ll ever have.”  Thing is, they only take cash and you have to get there early if you want deep dish.  I resolve 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 have a bunch of music I ripped off my brothers’ CDs before they all left home.  However, I pass all of this up for a playlist of my most offensively raunchy music, things I would never play if my mom were around to hear.

Currently, the guys are 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 have enough relatively normal songs in between, including some Christian Contemporary (what? I like the rhythms and if you aren’t paying attention too closely it sounds more like an erotic love song), that I can act like I’m 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 are they not offended, they are doubled over laughing and asking me to play another.  I forward to “Do You Take It?” by The Wet Spots.  They look a little perplexed at first, but start rolling soon enough.

Al is the first one to talk.  “Fuck, Tex.”  He also picked up that stupid fucking nickname.  God, I miss Preston calling me “Bearbait.”  “Where did you find all this shit?”

“Around.”

“I expected a playlist of nothing but musicals and Cher.”

“Because…” I do actually have some non-Avenue Q musicals and old Sonny and Cher era songs.

“Because you’re gay,” says Gio, as if the answer is that obvious.

“Dude, he swings both ways,” Al corrects.

“Yeah, man, mother fucker gets more play from girls than you both combined.”  The way Romero says it, it’s like he’s proud that while the guy sharing his dorm room does suck cock, he’s still a lady killer.  Although he is seriously overstating my pimp game, I’m still getting the verbal equivalent of a slow clap.  And the way they all talk, it’s 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 answers.

“Yeah, no straight guy goes to GSA,” adds Romero.

“It was on your Facebook profile, dude.”

“Oh, yeah.”  I left it up to see if anyone back home would pick up on it.  Not even the people who know I also like guys have noticed the edit.

“Then there was the time you left your tablet out,” Romero says.  “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 mimics.

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

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

“The middle brother is a fucking trip.”  I’m sure the three of them wouldn’t be as amused by the Tiger and Bunny doujinshi that I’ve been reading lately.  There’s no way you can pretend Tiger is female (Bunny x Tiger is my OTP!).

“So, I go for guys and y’all are okay with this?” I ask to be sure.

“Remember that optional questionnaire you did with the housing application?” Al says and I nod.  “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,” says Gio.

“Hm, fair enough.”

“Now,” Al says over Awkwafina rapping about her epic queef game.  “Explain the beaver thing.”

***

The first thing I notice when I get up to the study room is Card’s blue low-top Chucks.  He’s not the only guy on the team that wears them, but somehow I know the ones sitting on the floor are his.  I’ve seen him wearing at least five different versions, but I can instantly recognize the ones that belong to him.  It’s usually the ones that do not have feet in them.  What is with this kid and not being able to keep his shoes on?

He’s sitting 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 are balanced on either knee as he carefully jots down notes and highlights in his book.  He gets this look on his face, like he suddenly has an idea, puts the highlighter between his teeth and starts looking up something on his phone.

I notice then why his face looks different today.  Since when has he worn glasses?  The narrow black frames look good on his face, adding a touch of seriousness I’m not used to seeing in him.

It seems that he found what he was looking for, makes note of it, and goes back to his textbook.  The highlighter is still in his mouth.  He doesn’t even look up when I flop down in the arm chair next to him.

“What are you so engrossed in?”

“Social functions of non-reproductive intercourse in hominid species.”  He at least spits out the highlighter before attempting that mouthful.

“Seriously?”

“Most of it tends to be about bonobos and chimpanzees,” he says absently.  “And humans of course.  But, I’ve been finding some interesting stuff on other primates.”

“You’re shitting me.”  He hands me his notebook, which is full of idle drawings with research notes scattered throughout.  Yeah, it’s all about chimps fucking.

“Fuck, you’re one of those brainy types.  My roommate would fucking love you, Card.”

He looks up from his notes and grins.  “Dude, call me Cory.  Efrain, right?”  The way he says it, ef-RYE-een.  I think it’s the first time anyone has gotten my name right on the first try.  The guys have known me for a year now, and none of them can say it.  He even rolls the r.  “I never got to thank you,” he says, 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’m not quite sure how to respond, but he looks at his watch and I’m spared.

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

“Primate mating habits are pretty distracting.”

“They are, aren’t they?”  I’m not sure whether this was meant as a serious comment or double entendre.  “See you tomorrow, Efrain.”

“Yeah, see you, Cory.”  He grins when I say his name and heads off to his class.  Guys his size aren’t supposed to be cute, but the glasses and his smile are a dangerous combination.  And there’s something about a man saying my name correctly that gets me.

It takes me a while to realize that I’m slowly losing my head over a straight guy.