Matt glanced at Paul, hoping to see excitement, seeing panic instead. This was unexpected social interaction an order of magnitude greater than anything Paul had previously experienced.
Matt leaned over and whispered in Paul’s ear, trying to reassure him. “You’ll love it! Like getting to pick ice cream flavors at Braums!”
“I. Don’t. Like. Ice cream,” Paul whispered back.
“I just meant that you get to choose everything! The guy. The sex act. It’s like building your own sundae,” Matt whispered.
“I DON’T LIKE STICKY FINGERS!” Paul said loudly.
Everyone laughed.
Matt froze. He worried that Paul would interpret the laughter as derision and revert to his default mode: distrust.
William, who had vehemently opposed Paul’s candidacy, who had privately described him as an un-housebroken mutt, salvaged the situation.
“You’re a girl after my own heart, Paul dahling,” William said. “I can’t abide sticky fingers either! I’ll help you select one of our tidier members. And I’ll ensure you have good silicone lubricant. How’s that sound?”
“Good,” Paul said.
William nodded. “Now, let’s start with the sex act. Tell your ole’ Godmother what you want to do?”
“Bottom.”
“I knew we were kindred spirits!” William gushed. “We’ll find you the perfect top. Let’s see….” William studied the eight other members. He pointed to Evan and Harley, and explained they were predominantly tops, although, of course, Paul couldn’t choose Harley, who had also been his sponsor.
Next, William explained that Matt preferred topping but didn’t have enough experience to rule out versatility. Jake—he of the blue high tops—was equally skilled at topping or bottoming. Everyone else skewed towards bottoms.
“I’m still kinda mad at Matt,” Paul grumbled.
William nodded in sympathy. “He has that effect on a lot of us.”
“So, Evan or Jake,” Paul said.
“That’s going to be a tough choice to make—choosing between those two,” William said. “Now, you think about your decision, dahling, while I make some announcements. Okay?”
Paul smiled, and started studying Jake and Evan.
“Fall Break starts Thursday, October 19th,” William announced. “Classes resume Monday, October 23rd. Our annual field trip to the Gayborhood will be Saturday the 21st. We’ll leave the clubhouse at 7:00p.m. Put it on your calendars. Matt and Paul: plan on spending that night at the clubhouse. You’ll be out well past curfew.”
Everyone clapped. There was a buzz of excitement. Matt would ask later about this so-called Gayborhood.
Paul got Matt’s attention, whispered a question. “Whose dick is bigger? Jake’s? Or Evan’s?”
Matt noticed that Harley, who had been standing near the suite’s phone, had discreetly started dialing a number. Who would he be calling in the middle of William’s announcements?
“They’re about the same,” Matt answered Paul.
Paul was agitated. “Don’t you know their dick sizes?” he whispered. What sort of gay club doesn’t have a spreadsheet of its members’ vital statistics?”
William held up a hand for silence. “Sadly, some of you may not be going on the field trip. Two people—Kevin and Luke—are delinquent with your HIV testing. One of you might—might—still be able to go on the field trip.”
Luke groaned. “Why only one of us?”
“It’s my prerogative to designate who will be on security detail for the field trip,” William said. “If neither of you gets tested by the 19th, you’ll both be on security detail. Otherwise, the first one of you to provide me with testing results can join us on the field trip. The other one will have the security detail.”
An odd ringing sounded in the room, a muted electronic trilling. Everyone looked around, searching for the source.
Matt suspected Harley was involved. The mysterious trilling sounded like a phone, and Harley had been dialing the suite’s phone. He held its handset even now.
William theatrically homed in on the source of the trilling, which seemed to be one of the piles of clothes and shoes under the chairs. He traced the noise to his own neatly folded clothes and retrieved a flip phone. He pushed a button, said hesitantly “Hello?”
From the suite’s phone Harley said: “May I speak to William Tyler Jennings?”
“Speaking. From my new Motorolla Micro Tac!” William beamed. If anyone needed to reach him in the future, they could call his flip phone.
“Final announcement before we let Paul choose his top,” William said. “Saturday, October 28th is the Alumni Association’s Halloween party. We’re helping. Setting up. Serving drinks and food. Providing the eye candy and the ass or cock to be groped by the occasional drunk. The theme this year is Rocky Horror. See me about costumes. These are the people who pay our bills, ladies. I expect full cooperation.”
Matt had never heard of this Rocky Horror thing. He would ask about that when he also inquired about the Gayborhood.
“Does anyone have a tape measure?” Paul asked.
***
Todd wobbled on his stiletto-heeled pumps, trying to maintain his balance while Matt’s cock slammed into his ass. They were in the locker room, beside one of the benches. Clothes littered the floor—all of Matt’s, most of Todd’s. Overhead, the ceiling fan creaked, stirring the humid, mildewed air.
This was round two of their handshake. The first round had been on the floor, doggy-style. Matt’s cum had streaked down Todd’s thighs like raindrops on a windshield.
Now they were standing.
Todd’s red necktie served as a convenient leash. Matt held the tail firmly in one hand, pulling the noosed end towards him, forcing Todd to arch his back, stretching his nipples even flatter. Matt’s other hand was around Todd’s waist, anchoring it against his dick.
Matt probably could have let go. Todd hungrily ground his ass against Matt’s cock, a mortar trying to swallow a pestle. Low, guttural moans escaped Todd’s lips. The only other sound in the room, besides the echoing drip of the ever-leaking shower heads, was the slick, slurping noise of Matt’s cock as it slipped in and out of the cum- and lube-greased hole.
Matt had carefully chosen the spot for this second coupling, so that the room’s lone mirror—a speckled, cracked rectangle of a relic that hung over the vanity—reflected back the image of Todd’s frontside. His dark hair limp with sweat. His eyes glazed in a fuck stupor. His hooded, flaccid dick bouncing like frog legs in a hot skillet.
Todd’s own legs had been through a workout, as evidenced by the disheveled state of his fishnet stockings and garter belt. Half the garter clips had lost their purchase on the stockings. The clips jangled at the ends of their elastic straps like castanets. The stockings sagged provocatively, begging to be ripped away.
Matt felt his cock swelling, felt the familiar tingle in his balls that presaged ejaculation.
Loud pounding echoed from the small side door through which they had entered the building. Insistent knocking. A muffled voice calling Matt’s name.
Idabel!
Shit!
Matt dropped the necktie leash, extracted his dick from Todd’s soupy hole, watched with sadness as the inflamed pink sphincter tried to reseal itself.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Idabel was not giving up.