Chapter 18: Bella Bottoms by JackChandler
Dive into Chapter 18 of 'Bella Bottoms' – an enticing gay erotic sex story that explores passion, desire, and intimate encounters. Discover how Bella navigates her wild adventures and tantalizing relationships in this captivating tale. Perfect for fans of steamy LGBTQ+ fiction!<br/>
The Higher Education of Matt Griffith
Chapter 18: Bella Bottoms
Saturday, October 21, 1995
Copyright 2024. All characters in this story are fictional and are not meant to represent any living persons.
Note to readers: This chapter has 4 scenes. If you just want the sex, skip to the 4th scene. The entire chapter is a light-hearted, erotic romp through Oklahoma City’s Gayborhood circa 1995.
For new readers: The “Gay Mafia” referenced here is just the fancy name for an imagined secret gay club at Oklahoma Christian University (OC), a real private Christian University, by the way—which puts homophobia front and center of its Christian “love.” This chapter involves Matt’s and Paul’s club fieldtrip to the Gayborhood.
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Matt had three condoms in his wallet and hoped to spend them all before the end of this field trip to the Gayborhood.
Gusher’s restaurant was the first stop, and already Matt felt like he was in Gay Candyland! Men were everywhere. It was like Howard Johnson’s 28 flavors of ice cream, except with men. Vanilla. Chocolate. Exotic flavors to boot. Matt wanted to sample them all.
He had not been laid for five weeks. Not since his locker room handshake with Todd. Almost getting busted for–and actually losing Idabel’s friendship because of–that recklessness, had spooked Matt. He’d retreated from further handshakes with fellow members of the Gay Mafia. Had instead settled for shaking his own hand—masturbating, if one had to be clinical about it. It had become a daily habit, a pressure release. He was not ashamed of it but did miss the intimacy of human contact.
He looked forward to a guilt-free fucking spree on this field trip. Guilt-free but safe—hence the condoms. Hookups with fellow Gay Mafia members could be bareback, but sex with strangers had to be safe. Just another rule in the 3-ring binder that governed their lives.
Gushers was inside the sprawling Habana Inn, a 170-room, 2-pooled hotel that had been built as a conference center and evolved into Oklahoma’s Gay Mecca. Just as Muslims made hajj to the Kaaba and Catholics received an indulgence for pilgrimaging to St. Peters, Oklahoma’s gays sought temporal peace at the Habana Inn. They dined at Gushers, partied at the Copa and the Finish Line, shopped for souvenirs and sex toys at Jungle Red, and fucked in their guest rooms—all without leaving the premises. The Habana Inn was not the only attraction in the Gayborhood, but it was the crown jewel.
It was 7:30 p.m. The night was young. William, Paul, and Matt sat at a round table in the center of the restaurant. William had specifically reserved this table, which seemed fitting—his liking being the center of attention and all. The rest of the Gay Mafia (sans Kevin, who had been stuck with security detail), sat scattered along the room’s perimeter.
“Stop drooling, Matthew,” William whispered. “Stay in character! That goes for you as well, Paul.”
Matt closed his mouth, tried to quit gawping. He recalled William’s earlier advice: “Nobody will remember how well you danced, but they’ll never forget if you were the girl desperately trying to get her dance card punched.”
The goal was to be desired—to be the droolee, not the drooler. This was the game at which William excelled: performing on life’s stage.
Playing chess–countering Colton’s many maneuvers, did not interest William. He had paid a heavy emotional toll to buy a ceasefire in Colton’s war against OC’s gays. That ceasefire would not expire for seven more months. That was good enough for William.
Matt was not so certain. Colton had stipulated that the moratorium applied only to gays. He was scheming something. He’d waited for Matt to be absent from SGA for an away game, then rammed through a resolution asking the administration to enforce Christian family values among faculty and staff. That was the only hint Matt had: Colton’s target wasn’t a student. Matt worried that Colton was aiming at Debbie.
A waiter approached, greeted William by name, and the two of them caught up on gossip. Someone named Peter had the clap.
William: “That slut! I saw her once having sex behind the dumpster.”
Waiter, laughing: “The way I heard it you were the girl she was fucking.”
More gossip. A guy named Christopher had run off to Dallas with a married guy who was planning to divorce his wife.
William: “That homewrecker!”
Waiter: “Christopher?”
William: “No, dahling. The wife! She’s standing in the way of true love.”
Matt noticed that other diners were watching them, eavesdropping on the conversation, whispering. He wished the waiter would move on.
The waiter’s name was Andrew. William introduced him to Paul and Matt. Explained it was their first visit to the Gayborhood.
Andrew smiled, shook their hands, took a full moment to appraise both newbies. Was not discreet. Matt half expected to be asked to stand and turn around slowly.
Harley, who shared one of the perimeter tables with Evan and Jake, stood, and called out to Andrew. “Hey, waiter, we’re hungry over here, too!”
Andrew whirled to face Harley. “Hold your horses!” His voice was loud, commanding. “I’m helping two VIRGINS here!”
Harley sat down.
“I’m not a virgin!” Paul protested. That was true. Paul had now shaken hands with Evan, Jake, and Kevin. He was catching up to Matt.
There was scattered laughter from other tables. Good-humored. Not derisive.
Paul was unfazed.
Matt blushed, stared down at the table. He would have preferred that it not be broadcast that this was his first time here. He would have preferred sitting at a perimeter table.
It was when Matt looked up, in the moment when William’s eyes met his and beamed triumphantly, that Matt understood that the whole scene had been orchestrated by William. Maybe not scripted per se. Matt doubted that the waiter was in on it. Everything else, from the center table, to the drawn-out banter with the waiter, even Harley’s outburst was clearly planned. Why else would Wiliam have insisted that the rest of the Gay Mafia sit at separate tables and not associate with each other? The purpose of the charade was arguably selfless: William wanted to maximize Matt’s and Paul’s introduction to gay society.
Matt just wanted to use those condoms. He’d never worn one before. He wondered how it would feel.
An older guy, fit but graying at the temples, excused himself from his three companions, and stepped to the table where William, Paul, and Matt sat. He slipped two twenty-dollar bills into Andrew’s hand, whispered something in his ear. Matt noticed the older guy wore a Rolex watch and a gaudy, diamond-studded ring.
“Martin!” William gushed at the graying guy. “I thought that was you! What are you doing sitting at the adults table, though? Those other queens are too old for you! And where’s Sylvan?”
Martin chuckled. “Hi William. Sylvan’s in Switzerland again for treatment.”
Martin looked at Paul and Matt. “Let me welcome you two to the Gayborhood. Your first round of drinks is on me. If you happen to be at the Finish Line later, find my table. I’ll buy you another round.” He shook hands with them, then returned to his companions.