Games Frat Boys Play (12 page)

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Authors: Todd Gregory

BOOK: Games Frat Boys Play
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“Those shorts make your ass look like a billboard,” he said. “Don't get me wrong, those shorts are in style—and expensive—but just because something's in style doesn't mean you should wear it. The whole point of clothes is to enhance the way you look, and if something isn't flattering you shouldn't wear it. Even if you are the only person in the world who isn't.” He raised the back of my T-shirt. “See? The cut of these shorts makes the rolls around your waist look even bigger—and your ass look shapeless and wide. That's a major,
major
no-no for a gay man, Jordy.” He winked at me. “You're selling your ass, so you want it to look as good as it can. Where do you keep your shorts?”
“They're in the bottom drawer of the dresser,” I said absently, staring at my reflection. He was right. My ass looked gigantic, and the way my waist rolled over the waistband was really unappealing. But it had always looked like that. How could anything make it look different? I sighed. I was a dumpy, lumpy guy. I shook my head and walked into the bedroom. He was on his knees in front of my cabinet, the bottom drawer pulled out as he rifled through all my new shorts.
“Here.” He pulled out a different pair of jean shorts. He held them up and pursed his lips. “These should do the trick. Put these on,” he commanded, “and take those awful shorts you're wearing and throw them out in the trash where they belong. Promise me you'll never wear that cut again.”
I hesitated. I didn't want to undress in front of him. I didn't want him to see my erection.
“Don't be shy!” He snapped his fingers. “Come on! Off with those shorts! You heard me! We're wasting time!”
I took a deep breath and pulled the shorts off. He looked away until I had pulled the new pair on. He smiled, then whistled. “That's so much better. Go look at yourself in the mirror.”
I went back into the bathroom and looked over my shoulder at the mirror again. He was right. The cut of these shorts gave my ass shape and made it look smaller. I pulled my shirt up, and the roll was still there—but it didn't look nearly as bad as it had in the other shorts.
“I told you so,” he said from the bathroom door, before tossing me another shirt. “Try this shirt.”
I changed shirts, and almost whistled myself. Once I'd tucked the shirt into my shorts, my waist looked smaller and my shoulders wider. “Wow.” I couldn't get over how much better I looked.
“See?” He grinned. “Your clothes should flatter you and make you look better. They should play up your good points and hide your flaws.”
“That's easy for you to say.” I couldn't stop staring at myself. “You don't have any flaws to hide. Me, I have to hide almost everything.”
He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I have plenty of flaws. I just know how to hide them, is all.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And you're being much too hard on yourself.” He stood behind me, looking over my shoulder into the mirror. “You've got lovely skin, and when your hair's styled properly, it looks great. You've got a nice frame—nice broad shoulders, and strong legs.” He smacked his own. “I really have to work on mine. I was cursed with my father's chicken legs. And this great big huge ass.”
“You have a nice ass,” I replied.
“That's very kind of you.” He smiled at me in the mirror. “Come on, I'm starving. Let's go get something to eat.”
“You're so lucky,” he said when we were back in the car and heading out to breakfast. “I can't imagine what it must be like to come from money. I grew up kind of poor.” He made a face. “My dad makes good money, but he resents spending every cent, and won't spend one if he can possibly help it.”
“Wow,” I replied, not sure what to really say.
“My dad's a prick,” he said angrily, his face flushing for a moment, “but my mom's great, and so are my brothers and sisters. I'm the first one in my family to go to college. You'd think my dad would be cool with that, but he thinks I think I'm better than everyone else. As if I could be
worse
than him,” he said, his voice dripping scorn. “I don't go back there very often. I always stay here on breaks. Polk is my home now.” He shook his head, blond hair flying. “And he just hates the gay thing. Are your parents cool with it?”
“I haven't told them yet,” I admitted. “I don't know how to bring it up. But I'm sure they'll be okay with it. My dad's assistant Lars is gay, and he's like a member of the family.”
“My dad likes to pretend I'm straight.” Chad sighed. “He refuses to even talk about it. When I came out to my parents—he just ignored me. He's never acknowledged it.”
“I'm sorry,” I stammered, not sure what else to say.
“Oh, don't be.” He waved his hand. “It doesn't bother me. Turn into this parking lot here. Have you ever eaten here before?” He grinned at me. “It's great.”
The Iron Skillet was packed with college students, but a hostess led us to a booth in the back right away. I didn't see anyone I recognized, but Chad waved at a number of guys and girls on our way back to the booth. She left us with menus, then disappeared. Within a moment a harried-looking woman in her late forties placed glasses of water on our table. “Hey, Marge.” Chad winked at her. “Rough morning?”
“When you get to my age, Chad, every morning is a rough morning.” She shrugged, resigned. “It's a usual Saturday morning. Everyone needing grease to kill their hangovers. You want your usual?”
He nodded, and she turned to me. “Um, what's his usual?” I asked as I looked over the menu. I'd never been much of a breakfast eater. I usually just had coffee and a piece of peanut butter toast.
She sighed. “Egg white mushroom omelet, wheat toast dry, coffee, and orange juice.”
“I'll have that, too.” I smiled back at her as she took our menus and hurried back to the kitchen to put our orders in.
“You eat healthy?” Chad asked with a slight smile.
“Not really,” I admitted, feeling my face start to color. “It just sounded good.”
“You should start thinking about what you put into your body,” he replied. “You're never too young to start taking care of yourself. My father is a fat pig,” he snapped. “I'll never end up like that.” He paused as Marge brought our coffee. He thanked her and she walked away with the pot. “I'm serious, Jordy. I mean, you should start thinking about things like that. I mean, you have potential—a lot of potential, and it's a shame you're wasting it.”
“Potential?” I took a sip of my coffee. “What do you mean?”
“You have a good face.” He scrutinized me. “And a pretty good frame to build on—those wide shoulders and big legs. But you're out of shape. If you dropped a few pounds, ate right, and started working out—and dressing better, why, every guy would want you.” He winked at me. “And no offense, but you have a really big dick.”
I gaped at him.
He shrugged. “I couldn't help but notice when you were changing. Gay guys always notice.” A smile played at his lips. “Seriously, if you started working out and got into shape—a nice-looking guy with a great body and a big dick? You could have anything you wanted, trust me.”
“I'm not really into exercise,” I admitted. Physical Activities classes at St. Bernard had been one of the banes of my existence there. I wasn't terribly coordinated, and my attempts to be athletic had earned even more scorn from my horrible schoolmates.
He put his hands up. “Okay. Just trying to be helpful.”
We talked about a lot over that breakfast. Chad opened up to me about many things, not just his family, but his hopes and dreams for the future. I felt honored. He was confiding in me his own dark secrets. He told me his fears about never finding someone to fall in love with, about growing old alone, not being a success, and winding up like his own father. I listened to him, and the more he talked the more convinced I was that the two of us were meant to be together.
And he
was
interested in me. He listened to my horror stories about St. Bernard, shaking his head at the cruel indignities I'd endured at the hands of my savage classmates. It was nice.
For the first time, I felt like I had a real friend.
And when I dropped him off at the house, he'd invited me to join him on Wednesday night. “Me, Brandon, and Rees go out every Wednesday. It's so much fun, Jordy—you'll love it. It's fifty-cent-drink night at Fusions, this great gay dance club downtown. It's always crowded on Wednesday nights. Hot, hot, HOT guys! It's a blast.” He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “We'll have to get you a fake ID.”
I walked on air all the way back to my apartment. I had another date with him! Oh, sure, Rees and Brandon were going to be there, too—but he was going to get me a fake ID. He'd invited me and wanted me there. It was beginning.
All of my dreams were going to come true.
I couldn't stop thinking about going to my first gay bar. I wanted to talk to Blair and Jeff about it, but I never ran into them—and even though they always said I could call whenever I wanted to, I didn't want to bother them. They were both so busy, and I could always tell them about it later.
Chad took me shopping Wednesday afternoon to pick out something for me to wear, and that night the bouncer just glanced at my ID and waved me in.
It was only nine, but the place was already crowded with young gay men. One or two I recognized from around campus, but I couldn't stop staring. There was every type of gay man imaginable in there. I followed the boys to the bar. The bartender was gorgeous, wearing a yellow singlet that hid nothing. “Get Jordy a vodka cranberry,” Chad instructed Brandon, who was ordering. I started to protest that I didn't drink, but Chad put his arm around me. I was conscious of how close he was to me. “So, what do you think?”
“It's unreal,” I replied as a guy in tight jeans and no shirt walked by, checking Chad out. Chad winked at him.
Brandon pressed my drink into my hand. I sipped it. It wasn't bad.
“Finish that drink,” Rees said in my ear. “And we'll go dance.”
“Oh, I don't dance,” I demurred.
“You don't dance?” Brandon made a face. “What kind of gay man are you?”
“I don't know how.”
“It's okay.” Chad chugged down the rest of his drink, tossing the plastic cup into the trash. “Just watch us.”
I followed them to the edge of the dance floor. Someone was singing about a bad romance, and the dance floor was crowded. The three of them made a semicircle and started dancing. They took their shirts off and tucked them through their belts. I couldn't help but smile. They looked beautiful out there on the dance floor under the flashing lights as they started moving to the music. Chad was the best dancer of the three. The other two moved to the beat but looked a little clumsy. The music seemed to channel through Chad. Every movement he made was in sync to the music, from the hip movements to his steps to how he placed his arms. He tossed his head at the right moment in the music. I stood there, transfixed, unable to take my eyes off him.
He was just so beautiful.
A few drinks later, they managed to drag me out there, but I kept my shirt on. Some woman was wailing about a halo, and I tried to do what Chad did. I tried to sync my body to the lyrics and the music, and lost myself. It was fun. I was a little dizzy from the liquor, and everything seemed lost in time, somehow, as though this was where I'd always been meant to be. In that moment I felt loved and accepted. St. Bernard was my past, and I was never going back there. I had a great friend who was helping me with discovering my potential, and his two friends were nice, and out there on the dance floor I felt at home with all of them in a way I never had before. In that moment I loved everyone on the dance floor, but most of all Chad for showing me this, for sharing this with me.
I thought my heart would explode from joy.
“You're a good dancer,” Brandon said in the car on our way back home. “Really, Jordy, you surprised me.”
“I told you he'd be a good dancer.” Chad reached over in the backseat and squeezed my shoulder. “I'm so proud of you.”
Whenever I wasn't in class or doing some pledge duty, I seemed to fall into the habit of hanging around with the three of them. They made me laugh, and they were so nice. I didn't mind helping them with their homework, or with their papers, because it meant the sooner they were done the sooner we could go have some kind of adventure.
Brandon and Rees sometimes picked up guys when we were at Fusions, but Chad never did. I wondered what had happened between him and Jacob—but never had the nerve to ask. Jacob was never around, it seemed, and Chad seemed to like that just fine. I was still sorry he hadn't picked me for his little brother, and I sensed he was, too. Every so often at a pledge meeting, I thought about asking Jacob—but it wasn't any of my business.

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