Date: Thu, 2 Feb 2017 01:52:28 +0000
From: Jesse Gibson <revjpgibson@hotmail.com>
Subject: Dionysius chapter 3

				 DIONYSIUS
				    By
		   Rev Jesse Penfield Gibson, MDiv, DMin

Copyright 2016

DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction and involves sex between college students
both male and female.  This chapter is more plot driven.

Complaints or compliments to revjpgibson#hotmail.com

Please donate to Nifty to keep the stories coming


				 CHAPTER 3

	If Cass had gone back to prowl, Alex almost never stopped prowling.
He was a super predator.  He made it to Club Element downtown after
midnight, waved in with out ID.  Her name was Marlena and she was a
wannabe.  It didn't take much figuring to know that Alex was a member and
she had thought before that if she could just fuck her way through the
membership, the males at least, she could find a place.  Three or four
times before, he had fucked her.  She was rubbing up against him on the
dance floor.

	"C'mon" Alex whispered in her ear. "I wanna fuck you"

	She gave him a half smile and shrug.  "Your place or mine?"

	"The men's room, right now"

	"Why should I?"

	"I'll make you cum"

	There was a line in the bathroom but Alex barged ahead, leading
Marlena by the hand.  There was protests and cat calls, a guy at urinal
making sure she could see. He pushed her up against a wall, put his hand up
her dress, grabbing her tits with the other as he kissed her hard, waiting
for the last stall to open.  A guy came out, hearing the cheering going on,
adjusted himself and left.  Alex practically pushed her in the stall and
locked the door.  Leaning her over the toilet, he yanked down her panties
and spread her legs apart.  He could smell her funky musk. She was wet.

	His shorts hit the ground.  His dick was hard. He mounted from
behind, his stiff dick sliding effortless up her glistening snatch. Skin
against skin.  He cupped his tits with his hands and fucked her hard.  He
had all ready cum once that night, so he was really able to fuck the living
shit out of her.  She was screaming as the sound of their two bodies
slapping together filled the bathroom up.

	When he was done, the guys in the bathroom gave him a round of
applause

					***********

	Cass coming in just before 3 am woke Dylan up.  He reeked of
marijuana smoke and was clearly drunk, stumbling around in the room.  He
had fallen into the bottom bunk of their tiny room with a heavy thud, so it
was no wonder that Dylan had bolted awake.  It only took minutes before he
could hear his roommate snoring but it took Dylan longer to go back to
sleep.  Despite that, Dylan knew he wouldn't complain to Cass about even as
he muttered ill words toward him.  The two of them were roommates but not
friends.  Being in the small student cell together was just happenstance,
or the product of a malicious computer joke.  Even Cass had joked about it,
saying the room was home to the sinner and the saint.  On the other hand,
the relationship wasn't yet unfriendly and Dylan was willing to make
accommodations for their different lifestyles and interests.
	In a way, he admired Cass, perhaps even to the point of envy.  Cass
was self-confident, at ease with himself and comfortable in his own skin,
all things that Dylan knew weren't true about himself.  He was attracted to
him too.  That part was more difficult to acknowledge.  He knew that those
feelings were wrong.  They were sinful and shameful.  But at night, with
the lights off and Cass below him sleeping soundly, Dylan couldn't help
having them.  Every few nights, he would breakdown and have to do something
about them, do the thing that boys have to do.  He wasn't proud of it but
he knew from past experience that the choice was to get those images in his
head full flight and find some relief or it would happen anyway in his
dreams.  It was better to do it, get it over with and clean himself up than
to wake up sticky in the morning.  He didn't ask forgiveness for it either
when he prayed.  It was a sin that he would not repent of because he knew
he would return to it willingly.  The rationalization he told himself was
that he could control his behavior, with God's grace of course, but the
thoughts were beyond his control.  That attraction was his thorn in the
flesh.

	When he had surrendered to full-time Christian Service, his pastor
had tried to talk him into going to Bible College.  His argument was that
they were better: a good, solid, Christian education without unnecessary
exposure to liberalism and other heresies.  He had considered it, looking
up the suggestions on the web and doing the research carefully.  But he had
rejected that.  He was going to a real college not a fake one, a place
where you learned what you had always been taught and no real exposure to
anything else.  His mother had supported him in that decision and even
seemed relieved that he had made it.  Willingham was going to be a good
compromise since it was a Baptist school, even if it was almost entirely
secular.  In fact, it was more than a good compromise.  Willingham is a
good school, very selective and rigorous academically with a very solid
reputation.  When he got accepted and the scholarship money started rolling
in, he could almost feel her pride.  Willingham had class.  Willingham had
prestige.  Not only was her son going to college, he was going to a good
college, not Georgia Military or Valdosta State.  Without the scholarship
money, there would have been no way for him to come here, not on what she
made as an LPN.

	But he was beginning to think it had been a mistake though.  Part
of it was social.  He had tried the BSU and found them to be a group of
cliques that he had no interest in trying to worm his way into.  Worse than
that was his class on the Old Testament.  He had always been taught and had
never questioned that the Bible was the inerrant, literal Word of God.
From the very first day, the Professor had introduced them to new ideas
about how the Bible had been written – the documentary hypothesis, the
supplementary, the fragmentary – and new ideas about how the culture
influenced what was there.  The worse thing was that he was reading the
Bible with new eyes for the first time and finding both less and more there
than he had before.  The Bible is a literary masterpiece to be sure and an
invaluable historical document but not an unchanging, infallible and
ultimate statement of absolute truth. That revelation was shaking him to
the core and it was made worse by the fact that he really had no one to
talk to about it.

	Dylan got up on Sunday morning and got dressed in his blazer and
caught the van for church.  Last week, he had gone to the First Baptist
because they sent a van to campus but had found it less than appealing.
His church at home was plain, simple but alive.  Beyond the fact that
everyone knew everyone and there was real brotherhood and fellowship, there
was the reality that there was a real spirit there.  The First Baptist was
large, monumental, rich, formal and dead.  This week, he was trying another
church, Vineville, because they too sent a van.  Since he didn't have a
car, he was limited to the van.  It turned out that Vineville was more of
the same, just on a slightly different scale, more modern but ultimately
unfulfilling.

	Cass had gone to his first lacrosse practice of the year on Sunday
afternoon.  Lacrosse wasn't a varsity sport, although there was talk that
it might become one, but rather a club team that got some financial
assistance from the university.  But Cass had told him that most college
lacrosse was club level and the club league was pretty good.  Willingham
had done well in the 5 years or so that they had fielded a team.  Dylan
knew nothing about lacrosse except that they played with sticks so he
accepted it without much question or even real interest.  But Cass came
back from practice frustrated.  They were trying to make him a long stick
middle which he didn't want to do.  A little later on in the evening,
Dylan's TA from First Year Seminar came by the room to talk to Cass, to
console him.  Even though Dylan didn't really understand the issues
involved, he did gather Alex's point. Cass, it seemed, had a choice: try to
be a both ways middle and be a substitute this year or be a long stick
middle and be a starter.  Dylan tried to tell him to go for the starting
job but Cass shot back that long stick was boring since it was totally
defensive.

	In FYS, they were discussing their reading assignment, which were
some essays by Bertrand Russell.  The logic of them was compelling even if
Dylan didn't like the direction they led. The other thing he found
compelling was Alex.  How fair was it that one person could combine
charisma, coolness, looks and brains all together in one package?  The
blond hair and sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks might lead one to
believe that he was boyish, but Dylan was aware just as well of his rock
hard body and what looked to be a sizable bulge in his crotch.  He had to
distract himself from those kinds of thoughts by participating in the
discussion because he wasn't going to give in to temptation.  The fact that
Cass slept in his underwear was all ready enough temptation to drive him
mad.

	As the class was breaking up Wednesday afternoon, Alex signaled
him.  "Hey, dude, you're from Valdosta right?"

	"Yeah" Dylan answered.  They had actually had a brief discussion
about that yesterday when Alex came around the dorm looking for Cass.

	"I'm headed that way Friday if you need a lift.  Coming back Sunday
afternoon. Just let me know if you're interested."

	"Yeah, I am but it's actually south of Valdosta in Twin Lakes, if
you know where that is."

	Alex smiled.  "That near Lake Park?  That's right before the
Florida line."

	"Yeah, but exit 5."


	"Well cool then.  That's exactly on my way or pretty close as long
as you don't live too far off the interstate.  I'm headed for this bumfuck,
boondocks, piece of shit place in the middle of the fucking woods. I could
use the company."

	The weather was hot and bright Friday afternoon because early
September in Georgia is still summer.  The traffic was heavy on the
interstate in Macon and stayed heavy all the way to Warner Robins. They
rode in the Jeep with the top down and the wind in his hair felt good to
Dylan.  Alex drove fast, but was a good driver.

	"So tell me," Alex shouted over the wind noise. "Exactly how smart
are you?"

	Dylan was surprised by the question and didn't know how to respond.
It wasn't the first time somebody had asked him something similar and he
didn't really like it.  "Why do you ask?"

	"I have this half-brother that goes to Lowndes and we were talking
yesterday.  He seems to think that you are some sort of genius, graduating
third in your class, STAR student with nearly a perfect score on the SAT,
Governors Honors, all that shit."

	"Who's your brother?"

	"Ian De Renne.  He's a junior this year, I think.  Maybe a
sophomore, I'm not sure."

	"I don't think I know him.  Lowndes is a really big school,
though." Dylan said.

	"Yeah, you probably wouldn't `cause he is a big time stoner and
serial fuck-up. But that doesn't answer the question of how smart you are."

	"Can I just say that I am smart and leave it at that?  Where did
you go to high school?"

	"Galloway my freshman year.  I am the rare student who couldn't
live by their rules," Alex grinned, looking over toward him.  "Oh, you see,
you're not from Atlanta so you don't get the joke.  Galloway only has two
rules: behave yourself and try.  Well, actually there's a third, wear
shoes.  That one I could do.  The other two were my problem.  So then
woodward, then westminster, finally North Atlanta.  So I am the perfect
student for the Dub: an underachieving prep school product."

	Dylan was staring at the scenery.  Those sound like expensive
schools, he thought.  "You must be rich," Dylan allowed himself to say out
loud.

	"Not me.  My grandparents are.  The Dub named the library after my
grandfather, the Stafford Library, which is ironic because as far I as I
know the fucker has never read an actual book in his life.  All last year,
I kept checking the Communist Manifesto out just so I could see the
Stafford Library stamped on it.  It was my birthday present to him over the
summer.  It really pissed him off.  My mom was a lesbian hippy and she
hated his fucking guts.  I lived with him for all 4 years of high school so
I get that."

	"Why did you live with him?"

	"My mom died when I was 13, brain cancer." Alex said, as he changed
lanes to the right hand side to speed around a slowpoke in the middle lane.

	"Sorry"

	"Don't tell you had something to do with it.  I liked her. I'll
kick your ass," Alex grinned.  "It's cool.  She was a good mom, it just
sucked, you know?"

	They sped down the Interstate, usually topping out at about 85 or
90, making really good time.  For the most part, they talked about
Buddhism, since Alex had actually been raised Buddhist.  Dylan thought it
interesting and learned a bit, and was especially fascinated at how Alex
dissected what he had been taught objectively, commenting on strengths and
weaknesses of the religion.  They also talked about lacrosse, which Alex
was passionate about, a passion he shared with Cass.  He promised to teach
him how to play.  It only took a shade over two hours to get to Lake Park,
which is really fast from Macon, and they pulled off toward Twin Lakes.
Dylan guided him around Long Pond, the centerpiece of Twin Lakes, to his
house, which was a small, old house built in the 40's or 50's when this was
a semi-fashionable vacation spot on the main route to Florida.  They had a
dock on the pond and the land was worth a bunch but the house was old and
looked bedraggled.  Dylan was sure that it made him look even poorer than
he actually was.  Getting out, he grabbed his clothes.

	"You know how to get back?" Dylan asked him.

	"Turn around and go the other way?"  Alex asked, tapping his head
with his finger.  "Got a mind like a steel trap.  Hey, give me your cell
number, I'll call you Sunday to pick you up."

	After trading numbers and Dylan thanking him, Alex left.  The house
was empty but it didn't stay that way.  His younger brother and sister
arrived from school, loud and boisterous.  His brother, in particular, was
annoyed to see him since that meant he had to share a room again.  In just
3 weeks, he had gotten used to having his own room.  His mom got home when
her shift at the hospital ended at 7 pm.  She was excited to see him,
hugging him tightly and rocking him a little.  She spent the evening
spreading out the feast of the Prodigal for him and Dylan didn't stop her.
He had been incredibly home sick anyway and home cooking tasted like
ambrosia.

	He really hadn't thought about it so he was surprised when he
figured out that almost none of his high school friends were around.  A few
of last year's juniors were, now seniors of course, but they had plans of
their own and, while they made it clear he was welcome, Dylan decided not
to go.  All of the rest were off in college.  They had been best friends
for years, had shared almost every secret except for the secret that Dylan
shared with no one, but in less than 6 months all of that had evaporated.
Everyone, including him, had moved on.  So, he mostly just stuck around the
house on Saturday, swimming in the pond and relaxing.  Sunday, of course,
was church.  That felt good.  Everyone there knew him and welcomed him
warmly, making a bit of a show about him.  Even the pastor acknowledged his
presence from the pulpit, asking him to give the closing prayer, which is
kind of an honor usually reserved for a Deacon or older man.  On the way
home, he reflected that if he could have just stayed in his safe little
world at home he would never have questioned anything.  But he had to get
out and get an education, a real education, but he wasn't sure that he was
any happier.

	Alex called while they were on the way home from church to say that
he would be there in about an hour.  Dylan was actually excited about it.
He thought he was beginning to forge a friendship with Alex, the first at
college really, and he was glad.  Alex actually pulled in to the drive
about 35 minutes later unexpectedly.  His mom insisted that he come in and
eat with them which Alex seemed happy enough to do.  The meal was a
traditional Southern one: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, sliced
tomatoes fresh from the garden, acre peas, and creamed corn.

	"No chicken?" his mom asked when Alex loaded up on the vegetables.
"You're a growing boy, eat up."

	"Nah, this is great, way better than what I usually eat.  I have to
work out constantly or I'll get fat really easy. I spend a lot of miles on
the road running."

	"Well, I think both of you boys are just too skinny anyway.  You
need some meat on your bones," she said handing the plate of chicken toward
him in the insistent Southern Mama way.

	"Plus, I only eat meat twice a week. It's kind of a religious
thing."

	"He's Buddhist, Mama" I told her.

	"Oh, well I don't know much about that.  Is your roommate Buddhist,
Dylan?  He looks kind of Asian" she asked as Dylan winced.

	Alex laughed.  "I think his mom is.  I don't think Cass has a
particular interest in it.  I knew his older brother a little bit last year
and he was pretty, well not into religion let's say."

	"He liked to party?"

	"A little bit." Alex said.

	"You're a runner?" Dylan asked, trying to change the subject.

	"I play lacrosse, dummy."  Alex smiled.  "Lots of running."

	"Dylan is a runner.  He ran cross country in high school, came in
second at State last year."

	"I didn't know that but I've seen you out making the lap around the
Dub.  You get up earlier than me."

	"The Dub?" Dylan's mother asked.

	"Willingham, W, the Dub.  It's a student nickname."  Dylan
explained to her.

	"Speaking of which, we need to get going" Alex told him gently, but
he was standing up as he did.  "Thanks for the food, ma'am.  Next time I
drop him off, I'll budget more time to enjoy it."

	His mother was all over him, kissing and making over him as he
left.  It embarrassed Dylan but he had no choice.  His mother told Alex to
drive safely.  Surprisingly, he did drive safely, much calmer than on the
way down, never going more than 9 miles above the speed limit.  It gave
them longer to talk.  Alex was asking him about wanting to be a minister
and, in particular, what he would want to do if that didn't work out.

	"I don't know.  A lawyer, probably."

	"Standard Dub answer.  Lots of little lawyers running around
school."

	"What about you?  Kind of a stupid, but what's your major?" Dylan
asked him.

	Alex grinned broadly.  "I am the problem student at the art school.
Actually, my major is in jewelry design with a minor in painting.  Kind of
queer but, then again, I'm a total art fag."

	The fag bit intrigued Dylan, piquing his interest.  He felt a
little bit of that interest in his groin.  "Seriously?"

	"Yeah, why do you think I'm your TA?  MacMahon is an art professor
and that's why he picked me.  That and he wants to get in my pants."

	"So you're gay?"

	Alex shrugged indifferently.  "Actually, I am bisexual.  Or maybe
omnisexual or just plain sexual.  Let's just say that I like having sex
with women but wouldn't want to have a long term relationship with one.  If
I settle down, it'll be with a guy. So, call it whatever you want."

	"Wow," Dylan said.  This put a new spin on it for him.  Always
before, he would be attracted to a guy, lots of guys really, but knew that
they were unavailable.  Here was a guy, a hot guy at that, announcing his
availability.  But there was something else he also wanted to know.  "Was
it hard to come out?"

	"For me? Not really.  My mom was basically a lesbian and she didn't
care.  My dad, I didn't grow up around him much but he is very left wing
and let's say not into traditional morality. I have 8 brothers and sisters,
with 5 total Mom's in there.  Now my grandparents were a different story.
I lived with them in high school and they are very right wing, reactionary
pieces of shit but I hated them anyway so it's not like it cost me anything
psychologically to piss on their parade.  They just basically gave up on me
anyway. My friends didn't give a shit either. You know one path to
happiness is not caring what other people think about you"

	"Wow" Dylan repeated himself.  He wanted to say something more,
wanted to scream out loud that he too was gay but fear held him back.

	"Look I know that's not what you believe in.  I wasn't trying to be
insulting there at all.  It's just that you asked and I'm not going to lie
about who I am, you know?  I am not ashamed of who I am.  Now I've done
some fucked up things that I'm ashamed of but I'm not ashamed of who I am.
But basically, I don't believe what you believe.  I think that everybody
has a right to enjoy their own sexuality and what's the point of having a
dick if you're not going to use it?"

	"Yeah," Dylan replied, absently as he looked at the scenery passing
them by, trying to process the conversation for himself.  Wrong or not, he
knew what he wanted.