Date: Tue, 21 Mar 2006 15:00:33 -0800 (PST)
From: reid <fear1980@yahoo.com>
Subject: X-Factor 3 (gay/college)

X-FACTOR (chapter three)
by reid

        I didn't like talking about my father.

	Other topics more enjoyable to me: partial-birth abortion, Nascar, female
circumcision, getting broken class under your foreskin and/or eyelid, bloody
noses, pap smears, Urkel, blood born infections, Yanni, women's curling, the
subtle differences between sequels and parts of a trilogy, pubic hair styling
of the elderly, Star Jones, anything involving Coreys Feldman or Haim, and
the general state of the Star Trek universe.

	My dad was worse than all of those.

	He was a sociopath. A racist. A bigot. He didn't know how to wash dishes, do
algebra, cook for himself, or raise children. But damn if he didn't still try
that last one. Oh lord, did he try.

	But he still sucked at it.

	But Trey - he seemed to think he had it worse.

	Old Trey Morgan from Phi Kappa Psi, Brown University Chapter, born July 9
1984 in Siaconset on Nantucket Island believed differently. He thought he had
a case for having a worse father than mine.

	So he said so.

	"Your dad can't be worse than mine."

	"You wanna bet?"

	Trey looked at me, "Your dad could bomb an orphanage on Christmas Eve and he
still wouldn't be as bad as mine."

	That caught me off guard. Never before had anyone I'd known actually
defended my father. Let alone someone who had never met the man. It shocked
me that Trey would so fervently trash his own dad by inferring that my own
wasn't the worst ever dropped onto the earth. There was something almost -
sacrilegious about it.

	He pulled the car through the intersection and onto the main drive of the
campus. After my little consultation with the beer keg as his frat house, I'd
fully expected Trey to shove me out the door in front of my dorm. Strangely
enough, his asking if I was still hungry seemed to have some ring of truth to
it. Only when he asked me about my family, did my guard start to lower just a
little bit.

	Trey shifted in his seat and I watched as his long fingers curled around the
steering wheel. Something about him was just so inately watchable. I could
have sat and watched him watch TV or read or do anything and never get bored.
Of all the watchable things, his hands were definitely what attracted me the
most. They were like paws, almost. I thought back to how I felt when he'd
touched me - and then regretted not being conscious when he'd carried me onto
the couch.

	His touch. It was all about his touch. The feeling of his hands on my body.
I remembered the sensation of his hand on the small of my back. When I
thought of it, I could still feel the heat and the pressure of his palm. Then
the coldness. Such stark, bleak coldness in such sudden, loveless fashion. I
felt like singing a funeral dirge.

	"You know, you never answered my question." Trey said, leaning his elbow
against the car door.

	His question. His probing, psychologically intrusive question.

	Well, maybe not psychologically intrusive but it certainly attempted to
expose a part of me that I'd closed off. Not the sort of thing I'd grown to
appreciate in my eighteen years. Even more frightening was that I'd almost
answered him. I'd almost opened up and been honest with another human being.
Realizing I'd come so close to something so ghastly sent a chill up my spine
like nothing else could.

	'So did your dad get you started in golfing?'

	Not so psychologically intrusive, I admit, but it still pulled the lever
that I didn't like to have pulled: the dad lever. Talking about my father was
something I always tried not to do. Try as I might, whenever I talked about
my father, my facade would crumble and the frustrated, angry little boy
inside me would emerge. Trey didn't seem like the kind of guy that needed to
deal with Angry, 10 Year Old Cody.

	Angry, 18 Year Old Cody was enough of a challenge already.

	"So did he?"

	I didn't answer right off. Instead, I sat in that lovely cushioned seat of
the lovely sport utility vehicle driven by my love interest. I tried to think
of some way to deftly avoid addressing the "father" aspect and instead, bring
it back around to golf. Golf. The one thing that Trey and I had in common;
our one uniting aspect.

	"I just picked it up when I was younger," I said, clearing my throat, "Sort
of a way to get out of the house and - occupy myself, basically."

	"What does Trey stand for?" I asked.

	"It means you're the third son with the same name."

	"So it isn't your given name?"

	"Oh Christ." He muttered.

	"What?"

	"If tell you my name, and you laugh - I will murder you."

	I immediately felt the urge to laugh. But I held it in.

	"Go ahead." I said, unable to keep from laughing even as I said it, just
barely catching myself at the end.

	Trey grimaced, "My full name is Albert Ames Morgan III."

	I laughed out loud. Trey just nodded.

	"So glad I told you that! I feel really good now!"

	"I'm sorry - Albert."

	Trey looked at me, "I'm gonna beat you up!"

	I began laughing again.

	"I swear to God, Cody! And in your weakened state, that wouldn't be a good
thing."

	I stifled a laugh and rubbed my head. Making a pained face, I whimpered
pathetically. Trey looked at me, trying to seem pissed off and manipulated.
But he wasn't a good enough actor. He was too - sweet looking to pull it off.

	"So yeah - Trey. I'm only Albert when I get pulled over."

	"Does that happen a lot?" I asked.

	"Only once - and that was because my brother's girlfriend was trying to pee
out the window."

	I shuddered.

	"Yeah - my family isn't great." He said genially.

	I nodded.

	"What about yours?"

	There he went again. Wanting to talk about me and my family. Why couldn't we
just make fun of his rich, drunk, fucked up family? My poor, emotionally
retarded band of hillbillies couldn't even compare on a comedy level.

	"What about them? They suck and they're across the country. Not much else to
say about it."

	He nodded. In the moment of silence, I looked down at his leg. As soon as
he'd started the car, he'd draped his right leg over the median between the
two front seats. Underneath the white sock next to the blue denim of his
jeans, I could see the bulk of an ace bandage. Sue me, I was desperate to
change the subject from something less expository.

	"What happened?"

	Trey seemed to understand my motives.

	"I twisted it playing basketball," He sighed, "Hurts like a motherfucker but
no permanent damage."

	What a jock thing to say. What a totally jockish thing to say. But then
again, something in his tone sounded a little off. At first, I couldn't
discern as to what it was. Being so closed off and frigid left me little
ability to read the tone of others, but I knew something was weird. His tone
didn't sound mad - it sounded - God, it sounded almost hurt.

	Had I hurt him?

	I was ashamed to admit that I felt a little thrill at that. Imagine such a
thing. The poor, white trash kid actually hurting the rich, preppy Ivy League
jock. That shit never happened except in Mandy Moore movies and White Stripes
songs. For something like that to go down in real life was just so
incredible. For a brief moment, I had to stifle a shiteating grin like no
other - I had quite a few saved up. The whole 'lack of opportunities' thing.

	"So what are you in the mood for?"

	I almost choked, "What?"

	"Food. What are you in the mood for, food-wise?"

	A simultaneous pang of disappointment and relief went off in my stomach like
a depth charge. A comical combination to be sure. I swallowed and steadied
myself, trying to think of something both witty and reasonable in terms of
cuisine. Just my luck, nothing was coming to me! Big surprise.

	"Uh - I don't know. You know the place better than I do." Yeah, that should
be sufficient.

	Trey frowned for a second, "We could go to the food court. They have some
decent sit-down dining - or so I hear."

	I nodded and Trey seemed to accept that as enough consent to turn towards
the main drive. We rode on in silence for a little while, me trying to keep
my brain from shorting out and Trey - trying to be as sexy as possible, I
guessed. How the hell was he able to be so damn desirable with so little
effort?! I hated him - and loved him at the same time.

	Right as I felt compelled to find something to talk about, we pulled up in
front of the student union. For a Monday evening, it looked appropriately
quiet. Trey shut off the car and opened the door, climbing out and leaving me
alone for a second. I said a silent prayer and tried to convince myself that
it wouldn't screw this up in some form or another.

	When I stepped out into the fresh air, the warmth hit my skin and I felt
goose bumps raise on my bare arms. Other than the dull ache in my head from
where I'd been assaulted by a beer keg, I felt pretty good. Even the
nervousness of my situation wasn't having too much of an effect on me. I took
another deep breath and walked towards the glass doors.

	Trey held them open, of course. Like any good gentleman. When I walked
through, I felt that odd emptiness when he didn't guide me through. How in
the hell had he done that only once but still managed to make me crave it
like smack?

	The inside of the student union was fairly empty. The only people I could
see were a group of students sitting inside the glass walls of the Taco Time.
They were studying. I couldn't help but snicker in their general direction.
Those poor bastards actually had to do work to make it here! Too bad for
them!

	"Yeah, they aren't lucky enough to be born gifted at sports." Trey said,
noticing the direction of my stare.

	I had to fight the urge to sass him back. Even in a voice I was pretty sure
would be too low timbered for him to hear. Then, something told me he was
probably kidding. Maybe he was even being self-deprecating. That was
surprising. I wouldn't have thought rich frat boys could be self-deprecating.
But then again, I didn't think they had a soul and while I wasn't ready to
give Trey the benefit of that doubt - I still wanted to.

	That was dangerous.

	Not looking at him, avoiding further danger there, I looked around as
quickly as I could. There had to be some suitably neutral place to eat here.
Someplace we could just eat and not talk. Not get to know each other.
Someplace I could curse Gina for telling me that he was gay. Someplace I
could burn off the pesky spot of hope that was growing inside me.

	But - luck wasn't in my corner right then. Trey had stopped in front of a
small, rather intimate looking bistro-style cafe. Only one or two people in
there and they were both buried in books. Perfect. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just
what the doctor ordered for my psyche.

	"Look good?" Trey asked, sounding somewhat interested in my opinion.

	I nodded. Whenever I tried to look casual, it always ended up when I tried
not to look drunk. I'd think I was coming off perfectly sober, witty, and
charming right up until the bouncer took a hold on my arm. At that point, I
knew I was coming off more than a little sketchy so I imagined Trey must have
been looking for an escape route.

	Of course, after I nodded, he had to hold open the door for me. Of course he
didn't put his hand on my back. I was regretting calling attention to it
because somehow, someway, it was more awkward without. In that second, I
tried to remember how his hand felt.

	I followed him to the counter, still trying to remember. The girl working
the register was immediately knee-deep in flirt mode when she saw Trey. I
don't think she even realized someone else was there. Not like I was with
him. No need to start thinking crazy.

	"Hi Trey!" She said, her eyes bright and unzipping his fly.

	"Hey," He responded, sounding grossed out.

	I didn't like that. I didn't like my pretend-boyfriend sounding grossed out.

	"What can I get you?" She asked, a dopey grin on her face.

	I noticed she didn't say 'you guys.' Why would she? Her dorsal fin was up
and the wounded swimmer was flailing away, ready to be eaten. She hadn't
looked in my direction once the entire time. Not like I blamed her. If Trey
walked into where I worked, I'd probably-- no, 	I'd do my damn job.

	Trey turned to me. He was deferring.

	"What do you want, Cody?"

	The girl behind the counter looked at me. The way you look at a little child
trying to distract you from the television. Such annoyance and distaste she
was able to communicate. I don't even think it was personal. Just hanging the
wingman, I guess.

	Then I realized I hadn't even looked at the menu.

	It was scrawled on a big chalkboard hanging over the counter. All sorts of
down-home-but-not-uncool sandwiches and soups were available. Without
thinking much, I selected some sort of chicken and bell pepper wrap. I doubt
I'd be too concerned with the taste of the food once I sat down. I did need
food to keep the internal shields up, however.

	She wrote down my order with disinterest. It still didn't seem too personal.

	"How about you, Trey?" She asked and the day was sunny again.

	I didn't really pay attention to what Trey ordered either. My id tried to
tell me that if he ordered something with garlic and onions, things weren't
getting romantic tonight. Yet more danger. My personality was interested in
emotional shark feeding and bungee jumping.

	After the girl took his drink order, she gave him the total. I expected him
to flip open his wallet and produce a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. One that
looked hot off the U.S. mint. It blew my mind that I was probably less than a
thousand miles away from where they actually made money.

	But Trey didn't flip open his wallet. Instead, he looked at her. His eyes
were sort of squinty and he looked angry. Angry Trey was scary. His jaw set
and the amazingly precise stubble on his jaw flexed with it. I wondered what
the hell had happened. So did she. She looked scared but not especially close
to knowing what exactly she did.

	"You're not done." Trey said.

	She looked at him. Dumb as a deer in the headlights.

	Trey nodded towards me. Still it took her an extra second.

	"Oh!" She said, and I could have sworn I'd heard a gong go off somewhere,
"What would you like to drink?"

	Even when she asked me, she still sounded sort of petulantly put on by
having to talk to me. Not like I cared. I was too busy realizing that Trey
had - stood up for me. He'd actually refused to accept the world being rude
to me. Didn't he know that I'd long ago accepted and learned to deal with
that fact? Who the hell was this guy?

	"Uh," I stammered, "Pepsi?"

	She nodded. Just barely concealed an eye roll.

	Then, when she rang up the bill and set the order down on the counter, the
wallet appeared. Black leather, it was. Once opened, it produced a crisp, new
twenty dollar bill. Hot of the presses from what could very well have been
less than a thousand miles away.

	Even as she rang Trey up and gave him his change, she still weakly tried to
flirt with him. All she got was a vague nod in return. That was definitely
strange. My mind still reeling from Trey's gentlemanly behavior, I had to
force my feet to follow him to a table.

	Just to whack myself back down to size, I forced myself to see that Trey
didn't pull out my chair for me. Maybe he wasn't _that_ nice of a guy. Or
maybe he was. Maybe the reason I couldn't convince myself otherwise was
because - I knew. I knew he was a nice guy and no amount of 'rich frat boy'
rhetoric could change it.

	Trey immediately dug into his sandwich. He was hungry. It took lots of food
to keep a body like his running smoothly. Then I began thinking about his
body. My stomach did handsprings and I willed my hands not to shake as I
unwrapped my own sandwich. Just eat, Cody. Just eat and don't talk and maybe
things will be okay.

	But then again, God didn't like me.

	As soon as I took a bite, my head ached. I winced and tensed in my seat.
Where I'd been hit, my head throbbed and the pain nearly brought tears to my
eyes. Crying was the one thing I couldn't afford to do. So, just like that
wacky God, crying was almost inevitable.

	Trey noticed. Of course. He just _would_ notice something like that.

	"You all right?" Trey asked. It was the same thing he'd said to me the very
first time. In the same concerned tone of voice. It didn't help the lump in
my throat.

	Speaking would push me over the edge. I just nodded.

	See, I had my eyes closed at that point. I was rubbing the back of my head
and clenching my eyelids shut as tightly as possible. Tears had a hard time
escaping when I did that. The skill had come in handy quite a bit during my
youth.

	Having my eyes closed meant I hadn't seen Trey scoot around the table. Nor
did I see his hand approaching the back of my head. But I felt it. I felt
that huge, warm, soft paw on the back of my neck. Long, strong fingers.
Massaging the back of my neck.

	Weirdly enough, that made the lump go away. Just a bit, though.

	I nodded again and blinked my eyes. That managed to get rid of a few of the
tears that had escaped. I knew some others were there and pathetically hoped
Trey hadn't seen them. If he had and I could tell, more tears would emerge.
Tears I wouldn't be able to stop.

	Because Trey was a nice guy, he didn't see them. Or at least he didn't let
me know that he'd seen them. Maybe he knew. Maybe being a nice guy meant you
didn't call attention to that kind of thing. Maybe love did that.

	Where the hell did that come from?

	Pushing it to the back of my mind, I nodded one more time and took a deep
breath. It was then I realized Trey was much closer to me than I'd been able
to tell. I'll be damned if his face was less than a foot and a half from
mine. It was like I could feel the stubble on my face. Against my lips.

	"Yeah. Just took me by surprise is all."

	Trey didn't move. He just sat there, his hand massaging the back of my neck,
his blue eyes staring at me. Feeling helpless, I looked back at him and tried
to give him a reassuring look. Why I wanted him to stop touching me and move
when _really_ I wanted just the opposite - I would never understand.

	Slowly, he relaxed his grip and let me go. Like with the hand on the back, I
missed the contact as soon as it was gone. Not making eye contact, I saw Trey
slide back away from me. Not to the other side of the table, where he'd been
before, but far enough away to respect my personal space.

	Finally, he spoke, "Is the chewing?"

	I nodded, still rubbing the back of my head.

	"Hold on a second."

	Covertly, I watched as he got up and went to the counter. After a brief,
clipped conversation, she handed Trey a paper cup. When he sat back down, he
held it gently against the back of my head. It felt good. Soothing and
calming.

	"Try taking another bite."

	I felt like a moron. A moron in love. But a moron none-the-less.

	Taking things one step at a time, I tried taking a bite of the sandwich. The
back of my head ached, but this time, the pain was much duller and not at all
debilitating. I looked at Trey, unable to help doing so, and he smiled. That
smile. The half-mouth smile that melted me so quickly.

	"Is it numb enough?"

	I nodded, "Yeah. I'll be okay."

	Even though the sandwich tasted like dried glue, I didn't care. Even if Trey
didn't _like me_, he - liked me, at least. Or at least he cared enough to
make sure people knew I existed. That was sure nice.

	We ate in silence for several seconds, weirdly comfortable with it.
Something about Trey seemed to appreciate the silence. Maybe he got sick of
having to talk in Jerry Maguire-esque clichés about winning. Maybe I just
imagined it that way.

	I wondered how being gay affected that. Was it an open thing or sort of an
'open secret?' Eli knew and so did Gina. Shane didn't seem especially
in-the-dark over Trey hanging out with another guy. Maybe they were all
involved in some conspiracy to make me look like a moron. Even if that was
the case, I was determined to enjoy the scam for as long as possible.

	Or maybe he really did-- no, never mind.

	"So - basketball, huh?" I asked, overcome with a desire to hear him talk.

	"Relax, Cody. I'm not going to ask about your dad again."

	I paused. I didn't know whether to get pissy about it. He was paying for
food, after all.

	"I didn't mean anything by it." I said in my most neutral voice.

	"Cody," Trey sighed, "I know what it's like to have a dad that sucks."

	"You mentioned that."

	"So - if you're embarrassed or shell-shocked, I understand," Trey paused,
looking me in the eye, "But it's not like I don't understand."

	I could just nod.

	"So, you wanna talk about basketball?" He said, leaning back in his chair.

	This was a little scary. Kind of like poking a sleeping tiger.

	"Not if you don't want to talk about it."

	"No," He shrugged, "I think if I don't talk about it, you're gonna keep
trying to freeze me out."

	"Uh - okay?"

	Trey smiled. Not exactly a crazy smile but one that suggested - pathos.

	"Basketball was my dad's idea. He wanted me to double my chances at a
scholarship," He leaned forward on his knees, "I didn't have much choice."

	I tried to wrap my brain around it, "Couldn't he have paid for you to go
here anyway?"

	Trey smirked. It was a tired, almost-bitter smirk.

	"All four of my brothers went to college on his dime," Trey chuckled, "Not
_his_ dime. More like my great-granddad's dime. So me, being the baby boy of
the family, he got a hair up his ass talking about how I 'need to do it
myself.' Not by getting a job. Not by doing anything real people do. It still
had to be something that made his name seem better than others. All four of
my brothers can't do a damn thing other than get drunk, crash cars, and not
take no for an answer."

	He paused again. I felt frozen.

	"So he decides to expect something out of me. He decides to latch on to the
last of his five boys and actually expect me to do what my brothers didn't.
He expects me to get good grades, play sports like a star, and marry some
girl who won't get liquored up at Christmas show off her pierced labia to my
ninety-year-old grandmother."

	I couldn't help but grimace.

	"So yeah, Cody," He said softly, his tone gentle again, "My dad sucks, too.
The only way I've ever learned to get away from it is to not be him. To not
be anything like him. To be the exact opposite of him in every way. Which I
am."

	I nodded.

	"So yeah - I play basketball."

	I chose not to respond.

	Trey smiled. It was his goofy smile.

	"Are you gonna say something?" He asked finally.

	I knew what I said next was important. It could very well be the deciding
factor in whatever happened next between Trey and I. This would be the big
one. The moment that either sunk me or kept me a float.

	"That sucks."

	Touchdown.

	Trey seemed embarrassed.

	At that moment, if I could have dug a hole through the concrete and buried
myself, I would have. He'd been hoping that I'd open up to him in a similar
way and I'd just maintained the barrier. Not like I could ever be expected to
change.

	"Yeah," He sighed, clearing his throat, "It does."

	We just sat there. Trey drummed his fingers softly on the table. I felt like
drumming my head with a bought bullet from a rented gun. Nothing my family
had ever done had made me feel so bad. That was the irony. Nothing they had
done had made me feel this bad, they just helped me make such a painful
decision.

	"My dad left when I was six."

	I was shocked that I heard myself saying it. All my life, I'd convinced
myself that my dad had died heroically. In Iraq or Bosnia or some other
noble, manly way. That he'd hadn't left my with my mom and my step dad. In a
way, I was admitting it to myself and it scared me.

	Trey looked at me, "Yeah?"

	I nodded. I swallowed hard.

	"Yeah - never really admitted it before."

	Trey didn't say anything right away. I wished he would because the longer he
went just sitting there, the more it felt like I was being judged. When he
wasn't responding, it felt like a big, hearty laugh was on the way. That was
something I couldn't handle.

	"Did you know him?" He asked gently.

	"Yeah," I said it softly, any louder and my voice would have broken, "I knew
him really well."

	"Miss him?"

	I only nodded. Unable to make eye contact, I looked out the clear walls of
the café. Trying to find something - anything - to distract me from the
conversation. Twelve years I'd protected it and forced it into the pit of my
stomach - and I wasn't sure I really wanted to bring it out. Least of all in
front of Trey.

	"Know where he is?"

	I shook my head. I began to silently pray that Trey would drop it.

	We sat in silence again. This time, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Maybe
it was because we were finally even. Trey had opened up to me and I to him.
His may have been more verbal but mine definitely had the extra punch to it.
Usually, I would have been proud but not when the feelings were so - real.

	"I'm really tired," I sighed, "And my head is kind of hurting."

	Trey ran his fingers through his hair. Even in my frazzled state, it gave me
a little tickle to see it. I swallowed hard again and rubbed my eyes.
Suddenly, I really did feel tired and my head really did hurt.

	"You wanna go?" Trey asked softly.

	"If that's okay."

	My legs moved and stood me up. I followed Trey out of the café, disregarding
the farewell from the girl behind the counter, and through the student union.
As we walked, I noticed that Trey got quite a few looks from the assorted
students gathered. Longing, jealousy, admiration - all there and all very
blatant. I didn't like the way it made me feel. It made me feel possessive.
It made me feel like since we'd shared our "secrets", that meant he was mine.

	Then I felt dumb.

	No matter how nice Trey was to me, I couldn't let myself believe that he'd
ever be mine. I'd realized that he wasn't an asshole. A meat headed frat-boy
jock who hated everyone different. He hated his dad and wanted to be
completely the opposite. But he wasn't going to be mine.

	But maybe he could be.

	There was dangerous, dangerous hope again.

	* 	*	*	*	*

	Trey did the hand thing.

	When he opened the door to the car, he put his hand on my back. When I first
felt him do it, I almost froze. I'd become so fixated on missing the
sensation that when it returned, I didn't immediately recognize it. But when
I did, I felt like I'd won the Super Bowl.

	It lasted for only a split second, but as soon as I was in the car, my heart
soared. I allowed myself a big, dumb smile as Trey rounded the car and got
into the driver's seat. Getting a lid on it before he could see, I settled in
and buckled my seat belt.

	We drove in silence for the most of the trip. I didn't know if I was
supposed to say anything or wait for him to talk. I didn't know if the hand
thing was meant as a peace offering or some sort of flirting maneuver. I just
felt confused. The giddiness had worn off and I felt completely in the dark.

	It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.

	Trey stopped the car at a light. He shifted in his seat.

	"Hey, Cody?"

	Here we go. Sink or swim.

	"Is your head still hurting?"

	"Yeah." I said mildly.

	Was this leading to a discussion about a lawsuit?

	"So - you might have a concussion maybe?"

	I didn't like the sound of that. Concussions meant doctors. Doctors meant
hospitals. Hospitals meant bills. Bills meant money. If I was laid up with a
head injury, I couldn't golf. If I couldn't golf, I couldn't make money.
Therefore, I'd be screwed. I'd lose my scholarship and I'd have to move back
to--

	Trey's voice interrupted my slippery slope of anxiety.

	"I'm not saying you do or anything - but that's something you shouldn't be
alone with, right?"

	"I don't know."

	What the hell was this?

	"Shane would know if you had a concussion and if you needed help, he could
probably - take care of you."

	"Uh - okay."

	I honestly didn't know what the hell else to say.

	"So," Trey sighed, "If you're cool with staying at the house tonight, Shane
could help you if you felt sick and then I could give you a ride back to your
dorm and then to class - if you want."

	Trey was kidding. He had to be. He had to be screwing with me.

	"So - where would I sleep?"

	"You can have my bed and I'll take the couch," Trey shrugged, "If you're
comfortable that, of course."

	"Sure - if you're comfortable with it."

	Trey smiled, "Yeah. I mean, it's the least Shane can do. He kind of owes
you, after all."

	I smiled. A real smile. I was beginning to enjoy that.

	"Plus if you die, I can blame it on him."

	I laughed. When the hell did these frat boys get so funny to me?

	Then I began to stew. The plans had changed. Trey had extended our time
together. Not only was I not going back to my dorm, I was going to his frat
house. _The_ frat house. The one I was pretty sure housed bowling balls in
the walls and piss on the toilet seats.

	My mind feverishly tried to formulate some sort of plan. Not an escape plan
necessarily, but some sort of plan of action. Some way to handle this new
level of - whatever it was. I couldn't have described exactly what it was if
my life had depended on it. All I knew was that I needed to be somewhat
sharper than usual.

	Trey brought the car back down Greek Row. I forced myself to take deep
breaths and think calming thoughts. He wasn't leading me to some sort of
execution. He wasn't kidnapping me.

	He was just - taking care of me.

	Jesus Christ, was that what he was doing?!

	I couldn't help but watch, impressed, as Trey perfectly parallel parked the
car next to the curb. My last experience with parallel parking had been when
my step dad had told me that "only Jews" knew how to do it properly. Like
everything else, I didn't believe it.

	Wiping the sweat from my palm, I pushed the driver's side door open and
stepped back out onto the sidewalk. There was that damn sea smell again. It
tickled my sinuses. Then I wondered what Trey's bed would smell like and I
felt a tickle somewhere else. He wouldn't _really_ be letting me sleep in his
bed - would he?

	Trey beckoned me up the walk to the house. I looked around and saw that the
neighborhood was hardly partying hard. I guessed that even frat houses didn't
do much hardcore business when classes had started. Either that or they were
all hung over and had another few hours before the date-rape began.

	I paused on the porch and let Trey hold the door open. Before I could go in,
he stuck his head in and looked around. Puzzled, I waited and when he stepped
aside, I walked in.

	The clothes pile was still there. As was the huge fireplace.

	Then he did the hand thing. Again.

	Before I could float away, he leaned in.

	"I was just checking to see if anything dangerous was `tarding around."

	Stifling a laugh, I waited for Trey to make the next move. I assumed that
non-brothers weren't exactly encouraged in the house. Especially those that
weren't drunken girls with gigantic breasts. Those of us with penises and
underclass rankings wouldn't be quite the kind of houseguests the frat would
allow.

	"Come on," Trey said, poking me in the elbow, "I'll show the room."

	As I followed him up the stairs, his steps heavy like before, I felt the
sudden urge to hunker down. As much goodwill as Trey had built up with me, I
still feel entirely exempt from hazing in enemy territory.

	"Should I hide or something?" I asked.

	Trey smiled, "Nah. Anyone has a problem, I'll just bring up how you were
almost murdered by a beer keg. That's sort of a double whammy against the
house."

	I felt at ease again. Damn him for being able to do that.

	Trey led me to a room at the end of the hall. Working a key into the lock
and shoving against the door, he finally managed to get it open. Expecting a
puff of acrid stank, I was pleasantly surprised when the room didn't smell
bad at all. No cheap cologne, no GHB stink, nothing other than the slight
scent of cologne.

	It was, dare I say it, actually quite nice.

	Trey held the door open. I went in. He did the hand thing.

	Trey's room was even more surprising once I got inside. It wasn't especially
neat or organized but it was very - pleasant. Assorted posters and pictures
on the walls, a stereo and TV in the corner, an IKEA desk with a laptop
computer. My God, it looked like an ordinary dorm room.

	With all sorts of clothes. All over the place. Clothes that were different
from the ones that Trey was wearing right then. That fascinated me. That he
had different outfits. How weird.

	"So yeah," Trey sighed, "Think you can crash here?"

	"Sure," I said, not wanting to sound at all ungrateful.

	Trey smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. It ruffled slightly and
then fell back all perfectly, like the 'boy band rebel' look that it so
perfectly captured. He put his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath.
He expected me to say something. Yet again, I stumbled over my own brain,
trying to come up with something brilliant.

	"Nice room."

	Grand slam! Red Sox in the pennant!

	"You want to have a seat?" Trey said, pointing to the bed.

	Taking my time not to break anything, I sat down on the bed. It's softness
was quite appealing. Hoping Trey would sit next to me, I deliberately left
him enough room. Instead, he sat down in the computer chair. The way he
leaned forward on his knees made me tingle again.

	Nervously, I shifted on the bed and heard a crinkle. Frowning, I reached
under one of the pillows and pulled out a wrinkled paper. It was an old
Krispy Kreme wrapper. I held it up and looked at Trey.

	"Carbo-loading." He said matter-of-factly.

	"This soon?"

	"Oh, I think that's from last spring."

	I dropped the wrapper and shuddered. Trey laughed.

	"You need anything else?" He asked.

	"No, I should be okay," I said, "Gonna hit the couch?"

	"Yeah," Trey said, "Just give me a second."

	I watched as he got up and leaned over his black suitcase. Almost thrusting
his ass directly in my face he was. The tight faded denim of his jeans gave
me an extremely intimate view of his hindquarters. Very tight, muscular, and
appealing. So much so that I could tell that his summers at the Vineyard were
spent swimming extensively.

	Tearing my eyes away from his ass, I watched as he pulled several pieces of
clothing from the bag. Then he stood up straight and turned back to me. For a
brief second, I thought about trying to hint that he would stay. If he wanted
to, of course.

	"All right! Bathroom is fourth door on the left, Shane's room is the second
one to the right, I'll be downstairs if you need anything. I mean, if you
need me - you know where I am."

	I nodded, "I'll be here."

	Trey stood there for a second longer. I felt the urge to beg him to stay. To
just tell him to stay with me and if necessary, we could lay on top of each
other in the bed. It would conserve body heat and cut down on the power bill.
Right?

	"Well, I'll let you get some rest," He paused, "Okay?"

	"Okay."

	I felt like I was on the Titanic.

	He stood there again. I wished he'd stop doing that.

	"So - good night, Cody."

	I smiled as amiably as I knew how, "Night, Trey."

	He smiled and nodded. Silently, he opened the door and left. Then he was
gone. I was all alone in his room with his posters, books, pictures,
incredibly expensive golf clubs, and whatever the hell else was living in his
dirty clothes.

	This was crazy. Trey was insane. Either that, or it was a sting by the local
police. But then, when a SWAT team didn't kick the door down and handcuff me,
I felt a little more secure. Well, as secure as I was going to feel tucked
away in a frat house two thousand miles from anyone any blood relation to me.

	Maybe it wasn't so bad.

	Cautiously, I laid down on the bed. First remembering to take my shoes off,
I did my best to relax. Getting under the covers would have been a way too
familiar move at that point. Let alone - removing any more of my clothes.
Despite all my rational thinking, I felt a stirring between my legs.

	Almost reflexively, I let myself take a gentle whiff of Trey's pillow. It
smelled like cologne and Old Spice shampoo. I'd never encountered anything so
pleasant in my life. Feeling daring, I took another sniff and felt
light-headed. I imagined it was what his hair smelled like.

	Despite my anxiousness and excitement, I began to feel drowsy. Almost turned
off the light but thought better of it; in an unfamiliar situation, darkness
can mean the difference between life and death. His covers were much warmer
and fabric-softened than any I'd ever encountered.

	After drowsing for a while, I woke up when I heard the door knob being
turned. Immediately, I sat bolt upright in bed and rubbed my eyes
frantically. This was it. This was going to be the death of me. I was going
to be caught and apprehended in enemy territory. Game over.

	But then Trey walked in. He was carrying a pillow and a blanket.

	He'd also changed clothes. He was wearing a pair of green plaid pajama pants
and white v-neck t-shirt. He looked apologetic at first and then puzzled.

	"I'm back." He said.

	"Okay," I said slowly, my body still unclenching.

	"Somebody brought somebody back to the house and they puked on the couch. It
smells awful." He said, sounding tired and old again.

	"Oh!" I sat up and reached for my shoes, "Let me just put my shoes on and
I'll get out--"

	"Cody - you don't have to go." Trey said gently.

	"I don't?"

	"No. You stay in bed and I'll," He looked around the room, "Sleep on the
floor. I can just pile the dirty clothes."

	My first instinct was to suggest that we share the bed. For a brief, insane
second, the "let's sleep on top of each other" idea sounded perfectly
plausible. Then I forced it out of my mind. I'd just cheated death yet again
- it wasn't the time to test the limits of luck.

	So something else came out of my mouth instead.

	"That's what you sleep in?" I asked, interested in how normal his sleepwear
was.

	Trey smirked at me as he pilled the clothes with his foot, "Yeah, normally I
wear buttless chaps and a leather harness but - you know, I've got company
tonight."

	Trey in buttless chaps wasn't an image I needed.

	"Why?" He asked.

	"I don't know. I expected something more revealing."

	Trey stood up, "I can do something more revealing."

	I smirked as I laid back down, "No, that's okay."

	Trey looked down at me. Before I could protest, he pulled off his t-shirt
and tossed it on the floor. Before I could process _that_, he pulled his
pajama pants down and stepped out of them. Just like that, he was standing in
front of me in just a pair of red boxer briefs.

	What struck me (like a baseball bat) about his body wasn't that it was
perfectly lean and defined. It wasn't that every part of him was pretty much
ideally proportioned. Wasn't the hefty bulge at the front of his underwear
that was merely but twelve inches form my face Hell, it wasn't even that he
was hairy - to a surprising degree, with a rather thick amount of dark, brown
hair on his chest, stomach, and legs.

	It was that he had a pierced nipple. Just one. Just his right nipple.
Pierced with a small silver bar. I'd never known any rich kids with a
piercing. That just seemed so utterly strange and alien to me.

	Aware that I was beginning to gawk a little long, I maintained my
unimpressed face. I nodded. Then I made sure to look like I was waiting for
him to put his damn clothes on and stop being such a vain asshole. But I
highly doubt he was all that fooled by it.

	"Okay, put your clothes on." I said, forcing myself to look away.

	"Why?" Trey asked, "You said you wanted something more revealing."

	"I said I `expected' something more revealing."

	Trey didn't say anything. He began to slowly rub his bare stomach.

	"Stop that!" I said, trying to maintain my sanity and still sound
`exasperated', "If I have to stare at your areolas, I'll puke. Puking is
definitely a sign of a concussion."

	Trey stopped but didn't put his clothes on. Instead, he sat down next to me
on the bed. So close that I could feel the warmth of his mostly-nude body
against the bare parts of mine. Instead of being a foot from my face, his
bulge was a foot away from my hand. His hairy thigh was close enough to
massage with my hand. His thick treasure trail could be reached by my tongue
in a nanosecond or less.

	This would definitely be one for "Cody's Jack Files."

	"How does that work?" Trey asked, just as casually he had when we were in
class that day.

	"How does what work? Put your clothes on."

	"How does staring at my areolas making you puke mean you have a concussion?"

	"It does. Put your clothes on!"

	"You think my areolas are _that_ ugly?"

	"Stop saying that word!" I whined, "And put your clothes on!"

	"What word? Ugly?"

	This was getting bad. _Very_ bad.

	"Trey - I'm tired."

	He smiled. I tried to focus on that instead of his body. Hell, two fat naked
biker chicks could be having dildo sex in front of me and I would have
focused on that. Which only proved that Trey was driving me to sick, sick
extremes.

	"Oh well," Trey said, "Maybe my areolas will grow on you."

	Okay, _that_ one cracked me up.

	Trey got up from the bed and pulled his shirt and pants back on. Immediately
after he did so, I felt a sore longing disappointment. Both in my stomach and
in my scrotum. Then, for the first time, I realized about my scrotum. See, my
scrotum had subconsciously enjoyed Trey being in his underwear and openly
speaking his areolas. Now my scrotum was irritated and achy.

	Luckily enough, my next chance to relieve the pressure was at least ten
hours away. Trey would be taking me to my dorm tomorrow and then to class. So
my scrotum would be with Trey all morning tomorrow. I'd have to wait until
being alone after class - if Trey even allowed that to happen.

	That God. What a sense of humor.

	Trey laid down next to the bed and pulled the couch blanket over him. The
way he shifted uncomfortably made me wonder. Perhaps, was Trey's scrotum
feeling discomfort similar to mine? Unsurprisingly, thinking of such a thing
made mine ache even worse.

	Feeling lightheaded, I reached up and switched the light off.

	Even with the light off, I could still sense Trey in the room. After a
second, my senses adjusted and I could hear his soft breathing from the
floor. Like a withering, old man, I carefully lowered myself back onto the
blanket. Struggling mightily, I got my breathing under control and shut my
eyes tightly. Like vertigo, this was.

	"Hey Cody?"

	Trey's voice nearly made me jump.

	"Yeah?" I responded, my voice painfully high-pitched and anxious.

	"Are my areolas really ugly?" He asked, his voice almost laughing.

	"Shut up." I whispered.

	After a few seconds, I frowned in the darkness.

	"Trey - did somebody really puke on the couch?"

	No answer. Then he spoke.

	"Yeah - but they'll clean it up before we get up tomorrow."

	Oh, that's just _great_. The kid was the romantic type. The type to create
whacky schemes to spend time together. Of all the people in the world God
could have hooked me up with - it was one of those types. The type that
actually put thought into relationships and want to learn from past mistakes.

	How the hell would I make that work?

	Then, despite my internal bitching, I felt very warm. In the pit of my
stomach. It was a warm, fuzzy, lovey-dovey feeling. For the moment, my
horniness was forgotten and whatever trepidation I felt about Trey and I and
whatever would happen between us was gone. Just like that. Not permanently, I
knew, but - for a little while, it was gone.

	I smiled in the darkness.

	Maybe things were actually about to get better.

        TO BE CONTINUED ...