One Sub Stud (Gay SPH)
The sweetest of pads, it had hosted many young men (and their various overnight companions) over the last twenty-some years. Some of them had performed ad hoc renovations, meant to improve upon crazy Eleanor’s own modifications; the result was a large house with good bones, but which was weirdly laid out in places. Inside it had a dated and mismatched look, but the overall effect was more whimsical than rundown.
It was inconveniently located, but that was part of its charm. The big old house was an oasis – the fraternities were only a mile and a half away, but for anyone living on campus, it might as well have been out of state. The first group had passed it to friends, and their friends to other friends. Those who had wanted to live there were attracted by its isolation, and were often the iconoclasts of their class. They possessed a different kind of cool. In their own minds, they had transcended the ordinary trappings of belonging. The fraternity officers had usually looked a little askance at the young men who had chosen that residence, but they had envied them, too.
Eventually, the liberal owner had grown disillusioned with the frat boy ilk, and evicted them all one summer to prevent them from keeping it “in the family”. They were replaced by a more diverse group of renters (although still all male). But rich frat boys are devious, and the memory of the perfect off-campus refuge had persisted in SAE lore. Jeff Woodard, a student of history, a keen observer, and a veteran manipulator, had managed to convince the landlord that *his* new fraternity group would be different. They would be only three, not five or six hedonists like previous occupants. And after Justin Corvino had proposed Chris Donaldson, the erstwhile SAE pledge, to join them, Jeff had been able to play a trump card. He had intimated to the landlord, in a nod to diversity, that they might take on a fourth roommate: this person would not be from the fraternity, but would be less advantaged, and . . . they thought . . . gay. The landlord had agreed. Four men instead of the usual six meant (hopefully) less wear and tear, and if one of them was (purportedly) a homosexual, that surely meant a higher standard of cleanliness throughout. He was able to quaff his chardonnay at his downtown high-rise in peace, confident in Jeff’s very firm handshake and piercing, intelligent green eyes.
And so, since the end of spring quarter, Jeff and Justin’s focus had been on getting the homosexual to move in. And tangentially, getting Tag Newton, the homosexual’s former pledge dad, to agree to the foursome. Tag felt awkward around Chris, but his former pledge son’s digs would be in the basement. The other three would all have rooms upstairs. Getting Tag to grudgingly approve had been easy enough, once it had been explained that interaction could be minimal, if it felt uncomfortable.
Chris was another matter. He already had a place to live that he liked, as Jeff understood it. But Jeff also understood that Chris’ presence in the house was an imperative for Justin – and he knew why. Yes, all three of the SAE brothers knew that slim, toned, quiet Chris was gay. Justin from (long) experience, and Jeff and Tag from obvious clues. But Tag had been completely oblivious to Justin’s attachment to his handsome ex-roommate, whereas Jeff had taken only a few days during the kid’s failed pledge period to recognize what was going on. He knew Justin better – they had lived on the same hall freshman year, and had pledged at the same time. They had a lot of history. So Jeff, reading between the lines, had worked assiduously to help his old friend’s desire become reality. He had sent occasional friendly emails to Chris over the late spring and summer – never with the blunt pressure he assumed Justin was exerting, but always with the subtext that Chris would be comfortable in the house, that a bit of the others’ prestige would rub off on him, and most of all, that Jeff and Tag would stay out of his business.
But the end of August had rolled around, and Chris still hadn’t committed. Jeff assumed this had something to do with the fact that Justin had punched Chris in the face last spring – he thought the two had made up around Chris’ birthday, but he knew none of the details. Jeff could get no intelligence out of Justin; the jock was too busy pretending that this thing he obviously really, really wanted was a matter of indifference to him – just a casual offer to an old friend.
The suspense lasted until almost the last possible moment. Classes started on September 23, and Justin, Jeff, and Tag had all moved into the house well before then. Jeff was first, right after the former tenants’ lease was up; he spent a week making it habitable, and began to customize it for the new residents. There were TVs to position, pool and foosball tables to install, refrigerators and a bar to stock . . . but mostly, there was lots of cleaning. Jeff had insisted that the interior be completely repainted by the owner, and had driven down the price of it by coming in himself and scrubbing – which he would have done anyway to make sure it met his exacting standards. Tag and Justin hadn’t known what to make of that. It was no secret he was the neatest of the three in their room over at the SAE house, but they had no idea he could be this obsessive. Jeff’s goal was perfection: for himself, but also for each of them. A pristine and organized start, he thought, was the best way for each of them to embark on a year they’d hopefully cherish forever.
Senior year in college is like that. Everything is drawing to a close – schooling, relationships, recent history, a carefree existence mostly paid for by others. Jeff realized the emotional impact of that unique time while he was still in it, so he tried to make the house a space in which each important moment could be memorialized as it happened.
Tag moved in next, at the end of August, and Justin joined them a week later, once his internship in New York City was over and he had returned to the Midwest. Chris was the only wild card. To Tag, his ex-pledge son’s presence felt like an extra; the three roommates from junior year were all there, so they should just get the party started. They were all well-heeled enough not to need Chris’ rent contribution.
But for Justin, his sophomore-year roommate was the key to the memories he wanted to create, and the boy’s absence meant the house was not complete. Tag eventually sensed Justin’s need too, on some level. After all, he had known they were tight – he and Jeff had reached out to Chris to help save Justin from his downward spiral last spring. And it had all turned out ok, really, as far as Tag could see – Justin had gotten off academic probation, and had been in a much better place since April, even if his current mood did feel pretty manic.
Manic, intense . . . however you put it, Justin’s total fixation on Chris’ moving in had, in fact, led to conflict shortly after Labor Day. The house was large, but not a mansion; the first floor contained a spacious living room, a kitchen, a dining room, and a half bath. A deck extended from the back of the house, attached to the living room and kitchen. There were four bedrooms of various sizes upstairs, and a large two-room basement, which became the point of contention.
Tag wanted the basement to be the den, the main man cave, the sanctum. Justin refused.
“Chris is going to live down there,” he insisted.
“Dude, you haven’t heard from him that he’s ACTUALLY gonna move in,” Tag countered, lazily thumping a meaty fist against the wall to emphasize his point. He was a former football player and the biggest of the three frat brothers. “The living room is totally cramped with all the entertainment shit. How are we gonna have people over? We should definitely use the main room down there for a gaming room. Flat screen for Xbox and PlayStation, and put in another bar by the stairs. It’ll be awesome! Plus, we all gotta go down there to do our laundry anyways. Chris will still have the suite behind the stairs. IF he’s moving in.
“That suite is bigger than all our rooms upstairs,” he added pointedly.
“It’s also underground,” Justin replied amicably, “with only one window that looks out on a little patch of grass and the driveway. And there are bars on the window. So it’s a compromise. The upstairs rooms are nicer, even if they are smaller.”
“Then let him take the fourth one,” Tag responded triumphantly – this was the point he’d been making for five months, ever since this ridiculous idea had been proposed.
“No, it’s gotta be the basement,” Justin said truculently. “There’s only two bathrooms upstairs, and whoever’s in that fourth room would have to go down the hall. That extra bedroom works much better as an upstairs hangout. For when we don’t feel like going downstairs.”
“But that’s the way EVERYONE has lived here before,” Tag complained, as if he had, in fact, known multiple former residents.
“Then they were idiots.”
“I don’t know,” Jeff added, peering up from his MacBook, “I kinda like the idea of having the main group area being on the first floor. The basement is for the laundry. Besides, would you want your bedroom to be next to the game room? It’s bad enough having the laundry outside your room, would you want a man cave that three other guys are using right next to you when you’re trying to sleep? I think it works out fine. Bedrooms upstairs, a little socializing or office space up there too if we want it, and then the group stuff on the main floor. TV, deck, games, kitchen, all that stuff. We can hook up the Xbox to the main TV. I put another TV in the dining room, so we can hook shit up there, too. It’s not like we’re going to be hosting Thanksgiving dinner. The dining room is a good entertainment annex. We can leave the basement to Chris, no big deal.”
“Yeah, bro, we don’t even fucking know if he’s gonna live here,” Tag grumbled, but Jeff and Justin prevailed.
“Of course he’s gonna,” Justin said, his infectious grin returning and his warm brown eyes lighting up. “He’s moving in right before classes.”
“You finally heard from him?” Tag asked.
“Yup,” Justin lied. “Not sure which day yet, but the week before classes start.”
As it turned out, Justin was right. Chris finally did commit, and he told Justin that his move was scheduled for the Sunday before the quarter began.
“Aw, c’mon, Chrissy, at least move in on Friday. Then you won’t disrupt the weekend.”
“Are you guys having a party?”
“Naw, we’re not necessarily into doing that. I meant, we can all hang out together before it gets all intense with school.”
Hang out? I’m not part of your frat, Chris thought. I barely know if I belong in that house, but . . .
“Ok. I’ll make it Friday.”
“Awesome! You’re a champ, roomie.”
Chris had smiled despite his nerves. He loved when Justin called him that. It reminded him of their year living together. “Champ” and “Sub Stud” had been his favorite terms of endearment, if such they were. “Faggot”, fortunately, seemed to have been retired. God, that was all a long time ago. He remembered the countless times he had serviced Justin in their room. And the first time he had licked feet . . . and liked it. And dashing to the bathroom to clean the scent of Justin’s crotch and ass off his face. And the time he had jumped out of the window, after Justin had repeatedly punched him in the stomach.
Yeah.
Good times.
Well . . . some of them were, he told himself hopefully.
But what promise did he have that this new living situation was going to be alright? None, really, which is why he had wrestled with it.
He hadn’t seen Justin in person since last June – a long time. They had been in regular contact, though, and surprisingly, Chris had felt good about their communication over the summer. Justin had been playful and fun via text. And sexy and hot. There were a lot of dick pics on Chris’ phone now, featuring Justin’s massive uncut member in various states of arousal. So things were good, but always complicated, given their history. And, of course, Chris himself had not been fully focused on Justin last summer, not like the jock apparently had been on him. Far from it. Mark had consumed a lot of his energy.
Ah, Mark. Yeah. That had also contributed to Chris’ doubts about living with the frat boys. The letter had come as he was packing up his things in the attic room on Maple Street he had come to love. It was short, but a lot to digest.
Dear Chris,
Thank you for your email letting me know where you will be living next year. I’m very
sorry you made that choice, but it is, obviously, your choice.
A letter in and of itself was surprising. Who wrote letters anymore? And on very elegant, lavender stationery. Of course.
But it had come too late. Chris had already made his decision, given notice at his old place, and sent his first check to Jeff, who was acting as treasurer for the boys. The last few days in the attic room had been nostalgic, but not maudlin. There were good and bad memories there, but basically all of the important ones had to do with Justin anyway, and he was headed back into that fetid world – and excited to do it. He certainly wouldn’t miss the bloodstain on the floor from his nose that night. He hadn’t ever been able to get it out, but the carpet was a hideous orange shag, so his landlord had never noticed it.
He did spare a last look at the mailbox as he left the old house for good. He would always remember the offering of worn, sweaty socks Justin had left there almost a year ago. To announce his return, and to pave the way to getting back in his boy’s life.
Man, that had been one fucked-up year. But now he was turning the page.
He arrived at the guys’ place – no, his new place – in the mid-afternoon. His dad’s truck pulled up behind. Terribly awkward, but Tom Donaldson had insisted on helping his son move. It was necessary, really, as even an embarrassed Chris had to admit – the attic room had come furnished, but the new place was not, so they’d had to buy some basics, and Tom’s construction van was big enough to haul it all at once. The other guys were confused that Chris hadn’t just had the furniture delivered, but they were polite about it, and pitched in to get everything into the house.
The three frat boys made a nice picture when Chris and his dad pulled up: three tall, athletic guys in simple but expensive exercise clothes that revealed their worked-out bodies with artful casualness – but which didn’t look as trashy as the cut-up, side-exposing t-shirts two of them usually wore to the gym. They gave off a conservative air – Tag with his buzz cut, Justin’s shaved head, Jeff’s short, blond hair, in which the use of product was completely masculine. Each was every inch the bro.
Tag was especially helpful; they were all jocks, but he was the strongest, and his ex-linebacker muscle was a huge bonus getting the big pieces around the tight corner on the stairs down to the basement. He was very friendly, too, smothering Chris in a strange side hug. He was evidently over his pique about the basement. Justin took charge of all the furniture that needed to be assembled, and the room took shape much more quickly than anyone had anticipated.
Whatever Tom had thought about his son’s living arrangements, the load-in was very reassuring. Tag and Justin were clearly good, regular guys. Chris had been such a loner in high school, it was nice to see him with normal people. Tom ultimately concluded that Jeff would be a good influence, too. He was lean and dashing, with the arrogant bearing of a lacrosse player, but he would only call Tom “Mr. Donaldson”, and there was no irony or condescension to it. He was smart, like Chris, and when you talked to him, he wasn’t a douche. Yeah, Tom thought, this’ll be fine. And my kid will be separated by floorboards from all the nonsense the other guys might get up to.
Chris was antsy to get his clothes and books unpacked, but Justin insisted on giving him a tour. The built alpha jock was effervescent, and his excitement caught on; Jeff came down to the basement with four beers and a twinkle in his green eyes. He tossed one to each of the others, praised all their hard work, and proclaimed them all buds. They followed Justin as he showed them around the place.
“Ok, so you’ve seen your room already, obviously, and the bathroom. And the laundry room over here. There’s a door by the washing machine, it goes to the back yard, there’s some steps up. There’s even a laundry chute, right over here by the main stairs. You can check all that out later, Chriss –” Justin struggled not to call him Chrissy in front of the others. “So, going up . . .”
They all trekked up the stairs to the main floor. There was much fist bumping at all the entertainment amenities in the living and dining rooms, which, from the looks of it, were already seeing a lot of use. In fact, despite Jeff’s deep clean two months before, the place was already kind of a mess. The kitchen wasn’t too bad, probably because there was nothing but beer in the fridge. Jeff was also a stickler for getting take-out boxes out of the house and into the trash right away.
“Wow, it’s all so big,” Chris said, impressed. And it was. The rooms on this floor were quite large, and felt so despite the clutter. They went up to the second floor. The frat boys, used to living together, were unselfconscious about seeing each other’s rooms in any state of disarray. Chris murmured politely. They all had nice big windows . . . which in Tag’s and Justin’s rooms were covered by closed blinds. Jeff’s room was brighter and neater. His blinds were up. Tag and Justin shared what looked like it had originally been the master bath; Jeff had his own, which was also accessible from the hallway, and which would have been shared with Chris had Tag prevailed about moving the boy upstairs. They came to a second staircase, which wound around itself on its way back down.
“There’s a back stairs?” Chris wondered. Justin hadn’t mentioned it before, and he had already described the house so thoroughly over the summer, Chris hadn’t really need a tour.
“Yeah! So you just go down here . . .” Justin’s sculpted back and bouncing, mesh-clad man-glutes led the way, and they descended. “And you’re in the kitchen.”
“But it goes down to the basement, too?”
“Yeah, I’ll show you.” Justin’s brown eyes glinted with a very personal look at Chris. They tramped down the staircase again – and a door led into Chris’ new bedroom.
Continued on the next page (link Below)
