First of all, thanks to Annie Proulx, Ang Lee, Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal and all the others for Brokeback Mountain. And thank you to all the gray haired husband-and-wife couples who went to see the movie when I did. Even here in Gay Central, they made up almost a third of the audience. I was surprised, but it warmed my heart. It's always cool to find out people are far more open-minded than you might think.
The following story contains graphic descriptions of male to male sex. If you are not into that or it is illegal for you to read it, then leave now.
This story is entirely fictional. This story has been released to nifty.org by special permission. Please do not copy this story without the author's prior written permission. The author can be reached at
drewscoach@cox.net
Please refer to this story in the subject line, or your mail may be mistaken for spam.
CJ in San Diego - Part 1
`Oh please, please, PLEASE don't die! I'm almost there, just hold on for a few more minutes!' I thought to myself, as the rough-sounding engine sputtered more and more and finally stopped running altogether. I managed to coast around a corner, turning from busy Montezuma Road onto a quiet residential street where the Fiat slowly rolled to a stop. I tried to start it a couple of times and each time the starter motor whirred happily, but the engine just sputtered and never really caught. Damn! Slowly I started to realize that I would have to walk the rest of the way. After all, my knowledge of automotive engines was just about nil, and since I had neither a cell phone nor any money for a mechanic, I was on my own. I counted my lucky stars that at least I wasn't THAT far from the University, but then I looked ruefully at the giant (and very heavy) backpack with all my belongings in the passenger seat. I couldn't possibly leave it behind, since I'd probably have to leave the Fiat here overnight. So with a sigh, I grabbed my map, got out of the car, hoisted the backpack on my back and locked the car (not that THAT would do much good if anyone wanted to get in, since they could just rip open the soft top, but hey).
`Fuck, what a way to start college', I thought to myself. And the trip had started so well! Upon hearing that I had managed to get into San Diego State University, my aunt had mentioned that she would give me her old 1969 Fiat Nuova 500, since she wasn't using it anymore anyway. It seemed like a cool little (okay, TINY!) car, that should be cheap enough for a college student to run about in. Since she claimed it had always been very reliable, my parents had no trouble letting me drive it down to San Diego by myself.
With each step, the backpack seemed to get heavier, but finally the white-washed buildings came into view and I entered the frenzy that is registration. After figuring things out and filling out thousands of forms at all sorts of different desks that were set up all over the place, I made my way to the final desk: the Housing Administration desk where I would get my assigned room. After I showed them the signed License Agreement and Space Confirmation, I was soon on my way to my room, which was (of course!) clear across on the other side of the campus. So, I once again hoisted the giant (and by now accursed) backpack on my back, and made my way across campus to my assigned hall and up to my floor. Reaching my new room, I opened the door and walked in. The room was small, with 2 closets next to the door, 2 desks behind that (one on each side of the room) and a bed beyond each desk, with the only window in between. I didn't see any of this, though, since my attention was riveted by a gorgeous, muscular, tanned butt (clad only in a jockstrap) that was peeking out from under the bed on the left. Left momentarily speechless, I cleared my throat, which caused the butt to back up, and out from under the bed popped a Male God! About 5'6" tall, olive complexion, brown eyes and brown, shaggy hair with blond tips, a cute face with a giant apologetic smile on it, and the body of death! I guessed him at about 165 lbs, and every ounce of it pure muscle. Oh, and his entire right arm was covered by an intricate tattoo. His left hand was grasping a tanktop. "Got it", the muscle stud exclaimed. "Hi, I'm CJ Cruz. Who are you looking for?"
I stammered: "Uh, hi, I'm Eric Holland and I'm your new roommate."
He looked me up and down (well, okay, mostly up, since I'm 6'2") and his smile seemed to be replaced by an expression I couldn't quite place, but he stuck out his hand. "Well, welcome to this humble abode." Then, as I finally put down my backpack, he asked: "So what sport do you play?"
I replied: "Sports? Uhmm, not much really. I prefer to watch it on TV!"
The smile returned to CJ's face. "Yeah right, pull someone else's leg. No really, what got you in on this floor? Are you a swimmer, or a tumbler? I'm a gymnast myself, specialist in rings."
Well, that explained the arms and shoulders, I guess! "Uh, well, I guess I got into this place to get my Civil Engineering degree. As far as playing sports, well, I play checkers quite well, but I'm not sure that that's what you meant!" I smiled at him, but my smile was not returned.
"CHECKERS? Well, Eric, it wasn't CHECKERS that got you in on the Jock Floor of this Hall. So please cut the bull and just answer me. What sport do you play?"
"Uh, Jock Floor?", I stammered, checking my Space Confirmation again. CJ grabbed it from my hand. "You're on the wrong fucking floor, aren't you?" He glanced at the paper. It was indeed his room number. "What the fuck? Who the hell assigned you to the Jock Floor? You're an Engineering major who plays fucking checkers? Well, I'm not going to share my room with a fucking nerd like you! Come on, let's get this fixed right now!" He glanced at his watch. "Shit, they'll be closed by now. FUCK!" He punched the wall in frustration, then quickly pulled on his tank top and some shorts and walked out the door. He stuck his head back in one more time to add: "We'll sort this out FIRST THING tomorrow morning. Fuck!" The door slammed shut and I was left to ponder what just happened. In a way, I was relieved. I knew I was gay, and I also knew I sure as hell wasn't going to make that public knowledge at the college where I'd be spending the next couple of years! I really didn't need a roommate with a body like CJ to torment me every day, knowing I would never be able to even touch it. Even if he'd been the nicest guy in the world (which he obviously wasn't, judging by his outburst) it just wouldn't have worked. Well, now at least I'd only have to deal with it for one night. I unpacked only the absolute necessities, knowing I'd be moving again the next day.
CJ stayed away all evening, returning finally when I was already in bed, asleep. I woke up when he walked in, but I pretended to be asleep to avoid a possible confrontation. Upon spotting me, I heard him softly grumbling to himself, then he walked across the dark room to click on the night light by his bed, carefully angling it away from me. He ripped of his shirt and I saw (and smelled) the sweat beaded all over his body. He must have gone for a run, and he obviously didn't believe in personal hygiene much as he whipped off his shorts , jock, socks and shoes and crawled in bed, sweaty and all. I couldn't help myself and boned up, seeing that hot body by the glow of his nightlight. He messed around with his clock radio, then turned off the light. I lay in bed thinking about whether I wanted to risk jacking off with the images (and smell) of the little He-Man fresh in my mind, but I decided I wanted to live a little longer so I slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up thinking the world was coming to an end. The sound was indescribably loud, and I bolted upright in my bed. Then I thought it was probably the fire alarm, so I jumped out of bed, went to the door, felt if it was hot or not (it wasn't), and opened it. Surprise: it was much quieter in the hall, the screeching noise was definitely coming from my (well, CJ's) room! So I closed the door again, looked around the room for the sound of the ear-splitting noise, and saw two things: a) the noise came from CJ's alarm clock, and b) CJ was soundly asleep, even with his head practically next to the blaring alarm! Well, I was wide awake by now thanks to him, so there was no way I was gonna let the little ill-tempered gorilla sleep! Besides, maybe he'd get upset with me for NOT waking him up. After all, he had set the alarm, hadn't he? So I walked over to his bed, turned off his bleating alarm clock and tapped his shoulder. No reaction. I shook him. He snorted a little, but continued sawing logs. I finally grabbed his shoulder with BOTH hands and shook him as hard as I could: "Hey CJ, WAKE UP!"
"Huh, what? Whazzup?"
"Your fucking alarm clock was up! DAMN that thing is loud!"
"Wha.. What time izzit..?" A short, powerful arm rubbed his hand over his eyes.
"It's 8:06 am. I've got to take a look at my car, and then I have to get to registration to clear up my room assignment."
My answer was met with soft snoring.
"Oh no, you don't!' I thought, getting ready to grab his huge shoulder again. That's when I noticed something bobbing around in front of me. FUCK! I had a huge fucking hard-on! I quickly grabbed some briefs and cut-off jeans from my backpack and pulled them on. Waking up Mister Tattooed Bad-Ass by waving a hard dick in his face would probably not be good for my health! I might be taller and heavier (I'm around 180 lbs), but CJ looked like he might have done a little more brawling than me.
With my seven and a half inches safely out of sight, I grabbed his shoulder and upper arm with both hands again (repositioning them a few times on the huge muscles, just to ...uh... get a better grip) and shook him hard.
"Hey CJ! Wake up, damnit!"
"Wha.. Oh. Gotta.. Gotta wake up."
"Yeah you do, get your lazy ass out of bed! I need to see if my car is still there."
Still half-asleep, CJ muttered: "Shower.... Gotta shower....wake up."
"Yeah, you need a shower alright! Phew!" But I realized he was one of those guys that doesn't wake up until he's in the shower. Damn, what am I, his mom? But I pulled his sheets off him...and gasped! Damn, his abs were completely etched on his body. They were like 6 bricks shoved under his tanned skin. He had NO body fat whatsoever! But I managed to pull him out of his bed, steadied him on his feet, grabbed my towel and his, and we made our way out the door toward the showers.
Once there, I started the hot water in one of the stalls (for me) and the cold water in another stall. I hung up our towels, took off my shorts and briefs, then propelled the (almost sleepwalking) CJ into the stall with the cold water, while ducking into the stall with the warm water myself. There was an almighty roar from the stall next to me, as a 5'6", 165 lbs projectile flew out of the stall and almost slammed into the opposite wall. "FUCK, that's COLD!!"
Tee hee, I thought to myself, 'Guess he's awake now!'
CJ slowly returned to the shower (making sure to turn on the hot water this time) while I did my best to keep from breaking out in laughter. I quickly finished my shower and toweled off. I was glad I could put my briefs and shorts on, as the little bad-tempered muscle-stud walked back to the room just in front of me, still rubbing his towel over his hot body, without a stitch of clothing on! Damn, despite his attitude, he gave me a hard-on every time I saw that little bubble-butt of his!
Back in the room, I started putting my stuff back into my backpack while CJ put on a tight muscle shirt and loose cut-off jeans. I actually had to help him with the shirt, since he had trouble getting it to fit over his wide shoulders and roll down his back. That didn't earn me any thanks, though: "Are you ever gonna put a shirt on that skinny-geek body of yours?" he asked, glaring at me.
"Sorry, I was just getting my stuff organized!" Fuck, what an asshole! Well, I wouldn't have to deal with it much longer!
"CJ, can I leave my backpack here while I go get my car and re-register for my room? I really don't want to have to carry it all the way over there, because if my car doesn't start I'll have to carry it all the way back again."
"What's wrong with your fucking car?"
"It died yesterday on the way over here. The engine just started sputtering more and more, and finally it just stopped. I couldn`t get it started anymore, so I had to walk the rest of the way."
"What kind of car is it?"
"It's an old Fiat."
"An old Fiat, huh? No wonder it broke down! What kind of engine do you have?"
"Uh, no idea really. I'm not very good with engines."
"Aren't you trying to become a fucking engineer? How the hell can you not know anything about engines?"
"I'm trying to become a Civil Engineer, dealing with concrete and rebar, not with engines."
"Fuck, with my luck you'll be out there for hours trying to fix it, and end up being too late to change your room assignment. Then I'll be fucking stuck with you all semester!" He pondered this for a moment. "Tell you what: I'll cancel my workout this morning. Let me grab my tools and I'll help you fix that piece of junk. That way at least I'll KNOW you'll make it to registration on time!" With that, he dug through his pile of stuff that was strewn all over his side of the room, and emerged with what looked like a canvas roll, filled with all sorts of tools. "OK, let's go!"
When we turned the corner into the street where I had parked the Fiat, CJ came to an abrupt halt. "THAT tiny thing is your car?" he asked incredulously. Well, yes, that tiny baby-blue bubble was indeed my Fiat.
"Yeah, it's a 1969 Fiat 500."
CJ walked over to the front of the car. "Open up the hood and let me take a look at what kind of weird engine this roller-skate has."
"Uh, CJ, the engine is in he back."
"In the back? What, is this a miniature Volkswagen or something?"
I opened up the back for him, exposing the engine.
"What the hell? The engine is smaller than most transmissions!" He looked at it for a moment. "It only has two cylinders? What the hell is this thing? A toy car?" He peered at it some more. "Well, anyway, can you try to start it so I can figure out what's wrong with it?"
I got in the car and the starter whirred, the engine sputtered a bit, but it wouldn't start, just like the day before.
"OK, that's enough!" sounded from the rear of the car.
I got out, and walked over to CJ. He had pulled his shirt off, and was digging around in the grimy engine compartment. Damn, he looked hot! With those short, ludicrously muscular arms, the tattoo on his right arm, and now engine grease smeared on his powerful chest and arms, I got an instant hard-on. I quickly squatted down to hide it. "Any luck?"
"Yeah, I think your sparkplugs are just dirty. Since there's only two of them in this little Matchbox engine, I should be done pretty quickly. By the way, you notice anything else strange about this engine?"
I looked around the engine compartment, but it looked much like any other engine to me: a weird-shaped lump of metal with wires and pipes coming out of it.
CJ looked at me and said: "There's no radiator! It's air-cooled! Trust the Italians to come up with a two-cylinder, two-stroke engine this small. No wonder the car is so miniscule, this engine probably doesn't even make 20 horsepower!" A huge grin nearly split his face in two. He turned back to the engine and continued his work. He removed two things that I presumed to be the sparkplugs, cleaned them, and put them back in. Then he asked me to try to start the car again and sure enough, this time it whirred right to life. CJ used his shirt to clean the worst of the grime off his body, then got in the passenger seat. It was really tight! The little Fiat is pretty narrow, so CJ's broad shoulders rubbed up against me every time I turned the wheel or shifted gears. Needless to say, I had a raging hard-on! Fortunately, I don't think he noticed, as he spent most of the drive back to SDSU checking out the car and asking questions about it.
Back at the campus, we went straight to the Housing Administration desk to get my room assignment sorted out. Well, it turned out it wasn't that easy....
"What do you mean, all room assignments are final?!?" CJ shouted.
The lady behind the desk replied frostily: "I'm sorry sir, all housing is full, so the assignments are final. I can put your change request in for next semester, though!"
"FUCK! I can't spend a semester with a nerd as a roommate! Why do you think I wanted to be on the Jock Floor! Shit!"
"Well, sir, he does play checkers. That's a sport, isn't it?"
I thought CJ was going to explode: "CHECKERS??? FUCKING CHECKERS???? NO, CHECKERS is most definitely NOT a sport!!! It's a geek convention! FUCK!!!". He stormed off, fuming.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, he has a bit of a temper", I apologized.
"Oh, I just feel sorry for you, for having to put up with that attitude for the next couple of months, but theres really nothing I can do about it right now. Just let me know if he threatens you or anything, then well take action."
I actually thought about that for a moment, hoping that would get me a better roommate, but I just couldn't get CJ in trouble for something he hadn't done (yet?), so I left.
Back at the dorm hall, I decided to give CJ some time to simmer down, so I avoided our room and headed for the recreation room instead. I headed over to the pool table, where I was approached by an athletic looking blond guy. "Wanna play pool?"
"Sure" I said. "I'm Eric Holland, freshman in Civil Engineering."
He gave me a firm handshake "Justin Foster, freshman in Marketing." Justin got the balls ready while I grabbed the pool cues. "Civil Engineering, huh? So I guess you're up at the Engineering floor?"
"Well, I was supposed to be, but I ended up on the Physical Fitness floor instead."
"Aha, you're on the jock floor too? So am I! I'm here on a baseball scholarship. So what kind of sports do you play?"
"Well, that's the thing: I don't really play any sports. They messed up my room assignment, and I can't get my room changed because all rooms are full. And now my jock roomie is mad at me, because he doesn't wanna have to share his room with an `Engineering geek', as he calls it." I looked Justin over, to see if I would get the same reaction as I had gotten from CJ. But no, the 5'11" 180lbs blue eyed babe (he reminded me of Paul Walker, the actor from The Fast And The Furious. Justin had a bit more muscle, but the same handsome face and dreamy blue eyes) just laughed and said: "Well, you don't look like a geek to me, you don't even have a pocket protector or watch with a built-in calculator!"
We both laughed at that. Then he continued: "So who's your roommate? Is he the stereotypical jock, carrying a football everywhere?"
I grimaced. "No, he's a gymnast, with a bad attitude and apparently a strong dislike for anyone who's not a short, tattooed jock!" I laughed.
"A short, tattooed gymnast? You don't mean CJ Cruz?"
"Yeah, I do. Why, are there more short, bad-tempered gymnasts around? Maybe we can start a new Lifestyle Living floor: the `no cranky gymnasts allowed'-floor!"
Justin uttered a short laugh, but seemed puzzled. "CJ is the bad-tempered guy you were talking about? That's strange, I've known him for a few days now, and he always seemed like a happy-go-lucky guy to me. In fact, he's become my best friend here."
"Hmm. Well, maybe it's because you're a jock and I'm not. He's been grumpy since I walked into his room last night. In fact, the only time he wasn't yelling at me was when he was asleep!"
"So CJ is grumpy, huh? Well, I'll stop by later and see if I can cheer him up."
"Thanks, I'd appreciate that a lot! I've had about enough of the 5'6" thundercloud in our room!"