**Standard disclaimer applies. This is based on actual events, although names, places, and descriptions have changed to protect the identities of the living. Don't read if you shouldn't because you're under 18 or live in a backwards area. I appreciate any and all feedback, so please email me at jwolf24450@gmail.com. Enjoy the story! If you would like information on how to access future chapters faster, and my other stories, please feel free to reach out. I also offer unlimited access to the author, and exclusive content through my program. Thanks!
The Homestead Resort was a sprawling plantation style Hot Springs with more amenities than I care to type. The red-bricked buildings stood framed by the white columns that were so common in southern eighteenth century architecture, and The Homestead had weathered beautifully since then.
Driving in alongside Chip Wallace, the view was mesmerizing and picturesque. On both sides.
The mountains that we had driven through to get there were all snow capped by this point in the season, and The Homestead would actually shuttle guests up to different slopes to ski.
Somehow the groundskeepers were able to keep the rolling hills that made up the property itself green throughout the winter, and the ivy still curled its way up the red bricks and white columns.
We drove in and went straight for the entrance, where I followed Chip out of his Land Rover, helped unload the car of our golfing gear, and walked into the lobby behind him.
"Mr. Wallace," a gentleman in khaki pants and a white shirt greeted us. Chip set down his clubs, gave him a hug, and smiled. "We've been expecting you."
"Dad, you don't have to call me Mr. Wallace when I show up, we've talked about this," Chip blushed.
"I just want to show your friend here a proper Homestead welcome. Even if I am your father." I took a step toward Mr. Wallace. His nameplate said General Manager, and all of a sudden Chip's insistence that he wasn't a `they' made sense.
"I'm Corbin Crowley," I introduced myself with a firm handshake and warm smile.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley," Mr. Wallace replied. He grabbed my elbow as he shook my hand, and I remember his eyes and smile making me feel extremely comfortable. "Make sure my son here takes good care of you. Anything the two of you want, we'll take care of."
It was then I realized this wasn't a group trip. I wondered about Chip's invitation leaving out the part that this was going to be a one-on-one experience. I don't know why I'd assumed we'd be meeting up with the guys he promised to make introductions to that morning, but it looked like I'd assumed wrong.
Which was beginning to be fine by me. I pushed back one glaring question that nagged at me, and instead decided to live in the moment with Chip.
"Your mother is waiting for you at the counter. What's your tee time?"
"She said 11:45 when I called."
"Just the range? Or will you show Corbin the entire eighteen?"
"Just the range, dad. It's too cold."
Chip's dad nodded and pointed us toward the concierge counter. I noticed a shrug from Chip, as if he had done this song and dance before. His dad obliged, but it was... routinized. He went back to whatever he'd been doing, bustling about, reminding me of Barney in Pretty Woman.
We got to the counter, and instead of standing in front of it like everyone else, Chip circled around, gave his mom a big hug, and introduced us.
"Okay, sweetheart, everything is ready for you boys on tee nine. I'll send Murray out to see if you boys want anything to drink. You've got a lunch table reserved at two, but if you get hungry before then, I'll send out some snacks. Corbin, would you like some hot chocolate?"
"Mom-"
"I'd love some, Mrs. Wallace," I responded with a smile. She turned and poured a cup from one of those large metal containers that keep beverages warm. I raised the cup to my face, still in awe of everything going on around me.
"I don't know how you're going to carry that cup and your clubs," Chip said, picking up his bag and leading the way. I fumbled a bit, but managed to balance my clubs on one shoulder. I picked up the hot chocolate Mrs. Wallace had given me and followed suit.
"Even if we wanted to play the whole eighteen, they don't staff very many caddies during the winter, so we'd have to caddy ourselves. I should know, I used to caddy here every Christmas break and summer," Chip said. We walked out, through the restaurant area, and outside to the grounds behind the resort welcome center.
He knew exactly where he was going. He also knew everyone we came in contact with along the way. Everyone called him Mr. Wallace as they opened up doors for us, and Chip always stopped to greet them warmly, usually by name. It was a great side to see of him, and with each passing step, with each passing greeting, I warmed up to Chip, even as we walked through the cold February air.
We set up shop at the ninth tee, just as his mom had instructed. The tees were large fenced in boxes that opened up to a beautifully kept range. There were three benches along the fence, looking out over a small square at the entrance of green grass. We had two buckets on that patch, one filled with tees and one filled with balls.
I decided to watch Chip and follow along with exactly what he did. He put his clubs down, made sure both of his shoes were tied very tightly, and from a pouch on the side of his bag, pulled out a pair of gloves.
"Are you cold? I can have them turn on the overhead heaters?" he asked. I looked up and there were space heaters at the ready.
"No, I think I'm good," I said.
"Okay, well if you get cold, let me know." Chip stood up. He walked over to the patch of grass, and I followed. "So those flags are your targets, and they each mark how far your drives are. You can use different clubs to see how far your drives are, just so you'd know in a real tour. But these aren't your clubs? I'd just stick with your driver for now. Until you know their weight and how long they are on you, you know?"
I didn't know.
I don't know if Chip noticed the look of panic on my face, but instead of allowing me to fumble a guess of which one the driver was, he picked it out for me.
"This one," he pulled the club out of the bag. "These are really nice."
"They are a pledge's," I responded, taking the club from him.
"Oh, isn't it nice to have gophers again," he replied. "We should have brought one to caddy for us."
"Next time," I smiled. He turned to look at me.
"Making plans for round two already, Crowley? I haven't even shown you my best moves."
There was definitely a flirtation in his voice that I couldn't help but blush at. I had started it in the car, but I hadn't expected someone like Chip to pick up and run with it. It was refreshing, I thought. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a bit of a crush, not on Chip himself, but on the whole seemingly straight frat boy persona. There were a couple hundred Chip Wallace's I would have loved to be flirting with in this very scenario, and so I blushed, and I smiled, and I flirted back. Flirting with Chip was flirting with all of them.
And I didn't once think about the guy who hadn't called or texted in exactly one week.
I watched Chip hit a few balls. He sliced a few, but most went straight for the furthest flag deep into the range.
"Alright, Crowley. Your turn," Chip turned to me, adjusted his glove, and stepped aside from the patch of grass.
"Why don't you keep going? I'm enjoying the view." I sipped my hot chocolate and raised a flirtatious eyebrow.
"Not a chance you're getting me with that," Chip said. "Come on. I want to see your form."
"I don't play golf, remember. I don't have a form."
"I don't believe that for a second," he squinted. It took me a second to interpret what he meant by that. I figured in Chip's mind, I was being flirtatious, seductive. In my mind, he was laying his cards out right on the table. I figured we'd do this song and dance thing for a few hours until one of us budged and made a solid move. Or I'd spark his curiosity, but not enough to do anything about it, and we'd live in this ambiguity, attending social events together, planning this entrepreneurship thing, and making semi-suggestive small talk until Chip graduated or we both died. It had happened a dozen times before, so while I felt a vibe with Chip, I didn't get my hopes up just yet.
"Fine," I replied, putting my cup down and walking to the patch of grass. I mimicked my best golf stance, and swung at the tee Chip laid down for me. The swing was a total disaster. I didn't even hit the ball, and instead, my driver chipped the ground and came bouncing back dangerously towards where both of us stood.
"Alright, easy there, tiger," Chip circled the cage so that he was behind, grabbed my shoulder and insisted on fixing my stance.
"Okay, let's square your shoulders like this." He moved me around like a puppet. "And your feet, like this. Shoulder width apart. You've seriously never been taught this? You're a junior at OD, come on."
"I dunno, I guess I've just never had the right instructor."
That's when Chip surprised me, yet again. With both hands on my hips, squaring me away, he leaned in and whispered: "You're really going to make me go through this song and dance, aren't you?"
I took a deep swallow of my dry throat as if I didn't hear him. I thought, at that moment, it was better if I hadn't heard him. Not with a guy like Chip. If I played this even remotely wrong, no matter how flirtatious he was, I could kiss everything I'd built goodbye. So I sighed, made light of what he'd said, and waited for a different sign. A bigger sign. And I was right to hesitate.
A second later, as if he hadn't said anything at all, Chip let go of my body, took a step back, and said in a normal tone of voice: "Okay, Crowley, go ahead and drive."
I almost thought I hadn't heard it, but his initial whisper resonated in my ear, down my spine, through my golf clubs, and formed a slight tent in my pants.
"Okay, ready," I psyched myself. I swung the club, this time making contact with the golf ball and sending it flying all of forty feet, if that.
"Good effort," Chip laughed.
"Don't laugh at me!" I hit him in the arm with my free hand. He laughed even harder.
"Okay, let's go again!" I insisted. This time he gave me more instructions on my swing, what my shoulders should feel like, and how to rotate my body. I paid attention. I listened closely, but mostly I savored every moment Chip got close to me, put his hands on me, made me feel not only special, but honestly, he made me feel desired.
It was a small thing, a simple thing, something I'd been missing with Pete since all of this drama started. It was something that reminded me of Mike the cadet. It was different than with David. There was a flirtation with Chip, and I took full advantage of it. So many have asked how. How I knew there was a gay KA. How I had my way into PIKA.
I started by leaning into Chip Wallace. And by leaning, I mean, I leaned the weight of my body into him. He came over to help me with my swing, and I leaned backwards into him. He came over to hand me a drink, and I leaned forwards into him. I played the leaning game. It was one I knew well and it didn't take him off guard, but I could see the wheels in his head turning. My lean. It wasn't just a lean.
After golf, his father treated us to drinks at what he called the social hour. I didn't have a blazer packed, so deep in a closet of the Homestead, Chip found me one. We drank with the older folks staying at the resort, some not pleased the first snow hadn't fallen, and I watched Chip work. In a way, I watched Charles, his father, work and that gave me an indication of who Chip was and what he was destined to become.
I didn't ask about it until that evening at dinner when he leaned over and asked, "How badly do you need to be back on campus?"
I decided to play his bluff just a bit. Part of me thought Chip, with all of his flirtation, was expecting a down mountain handjob. But here we were at a white tablecloth dinner, and the answer was clear to me.
"I have nothing to do tomorrow." It was a Monday, and I had a morning class, but this was the reason you skipped school at OD. When I looked around, I didn't see the fact we were in a corner of the dining room and Chip's mom was masterminding plates and seats like she was conducting an orchestra. Nor did I see that his dad was wielding endless amounts of power just to entertain me.
"Have you ever stayed at The Homestead? Spent the night?" Chip asked midway through the white tablecloth dinner. I knew it was one of his moves, but I had no desire to see how else it turned out.
"No, I haven't."
"A lot of people haven't," he mused. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact with not a ton of emotion behind it. The truth was The Homestead was a luxury for even the wealthiest of us at OD. It was when black card fathers came to visit, and even then, it was cheaper to schlep students back to campus than house us there. But somehow, probably because of Chip's parents' hospitality, it was constantly booked. Solid.
"What are you asking, Chip?" I decided to be forward. I put both my elbows on the table over our creme brulee and decided now was do or die time for him. What did he want? What was his angle? We'd flirted all night, and now was his time to make a move.
"I was just asking," he replied more confidently than I was ready for. "It's a little late to head back to campus now."
He picked up his rocks glass. He was right.
"I can't afford a night here, Chip," I responded picking up my own whiskey glass. Chip gave me a wry grin, stood up from his chair and walked over to mine. He reached into my lap, picked up my napkin and tossed it on the table.
"Have I asked you to pay for anything all day, Crowley?" I shrugged and stood up into the very limited space between my chair and Chip. "Now I'll ask you again. Have you ever stayed here at The Homestead?"
His voice was directly into my ear. There was hardly any space between us, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't take every ounce of me not to spring a boner right then and there.
"No."
"Do you want to? And don't give me this shit about money, it's quite frankly insulting at this point."
I turned and gave my best smirk to Chip. I wanted to look like I was grateful for the deal, but also wasn't sweating it either way.
"I'd love to spend the night at The Homestead," I replied. He smiled widely at me, like a kid on Christmas morning.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he grinned. I let myself relax for a second, and in that moment, Chip was gone and across the room to talk to someone.
"Crowley, follow me," he said from across the room. I took a deep breath and followed Chip out of our eating area, through the main salon, and up the two majestic staircases that reminded me of the Titanic. Both led to a landing on the second floor that housed the elevators that led up to guest rooms.
By the time I caught up with Chip, he had already pushed the button to call the elevator.
"Don't we need to..." I began to ask.
"Shhh," Chip replied, putting his finger on my lips. "Just trust me and stop asking questions."
I looked around to see if anyone had noticed us. It was early in the evening, but the sun was already down, and the place was quiet and still. I assumed most of the folks there for the weekend had checked out and Sunday night wasn't the busiest for business. Still, I wondered where Chip's parents were and if they knew what their son was up to.
A moment later, our elevator came. Chip stepped in. I hesitated.
"Are you coming?" he asked, extending a hand. I took it, and stepped in after him.
What happened next left me speechless.
I had sensed a connection with Chip all day. But I'd had these connections with straight guys before. It wasn't new for me to spend time making the frat stars of OD question things.
But with Chip it was different. The flirting back was... different. It wasn't laced with surprise, and the innuendo we shared was closer to obvious than subtle.
And he led it. He led a lot of it. I was used to flirting to get my way, to ease a situation, to offer enough flattery to make guys question. But Chip, he flirted back.
And what he did in that elevator was more than just obvious.
As soon as the door closed, Chip crossed both of our bodies with his hand and hit a number on the elevator grid. Then, instead of returning to his spot in the small, slow moving box, Chip turned his head slightly and pushed his lips into mine.
I didn't resist. I couldn't. I was stunned. I was paralyzed. I hadn't expected that, not yet at least. For some reason I thought if anything happened with Chip, it would be a slow build, we'd discuss it at length, I'd make it clear he'd have to make the first move, and I'd end up giving another handy to a curious straight frat guy.
I was wrong. So wrong.
When I didn't flinch or move or hesitate, Chip took my consent as his cue. He reached with his hand that wasn't holding his rocks glass and brought our faces even closer together. This time, without hesitation, I returned the force from his lips, let my tongue slide into his mouth, and returned the make out with Chip.
The kiss only lasted twenty seconds or so. As we felt the elevator slow down, Chip let go of my head and dropped his arms to his side.
"I was hoping that would be okay," he whispered as the lift came to a stop.
"Um, yeah, it was. It was more than okay," I replied.
"Good. Cause there's more where that came from," he said sexily. I took a deep breath and followed Chip out of the elevator and to a room at the far end of the hall. He pulled out a key, opened the door, and led me in. It felt like an eternity since we'd kissed before, but in reality, in those thirty seconds to get from one private space to the next, nothing filled my brain besides the desire to kiss Chip again.
It was a little strange to me. Had you told me a week prior I would have all but forgotten The Brit in all of this, I would have called you a liar. But he had told me to wait, and then he disappeared. Falling into Chip's arms was as much Pete's fault as it was mine.
And so I allowed myself to fall. As soon as the door to the room closed behind Chip and I, Chip took the glass out of my hands, put it on the dresser midway through the room, and pulled me into a full body press.
His lips were relentless. They were soft, but commanding. They wanted to part my mouth and enter, explore my tongue, and so they did. With gusto. I could tell Chip didn't make out with many men because he treated me like I was a girl and it was his job to do all of the oral work.
I didn't mind. I let him explore.
And while he did, I did the same. I pulled his jacket off and immediately went for his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one. Chip wasn't in the best shape, and enough Natty Light had made his body thick but soft. One thing he was, though, was warm. Under all of those layers was a smooth warm body that pressed up against mine like he needed it to survive.
I moaned as Chip continued to assault my face, running his hands behind my neck and through my overgrown frat flip.
The next thing I went for was Chip's belt line. I cupped his crotch, and if I thought his chest was warm, it was nothing compared to his crotch. He moaned loudly and for a second I was scared he might bite my tongue.
"May I?" I pulled back and asked.
"I didn't invite you here to play Scrabble, Crowley," he said. Hearing him say my name like that, laced with lust, dripping with desire, turned me on so much. Without hesitation, I tugged at his belt, undid his khakis and lowered them.
"Wait, wait," he said, grabbing my wrist. "I'm suddenly painfully aware I'm the only one about to be naked."
Chip spoke slowly as he stepped out of his pants, standing there in only his boxer briefs that barely contained the bulge I was eager to explore.
"We should fix that before I go any further." That's when he reached out and began to undo my shirt. This wasn't curious straight guy behavior, and while I knew Chip's and my relationship was headed toward tit-for-tat territory, I couldn't help but savor the treatment from this masculine man who until that morning I'd assumed played for the other team.
As he undid my shirt, I reached down and undid my own belt and stepped out of my pants.
"There," I replied to him. "Now we're both about to be naked. Satisfied?"
"Oh, I think I will be, Crowley." He pulled me in for another forceful not straight kiss, and this time I simply melted.
There was no OD. There was no Pete. There were no deals about introductions or currying favor with our respective social circles. There was no social climbing in that kiss.
Only two horny guys exploring each other's bodies, and making each other that much hornier.
Before long, Chip led me to the edge of the plush perfectly made hotel bed. With a wicked grin, he pushed me back onto the fluffy million thread count duvet, and before I could even take a breath, dove in on top of me. His body ground into mine, our hard boxer clad cocks rubbing up against each other. If Chip was half as hard as I was, that meant some of the wetness in my underwear was probably from his precum as much as it was from mine.
We kissed and ground our bodies together like that for what felt like an eternity. There was no urgency to move on. We had the room. It was ours for the duration. There was no thought about leaving that hotel room any earlier than checkout on Monday morning.
When I couldn't take my own hardness anymore, I lifted Chip off me with a buck of my hips and slid my hands into the waistband of his underwear. As sexily as I could, I pushed down his drawers, and with a wet, loud plop, felt every inch of Chip's hard cock hit me against my stomach. He moaned loudly and bit down on my bottom lip before slipping his hands inside my briefs and pulling them down as well.
I couldn't see Chip's dick, but I could certainly feel it. There was an unmistakable girth to it. A weight that felt heavy as it pressed against me. It felt long enough, nothing to write home about. Not a porn star cock, or anything like that. It felt like it was of average length, but substantial girth.
Of course, there was only one way to know for sure, so I rolled Chip and I over so that I hovered above him, grabbed him in my left hand, scooted down the bed, and dove onto his rock hard cock with an open mouth, and slippery throat.
I was right. It took stretching out my mouth completely to get every circumferential inch of Chip's dick down my throat. The challenge in and of itself sent me into a horny craze, as I tried to encircle him deeper and deeper, eliciting moan after moan the further I went.
I started with a slow bob, up and down, twisting with my left hand, and feeling his body up with my right. As my pace quickened, so did Chip's thrusting, upwards into me, and as my throat adjusted, so did the ease with which Chip was able to thrust in and out of me.
It didn't take long for my jaw to tense up. I slowed down, and not ready to call it quits, Chip went for the gusto and asked the question I'd been waiting for since we let down our guards and started fucking around.
"Do you want to try to take it?" he asked. His voice was respectful, but laced with so much horniness.
"Of course," I answered instinctively, not thinking about how his complete thickness would stretch and pull me apart.
Instead, I took a deep breath, sat up on my heels, and watched Chip bound out of bed, grab a condom and lube out of his bag, and bounce back to where I knelt, waiting.
"Did you have this all planned out?" I asked. "You seem prepared."
Chip shot me a grin that sent a shockwave down my spine and through my very hard dick.
"Don't tell me you didn't consider the possibility you and I might end up in a situation like this, Crowley," he whispered, crawling behind me and wrapping his arm around my torso. I took a deep breath and melted into his touch.
"You mean to tell me when you came up to me last Friday, you didn't have the slightest inkling you might want to see what was under that blazer?" Chip massaged my asshole with two very lubed up fingers as he continued to whisper.
"You didn't have the slightest curiosity what was tucked away under those khakis," he breathed. I continued to breathe in and out, rolling my neck backwards.
The frat boy had me under a spell, that much I couldn't deny. He was right. I was curious. I was always curious about the upper crust and their sexual preference. And Chip had been cute enough at the IFC meeting, leading what could only be described as the social chairmanship of the IFC, and was so nice and cordial, that of course I'd had an inkling. And right then and there, that inkling was two fingers deep inside my tight ass.
After a minute, Chip pushed my back forward so that I was on all fours and my back was as arched as it could be. I felt his fingers slip out, a cold burst of liquid squirt on my ass, and then his fingers returned to massage the lube in as far as it would go. Chip knew what he was doing, using plenty of lube. I was nervous, but I felt safe.
Fully prepped and primed, I took a deep breath as I felt the frat star square up behind me and go in for the kill. He lined up the head of his dick, and in a slow forward plunge, I felt him stretch me out completely, and enter me, one single inch at a time.
I can't even begin to describe to you how hot it was having a man of that girth plowing slowly into me, expanding me, widening me, fucking me like a true champ. I continued to breathe hard. I had to, but I was determined to remain steady and calm about this invasion. I clutched the bedsheets and bit down on the down feather pillow and felt every inch of this frat star enter me.
"Oh fuck," I heard behind me as Chip bottomed out six inches later. He fell onto my back and bit down on my shoulder. "Oh fucking god, you feel amazing, Crowley. Fucking amazing."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I breathed quickly. With every word, Chip's dick expanded and contracted inside of me. It hurt like hell, but having him firmly rested on my prostate, I was also rock hard and dripping precum like a little bitch.
Chip pushed himself up, pulled almost all the way back, and then plunged in again. This time I wasn't as tight, and his cock glided right past my g-spot and I let out the longest and richest moan I'd ever heard.
With a cock that thick, there was nothing I could do but try not to clench down on him and enjoy the ride. Chip knew what he was doing. He knew not to squirm too much, to let his tool do the fucking, and he was just there as a vessel of delivery.
His pace stayed steady. Not too fast but certainly not slow. I could feel the friction from his cock as he pounded in and out, my ass expanding and granting him further access. After a couple minutes in doggy style, Chip pulled out, turned me around onto my back, and plunged back in, leaving me vacant for only a second, and then bottoming out inside of me. His lips found mine as he fucked me just like that, face to face. This wasn't the position or the fucking of a curious straight guy. This was a pro who knew how to get what he wanted, had gotten me where he wanted, and was giving it to me the best he knew how. This was a fucking for the books. Chip Wallace had put me on notice with his expertly moving dick.
It was definitely a dick of note.
I noticed a glow of sweat begin to form over him as he continued to pump in and out of me. I couldn't concentrate on any one thing about Chip, so I ran my hand over his chest and felt the sweat.
As my hands explored him, I felt his hands explore me. He ran his hand over my chest, feeling my layer of glistening sweat. His thumb encircled my nipple. His palm felt my stomach. His entire hand worked its way up my chest.
And then I felt it. Chip bottomed into me, filling me with every thick inch of his cock, just as he wrapped his hand gently around my neck. I sighed in encouragement, egging him on.
"You like that, Crowley?" he asked, wickedness about his voice. Before I could answer, I felt him pull out quickly, and then ram his cock into me again. This time his hand encircled my neck a bit tighter. I arched my back and moaned louder this time.
"Fuck," I shouted. I didn't know if I liked it or not, but it was happening, and every nerve ending in my body was on absolute fire. I took my hands off his chest and grabbed the arm that Chip gripped my neck with. Again, he pulled out quickly, rammed into me with even more force, and squeezed down on my throat.
I held on to his wrist, moaned like a mad man, and without warning, sprayed both of our torsos with rope after rope of searing hot cum.
"Fuck," I screamed. I didn't take my hand off Chip's arm. He maintained a firm grip over my neck, and while I could tell I was losing oxygen, I didn't quite care. This was easily one of the most erotic and forecful orgasms I'd ever had.
Without letting go of his grip, Chip felt the full force of my orgasm as my ass contracted around his dick, milking his cock as it was buried deep inside of me. I could feel his body start to shake, and in a swift move, Chip pulled out, pulled the condom off his cock, and sprayed my chest with a huge arching rope of cum. His hand stayed around my neck as I continued to pant and moan, feeling the earthquake that was Chip's orgasm spasming over me.
The whole experience was new. I'd never been choked before, not like that. I'd played around with force and bossed Lee around, but this was different. Something had come over me. Something had come over Chip. And while I had lain there taking it, allowing him to do it, there was a mutual respect in the act.
I knew he wouldn't hurt me, and yet part of me had been braced for him to do just that.
"Wow, Crowley," he collapsed next to me, his left arm over my chest. Our breathing was heavy. I turned my head to face him. I leaned in for a post-coitus kiss. Chip hesitated for a second, and then came in to meet his lips to mine.
"That was incredible," I replied. I sat up and hobbled over to the suite's bathroom. I grabbed a towel, and ran the shower to get it nice and hot. "I'm going to hop a quick shower. Do you want to-"
I turned back to the bed, holding on to nothing but the clean white towel. Lying there like a baby, not even two minutes after he'd cum all over me, was Chip, fast asleep on his stomach, one arm outstretched as if I were still there.
I took a shower, contemplating all of the things that had happened in the past three days and their every implication. I decided this was a fun tryst with a frat guy that could help me just as much as I could help him. Nothing less, and nothing more. What happened next was in Chip's court, but I doubted one of the most prolific guys in Greek life would come down from Olympus to date me. I assumed he'd whisk me away anytime he wanted to consummate our deal, but it would be mostly a business relationship moving forward.
There was still David, whom I was more fond of than I cared to admit. Young, agile, and gorgeous, he was the perfect palate cleanse while I waited for Pete to make up his mind. And the fact that he knew where he stood, without allowing himself to get crazy like Lee had, made that situation all the better.
As I washed Chip out of my hair, literally, I decided that those two, for now, were enough to keep me satisfied and busy.
I woke up the next morning with Chip pressed firmly against me.
"Morning, Crowley," he whispered. I felt the heat of his breath first, and then the heat of his morning wood against my ass second. Somehow after I'd showered and crawled into bed, Chip and I had ended up twisting ourselves into a pretzel. I couldn't tell where his limbs began and mine ended, but once we had wrestled around in our subconsciousness, we naturally found each other's nook. He was the big spoon, and I pressed back against him as his little.
After a quick morning rinse and repeat, and then an actual rinse off, Chip and I went downstairs to check out. I watched in the corner of the lobby while Chip hugged his mom and dad goodbye as if they were sending him off to summer camp. It was a sweet exchange, and completely different than how I'd viewed him on the way up to the Homestead.
The small talk on the way back to campus was brutal. What was there to say after we'd read each other perfectly the day before and then shared a passionate night exploring each other? I didn't want to ruin the moment in true Corbin fashion, so I took Chip's lead and stayed mostly silent until we were almost back to campus.
"Hey, I just wanna say I'm sorry, I misjudged you a bit. On the way down to The Homestead."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Just, the way you were with your parents. I assumed you were one of the, I dunno, entitled assholes we were talking about. You proved me wrong when we got there."
"Ah."
"You still might be an asshole, don't get me wrong, but it was cool seeing how you were with them. The sweet compassionate son," I joked, poking his thigh.
"It's easier to play the part than to explain that my family leans more toward the help than the upper crust," he tilted his head towards me. "I caddied there every year since I was old enough to drag clubs around. My dad will be going on his fortieth year working at the resort. It's kind of a family business at this point."
"Incredible," I sighed.
"Yeah. There may be a few other things you discover about me that will surprise you, Crowley. You discovered a couple last night."
I met his gaze before he turned back to the road.
"I guess this goes without saying, but I'd appreciate your discretion."
"Of course," I replied. "I wouldn't-"
"Live up to your reputation?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, cocking my head back. "Reputation?"
"Just, the newspaper and kind of... gossiping and stuff. Sorority lunch, that kind of thing."
I turned to face him, but his gaze remained on the road.
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, just being real. I showed you a different side of me. A much different side. But I don't want to share that side with the entire world, you know."
I decided now wasn't the time to make a big fuss about how insulting his words had been. I decided to file this away, the emotions, his words, until a time I needed to use them. Until a time Chip deserved to hear how I felt about him saying that. Until a time I needed the upper hand.
"Your secret is very much safe with me," I replied with just a hint of edge to my voice. "But don't forget, you came on to me in the elevator. Me- the one with the reputation for gossip. So-"
"I didn't mean anything by it, Corbin," he replied, using my first name for the first time all weekend. He turned to me. "I'm just saying."
"I know what you're saying. You have your reputation, and I have mine. I hear you loud and clear."
"Don't be like that."
"How many guys have you brought to The Homestead for golf, Chip?" It was the question that had nagged at me since I made the realization that `golfing with the guys' was more of a one-on-one sport for Chip.
"Huh?"
"How many guys have you shared this other side of yourself with? Just curious."
"Not a lot," he answered, his voice laced with a level of meekness I hadn't heard all weekend long. "A couple. Most of them graduated."
"Ah. So in a way, we both come into this with reputations, yeah?"
"I didn't mean anything by saying that," he replied. "I just... I try to stay more careful than some of the other guys you've probably heard about on campus. I'm sorry if that offended you. It wasn't my intention, and I don't want it to spoil... you know... our arrangement."
I didn't answer. I met his eyes for a second. He turned back to the road, and I swallowed anything else I had to say. The rest of the drive back to campus was as prickly as that quick chat we'd had as we rounded the corner back to Clifton Hill.
It struck me that Chip had a clear idea for our arrangement, and as fun as hooking up with him had been, I was starting to wonder how much of that would include secret dalliances, and if he'd still be eager to introduce me to the caliber of students I wanted to meet if I took secret sex with him off the table.
"We'll do it again, yeah? Maybe lunch sometime this week to talk about plans for the summit?"
"You know how to reach me," I smiled curtly, taking my golf bag from him and bounding up the stairs to Chi Beta.
It was almost nine, and I had just enough time to grab my things for my first class, and run to campus.
I got a text from David asking if I wanted to see him after class, the same way we'd done things last Monday, and Wednesday, and Friday. I didn't want to disappoint him, but I was all fucked out, and partially fucked up, by Chip Wallace. I replied that I had to study and would stay on campus until Chapter.
I finally made it home that evening in time for dinner and then our Chapter meeting.
"Where have you been, mi maricon?" Roberto greeted as I descended the stairs to the dining room for dinner. It was meatloaf and mashed potatoes night.
"What do you mean?"
"You disappear yesterday. You're gone all day and then no one sees you today."
"I didn't realize we had group plans today," I replied, sitting down between Berto and Austin. "Did you guys miss me?"
"Kind of. We all walked around together today to show the pledges how it's done," Austin said.
"Well, count me in for group walking duty tomorrow. My bad." I took a bite of my meatloaf.
"Before I forget," Austin pulled out a note from his pocket. "British guy dropped this off for you last night."
"Wait what?" I stopped mid-bite and took the note.
"Came by last night, no one knew where you were, so he scribbled this and left it for you."
"Did you read it?" I looked around the table. "Did any of you read it?"
"No," Austin replied. "It's for you."
"Did he say anything when he dropped it off? What did he say?" I asked frantically. Was this it? Was this the correspondence I'd spent a week waiting for?
Was this the note? Was this it?
"Here's a thought," Hutch said from the other end of the table. "Read it."
I thought for a second. I didn't want to open it there at the table without knowing what it said. I was too emotional from the highs and lows of hanging out with Chip Wallace that something, anything, might have triggered a reaction. I also didn't want to look desperate in front of my pledge brothers, even though they knew what a note from Pete meant to me at that point.
"I'll be back," I pushed my plate aside, scooted my chair back and bounded up the stairs to my room.
"Oh, come on, Corbin," I heard Hutch call after me.
"I'll be back!" I ran up the stairs, leaving the other guys confused and wondering.
On my way through the Great Hall, I breezed past Dominic who stopped and turned.
"Hey Corbin, can I chat with you for a second before Chapter starts?" he called after me. I didn't miss a single stride.
"No, sorry!" I shouted. I ran up to my room, closed the door behind me, and opened the folded piece of printer paper.
`I owe you a conversation. We owe that to each other. I've been busy with the Advert Class, but that's no excuse. Let's start with lunch? Call me.'
I took a deep breath. It answered the question of whether or not I should call and keep pushing him. It answered the question of whether or not I should wait any longer. It answered the question of why he hadn't gotten ahold of me yet in the week since we'd bared our souls to each other. It answered the questions that had taken up residence in the corner of my mind.
A note. Five sentences. Five answers to a million questions.
"Can we come in?" It was Roberto's voice from the other side of the door. Before I answered, he poked his head inside.
"Come in," I replied. Roberto was followed by Hutch, Austin, and Brian. Brian handed me the plate I'd abandoned. I pointed to my fridge and he popped it inside amongst the Natty Light and plastic bottles of vodka. I didn't have any sort of appetite.
"So, gonna tell us what it said?" Austin asked.
I handed him the note. He read it out loud.
"Wow," Hutch was the first to speak. "So this is it. The lunch. The first date lunch."
"It's not a date. I still have to call."
"He said `let's start'," Hutch observed. "It's a date, and he wants to date you."
"So call! Before Chapter. Do it now!" Roberto egged me on.
"Let's not rush into it," Brian said.
"Why wait?" Austin added.
"I vote do it now!" Roberto said, sitting next to me on the bed. "Don't let the moment pass you by."
"Yeah, you've waited this long. He wrote the note. You make the call," Hutch said.
A pang of guilt went down my throat like a lump of dry meatloaf when he said I'd waited this long. Had I? I thought. I was freshly fucked by the Kappa Sig president, and I'd used David as a way to keep my mind off of a distant Pete. I hadn't waited at all, and yet I felt butterflies at the idea of reconnecting with him.
There was still something different about Pete. There was something intoxicating about his note, the formality of the situation, the idea he and I could possibly start over. With everything on the table, this date, this lunch, would be our first with both of us in lockstep over our expectations for each other.
The note.
I took it from Austin and read over it one more time.
"I'm going to call," I said out loud, holding the note as if it were a golden ticket. It was just five phrases on a piece of paper, and yet somehow it felt like the key to the rest of my life. A piece of paper on my way to my destiny.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and found Pete's number.
I held my finger to my lips, indicating that all of the guys keep quiet.
I pushed the green phone symbol and then the button for speaker.
I took a deep breath.
This was the moment. This was the reaction to the note I'd been waiting for. This was the beginning.
Only it wasn't.
"You've reached the Sprint voicemail box of... Peter Davison."
I sighed. All of that build up, and all of that anticipation.
"Hey Pete, It's Corbin. I got your note and just wanted to see when you wanted to grab lunch this week. I'm pretty open any day, so let me know. Uh... talk to you later."
And just like that, I was back to waiting, and I was back to holding on to five sentences on a sheet of paper that may or may not have represented my future with the Englishman who, with nothing more than a note, had the ability to change everything.
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