Tristan
by Henry H. Hilliard
This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.
If reading this story is not legal in your jurisdiction, stop it right now.
If you enjoy this story, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this platform alive
Chapter 3
It was just light when Tristan automatically awoke. He looked across and Colton was still asleep, on his back. The sheet was pulled down to the top of his blonde pubes and there was a big tent caused by his erection. As done in all the novels, Tristan took the slightly unethical opportunity to closely observe his footballer without himself being detected.
Colton's face was innocent in repose and very beautiful. Surely he should have been snapped up by some modelling agency by now?
He could detect the slight movement of throat and Adam's apple as he breathed. His chin was strong and the slight beard of wiry blonde hair made his boyish visage just that bit more rugged. There was no point in being jealous of his pecs or washboard; he could never compete, but it was enough to reaffirm his own decision to exercise, if only so as to not make Colton ashamed of him when they paraded around (as the male populace of Charles C. Selecman did) shirtless and in underwear.
This was only his third day. His third day as a proper adult. So much had happened that he felt it should have been measured in months, not hours. But this was also the usual experience he had read often enough.
The dumb luck of rooming with the quarterback was also to be factored. He looked across at the other bed again and was now idly stroking his own hardon.
"Hey!" A voice startled him. "Y'all started without me. Not right neighbourly."
"Sorry, I didn't know that was a rule."
"It ain't a rule 'zactly, but its good manners my momma always allowed."
"She did not tell you about jerking off!"
"Well, maybe she was talkin' 'bout at the supper table; it were Dacey and Mitchell what learned me that--tho' I allow it comes most natural to dudes."
By now Colton's sheet was pushed to the floor and he was jacking in earnest. So was Tristan. Periodically Colton smeared the copious cock honey around the head and frequently he sampled it on his tongue with approval. "Wanna see me shoot it in ma mouth?"
"Uh huh" came the reply.
Colton's fisting continued when suddenly he raised his enormous legs towards the ceiling and lewdly protruded his long tongue. A few well direct squirts did indeed make three pointers, but much bounced off the rim and went everywhere else.
Tristan, once again, didn't know whether to applaud or not--although that would have been impossible with only one hand. He did cum, however, engendering the usual critique of his roommate as to volume and velocity.
Soon they were jogging on the same route as the previous day. The sprinklers were still playing on the lawns and it was a little cooler at his hour before the heat of the day and Colton diverted their path so as to pass through their refreshing spray. Some students were throwing a Frisbee. He spoke cheerfully to the players--everyone was a potential friend; a very un-British approach to the world, Tristan thought.
Tristan lost the sprint again and the shower passed without crisis, save for Colton pointing out that Tristan still had cum in his pubes within the hearing of Hollis and Parker who laughed uproariously.
There was breakfast and the party included the presumably scrofulic Rachel and the unfaithful Leesha, but nothing of these calumnies was said amid the general post-mortem of the party.
They all had various things to do, Colt and Hollis going off to preseason training and Tristan making an appointment for later in the day with Dr Hildago. He helped Hunter and Jimmy install the television in the common room, with tools being provided by Doull. `Is Doull' his first or last name?" asked Tristan at one point. Nobody knew; he was just Doull. The fixed screen looked great in the spacious room and Hunter and Jimmy were soon joined by some other jocks who slumped on the couches to watch Roller Derby on ESPN with surround sound.
Tristan was in the room when there was a knock of the door. He opened it to find it was Boone. He took an involuntary step back. Boone looked a wreck--he'd been at training of course--but in his mitt was grasped a bunch of Sim carnations and on his face was an expression that he could not decipher.
"Ah," began Boone.
"Ah?" questioned Tristan.
"I came to offer mah pre-found 'pologies for mah un-for-givabah be-havyah last night. I'm hopin' that you can sumhow find it in y'all heart to forgive me."
"Why, Boone," said Tristin, both amused and shocked. "That is very gracious of you. Your Momma must have taught you right."
"When she wurn't on the sauce," muttered Boone.
"But you shouldn't have brought me flowers--lovely though the are--or folks will think we're dating."
"The flowers were Colt's idea. Said that fag...er...gay dudes wuz the same as ladies for flowers and such like. Is that cawfee I can smell?"
There was no choice but to invite him in and the resemblance to a date was renewed. He was provided with a coffee and he looked at the glass, no doubt putting it down to some gay domestic practice. The flowers were tossed onto Colt's bed and not further alluded to.
"The others tore me a new asshole--er, I mean tore strips off. I'd besmirched the diversity policy and I could be off the team if I don't do right by y'all. Coach made me run laps when he heard. So I'm real sorry. I was off my drunk ass."
"Boone," said Tristan, firmly but kindly. "Do you know any gay people--back home, I mean?"
"In Dimmitt? No, ain't no gays in Dimmitt. There ain't but four thousand in the whole place."
"There would be, Boone, but it was just that they keep it hidden for fear of being beaten up. There would have been gay men and lesbian women and..." Tristan thought he should stop here for fear of complicating the message.
"Even in the Bobcats?"
"I don't know, but three percent or maybe even ten percent would be, even if they covered it up by marrying. You knew gay people, but you just didn't realise it, Boone. And a lot more straight people have had some same-sex experiences--especially as teens."
"You mean like deciding to go fishin' then skinny dippin' out at Playa Lake with your best bud and then putting towels over your head so you can't see nuthin' while you sucked each other's wieners?"
Tristin had to try hard not to laugh at "wieners" but said, "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."
"Nah. Nothing liked that happened in Dimmitt."
Tristan tried another tack. "You're left handed, aren't you, Boone?"
"Yeah," said Boone, looking down just to make sure. "I'm a southpaw."
"Did anyone ever try to make you right handed? A teacher maybe?"
"My first grade teacher was great. She didn't hit me over mah knuckes like mah Daddy did when I was holdin' a crayon or somethin'." He again looked at his left hand in memory of the pain.
"Why didn't you use just your right hand? After all, your daddy really wanted you to."
"It just weren't no good. I jus' couldn't. Couldn't hold a bat or chop wood or nothing without really concentrating. Are you sayin' that that's what bein' gay's like?"
"Yes. It's natural born, but just different to most others. You can fight it all your life, but it will just never feel right. You can't catch it either."
"Would y'all rather not be gay?"
"Make life a lot easier. Wouldn't have people like you on my case. But it's who I am now. Would you rather be right handed?"
Boone didn't answer but stood up from where he'd been sitting on the bed. He thrust out his hand. Then with a smile, changed to the left one. "Sorry, Dude. I really am."
"I'll buy you a beer when I get my ID."
"Thanks. You drink beer?"
"We mostly sip champagne spritzers, but yeah."
With that Boone was gone. Quite quickly he was replaced by Colton. He was a wreck also and complained that the coach was being extra hard on him for some reason. He had just stated this when he had to run from the room to vomit. Tristan followed and saw that he had not quite made the toilet. Colton was distressed. "Don't worry. I'll clean it up," he said as matter of fact as he could muster.
Tristan plied him with water--not too cold--and then saturated some handtowels and placed them on Colton's wrists and forehead as he lay on the bed. He untied his Vans, which Colton wore without socks. His big feet were sexy. He pulled down the blind and closed the door behind him and left the dorm to seek out his course advisor.
Dr Hildago was an undemonstrative little man who was balding, but compensated for the fact with a bushy moustache that was still dark. He evidently taught anthropology, as disclosed by the books on his shelves. They discussed Tristan's father's choices--now more properly his own--and the move to Greek was affected, the computer showing that the class had only a handful of scholars. There was a sophomore class in Greek, so Tristan's one was quite certainly for beginners. There was an exchange of handshakes and Tristan was invited to call at any time.
When he returned, Colton was sitting up looking at his phone. "Sorry about before. Now who's Sue Barton, Student Nurse?"
Tristan ignored him. "I had a visitor."
"Boone?"
"Yeah."
"Howdit go?"
"Pretty well. We're going to buy each other beers. But just don't go fishing with him."
There was more to do. They both had to buy their books and Colton blanched at the prices. Tristan fought hard not to intervene, but pointed out that a few could be purchased second hand. Colton had to see his course advisor and then there was his first proper gym session to follow. Tristan begged off and drove the truck into town.
By mid afternoon the fridge in the closet was packed with frozen chicken breasts and there was a supply of fruit, smoked salmon and other good things. Something called an automatic multi-cooker was positioned out in the Common Room next to the microwave oven and the dispensers of unhealthy snacks and drinks. In the land of the deep fryer and the barbecue one could steam food in this appliance. There was also a further supply of Colt's favourite lube and a book for himself that the campus store had been unable to supply.
Thus it was with some delight when Colt returned with Hollis and Parker in tow, that he sat them down and prepared three steamed chicken breasts, explaining their advantage over the fried pork chops and the ribs in barbecue sauce that they had been contemplating for their evening meal.
They were a mild success and the hungry footballers asked for seconds, Tristan explaining as they watched a particularly violent game of hocky on the big screen, that the chicken could easily be jazzed up with chilli and other things to suit American tastes without resort to sugar, trans fats and salt.
Tristan always knew that his missionary work would only be of limited effectiveness and so Sunday nights, by general agreement, were reserved for pizza and other such pleasures during the football season, the Nonno's Pizzeria being chosen as the putative gathering spot.
In fact it was Colton's first shift there and in the privacy of their room he tried on the uniform that they had provided. Tristan thought he would cry to see the starting quarterback demeaned by the humiliating costume, which consisted of a shirt emblazoned front and rear with a poorly executed pizza with wide eyes and little legs. An obscene little gloved hand perkily gesticulated in direction of the restaurant's name which was embroidered in script. The horror was completed with a little hat and a bow tie. These were in the colours of the flag of the Italian Republic. The trousers were fortunately featureless and made of cheap black cloth. He was required to provide his own footwear, so he pulled on his sockless Hi Top Vans.
Tristan lied and said that he looked great. Colton added that he thought he'd earn more tips if he worse a muscle tee. "Take the truck. I don't need it and the bus is unreliable and I don't want you to be late."
"Thanks," said Colton brightly and he departed.
It was late when he returned and the others had already eaten. He seemed tired and Tristan was reluctant to ask him how it went. He did however as Colton stripped off his uniform. "All right, I suppose. I made $15 in tips. I was in the kitchen most of the time loading the washer. Trouble is, they don't like the Vans and I'll have to buy black leather shoes."
Tristan calculated that this would eat up half his likely pay but said nothing. They wandered down to Parker and Hollis' room and `shot the breeze' for a while before returning to their own. Colton got out his laptop and some books and prepared for the first day of classes. Soon it was time for bed, which was a simple matter of removing their boxers and crawling under the sheets. Colton said that he was too tired to jack off and so Tristan agreed. That was not a good sign he thought.
The next day passed in a whirl. Colton's libido had recovered by the morning and he jacked with alacrity. They jogged and met the others for breakfast. Tristan held his tongue regarding sugar and fat, figuring that Colton was under enough stress. The quarterback endured another gruelling session under Coach, but was still smiling at the news that he was not only in the team, but now a designated leader, encouraging his fellows when flagging. Some praise from the Coach had apparently worked wonders.
"Look what I've got," cried Tristan in a girly sing-song voice. In his fingers he waggled the two forged IDs. They were now `legal' and Colton let out a whoop and danced around the room before sliding it into a compartment in his wallet.
Then there were the classes. Colt seemed pleased with his, but did not elaborate greatly as he wolfed down three steamed chicken breasts garnished with just a few spices. Tristan attempted to show him how to cook them for himself and made a mental note that to keep up the supply out of his own pocket. Colton refused the Coke and drank a huge glass of apple juice, before dashing off to English and then Calculus.
When they next crossed in the dorm room, Tristan was surprised to see Colton putting on his Nonno's uniform. "I thought you didn't work until Sunday". Colton showed him his phone, with a request from his employer for Colt to come in, as they were short staffed and there was no Friday night football for some months.
"I didn't have time to buy black shoes."
"I'll buy them this afternoon. I'll come with you and get the bus back."
"You're the greatest, Tris. Here." He gave him a fifty for the shoes. "Size 13."
They tore out the door and into the car park. Colton drove at speed. "I'll be through around 9:00. We can hit the gym after that."
"Sounds fine. I'll have our jockstraps ready."
In fact the gym session was fun. To begin with Colton did a lot of lazy socializing with the other jocks and then patiently spotted for Tristan who tried not to be embarrassed by his pathetic strength and stamina. Then Colton shifted gear. He mounted the bench and pressed a staggering weight for so many reps that Tristan lost count, all the time a look of intense concentration on his face, the veins popping on his neck. He moved from machine to machine, working with an unsettling savagery.
All of a sudden it was time to leave. They both stood panting and drinking bottled water before walking back to Charles C. Selecman in the warm night air.
"Whataya think about a JO in the showers?" suggested Colton.
It sounded exciting, but risky. "Okay," was all Tristan said.
They didn't even bother with their towels or soap but went straight to the darkened bathroom. "Lights on or off?"
"On, I think."
They stood facing each other under `their' shower and set to work as soon as the temperature was right. Colton did a lot of grinning and grimacing. Tristan noted that Colton's balls hung really low and bounced around a good deal. He saw him looking. "Gotta be careful I don't sit on my boys."
"They're beautiful."
"Thanks."
Matters intensified and before he knew it, the quarterback was saying, "Want it?" Tristan could only jerk faster and nod. There was no other way to describe it, but Tristan was `hosed down' with Colt's cum.
"That was hot!" they said in unison and then laughed.
"Gotta piss now,' said Colt. "Piss with me, bro." He splashed on the shower floor with great noise. Tristan, who had finally cum, was a trifle behind. They were mostly courteous regarding splashing, the piss being quickly diluted and swirling down the drain. When they finally turned off the water Colt laughed and said, "Kinky, eh?"
Tristan could only reply, weakly, "Yeah."
"Brothers and I used to do that, fortunately we had a bathroom back o'the barn. Mom would have killed us."
Tristan was left to ponder this image as they walked back to their room, dressed only in their jockstraps. Inside Colton put in a solid hour's work on his Biology and it was early in the morning when his desk light was at last extinguished.
Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.