Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 4

Saturday there were no classes--or lectures as Tristan still stubbornly referred to them in the British tradition. In fact he had been surprised that there were no tutorials in the Oxbridge sense and that the lectures were more in the nature of seminars or even high school classes, with a roll being taken and sudden questions fired at somnolent students by the professor' and something called pop quizzes' to test rote knowledge-- a name Tristan came to wrongly associate with a certain type of manufactured sugary pastry that Colton cooked in the Common Room toaster.

Iain Macpherson's History classes were different. He lectured in a dignified yet compelling manner and was clearly a cut above Dave Enright who conducted the freshman Philosophy class. Enright was a pale young man who trembled slightly, perhaps from nerves, although the students in this class were as lambs, as opposed to Colton's freshman English class, which had a hard core of recalcitrant jocks who gave the academic a hard time. Enright made the mistake of providing candy for the students in a transparent attempt to be overfriendly and with a probable view to receiving a favourable evaluation from the student body.

Of Dr Wozniac who gave the Literature class, he was yet to form a judgement. He initially found her manner and accent grating, but little titbits from other students--such as the fact that she had once been a nun and had left the convent to marry a former priest who was also an academic--aroused his interest and he suspected that she knew her stuff.

Dr Griffin was daft and humorous and taught Ancient Greek to his tiny cohort through a series of creaking anecdotes. He hailed from Chichester, while Mr Pearson was an African-American who had studied at Duke and with the Progressive Era course being of his own design and based on his thesis. It was his first appointment and he didn't have tenure.

On Saturday Tristan could take time to set out on his bed the four assignments that he had been given and to contemplate at leisure how each could be tackled and what time and resources would have to be marshalled. He was no fan of the famous `all nighter' of student fiction.

"Have y'all taken y'pill?"

"Yes, nurse," Tristan sarcastically replied to Colton. He was still taking the anti-depressant prescribed to him, but was feeling pretty good in himself. In fact he had just said so in an email to his mother who now lived in Barnes with her new husband and two teenage stepchildren.

There had been a morning run through the grounds. Presently there would be an hour at the swimming pool in lieu of the gym and then there would be lunch in the dorm room rather than the cafeteria, with Colton being pressed to try canned tuna (or `tunafish' as he termed it) from Italy. Tristan thought it was a simple and healthy meal and was surprised that for a people who liked to go fishing, fish was rarely served in Texas--at least at this university.

The afternoon saw the jocks and some of the girls lazing the time away in the Common Room, watching rubbish on the enormous screen. They had been joined by a boy from another dorm who was a diver. He was obviously gay and, in an attempt at kindness, Tristan was pressed to meet, Daryl, being dragged from his studies so to do.

The introduction was friendly enough and the two sat in adjacent beanbags. Tristan sized the diver up and could easily appreciate his lithe physique. His hair was almost white and was parted on the right and swept up from his pale forehead in what Tristan thought was a most effeminate manner. He wondered if it was a perm or merely the result of the chlorine. Daryl was unabashed in his returning scrutiny of the British import, who was a good deal taller than the diver, if nowhere near as fit. Gross and embarrassing exhortations of encouragement were forthcoming from the jocks as they lounged around on the couches and beanbags like so many sea lions on rocks. Perhaps they meant well. The upshot was, after Daryl and Tristan had chatted about nothing in particular, that they would meet for coffee the next morning and that Tristan would give serious consideration to joining the Gay-Straight Alliance.

Saturday night was the night of the big party at the frat. Tristan had just returned from the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist when Colton emerged from the closet.

"Oh my God!" cried Tristan, mouth agape, for there stood the magnificent figure of the 18 year-old starting quarterback in a pure white tee-shirt that hugged every ridge and valley of his torso, his nipples forming clear projections, and in pale blue Wrangler jeans that were as equally tight to the point of indecency. "I can see your cock and balls."

"Hopin' y'can. Commando tonight."

Tristan was just remarking on the tan cowboy boots with the heels that added another inch to Colton's already impressive height, when Colton put his arm behind his back and swept a Stetson onto his head, adjusting it to a fetching angle, perhaps recalled from some movie--perhaps from Brokeback Mountain, thought Tristan silently, although he thought it unlikely that he'd seen it.

"Borrered the hat. Whadda thaink?"

"You're fuckin' georgeous!"

"Thanks," he replied simply and grinned.

"And that Axe," he said sniffing the air, "should stun the girls should they be blind."

With a swagger and with a movement that tilted the Stetson further over his eyes he left the room to collect his dates from the floor above.

When Tristan had recovered and all the while wishing he had taken a photo to jack off to, he dressed himself, recalling from the fiction that he'd read, that shorts and a good tee-shirt were the correct dress for frat parties. He debated about flip flops or shoes, but decided on his new pale blue Vans and put them on without socks as he had seen Colt do, hoping that someone thought his feet were sexy, which he doubted himself.

They walked as a group to the frat house, Tristan, Jimmy, Alexinia and Hollis. Parker was coming later with a girl. They were joined on the journey by Colton, with Rachel and Leesha giggling on either side, hanging on tightly to the quarterback's muscled arms and trying to walk in the sort of ridiculous heels that Tristan knew Colton found sexy.

Tristan was frankly disappointed by `Greek Row'. In the sort of fiction he had read, and by which he found himself guiding his new life, the fraternity houses--so peculiar to American college life--were supposed to be large, gracious old homes set well back on lawns shaded with ancient oak trees--the sort of houses Andy Hardy or President Harding might have lived in. Here they were overblown versions of modern tract homes--now slightly dated--set on two or three rather ordinary streets to one side of the campus.

Encouragingly, and in conformity with fiction, loud music could be heard leaking from several of these and their particular one (Tristan couldn't remember the triplex of letters) had at least a porch upon which jocks could be seen lounging with Solo cups.

It was noisy of course, but they were made welcome by the pledge committee who were evidently anxious to recruit from Charles C. Selecman as this was a frat for athletes. It became apparent that only seniors actually lived here, many sophomores being brothers but required to live elsewhere. Tristan hoped to see brothers carrying off willing girls to their rooms while others puked on the lawns, but there was none of that, it perhaps being too early.

There was a keg on the deck at the rear, surrounded by sweaty humanity, and when that was exhausted another and perhaps another after that were rolled out by the hospitable fraternity.

Colton and his pair of dates were a sensation, apparently such outré behaviour in a freshman being overlooked by dint of Colt's winning personality or by the fact that he was the quarterback. Tristan knew that he must shrug off any shyness and get with the program' as Colt would say, so he circulated with beer in hand and engaged with and was engaged by a great many people, sorority sisters' included, and to whom he wasn't reticent in telling that he was gay when the need arose. He didn't detect any overt hostility, but then it was so noisy he couldn't be sure they had even heard him clearly. He was pretty sure that he was the only gay in the village.

The best approach was to dance and this was easy because he had come with a group of friends, and strangers were suddenly intimates due to the booze. Colt did his snake-hipped moves to an appreciative audience and Leesha and Rachael were kept busy fending off boarding parties. They were, however, well practiced in the blacker social arts.

To his delight there was beer pong and tequila shots, then he followed a baseball jock with his eyes who was being helped by his date and a fellow brother to be sick in a rubbish bin. He felt he was at last now experiencing real frat life and relaxed.

Some hours later he noticed that Colt and Leesha and Rachel were nowhere to be found. "Left about an hour ago," volunteered Alexinia who had observed his searching eyes.

"Oh" said Tristan as he put his empty cup to his lips in an imitation of drinking and felt his stomach cramp with the most terrible pangs that he knew, in the rational part of his brain, were utterly pointless and he tried with all his might to will that part to override the more primitive instincts that made him want to vomit with jealousy and despair.

"Yo got it bad, doncha, sugar?" observed Alexinia who was still standing beside him.

Tristan could only squeeze his tear-filled eyes tight and nod, furious at himself for his lack of British self-control and this larmoyant weakness that further betrayed him in front of a friend.

"Yes," whispered Tristan. "I guess I do, unless it's the beer."

"Ain't no beer 'lest it's the beer that's speakin' the truth in ya. Been obvious to Miss 'zinia here from the get go." Tristan gathered something of himself and gave her a weak and guilty smile. "That's what comes a'roomin a nice gay boy what's as cute as a pup with a big ole cowboy. Cruel that is."

"Fate," agreed Tristan, trying to appear blazé. "I knew it was a risk. It was there in `Gay Freshman 101'--in bold type." He paused and looked up at Alexinia. "How did you get so wise--so intuitive?"

"My gramma was a hoodoo from Lou'zanna."

"Wow!" said Tristan.

Then Alexinia grinned and said, "Just kiddin ya, white boy. Gramma worked for the Post Office in Birmin'ham. I'm just observant and you ain't 'zactly good at hidin' it."

Tristan medicated with a shot of horrible tequila and soon found a group to go home with, Alexinia peeling off with Carlos, a handsome Latino freshman from W. Lee O'Daniel House, the dorm next to their own. He was glad for her and they looked a hot couple.

In the room Tristan was awakened by a crash and then some colurful `cussin' that announced that Colton was home and had fallen over the folded gym bench on the floor. "Sorry, Roomy, did I wake ya?"

"No," he lied looking at his phone. "I'm always awake at ten past five."

"How's y'night?" asked Colton in a low voice as he struggled to get his tight jeans over his well-developed calves.

"Yeah, good," he lied. "How'd yours go?"

"Met some great dudes. D'ja see Colty's dance moves?"

"Everybody did. Mighty fine," he added in Texan. "And Leesh and Rach?"

"They're fine. Left 'em upstairs. Happy. V'ry happy. Though ain't right to tell."

"But tell me," said Tristan, unable to resist, like when your tongue just has to touch a bad tooth. "Were you safe? I don't wanna have to report you to Dr Baddeley."

Yeah. Rubbered-up. Four rubber night. Then they sucked Colty dry. Must be only spittin' prairie dust now and I'm plum tuckered. No J.O. tonight, Roomy, I'm 'fraid," he said, now under the sheet. "It were a one-time thang--or act'lly a several time thang-- but the girls are our buddies now, not just...you know. Wouldn't go the lezzo thang for ole Colty neither--a tad narra minded, don't y'thank?" He chuckled. "Hope I'm not settin' you a bad example, Tris." There was a pause while he settled his big form. "Night, Roomy."

"Night, Stud."

Tristan felt considerably better and turned over and tried to regain sleep.

There was no run or breakfast the next morning. Colton snored on which gave Tristan time to study, which he did in the big undergraduate library on campus. He found that he had accomplished quite a lot and when he returned he found Colton steaming chicken and combining it with smoked salmon, Tristan not daring to tell Colton the price of this delicacy. "I had a couple breakfast burritos earlier," he confessed with a belch. "The girls texted, are we still right for pizza tonight?"

"Sure. Everything all right up there?" he asked glancing towards the ceiling.

"Course. They just had some Colty-lovin' so I 'spect they're feelin' a might satisfied right now."

"You're very sure of yourself," observed Tristan, with mixed emotions.

"Yep! Now come back to the room while I gets changed fo' work. I need y'help."

"Look at m'back," said Colton pulling off his wife-beater. "Zits on ma' shoulders n' I can't reach them. Would you squeeze them suckers for they drives me to distraction?"

It was an unusual and potentially erotic request. At first Tristan said his back looked fine, even going so far as to say that the pimples enhanced the broad expanse, an axe handle wide. There were, perhaps, his only physical flaw-- perhaps as the Greeks deliberately made when building the Parthenon so as not to offend the gods by their hubris. Colton was not to be persuaded and tried to bend his arm from above and below to reach them. Then Tristan suggested that it was bad to squeeze and that his hands were dirty. Colton produced a tube of something to rub in and told him to go and wash his hands. When Tristan returned he found Colton sitting on his bed expectantly.

"I thought rule number one was no touching."

"Yes it is and don't you forget it. Now get to work on m'zits. This is a med'cal emergency."

Tristan climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged behind him, drinking in the view. Colton told him to get to work. Tristan picked a likely subject, one with a pussy head, and used two fingers to apply pressure. It popped. He chose another and another. Colton quizzed him about each one, as to size and formation and about how much puss was ejected. "S'like little cums; that's why I like doin' it."

He was right and Tristan searched for more, disgusting though it could be.

"You have great shoulders. They're your best feature."

"What about my ass?"

"That too."

"And my piece and them balls"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"And my smile--I know y'all like my pearlies"

"I do, and now your singing voice. Your conceit is better than any of them, though."

"Ow!" cried Colt. That hurt."

"Sorry," said Tristan with transparent insincerity, "All done."

He smoothed on the medicament and said, "Better get ready, you're making me hard."

"Thanks, Roomy. Y'all ten times better than any straight dude. Do me again?" said Colt as he reached for his Nonno's shirt.

"Sure, anytime, it was fun."

Tristan spent the middle part of the day looking at Colt's first English essay. This was a surprise, because his written English was much more standard' than his spoken language and he reflected that this was probably so with other English speakers (conceding even himself) who had regional approaches to the mother tongue. However, homophones and adverbs were still jarring and he thought that his reflected poorly on how English must be taught in American schools, as he crossly circled waist' for waste' and brake' for break'. He also made a rather bossy list of irregular verbs and some that Americans seemed to think aught to be irregular." Dived', sneaked', knelt' and spat', were put in their respective columns along side the usual yours' and theres'. He wondered about shat' for `shitted', but was unsure so left it off.

When Colton returned he was very tired and again had only made a few dollars in tips. He stripped off his shirt with some savagery and listened as Tristan praised his character insight into Nick Carraway. Then Tristan gently introduced his criticism of his expression and watched warily for any adverse reaction. "I don't like your grammar."

"Y'all don't even know my gramma," he replied with a grin and threw his boxer briefs (actually they were Tristan's as Colton said that his balls were aching and required support) at Tristan head and crossed to the desk in order examine the list of errors Blu-tacked to the wall, the tip of his big, flaccid cock trailing on the laminated surface. He read it and nodded. Tristan then tried to explain the difference between "tanned" and "tan", but with out success.

"So you think my essay'll pass if I fix it," said Colton, cutting him short.

"Oh yeah. I reckon it's worth a B."

"Thanks man!"

They pulled on shorts and repaired to the Common Room, to watch football with Parker and some others. Tristan watched for a few minutes and quickly became bored. He tried to raise some conversational points about the fascinating irregularities and complexities of the language, but there were no takers. The footballers made desultory conversation, with occasional passionate outbursts when something exciting happened on the screen. Tristan took to correcting their grammar: "Isn't', not ain't'...The of' after off' is redundant--just get off him' will suffice... It's a double negative, Parker...Colt, snuck' isn't a proper word...."

Colt and Parker looked at each other and then, as if by some invisible cue, leapt upon their tormentor and rasselled' him to the floor, Texan style. Parker tickled Tristan as he squirmed and hollered' while Colton knelt (or "kneeled" depending on your upbringing) and held him down. "Get off of me!" cried Tristan sarcastically. Then they reversed and Colton lowered his arse over Tristan's face and let rip a terrible fart, replete with reminders of burritos past. Even Parker complained as he laughed until he cried. "Man, yours is the worst!"

"Smell my stank, Roomy, and just remember who's boss."

Tristan was squirming and laughing but managed to gasp, "It's the past participle of the verb; stank is not a noun."

Colt begged to disagree and let another one go, right on Tristan's face. "Oops, I think I followed through--and in your shorts too."

Everyone was laughing. Tristan, though humiliated in the most degrading way, thought his sides would split and he was forced to endure the rest of the game on the couch in a headlock from Colton, except when Colton went to the bathroom when he was passed bodily over into Parker's death grip.

The pizza night was a huge success, although Colton grumbled at having to return to the place where he just finished working that afternoon.

Tristan went to use his new ID to buy a pitcher of beer for the party, but found that this was impossible as the others in the group, whilst over 18 were under 21 and obviously not related to him or indeed under his adult supervision. `Hard liquor' was not available at all--a puzzling distinction being made with beer in this country-- because it was Sunday and Nonno's was not the sort of place to bend the law. So jugs of Coke were substituted and these had to suffice as the necessary social lubricant and Tristan tried not to think of how many spoonsful of sugar were contained in each glass that washed down the garlic bread and five different varieties of pizza.

Leesha and Rachel gave no indication of events of the night before, but Alexinia brought Carlos along and he fitted in fine --or `fit' as Colton later said but was left uncorrected by the pedant for fear of the fart. Parker came alone and was no doubt, filling Colton in on just what had transpired with his date, if whispered conversation and laughter at their end of the table was any indication. The party seated at the long table was rounded out to nine by Hollis and Jimmy.

It had not been quite a week, but already they were a visibly bonded group of friends, thought Tristan. Of course, they had been thrown together by the proximity of their living arrangements and their shared interest in sport, but wasn't that the same as relationships in real life? At their age, he had the wisdom to realize, such new friendships were more easily made than in middle age. Young people were less cautious and more likely to be accepting or even intrigued by the foibles of others. This was confirmation of what he had read in fictional accounts of college life.

Some of the party came back to Tristan and Colton's room and drank shots of `Jack' from the glass decanter with its satellite of Bohemian crystal glasses. They lounged about on the beds or sat on the floor as the small fan moved the heat about in the room.

"You're the odd couple," said Hollis at one point. "Straight n' gay sharin' a dorm. How'd y'find it?"

The room looked at Tristan to start. "Well, he farts dreadfully, waking me up all the time."

"Only when I'm bendin' down to tie m'shoes," whined Colton in his own defence. "Man's gotta let the gas out or's he liable to explode--perhaps just don't light no matches after m'ground turkey burritos.

"But he's pretty tidy for a jock and I appreciate that. He tidies and does the beds and I do the washing and stock the fridge."

Rachel said that Leesha was a slob and Leesha countered with an accusation that Leesha stole her eyeliner and had even used her toothbrush--this last calumny being hotly contested.

"And he gets to look at my fine hairy ass in the mornin'," broke in Colton.

"Everybody in this room's seen it!" said Parker. "You ain't 'zactly the shy type."

"We get on fine, 'cause we have rules. What's rule number one, Roomy?"

"No touching," replied Tristan, automatically. Alexinia shot him a sympathetic glance, while the others murmured that that was obviously a sensible arrangement and another round of shots soon depleted the decanter.

On the Monday the week began with a gallop that saw it swiftly pass. Every morning Colton awoke very early and jacked off--the shared towel now becoming visibly crusty--before they went on their jog that always terminated in a sprint to the dorm, which Tristan always lost. They varied the route to become more familiar with the large campus and even got to know some other early runners who regularly appeared at the same hour when the day was at its coolest.

There was the shower with the other jocks, Tristan on the first of many subsequent occasions, getting hard in public while he watched Colton wash his cock with shower gel. "Needs a lot of attention 'cause of all m'skin," he explained unashamedly as he skinned the rolls of foreskin back to reveal, as if by a conjurer's trick, the large pink head, not dissimilar in size and shape to the State Capitol in Austin. Thereafter followed a hotly contested debate between Colton and Parker as to the merits or otherwise of circumcision. With the arrival of Hollis, Colton seemed to be outnumbered, but he called across to Deshawn, his teammate, who swaggered over from his shower and presented a further very convincing argument to support his quarterback. All of which caused Tristan to laugh uncontrollably and get hard at the same time.

Then they all met for breakfast and dispersed to their varied activities: lectures, gym training, football practice, homework, social service projects (for Rachel and Leesha) and so on, often not meeting again until the following morning.

Tristan began to observe that Colton barely had a moment in the day to himself. After all his early socializing, football came to consume nearly all his available hours and often there were team meetings and sponsors' activities that were on top of this. Plus he was working at Nonno's two nights and on Sunday afternoons and he often had to sit up late studying.

He did receive the predicted B for his first English essay and thanked Tristan for his help. It became quite clear to Tristan that Biology was his roommate's forte, even though he found `Math' apparently so easy. He was a confirmed Darwinist and often mentioned he marvels of adaptation in the same breathless manner as Sir David Attenborough and Tristan found he was interested.

They were lying on their respective beds reading and making notes when Tristan idly mentioned gay people and evolution. How did evolution account for this group? Were gay people an aberration in a species dominated by `breeders' like Colton? The equivalent of the human appendix, perhaps?

Colton took out off his headphones and said, "The latest thinkin' is such that the appendix does have some useful bi'logical function as a storage place for good bacteria that the gut needs. Humans with poorer gut health might have not lived to breed or carry babies to term."

"But gay people don't have babies--or I suppose they do, but you know what I mean, they don't help the species survive."

"Well, is there a gay gene?"

"I don't know," said Tristan. "There was in Gattaca."

"Look, species adaptation and survival is way mo' complicated than dumb folks who talk about `survival of the fittest' thank. It was another dude, Spencer, who said that anyways, not Darwin. Humans is like ants n' bees; they live in societies and all perform various functions to aid the survival of the whole. Even the drones have a use. Perhaps gay folks contribute something to the whole o'humanity what helps it survive--even in pre-agricultural times. That's why straight breeders throw a gay or lezzo kid every so often; they are perhaps even necessary for the success of the human race."

"How?"

"Dunno. Maybe winder dressers and girl rasslers help society in some way. Maybe you'll do somethin' to help us survive more'n just some straight dude that just pumps out brats."

"Michelangelo was gay and Keynes--he was an economist who liked ballet."

"See? In various ways they coulda aided the whole beehive."

"Your fuckin' smart, Cowboy."

"I can ride a horse too."

"Speaking of that, in all the stories the cowboy roomy has a horse that he's very fond of. Do you have a horse for a sweetheart at home?"

"What are these stories y'all keeps on about? Look, if I shows y'somethang, ya gotta swear to not say anything or its beats on you, Roomy."

"I swear on Her Majesty's life."

Colton arose from his bed and walked across to the desk in his boxers. He returned with the picture of his family in its Perspex frame. Tristan had seen it every day and raised his eyes to Colton as he said, "Your brothers are hot, but not as good-looking as you..." Then Colton flipped it over. On the back was another photo, a picture of a chestnut horse standing in an attractive looking field surrounded by forest.

"That's m'horse, Tammy."

Tristan couldn't help himself and was convulsed with laughter and rolled about on the bed. Colton leapt on him and started to playfully beat him up, but still Tristan couldn't help himself and took his punishment, saying, between gasps. "After Tammy Wynette?"

The unspoken answer was `Yes' and the punishment resumed, Colton saying, "You limey bastard gay boy, if you ever breaths a word..."

Tristan swore to keep this secret love a secret and these events were only interrupted by the arrival of Hollis and Parker at the door.

"I thought there was no touchin' in this room," said Hollis.

"It weren't touchin' it were chastisement; this gay boy is a might too sassy for his own good."

Tristan returned to Dr Baddeley with Colton in tow. "Well, lookee here," said the dreadful women, making the boys laugh. "Don't see one 'thout t'tother."

Tristan got a good report after some interrogation and his bloods came back clean, as he knew they would. Indeed he felt like a new man. Colton however was clean in that respect but his blood sugar level was a little high at six.

"Do I have diabetes, Ma'am?" he asked.

"No honey, maybe pre-diabetes. You obviously get plenty of exercise and you're not overweight for your height, but you might have to watch your diet."

"My dad his diabetes, type 1 and its been bad lately--had to have a toe removed."

Tristan was shocked and Dr Baddeley said, "Runs in families, so it's best for you to keep an eye on it."

"Tristan's been on my case about m'diet. Had to cut down on sodas and fats."

"Well, now it's you that has the good roommate. You're a caring couple"

"We aren't `a couple'," said Tristan in alarm, fearing that such a remark, so close to the bone, would sour their relationship, whatever that was.

"Course not. Just a figger o'speech on my part. You're a confirmed ladies' man, aren't you, Cowboy." Perhaps Rachel or Leesha had been talking, was Tristan's sudden thought.

"Well, Ma'am," Colton manageed to swagger, although he was seated. "I don't know about that, but I has m'moments such as any fella." He grinned.

"Boys!" said Dr Baddeley with exasperation. "We don't know whether to love 'em or slap 'em silly." Tristan felt like he was being included in this and blushed and it was with relief, once again, that they escaped.

It was on the Monday that Tristan had his date' with Daryl and they met between classes at a convenient coffee shop on campus that Tristan had not been to. While Tristan had gone to no particular trouble, merely wearing a pair of mesh basketball shorts over one of Colton's jockstraps and a black tee left over from his Goth' period, Daryl was very nicely dressed in a striped tee shirt with a little pocket fitted over his diver's torso and a pair of tan slacks with boat shoes. This might have been the Texan equivalent of `preppy' but Tristan couldn't be sure. As usual, Daryl's colourless hair was elaborately groomed.

Tristan ordered ordinary coffee while Daryl made a fuss about almond milk and special flavourings. Tristan felt this was not off to a good start, but kept up a show of engagement.

Daryl talked largely about himself and his life in the wealthier suburbs of Houston, laughing at bitchy stories he told against himself, perhaps in an effort to impress Tristan. Tristan, with the practiced air of an Englishman, could keep his own counsel and bat away any personal questions, although these were not frequent.

Tristan was asked why he was in the jocks dorm. He didn't know. Daryl then pressed him about rooming with Colton and Tristan could honestly say that they had a rule about no touching. Daryl said no more about this.

Then Tristan tried to direct the conversation from the personal to the general and asked about the Gay-Straight Alliance. Daryl became even more animated and told him about their battles with a campus group called the College Youth for Freedom. Apparently they were very active in tying to overturn the policy on transgender inclusion and were demanding an equal voice in such matters as the teaching contentious subjects such as evolution, the Civil War and the Holocaust. He conceded that they had not met with much success, despite the excitement that they had caused.

The GSA had also developed an ap for hookups among its supporters, which Tristan conceded was a good idea and Daryl outlined some of his happy experiences using it, referring to himself as `a slut'. As the sports teams had all signed up to the diversity policy, some of the jocks would be attending their meetings. This was being coordinated by the Social Service course that Leesha and Rachel were a part of. Both boys wondered how the jocks would react.

Diplomatically, Tristan said he would come to the next meeting but conspicuously did not seek a second date with Daryl, pointedly confining any future meetings to `coffee' and he was glad when he could make his excuse to leave.

As he walked back to the dorm to get his books for the next lecture, he concluded, sadly, that he did not find effeminate boys like Daryl attractive--falling short of actually being repulsed by his mannerisms, as he knew that this was just what some gay boys were like and could no more feel comfortable acting `butch' as he would feel right swishing. It was wrong to think otherwise--like Boone and his left handedness-- to hold Daryl as anything lesser. This was, of course in his rational brain. His dick told him more bluntly that he was only attracted to masculine straight boys--and to one in particular.

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.