Dustin Hanson sprawled out on the unforgiving mattress in his dorm room. A notebook with doodles in the margin lay open by his hand. "Did I already read this part?" he asked himself aloud as he stared at his Western World Literature textbook. The words all seemed jumbled together like a bowl of alphabet soup.
Dustin sighed as he wondered why he, the guy with the 3.95 GPA, couldn't come up with a decent answer as to why the Pardoner in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales was the most controversial of the pilgrims. He remembered the professor saying in class, "Some scholars claim the text asserts that the Pardoner character is gay or bisexual."
He could use that! Surely, being gay would have been controversial in medieval Europe, just slightly more so than it was back in his small town high school in Oklahoma!
He eagerly wrote a few words in his notebook and then stretched his neck. When his eyes glanced up at the bottom of the unoccupied bunk bed above him, his concentration flew out the window. That explained why he couldn't focus on his homework – all Dustin could think about was Jeff Ridgewood, the blond-haired, blue-eyed god that slept on top of him!
Well, Jeff didn't sleep on top of him so much (Dustin only wished) as above him, in the upper bunk. Dustin would lay in bed at night letting his hand wander below his waistline while he stared up at the way his roommate's ass sagged in the cheap, college-issued mattress. His mind imagined what it would be like if the mattress, as well as Jeff's clothes, magically disappeared giving him a full view of...
"Ouch!" Dustin pinched his own hand to stop the daydream and bring himself abruptly back to reality. How could he, the studious geek who worked in the college library and said words like "gosh" and "darn," ever hope to get it on with a stud – even a gay one, like Jeff?
Jeff played on several college sports teams, worked out like a fiend, and even partied with the straight frat boys! Instead of being the token gay guy hanging around their crowd so the frat could claim its annual required brownie points with the College Diversity Office, Jeff was actually the sought after "cool gay guy" on campus. The frat dudes all went to him for advice like on that old show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
Dustin loved to watch Jeff in action. Jeff would advise a macho frat guy, practically reduced to tears, how to get back in the good graces of a pissed off girlfriend. He even had to explain to the frat guys how to ask out a special girl in the first place. Imagine, the hottest straight guys on campus went to gay Jeff to learn how to treat a woman!
"It's not their fault that society doesn't teach those straight boys common sense and manners," Jeff would say to Dustin with a wink as the latest frat hunk would stroll out of their dorm room with a new-found confidence to put his love life in order.
Dustin absently doodled in his notebook. If only he could get up the nerve to ask Jeff for some advice himself, namely on how to get the gay guy of his dreams – the one right in front of his face, yet hopelessly out of his reach.
"Hey, Little Dude," Jeff called out as he entered the dorm room using his nickname for Dustin. Since Jeff stood several inches taller and dozens of pounds heavier in comparison, the moniker fit perfectly. It also allowed Jeff as the older roommate to assert his status as a junior as opposed to Dustin's status as a freshman.
The two young men had been paired as roommates by the Student Life Office's pilot program of mixing grade levels in the dormitories. The fact that they were both gay was just a convenient coincidence.
Jeff covered his eyes with his baseball glove. "You're not jerking off in here or doing anything else you don't want me to see, are ya?"
Dustin longed to point out that in some ways he did indeed want Jeff to see him pleasuring himself! Nonetheless, he laughed off Jeff's teasing and said, "You can open your eyes, I'm just working on some English homework. Fully clothed!"
Jeff dropped his baseball glove on the desk. He chewed his gum as he eyed his roommate up and down with a smirk. "Maybe I'm just a bit disappointed I didn't catch ya doin' the one-handed tango."
Dustin lowered his glasses and peered over the top rims. "Did you just call masturbation the, um, one-handed tango?"
Jeff shrugged and snapped his gum.
"So, how was practice?" Dustin asked more as an attempt to change the subject than anything else. He didn't really know the difference between line drives and fly balls. His knowledge of baseball pretty much began and ended with the sexual position euphemisms of "pitcher" and "catcher."