| God, I love Mondays. Joey, my little frat brother, comes over every Monday to study with me. And do a little more than study. Ok, a lot more. But at least I’m watching out for his health. He’ll know right away if he’s coming down with something. But I’m getting ahead of my story here. How the hell did it start? First, about Joey: a guy from my home town, built like all getout. All of his five foot ten solid muscle, and not real huge, but real nice on the eyes. Packed on there from years in the gym. Real nice guy, kinda quiet, but friendly. Crew cut hair, blue eyes, tan: you get the picture. I really got to know him more when he became my little brother, and we hit it off well from the start. Lucky me. I made sure we got to talking about being study buddies, too. So Joey came over that first Monday, backpack full of books. He came into my room, a little flushed from what must have been a brisk walk across campus. I remember letting him in, watching his tight ass as he walked across my room and sat on my bed, turning to smile at me. “So what are we up to today?” I asked him. “Calc today, remember, man? I got a test on Wednesday and you promised to help me,” he replied. “Ohhh yeah. Cool,” I told him, going to my desk to get my stuff. I could hear him unpacking his backpack and getting his books and notebooks out. “Man, it’s hot in here,” he said. “Well, you’ve got that heavy rugby shirt on, dickhead,” I told him, smiling. “Oh right,” he said almost as an afterthought. He put his book down and started to pull his shirt off. He got his t-shirt out of his pants, too, and both shirts rode up so I could see his flawless, flat tummy. I got lost for a moment in the bit of hair that went down from his bellybutton into his jeans, but making sure not to get caught, I turned around quickly as he got the top shirt off. “Better?” I asked, turning around this time when he could see me. ”Yeah. I was burning up there, bro,” he said, smoothing his t-shirt. We continued to get ready, collecting pens and other stuff. “Man,” he said out of the blue, “I’ve got a headache. Drank too fucking much last night.” “Poor guy,” I told him, “you at least get laid for that?” “Nah, it was just me and some friends watching the game, but I think I had ten too many, you know?” he said, smiling. I put aside my picture of being with him and his buds after “ten too many” and smiled back. “Go into the bathroom down the hall. My locker has my name on it and there’s aspirin in there. You can take some.” “Thanks, man,” he said, getting up and leaving the room. |
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