Jeremiah snuck a quick glance over down the row of lockers, and sure enough, the guy was still staring at him with that smirk on his face. Did he know? How in the world could he possibly know? His cock throbbed a bit–it had been a few week since Jeremiah had last gotten laid–it wasn’t the easiest thing getting tail when you’re a deeply closeted football player at a southern university, so he took what he could get. In any case, he certainly wasn’t going to let being a faggot ruin his chances at going pro in a few years time, and he certainly couldn’t risk fucking around with anyone on campus–or even anyone in the little college town where the school was.
He got dressed quickly, trying to ignore the guy he’d noticed the last few weeks, ever since the start of school. He was…ripped. Impressively so, even Jeremiah had to admit that, but when he’d asked around…no one had known who he was, beyond the rumours that he was a transfer from some other college. For someone in that good of shape, he didn’t seem to be on any sports teams either. It wouldn’t have mattered one bit, in any case, if the guy didn’t have a weird habit of ending up in the locker room with Jeremiah all the damn time, cruising him openly. Did the guy want to get a fucking beating? Didn’t he know how risky this shit was for them both?
“Jeremiah, right? I just gotta say, you were amazing last Saturday–especially that last touchdown–a 47 yard run! Got me pretty damn excited, if you know what I mean.”
The brazen little fuck. Jeremiah gave a strained smile, and looked over at the guy. “Thanks, but it’s a team effort.”
“Modest too–wouldn’t have expected that,” the guy said, and extended a hand, “My name’s Terry–transferred here this year. Heard a lot of rumors about you–hoping to go pro, some other stuff…”
Jeremiah glanced around, but thankfully the rest of the locker room was empty. Terry must have known that too, because he reached out and openly groped his crotch, giving his thick cock a couple of squeezes, before Jeremiah had the sense to knock it away.
“Fucking faggot, I don’t know what the fuck you’re fucking thinking, but I should beat your face in.”
Terry just gave him a wink. “Well, I think you’d rather do a few other things to me, back in my room. What do you say?”
Jeremiah just grabbed his clothes and shoved past him, feeling eyes on the back of his neck–real or imagined–the whole way out of the athletic facility. It was too fucking risky, he fucking knew that–especially with someone on campus, someone who could blackmail him. The guy wasn’t even really his type, but in all honesty Jeremiah was so lonely he would have taken any port in the storm. There were a stand of trees off to the side, and he slipped among them, trying to keep the tears to a minimum–when he saw the guy–Terry–leave the building, glance around, and then head off towards campus proper. Should he? He…what would it hurt? The guy obviously wanted him, right? But something about it all didn’t feel right at all–it felt like a trap. It was too perfect of a scenario–and how did Terry even know about him? Maybe it was time to do a little investigating of his own, and find out a little bit more about his strange admirer.
He followed a good distance behind him, watching Terry, but nothing seemed that strange beyond the fact that as they walked, he didn’t say hello or even wave to a single person on campus. Sure, it was a big school, and few people were as popular as Jeremiah was himself, but not a single person seemed to even recognize him. Was it just because he was a transfer? That could be, he supposed, but it still rubbed him the wrong way.
Terry disappeared into a dorm building, and Jeremiah was able to slip inside along with someone else with a key card to that door, and follow him up to the third floor, and get his room number–then he retreated back down, found the building across the way, and climbed up to the matching floor, hoping he might be able to sneak a peek inside his room.
It was a sunny fall day and everyone had their drapes open for the afternoon light, and he had to count twice to make sure he was right–there was only one person in the room Terry had gone into, and it sure as hell wasn’t Terry–he recognized him as one of the few open queers on campus–a guy named Terrance. He had a reputation as a wannabe investigative journalist who had a habit of writing inflammatory articles in the school paper. No one was sure how he got his scoops, but he’d wrecked an entire frat the year before, when he’d exposed how the men were running an entire drug ring, supplying the campus with roofies and party drugs.
He’d been right. He didn’t know where Terry was, but he was obviously in cahoots with that fucker. It wasn’t surprising–if he could out Jeremiah as a faggot, that would be the story of the fucking year–and ruin Jeremiah’s career in the process. Still, he kept watching for a bit, the young man writing something in a notebook–he was waiting to see Terry in there with him, to confirm what was happening…and then, the strangest thing happened–the young guy got up, fiddled with a device that looked a bit like a remote control, and a second later…the little faggot was gone, and there was Terry. He flexed a bit, and then started jacking off…and Jeremiah just gaped. How could they be the same person? Confused and terrified, unsure who he could trust, he retreated back to his own frat house and considered his options. He doubted that Terrance and Terry–or whoever he was really–would just back down, and that meant Jeremiah was going to have to shut him down. Thankfully, he always had his fists for that–it had worked on pushy queers before, and it was bound to work again, right?
Bracken's Corner 