Varsity Low

Waiting for the last train

Standing in the pouring rain

Thinking, wishing, hoping

That you'll never feel the same again

Lying wide awake at night

Sleeping in the morning light

Doing all these things although

I shouldn't be ashamed of them

You can't stop my heart from turning inside out

Try and stop my world from turning inside out

Clutching on the last straw

Seeing things I've never saw

Must be time I fell

Down to a place I didn't know too well

Waiting for the last train

Standing in the pouring rain

Although I'm starting to break this spell

I know I haven't got a hope in Hell

You can't stop my heart from turning inside out

Try and stop my world from turning inside out

The Mighty Lemon Drops ----- Inside Out

*****

Brody was crashed out on the leather sofa in our living room in deep nap with a real bad tequila hangover. I covered him with the blue and brown plaid flannel comforter from Anders' old dorm room.

Anders was cooking Sunday supper, cheerfully making his grandmother Lydia's classic mid-western pot roast, which smelled yum-awesome. Lydia had sent us all of Anders' fave recipes, neatly printed on index cards, with notes on serving and dessert suggestions. I fuckin' adored Lydia. So graciously old school.

"How is he?" Anders asked softly, wearing a goofy thrift store apron with pink tea kettles on it over plaid boxers and wife beater. His wide powerful shoulders, meaty biceps, and untamed Nordic fur sent me into a trance of lust. Stray Viking prince in my kitchen.

"Ah...better, I think. We have to get some more water in him when he wakes up. Lydia's pot roast should help lots." I quietly replied.

"Every freshman has to have at least one good tequila hangover." Anders smirked.

"'Live and fucking learn' as Griffin says. Want me to set the table?" I asked.

"That would be helpful, swimmer boy. Those chinos make me wanna smack your hot little blond ass." and he did.

"Don't get all ramped up Thor, you've got to finish supper. You'll get some backdoor later." I teased.

Anders and I had settled smoothly into sharing our off campus flat. Cooking, shopping, laundry; an easy division of labor, comfortable silences for studying, with interludes of hectic-horny college boy sex. Sundays were our day to have people over; supper, movies, convo, hanging out, endless games of Scrabble and wine sotted/weed infused Truth or Dare.

A posse of Anders' cool varsity wrestling bros had joined us for Super Bowl. They arrived as a squad, bringing a two-man cooler of beer and three slow cookers of excellent chili. Assorted girlfriends were in tow, and Anders and I let them take over the kitchen. They all called Anders "Thor". I downed four chili dogs on a dare. Grif joined us with his excellent weed, the wrestlers giving him some gentle teasing about just how consistently bad the baseball team was. As usual, he seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew him. Cool.

Stepmomster Vera and my father Jasper motored up from Richmond for a weekend. They stayed at The Tudors, and treated us to an awesome Sunday brunch there. We hosted dinner on Sat night; they liked our tidy off campus flat, and seemed most relieved to find that we were not living in off-campus undergrad boy squalor.

They were driving a spanking new Range Rover, loaded, gun-metal gray over black leather, more evidence of their endlessly ballooning affluence. Cool. Jasper gifted us twenty-four bottles of wine, good selections that he had clearly chosen himself. Very cool. Alva, our live in housekeeper, sent along two of her apple pies in matching pie carriers. Very, very cool. They were both in high spirits and quite full of themselves.

It was a good weekend, but I was relived when they drove off. I had grown up with the Vera & Jasper Show, and too much of it was wearying. They both adored Anders, and he engaged them with his wholesome mid-western charm, which took the spotlight off of me just a wee tiny bit.

Coach Gafton and his wife came to dinner. They too were relieved that Anders and I were not living in an off campus party flat.

Coach asked Anders to mentor Brody, a freshman on the JV squad, both on and off the mats. Brody was a HS wrestling phenom, the first in his family to attend college. We were to help him "meet people" and navigate the often bewildering Kabuki of college/academic life, get and keep up both his weight and grades. Brody was on a full scholarship, and coach was under the gun in terms of leveraging the university's investment.

Anders and I went to see Brody wrestle. He was a fast, fearsome competitor, intuitively taking risks that always seemed to pay off. "He's really good. We can help him move up to varsity, which would help out coach lots." Anders said.

And, of course, Brody was hot as fuck. Wavy chestnut hair with auburn tones, some ill advised blond tips nearly grown out. Soulful brown eyes, hellfire on a dimmer switch. He was taller and rangier than the other JV boys, with a natural working class physicality and a truly splendid ass. His soft South Carolina Low Country drawl was the same as my distant hunting and fishing Ravenel cousins, the "wrong Ravenels" as Jasper ruefully called them.

Brody seemed pleased that we had taken him on, like a wayward foster teen crossed with an adorable rescue puppy. I had him schedule office hour meets with all his profs to introduce himself, showed him how to use the library, outline a paper, work his faculty advisor. I helped him select used textbooks that were already well-highlighted by their previous owners. He was a quick study and easily gained confidence in a world that previously seemed scarily alien. His grades went up. I was rather pleased with myself. Very cool.

I finished setting the table as Grif arrived. Frayed letter jacket, black tee, well worn Carhart jeans, just the right amount of scruff, varsity short-stop hot. He had a cake box from Samson's Bakery in town, a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels, sporting two fat spliffs behind one ear. "Little spoon! I brought us a cake, and our good friend Jack." he enthused.

"You get hotter by the day, Griffin. Keep it down, Brody is napping off an epic tequila hangover." I said, gesturing towards the sofa and the boyishly supine Brody, sprawled back with his mouth open, lightly snoring.

"Cool. So I finally get to meet this rapscallion wrestling phenom from South Carolina. I brought some rather excellent Hangover Helper." he said, taking the spliffs from behind his ear.

"Nice. After supper? I've had a hellish week of classes." I sighed.

Anders came out from the kitchen and they did their stylized jock bro shoulder hug thing. "Cool apron, wrestler boy. Are you channeling Betty Crocker?"

"Flame on, asshole!" Anders teased, snapping Grifs baseball player ass with a dishtowel. "What kind of cake?"

"Yellow, chocolate frosting, just like mom's. I could not help myself." Grif answered.

"Cool. Trav just opened a nice Malbec. Would you like a large splash?" Anders asked.

"Hell to the fuck yeah. Make that large splash more like a small tsunami, please." Grif sighed. "I take it we have not yet guzzled all of Jasper's two dozen excellent bottles?"

"Not quite yet. We are trying to slow the consumption down to warp speed. Perchance to dream." I said, pouring a large starter glass for Grif. "You, however, get a permanent hall pass 'cuz you always bring weed."

We had awakened Brody, who wore the comforter like a monk's robes, rumpled and cranky from his hangover nap. "Did someone say 'weed'?" he asked, raspy and rough from last night's tequila bender with assorted freshmen JV jocktards.

Grif stepped up. "Hi. Griffin Bedford Abernathy, you can call me 'Grif'." They went to shake hands, and a freak spark of static electricity snapped between them.

Pulling back instinctively from the spark, Brody laughed, "Whoa. Are you like, some kind of wizard? Let's try that again," shaking Grif's hand. "Brody Rastus Cantrell. Sumter, South Carolina. Born and bred" in his low drawl.

"Not a wizard, at least not yet. Young Trav here tells me you may be under a bad spell cast by Jose Cuervo." I brought Brody a big bottle of Deer Park.

"Thanks mom!" Brody teased.

"You're welcome, you wicked little shit!" I laughed.

"Yeah. Things started out OK, then just got waaaay off the tether." Brody groaned, putting his big hands over his studly young face.

"Tequila is the worst. Live and fucking learn." Grinning like Satan on a scorching hot day, Grif held one of the spliffs in front of his sexy mug. "You get high?"

"Oh hell yeah!" Brody smiled, giving Grif a full blast of his willfully weaponized boyish charm.

"Trav, you boys wanna blaze with us now?" Grif asked.

"Thanks, Grif. After supper for us, otherwise supper will never get on the table." I answered.

In the kitchen with Anders we watched Grif and Brody torch the spliff, both taking strapping hits, Brody drinking from Grif's glass of wine, both on the sofa, Brody's hand on Grif's chest, laughing. Anders poured us more wine.

"Have we created a monster, introducing those two?" I whispered.

Anders gave his evil grin. "Probably. Coach did say we should help Brody 'meet people'. Grif is people, although some on campus swear he is the living Devil. Just relax and let it all roll forward, Trav. What could go wrong? I mean really?"

"Mmm. Lots and lots." I mused. "Are you ready to plate up supper? I am drooling it smells so good."

"Yeah. Wait til Grif stubs out that joint. The weed will help Brody eat more supper. We have to get his weight up, remember?"

We finished wolfing Anders' yummy pot roast, with slices of Grif's cake for dessert. "We'll have one slice now, and save the rest for the munchies after we get stupid high on Grif's weed." Anders directed. I cleared the plates and served the cake, feeling a bit like a housewife from the '50's. "Thanks, Trav," Anders beamed at me.

"Thanks for the awesome Sunday pot roast, Anders. I feel soooo much better!" Brody said, kicking back with a grin of sated joy.

"I am glad you liked it. It is my grandmother Lydia's recipe; one fresh bay leaf and thickening the gravy with corn starch are her secrets. You ate like a starving field hand. Come by tomorrow for dinner and we'll hook you up with a big plate of leftovers. Coach wants your weight up."

We finished our cake slices, and the second bottle of Merlot. Grif found the shot glasses, cracked open his bottle of Jack, poured. He raised his glass, "Here's to getting fucked up with good friends; old and new." We drank, Grif put a big hand on Brody's sun browned nape and shook him lightly, Brody getting suddenly bashful with the manly affection from Grif.

Grif re-blazed the clipped half-spliff he and Brody had been enjoying before supper, and we passed it, two more shots of Jack adding to the voodoo of Grif's best weed.

"Time for Truth or Dare!" Anders proclaimed, with a wicked grin. "Brody starts; he's the youngest."

Brody's big brown puppy dog eyes rested on each of us in turn. "Dare. I dare Anders to show me one photo on his phone that Trav probably does not want me to see." Whoa. I flashed on what might be in Anders' phone, including a pic of my pink starfish butt hole, wet with Anders' rim spit, one that I knew he masturbated to.

Anders scrolled around in his phone, found a pic and showed it to Brody without showing it to me. Brody's eyebrows went up, and he gave a long whistle like a bomb dropping. "Damn, Trav, that is nice. Real nice!"

Anders showed me the pic, a good shot of the ample and impressive Richmond spread where I grew up. Taken from the foot of the drive, the substantial brick Georgian was far enough back to hint at the extent of the grounds. Anders showed it to Grif, who said, "Yep, the Vera & Jasper vampire nest. Feudal seat of all evil and malevolence and lies," he teased.

"Really Anders? I wanted to go five, maybe ten minutes without being typecast as 'the rich kid'" I mock implored, laughing.

Brody said "That place is so cool, Trav. You're sooo lucky. I come from a double wide mobile home in Sumter. We're not even in town; it's out by the air base on a dirt road. Guys, if I fuck up my scholarship, I'll have to go back to that shitty trailer park. This is all I have; it's my only shot at getting out." His eyes wet and shining.

"Was it bad?" Grif asked, low and even.

"Yeah. Real bad. I can't go back there." Brody looked down.

"We just won't let that happen, will we Trav?" Anders said with his easy jock confidence, sunny and upbeat.

"Never that. Young Griffin here has been on the Dean's List since the dawn of time. And that's with an econ major." I said, low and serious.

Brody looked at Grif admiringly and said "Whoa. So you're like, a smoke show varsity baseball jock with weed AND smart as shit?"

"Yeah something like that, plus a wizard in training. We'll meet up and go over your classes. I've probably had most of your profs. I can help with paper topics that resonate but don't need a lot of library time. Strategic confidence will win the day for you." Grif offered, advised, invited.

Brody leaned over and gave Grif a quick kiss on his mug of dark stubble. It was Grif's turn to get suddenly bashful, looking down and pushing his tangled mane of dark hair back from his face. Smitten kitten. Very cool.

Anders poured us another shot of Jack, and raised his glass. "Here's to Brody; I see him with a solid GPA, lots of new college friends, and making varsity. Never look back, never go back!"

"Roger that!" Grif enthused. "Back to the game? Travis? You wanna go?"

I rested my killer baby blues on each of them just long enough to get a bit of squirm. "Dare. I dare Griffin to get up and kiss the guy at this table he finds the hottest." After a pause, Grif got up, looked at each of us, then made his way around the table standing behind each of our chairs as if he had selected his man.

Behind Brody, he put a big baseball player hand behind his head, bent and took him into the epic Grif kiss I knew well, as did Anders. Rough and dominant to start, then easing back into something slow and dreamlike. I watched Brody melt, going limp and defenseless like Gumby in the toaster oven. Anders' throaty wolf whistle brought them back from the spell of each other. Cool.

Anders mock applauded, "Well played, Griffin Abernathy! Brody? are you still with us?" Brody nodded, still unable to speak after his first blast of the Grif-Satyr storm. "Grif, it's your go!"

"Yeah. Truth. Brody, tell us how big your dick is." Grif giving Brody his powerful male gaze, full bore. I re-lit the spliff, hit, and passed to Anders, who did not meet my glance.

"OK. That would be 8.5" uncut with big low hangin' balls and a glossy untamed bush and hairy ass," Brody stared, his turn to bore into Grif with his male gaze. "People like it, both boys and girls. Anders, you go."

Whoa, pause and more pause. Anders said, "That sounds real nice Brody. I dare you to stand up, lower those sweatpants, and show us that big uncut dick."

Brody gave a wide crooked grin, more that just wine, weed, and whiskey. He stood, and toyed with the undone, low hanging drawstring of his sweats, which he clearly wore commando.

He put both hands behind his head, massing his biceps, the hem of his ringer tee rising up, showing his lean brown belly with a fuse of dark hairs disappearing at the waistband. Slowly, he lowered the sweats, hooking the waistband under his heavy scrot and ample uncut pudd. We all gaped at his meaty young maleness. The blunt, musky glans was poking out the ragged foreskin, big hangin' Brody getting a bit of chub from all the attention.

Anders poured us another shot, raised his glass, "To Brody the porn god!" We all laughed and drank, diffusing the tension. Brody put his awesome college boy junk back in his sweatpants and sat down.

"Trav! You go! Truth or Dare?" Brody challenged me.

"I yield my turn back to you, Brody. Viewing your, um...splendor has me at a loss for words of comparable gravitas." I teased.

"OK then. Travis at a loss for words? Did the sky just fall?" Brody teased back. "I have a dare. For all three of you. One that will end the game." Eyes joyously wicked, the young lord of misrule at last unleashed. "I dare all three of you studs to fuck me, on my back, ankles to ears. Grif goes first, then Anders, then Travis to close and make me finish."

There was a long moment of pause. Grif shouted "Hell yeah!" and the four if us pulled our clothes off as if the very fibers were radioactive.

In the bedroom, Brody was on his knees, the three of us standing over him. My 7.5" of pink cut blond swimmer dick caught his attention. "Oh hell yeah, Trav! Nice!" he laughed, going down on me. He had good style and some moves, but I put both hands on his head and mouth fucked him kinda' rough. He gagged and squirmed but took it like a champ.

Both Anders and Grif were fully aroused from watching Brody go down on me, I gently guided his head towards Anders' ample crotch, uncut girthy 7", heavy Nordic foreskin pulled back over his blunt pink glans, big fuzzed balls all scrunched up, thick blondish fur. Brody took the thickness in his mouth; my studly jock BF put his head back and groaned, as I pushed Brody's head up and down on Anders' spit wet dick.

I left them to it, dropped to my knees, and took Grif in my mouth, using my slow southern style to just edge and fluff him, prepping his maleness to fuck Brody's boy ass.

I looked up, Grif's cock in my mouth, and he gave me a wink and his shit eating 'bama boy grin. I was well acquainted with his 7" of cut meat, the musky glans, the slight upward curve, the wide place behind the head. big balls in their nest of never-trimmed dark fur. I huffed his Grif scent, locker room soap, fresh mown lawns, weed, the red clay of the ball field. Grif groaned, knowing I was into it...."ahhh, Trav, baby!"

I backed off Grif's fine dude unit, stood, pulled Brody off Anders, had him stand. I dropped down and took him in my mouth. He was a lot, but I added my hand to the shaft, blow-handie style, moving the foreskin over the glans. Brody let out a long moan, put one hand behind my head, face fucking me a bit, not too deep or rough given his size. Sweet boy.

I pulled back and offered Brody's spit and pre-cummy wet cock to Anders, who went down eagerly. Grif came in from the side, licking Brody's low balls. Brody gave me a grin and wink, pleased to have two older varsity studs worshiping him with tongues and mouths. I found lube and towels for the ensuing butt sex Brody had asked for.

"I am ready to get fucked." Brody said, low and rough. "Grif?" Anders and I moved to the other side our big bed, he put his muscular arms around me and we settled in to watch Grif and Brody. I nestled into Anders' rug of thick chest fur over rock solid pecs.

Brody put his legs back, ankles to ears, Grif went face deep in Brody's fine ass. clearly aroused at prepping him to get fucked with some expert Grif rim.

Grif was fully ramped up, a drool of pre-cum hanging off his blunt musky glans, greased up with a sheen of lube. Grif held his blunt dickhead against Brody's boy slot, then penetrated slowly, going balls deep. Brody writhed and seethed, the full mass of Grif's maleness inside him. "Hell yeah, fuck me Grif! Make it hurt! Use me!!" Brody hissed.

Griffin pounded, quickly going into unstoppable male rut, sodomizing Brody's muscled southern ass, using Brody as a cum dump, a hot butt boy eagerly receiving the older stud's lusty jizz. Grif went balls deep and shot hard, his low manly grunts mixed with Brody's keening boy need. Grif came down, and pulled out slowly, a thick rope of spermy lube hanging off his humpy 'bama boy cock.

"Whoa. Anders, you're up next." Grif growled, he and Anders sharing a high five over Brody, dazed from his role as butt boy cum dump for these fine, slightly older jocks.