chapter 1 the pseudo twink

All I knew about my roommate-to-be was his name: Bruno. He hadn't filled out his online profile as extensively as I had. So while Bruno had the benefit of expecting a gay Floridian science major with a background in gymnastics, hip hop, and baking, I was left to be surprised.

Even I sighed at how stereotypically gay I must've seemed.

Though my physical appearance gave me some more neutral credit. True, I was short. And years of dance and gymnastics had given me the sort of lithe, toned hardness that immediately disappeared the instant I put on a shirt; what was left was the thin-limbed nothingness of a twink. But my lower body was that of a jock. My calves bulged, my quads rippled, and my butt was so disproportionately fat that it demanded all my jeans be tailored. Which is why I stuck with shorts.

But as I made my way to my dorm, lugging my bags with athletic ease, I felt the chill of a looming autumn and could already feel the fabric of my winterwear straining over my beefy globes.

"Welcome to Evans Hall," said an upperclassmen sitting behind a desk inside of the entrance doors. "Name?"

"Adrien Loyola."

"Yep, you're on the second floor of the East Tower. Which means you don't have to wait for the elevator if you don't want to," she said, but glanced at my bags and then at my protruding clavicle with worry and added, "You don't need one of our Moving Day Buds to help you carry your things, do you?"

The "no" was almost out before I caught sight of the Moving Day Buds: two tall, bulky upperclassmen with charming Mid-Western baby-faces.

I let the bags fall to the ground with a sigh of relief and said, "That'd be great."

As we're walking up the stairs, the Moving Bud with a bag on each shoulder, me carrying the single rolling luggage ahead of him, I try my best to squeeze my glutes in his face. I mean, why not?

"Do you they pay you to be a Moving Day Bud?" I asked casually.

"Uh, uh," he stuttered, and I knew my ass had won again. "Yeah...wait, no, no. We just get to move in earlier than other upperclassmen."

"Gotcha. And are you a soph--"

"You know," he says in a heavily breathed voice--either from exertion or arousal, "you have a really developed lower body. Do you lift?"

"A bit."

We had reached the second floor. From here I had no idea where to go so I stepped aside to let him lead. Our difference in height was obvious, and it gave me all the more access to see a healthily bloated package of his bobbing up and down as he moved past me. But what I also saw was that where his shirt clung to his torso revealed a straight-edged, chiseled abdomen. Not my taste. Not enough to grab on to.

"Here you go," he said once we reached the threshold. I unlocked the door and we moved my bags inside.

"Thanks for the help."

"No problem. Doesn't look like your roommate's arrived, so you get to pick which side is yours."

"Nice," I said, as he ducked out.

The dormitory was a long, white, cinderblock cell. Beside the single window at the far end were twin beds across from each other that stretched to twin desks, then dressers, and closets. One of these beds would be mine. The other would be occupied by whoever Bruno would end up being. On a whim, I threw my bags on the right side, and left to hang out with my parents.