“My turn,” Matt said. “What’s with all the ‘dahlings’ dahling?”
William leaned forward, turned suddenly serious.
“You honestly don’t know?” he asked.
Matt shook his head.
“Tallulah Bankhead? Star ofLifeboat? Original gay icon?”
“Never heard of her,” Matt said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I was about to tell you that I’d recommend you for membership in our little fraternity, but that may have been premature.”
“How many guys are in this fraternity anyway?” Matt asked. “Do you do anything besides imitating movie stars?”
“There are eight of us. I can’t tell you much more until you become a member—if you become a member.”
Matt was surprised. “Only eight? There should be twenty gay guys on campus! Your eight plus me equals nine. Where are the other eleven?”
“Not every gay boy on campus gets invited to join,” William said. “Some who do make it to the interview stage, get rejected by our members. I will tell you that you’re not the only freshman we’re vetting.”
Matt wondered who those other freshmen could be. And, while he was disappointed there were so few members in the fraternity, eight was better than nothing. Had he found his tribe? Still, he had questions.
“What does this fraternity do anyway?” he asked.
“Part social club, part broken hearts support group, and part protection plan. That last one—protecting each other—is the most important. I guess I should go ahead and tell you we call ourselves the ‘Gay Mafia, GM,’ for short.”
Matt laughed, thinking this was another joke. “So that makes you the Godfather, right?”
“Godmother, dear,” William tutted. “Godmother.”
Matt smiled. Seeing the uneaten food, he remembered how hungry he was. He picked the burger back up and polished it off. He weighed reaching for another.
“Anyway, dahling,” William said. “I’ll recommend you for membership. Assuming there are no objections, there will be an interview with the whole GM on the 19th. Check your mailbox for a note with details on where to come. Now, sexy man, any more questions for me?”
Matt felt that goofy smile spreading across his face again. William had described him as sexy! He was back on track to finally get laid AND he had found his tribe! His cock stirred, trying to breach theswamp, trying but failing.
He didn’t take the Mafia thing seriously. He had watched all threeGodfathermovies and read Mario Puzo’s novel. Mafia guys were uber-hetero, hardened criminals saturated in violence—not gay college kids vamping around like starlets, handing each other Kleenex’s after failed romances. His main take-away from theGodfathermovies was that the young Michael Corleone was hot, the older one not so much. And he remembered that other gangsters showed Michael respect by kissing his ring.
Matt tried a joke of his own, a risqué one. “So, Godmother, how soon until I get to kiss your ring?”
William’s dark eyes twinkled. “Good one! Witty. Double entendre. Perfect!”
William paused, then pretended to look at an imaginary watch. “Wherever has the time gone? If we’re going to continue your education, we need to get going. You do want to continue your education, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Matt smiled. He had a ring to kiss—a pink one.
Twenty minutes later Matt parked his Jeep on the same rutted farm drive they’d used for last week’s hookup. He loved that word—hookup—now that he was in the club (the hookup club, which didn’t really exist, as opposed to the GM, which did exist, but which did not count him a member—yet.)
William supervised preparations, telling Matt to fold down the back seat.
The resulting rear storage area was about four feet on each side, three feet tall. Matt wondered about the mechanics of fucking in that cramped space.
And kissing. He rummaged for mints in his glove box, found some, and popped two in his mouth.
William retrieved a small tube of anal lube from his pocket, placed it on the carpeted floor.
Matt gulped air. This really was going to happen!
