Adam’s dad spoke gruffly. “It’s getting late, and I have to call a buddy. Tell your friend you’ll talk to him later.”
Call-me-Janet intervened. “Oh, Robert, give the boys a few minutes at least.”
“Fine,” grumbled the dad. “I’m gonna take a dump. Then I’ll need the phone.”
Call-me-Janet said she’d give the boys a little privacy, and retreated to the kitchen, where Matt knew from experience, she eavesdropped.
“You’ve got about five minutes to finish,” Adam whispered into the phone. “Dad reads his Sports Illustrated in his ‘Library’, as he calls it.”
“You’re kidding?” Matt said. “My cock flat-lined.”
“Pick up where you left off,” Adam sing-songed, obviously for Call-me-Janet’s benefit. “You were telling me about that game, where the clock was running out and you had to score that goal. What position did you say you were in?”
Matt was incredulous but felt his cock rising to the challenge. “I was on my knees, holding your ankles, my cock buried in your ass,” he whispered.
“Um-hmmmm,” Adam said in a too-loud, too-cheery voice. “And you were pounding down the field, right? In and out, focused only on scoring?”
Matt started stroking his cock.
“The clock was ticking,” Adam continued. “The pressure was on!”
“Please shut up,” Matt said. “Since this is phone sex and it’s my fantasy, I just flipped you over onto your stomach. Your face is buried in a pillow, and you can’t talk.”
Matt closed his eyes, pictured Adam on his stomach, legs spread, his buttonhole straining to accommodate Matt’s cock as it pistoned in and out of him. Pictured Adam’s arms spread wide, his hands grasping for purchase as the force of Matt’s thrusts pushed him forward, then dragged him back. Pictured himself spasming as he ejaculated inside his boyfriend. Pictured his cum leaking out of Adam’s hole, dripping into his briar patch.
Matt didn’t realize he had orgasmed, spurting cum all over his hand, until he heard Adam’s fake cheering.
“Score!”
Chapter 37: Performance of a Lifetime
Thursday, February 8, 1996
Matt felt slimy just thinking about what he had to do: kiss Colton Langley’s ass and arrange to betray William. Sure, it would be an act, but it had to be convincing enough to fool Colton, which meant more than just suppressing the urge to deck the guy for his role in Debbie’s firing.
Now that the SGA meeting was finally over, it was almost showtime. Matt remained seated, waiting for everyone but Colton to exit the room. This would be hard enough to do without an audience.
Colton stood at the front table, officiously shuffling through papers, stealing the occasional nervous glance at Matt.
Matt pretended to read one of the resolutions they’d debated earlier. It was a pompous word salad, peppered with “whereases” and “therefores,” before petering out with a mealy-mouthed request that the administration maybe, possibly, consider adding vegetarian options in the cafeteria.
Unlike previous SGA meetings, where Colton and his toady, Mike Huebsch, had orchestrated everything, pushing through their agenda, this time Colton had given the parliamentary procedure geeks free reign. They had creamed themselves with their rhetorical circle jerk, gumming up progress on any real business, including gleefully tabling the vegetarian resolution.
Colton, chairing the meeting, had gavelled their motions and moderated their mayhem with a bemused smirk on his frat boy face—as if reminding everyone else that without his enlightened despotism, the gremlins would muck up everything.
Matt had not joined the fracas. He had long ago accepted that he would never “masterdebate.” He knew two ofRoberts Rules, which seemed sufficient. Whenhe took up the gavel—after Colton’s March 22nd take-down, in a mere 43 days, parliamentary game playing would come to a sudden and ignominious end.
Matt’s days, in addition to classes and chapel, were crammed with preparations for March 22nd. Ground zero would be the old farmhouse road where William had given him his first blowjob and later fucked him. It was rural and secluded, but also within Oklahoma City limits, which meant Oklahoma City police would respond to any incidents there—not Bliss’sfCOC friendly ones.
Matt had located a pay phone at a gas station about a mile away from ground zero and confirmed that it was in working order. Had checked 11 items off his to-do list already.
Luckily for him, there was no soccer—practice or games—during the spring semester.
Another reason to look forward to March 22nd: everyone’s conditions and counter-conditions regarding their participation in Colton’s take-down would expire! Matt’s life would become decidedly less complicated.
Molly and another SGA member ambled past Matt’s chair, heading towards the exit. As Molly passed Mike Huebsch, who, with his back to her, was straightening chairs and tidying the room, she stuck out her tongue.
Matt stifled a laugh. Good old Molly!
