Author's Note: This is chapter 2 in an ongoing story about the characters Brett & Travis during their first year at college. More to come soon!
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A few weeks had passed since that night when Brett and Travis had jerked off together, er...separately, in the same bed, different bunk. They'd never talked about it. It was as if the alarm clock going off zapped them back to reality. It replaced that line between two seemingly straight guys that never should be crossed. Though one thing had changed since that night. The two began a fast friendship that made navigating the challenges of being away from home in such an unfriendly environment more bearable. They'd developed a ritual of hanging out whenever they could: taking meals together, skipping class to watch TV, staying up late to talk while laying in their bunks. To Brett it was heaven and he didn't want it to stop.
It was mid-afternoon and Brett should have been in Philosophy lecture. He'd already missed 8 out of 10 classes that week and he took that as an excuse to skip the lecture and stay parked on the couch watching Judge Judy. He lied to himself that his absences from class had little to do with the fact that Travis should be back to the dorm room shortly. While they hadn't spoken about their mutual JO session, it didn't mean that Brett hadn't thought about it - incessantly. Just as "Her Honor" was about to ream a defendant a new one, Travis came home. Brett's heart skipped a beat, as it always did when his new love came home. Travis greeted him with a warm smile. He was relieved to see his friend there. It was comforting to have one person you could count on while out here hundreds of miles from home. Brett knew why he was an outcast here. He looked like a punk and was a closeted gay dude. What he couldn't understand is why Travis didn't fit in either. By all accounts he should have been a big man on campus with his abundant good looks, Southern charm, and involvement in ROTC. Brett wasn't complaining though, he was glad that Travis chose to offer him so much attention.
"Judge Judy again?" Travis complained.
"There's nothing remotely good on at 2pm." Brett replied. "You just missed Days of Our Lives. It was a good one, John and Marlena..."
"Forget it," Travis said sharply. "I'm sick of watching TV every afternoon. Í've got a surprise," that wide grin that Brett had come to cherish spread across Travis's face. For the first time in days Brett felt excited. Travis reached down and pulled a small plastic bag from his sock. While Brett had gotten drunk plenty of times in high school, he'd never before tried drugs. However, he'd been around them enough to know that what Travis had in that little baggie was not oregano.
"Holy shit, where'd you get that?" Brett asked.
"From Rocky DeGeorge. That kid who lives upstairs and down the hall. It was the weirdest thing. I've barely said anything to the guy before, but I was standing outside the dining halls today just after lunch. Rocky came over and just started chatting me up. He asked if I'd ever smoked before and I told him that I used to back home but that I hadn't since I'd been here. He just gave me this bag and told me to have fun. He was going to try to give it up again and he'd rather someone get use out of it rather than flushing it."
Brett was amazed at how Travis's charm seemed to work on everyone -- even when he wasn't trying to be charming. He sat there motionless for a few seconds, eyeing the bag and realizing that there was definitely enough in there to get them high several times at least.
"So, I thought we could try something different this afternoon." Travis continued as he got up and walked into their bedroom. Brett instinctively followed without thinking much about it at all. He watched Travis roll two perfect joints in a matter of seconds with the kind of dexterity that a master craftsman would use to mold a vase from clay. Brett nearly gasped audibly as he saw Travis stick out his tongue and use his saliva to lick the tight little hand-packed beauties closed. Travis handed him one, opened the 4 narrow windows to their room, put a Bob Marley record on the turntable, and made his way toward the window bench with a smile. As he sat on the bench and looked out the window that overlooked a beautiful courtyard on this unseasonably warm fall day, he motioned to Brett to sit next to him on the bench. Travis sensed Brett's hesitation so he lit his joint, took a puff or two and passed it to him. Brett noticed a sense of joy come over his friend's face. He fought his conscience (and every after school special he'd ever watched) and took his first hit. He nearly choked. His throat and lungs felt like they were on fire. Travis just smiled. "It gets better," he said, "trust me."
Before long half of the bag of weed was gone. Brett was feeling more free and relaxed than he'd ever felt in his life. It felt better than any time he'd ever been drunk. Travis was feeling great too and they spent several hours that afternoon laughing uncontrollably, stealing snacks from their roommate Charlie's care package from home, and listening to some great music. They even tried their hand at scratching a few records, not very handily, but it sounded interesting enough that a few of the future engineers and investment bankers of America stopped in front of their bedroom windows from time to time and looked up to see what the heck was going on in Room #32.
Travis got up and rolled four more joints with the last of the weed. He opened his desk drawer and put 3 of them in there. He took the fourth to the window seat where Brett was sitting with his eyes closed listening to a sick Chemical Brothers beat. He opened his eyes as he felt Travis's muscular body press against his. His friend had slid next to him so closely that their legs were touching and he could feel the light dusting of Travis's forearm hair on the back of his neck as his buddy put his arm around him. Brett's dick instantly stirred and his eyes bolted open.
"Sorry dude, didn't mean to wake you," Travis giggled.
