2. Ellis

CHAPTER 2

ELLIS

Ping.

I cut my eyes upward to the top bunk where I threw my phone, but don't move to grab it. Instead, I keep my face planted in my book, not actually absorbing any of what I'm supposed to be reading. It's taking all my focus to act natural.

I'm feeling very jealous of my brother right now, which isn't something I like to spend energy doing. But it's hard not to be, when he not only gets to have his best friend as a roommate, but they also have their own private spaces. The athletic dorms are set up more like apartments with separate bedrooms, a small kitchenette, sitting area, and a bathroom they only share with each other and one other roommate. There's a lot more that makes the athletic dorms superior, but I couldn't care less about anything other than the separate bedrooms. Right now, the lack of privacy is what's getting to me the most.

My roommate, Brad, is not my biggest fan.

Correction—he wasn't my biggest fan. He outright hates me now. He didn't like me from the start, although there is the possibility that it wasn't personal, and he's this unfriendly to everyone. But that was before he walked in on me in a compromising position, taking a selfie of myself in nothing but a pair of briefs and a crop top. Instead of backing away slowly, or even looking away to give me any privacy, he huffed and stomped around like he can't believe he's stuck with me as a roommate. I pulled on a pair of sleep pants while he hid behind his wardrobe door to get dressed, probably afraid that I'll try to take a peek. I really wanted to tell him not to worry, he couldn't be farther from my type. Instead, I sat down at the desk under my loft bed to study and try to pretend nothing awkward happened. I've been trying to avoid his glare, but since he's sitting at his own desk barely four feet from me, it's pretty hard to get any space.

It's been almost three weeks since we moved in, and already the stress of my living arrangement is making this year feel impossible. I'm stifling in this room with Brad and his bitchiness. It's a shame, because otherwise I've gotten a decent start at Huntston University. We're only in the second week of classes, and I like all my teachers and courses so far. I'm enjoying my contemporary arts class the most, even though at this point it's just been lectures and nothing hands on. I get weekly studio time to work on personal projects, and I've been spending a lot more time sketching and painting digitally, which I suppose is important to learn if I'm going to try for a graphic arts degree.

Ping.

With a sigh, I stand up and reach over the edge of my bed to get my phone, ignoring Brad's grimace at my exposed midriff. I don't see why it matters. He wears nothing but shorts all the time.

My heart skips a little beat when I see I have a message on Howler, but it's just my brother.

ELLIOTH: You downloaded it!

ELLIOTH: How many guys have you matched to chat with?

ELLISH: None. Mind your business.

It's a lie. Mostly.

I initially only downloaded the campus app because it's almost necessary for class updates and scheduling time in the art studio, plus the digital campus map that gives you GPS directions to wherever you need to go is incredibly useful on such a large, spread-out campus. And one of the new friends I made at the freshman orientation suggested I download it so I know when the next Howler Pride Alliance meetup will be. I was nervous to approach the campus LGBTQ+ table initially, but Elliot all but pushed me, and then Gabe threatened to introduce me, loudly, if I didn't do it myself. As much as I hate them always meddling in my business, I am glad I stepped up to the table. I met probably one of the nicest people I've ever encountered, a sophomore named Ivy who has bright blue hair that's shaved on one side. I've been having lunch with her and a small group of others nearly every day.

Ivy added me to a Howler group chat for the Pride Alliance members, and once I was on the meetup site, I got curious enough to fill out my profile. I'd barely started reading through all the forums when I started getting notifications.

Three messages were in my inbox, and while two of them scared me off pretty much immediately by coming on way too strong, one of them seemed nice enough. I blocked a dick pic, and politely responded to the second guy that I wasn't looking for anything, only getting a feel for the app and friendly chats. When he got pushy, I blocked him, too.

I warily responded to the third guy, mostly just because I didn't want to be rude. I returned his "hi" with a "hey" and we chatted about how aggressive some of the messages have been. He told me how to change my settings so I didn't attract so many weirdos, and we've been texting almost constantly since then. As much as I don't want to admit that Elliot was right, I'm kind of loving the app now that I've made this connection.

Even though I never changed my username from the automatic first name and initial, the anonymity of the app makes it easier for me to communicate more openly. I've been more open and honest with ‘Johnny' than I have with anyone before, and our conversation has moved from friendly to flirty more comfortably than I'd ever be able to manage in person. Johnny admitted that his profile name is an alias, because he's still in the closet and not ready to come out. He was just curious and looking for a friendly chat. I understand, of course, and honestly, I've enjoyed texting back and forth with him so much that I'm not really in a hurry to meet in person. It's so much easier like this.

I got brave earlier today and was going to send him a picture. Thus the reason I was wearing underwear and a crop top when my roommate came in. All I can be thankful for is that he didn't come in before I'd put the crop top on, or the attempts at the mirror pics of my ass. I'm not the most confident, and these kinds of pictures are not the norm for me. But something about talking to Johnny makes me want to be brave. Brazen, even.

I click out of the chat thread with my brother and over to the conversation I was having with Johnny. I scroll through some messages from last week. He'd made me laugh, telling me about almost setting something on fire in one of his labs. When I sent a laughing emoji, he'd said he wished he could see me laugh for real. So I took a picture and cropped it so all that was showing was one side of my mouth and the dimple in my cheek when I smile .

No one has ever told me I'm beautiful before. And okay, yeah, it's a stranger on a college hookup app, and it was a heavily cropped photo. He couldn't even see my whole face. I really shouldn't be so easily flattered. But it made me feel special. I want to smile more, show him more.

That little picture led to a close-up of his own smile, stubble darkening the bottom of his cheek. I spent so much time overthinking every pixel of that photo, considering whether the golden tone of his skin was natural or from a summer spent outdoors. I ran my hand over my smooth jaw, wishing I could feel stubble and pretend I was touching him.

JOHNNY: Sorry about the scruff. Need to shave.

ELLISH: I like it.

ELLISH: I think it's sexy.

JOHNNY: Oh really?

JOHNNY: Maybe I'll skip shaving more often ??

JOHNNY: It'd probably feel rough against your soft skin.

ELLISH: I think I'd like that.

JOHNNY: You think?

ELLISH: Not something I've tried before.

The stranger in the closet had rougher skin like that, maybe a five o'clock shadow that suggested he might be older than me, but not quite scruff. I shiver every time I think of that night and consider how mu ch worse my swollen lips would have looked afterwards if the stranger had a rough beard like Johnny. My stomach clenches when I think about the way Gabe looked at me when they got back in the car the night of the graduation party. His gaze landed directly on my lips, and then down at my neck, where I later noticed I had a faint purple bruise—I'd been caught. And although my scattered thoughts ranged from guilt to embarrassment, my overall reaction was exhilaration. I knew right then what I needed to get past my crush on him, and talking to Johnny is giving me that same thrill. He's exactly what I need.

My mention of not having tried something before led to a pretty open discussion about things we haven't tried. Since he's in the closet and I'm a sheltered art nerd with zero confidence, we made it a game. We take turns asking each other questions, which have ranged from very innocent and even silly, to downright invasive. The rule is, you have to answer the question, or send a picture—no faces or identities, just something random.

So far, Johnny has answered all my questions except one. I've asked his favorite color—blue; his favorite food—strawberry rhubarb pie; and then I got really brave and asked if he was a virgin—no. I asked if he played any sports and he sent me a picture of his elbow, which I took to mean yes. When he asked me if I was a virgin, I sent him a picture of my belly button, which I'm assuming he also guessed meant yes.

Ping.

My phone sends me alerts back-to-back, pulling me out of my reverie. Brad sighs angrily, and I turn the sound on my phone off before climbing up into bed to focus on the conversation with my brother.

ELLOITH: Killjoy.

ELLIOTH: There's a party this weekend. Want to go?

ELLISH: You're not serious, are you?

ELLIOTH: It's the first party of the season at the athletic dorms. Nothing too crazy.

ELLIOTH: Come on, it'll be fun.

ELLISH: It doesn't sound like you'll need a DD if it's at your dorms, so I'm not sure why you're inviting me.

ELLIOTH: Come on, don't be like that.

ELLISH: Honest?

ELLIOTH: Bring the blue-haired girl with you. And any of your nerd friends. Open invitation.

ELLIOTH: These guys aren't like my old team from high school. They're cool.

ELLISH: Yeah, sure.

ELLIOTH: Really?

ELLISH: Hell no. Thanks for the invite, though.

I slip back over to the other notification. It's one from Ivy. Shocker. She wants to invite me to a party.

Sigh.

There's no chance it's a different party, because Ivy plays tennis. Most of her friends outside of the Pride Alliance are athletes.

ELLISH: Not really a party guy.

IVYQ: It'll be chill on the women's side of the dorm, I promise.

IVYQ: Just think about it.

ELLISH: No promises.

I watch Brad huff around for a few minutes, trying not to laugh when he stubs his toe on my desk chair. I hold my breath, trying not to either laugh or snap at him when he forcefully pushes my chair into my desk. If he breaks anything because of his attitude problem, maybe I'll have a case for getting a new roommate.

He finally turns the light off and climbs up into his own bed. Our beds are arranged in an L shape against each wall, so I don't have to worry about turning over and finding him still scowling at me, although I'm sure he is. I open my phone's browser, planning to search for one of those little kid bed tents that Elliot and I had over our twin beds when we were kids, but I get distracted by a new message.

JOHNNY: You know, the one part of college they don't warn you enough about is how gross it is to share a shower with other dudes.

ELLISH: UGH YES! So gross!

He must live in one of the big dorms, too. The communal showers are already disgusting, and we're only a couple of weeks into the semester. All the drains are so clogged, it only takes about thirty seconds for the water to start rising around your feet. I've considered buying platforms instead of my basic shower shoes, because it's disgusting. Most of the shower curtains are already half torn down, so there's very little privacy. And you better hope the stall you find has a sturdy hook, because anything that touches the ground is guaranteed to get wet.

If Elliot didn't live with two other guys, one of whom is the very guy I'm trying to avoid, I'd probably ask to use his shower. Maybe Ivy would let me use hers if I agree to come to the party.

JOHNNY: You went quiet earlier. I was worried your roommate might have smothered you.

ELLISH: Oh believe me, if he didn't want to before, he does now.

JOHNNY: Were you blinking too loudly? Did you gasp out loud at my last question?

I roll my lips to keep from giggling. His last question was a continuation of the one that earned him a belly button photo, so he purposefully went as personal as possible with his question, fully admitting that he was hoping I wouldn't answer so he could see more skin. I honestly don't have a problem telling him that I don't get to touch myself as often as I'd like because there's zero fucking privacy in this place, but he mentioned how soft he thought my skin looks. Which led to me spending thirty minutes taking half naked pictures of myself and getting caught by scowly Brad.

ELLISH: Something like that LOL

JOHNNY: Oh no, what happened?

ELLISH: You don't want to know.

JOHNNY: Oh, but I really do.

ELLISH: I'm not sure I really want to tell you ????

JOHNNY: You owe me a picture then ??

ELLISH: And therein lies the problem.

JOHNNY: ?

ELLISH: My roommate caught me taking the picture I was going to send you.

JOHNNY: …

JOHNNY: …

The three little dots that indicate he's typing keep showing up and then disappearing, like he's repeatedly deleting whatever it is he's trying to say.

ELLISH: What?

JOHNNY: I should probably leave this one alone. LOL

ELLISH: Why?

JOHNNY: Because I'm not trying to come off like a total creep.

ELLISH: I can handle it.

JOHNNY: My mind is running a little wild with what he possibly could have walked in on.

JOHNNY: Especially given the last question I asked.

ELLISH: Ha! Not that bad, thankfully.

JOHNNY: Oh yeah, thank goodness…

JOHNNY: ??

I contemplate long enough that my phone screen times out, and I have to open it back up again before Johnny sees my icon change to ‘away.' In my scramble to find something to say, I end up just sending him the picture that is the least compromising and needs to be cropped the least. Neither of us has sent each other this much of ourselves yet. It's almost my full body, taken from above my head and looking down. My eyes and nose are mostly obscured by my unruly mop of damp, messy hair. I'm kneeling on my bed, thighs wide apart, sitting back on my heels. The filter I used created some extra shadows, so only half of my exposed stomach and black Calvins are in focus. It's enough, and I'm immediately worried that what I just sent was too much.

He doesn't answer for several moments, and I'm ready to apologize.

ELLISH: That's what he walked in on me taking.

ELLISH: Embarrassing, right?

JOHNNY: Sorry, I need a minute to recover.

ELLISH: Recover?

JOHNNY: Wasn't expecting that.

ELLISH: I'm sorry. That probably wasn't appropriate. I panicked.

JOHNNY: For fuck's sake DO NOT apologize. That's not the problem, I promise you.

JOHNNY: I'm just trying to mop the floor before one of my roommates slips in drool.

My shoulders relax, and I let out a quiet huff of laughter. That's certainly a better reaction than I could have hoped for.

ELLISH: You can see now why my roommate hates me more than yesterday. ?? LOL

JOHNNY: To be fair, I kind of hate him more than I did yesterday.

ELLISH: ?

JOHNNY: Because he got to see all of that in person.

ELLISH: LOL jealous?

JOHNNY: Hell yes I'm jealous.

My heart beats overtime as I contemplate my next message.

ELLISH: You could, too.

ELLISH: If you wanted. No pressure.

JOHNNY: It's not that I don't want to.

ELLISH: It's okay. Like I said, no pressure.

JOHNNY: I'm not ready. But to pay you back for your efforts…

Oh, Holy Night.

I have to cover the surprised choking sound I make with a coughing fit, which, of course, makes Brad grumble. I can see the light from his phone, so I know he's not sleeping, and he has earbuds in, but I'm still quick to scramble off my bunk. I leave the room and run down the hall, barefoot, and slip into the restrooms. There's no one at the urinals and several stalls are open, so I hurry into one and shut the door. I lean against the door and take a breath before looking at my phone again.

If I thought my photo was a step up from the little patches of skin we'd been teasing each other with, his is on an entirely different level. There's no face, of course. It's all skin. Specifically, abs. Glorious, extremely cut abs. At least eight of them at this angle, leading down to one of those muscly V's that I wouldn't think existed in real life if I hadn't seen one in person once or twice. On a man that I'm definitely not thinking about right now, because whatever that guy was packing never came close to this kind of definition. Or at least, I never had the chance to stare at him this closely.

I'm definitely not zooming in on the light brown happy trail, or the veins that ripple over the bottom of his abs, dipping into unknown territory before the picture cuts off.

JOHNNY: You okay?

I didn't realize that, in my hustle to get out of my room and find a fleeting moment of privacy, I'd accidentally sent a string of unintelligible gibberish. Which, to be fair, is a pretty honest representation of what my brain did when I saw the picture. I only wonder how much of that was accidentally typed by my boner when I was holding my phone down over it to hide it.

ELLISH: Just trying to figure out if that's a real picture or not.

JOHNNY: I'm wounded!

ELLISH: No one real has that many abs.

He sends another picture. And then another. Each picture is taken from a different angle, which I assume is meant to verify legitimacy. But what I'm more concerned with is the lack of cropping on these two photos, and how the angle of the second one shows the path of his happy trail quite a bit further down into the top edge of his pubic hair. The rest is covered by a sheet, but I can still see enough to see that he's sporting a very large erection. Jesus. What does he feed that thing?

My cock is so hard that I'm afraid to touch it.

JOHNNY: ?

His me ssage gets me to blink enough to refocus my thoughts.

ELLISH: Sorry. I died a little.

JOHNNY: Like what you see?

ELLISH: Uh, yeah.

ELLISH: I mean, I like what I don't see. This is just a bonus.

ELLISH: A very big bonus.

Shit. No. Fuck. I didn't mean to say that. Not in that way, anyway. I meant that getting to see a picture was a big bonus, not that what was in the picture was a big bonus. Goddamn it. He probably thinks I'm a complete weirdo now!

JOHNNY: Oh, that.

JOHNNY: That's your fault.

JOHNNY: Been that way since you sent that picture.

My cock twitches, and the friction of my tight briefs hurts a little. I stare down at the bulge pressing against my pajama pants. I'm not going to be able to walk back to my room if I don't do something about this. I'm pushing my pajama pants and briefs down around my knees when my phone pings again.

JOHNNY: Tell me if this is too much.

Fucking-A .

If I'm being honest, it probably is too much. He could split me in two. But the moment I think it, my mouth waters and my ass clenches. I have zero experience with touching anyone else's dick, but my body seems to instinctively know what it wants to do with one. Still, I'm too awkward to say any of that, so I resort to humor.

ELLISH: That little thing? Now why would that be too much?

Another picture pops up on the screen, and I almost drop my phone. In swift but disjointed movements, I manage to catch my phone and attempt to pinch off an unexpected climax. But it's too late, and the first spurt of cum floods my hand. I use it to lube my fist as I stroke out the rest of my orgasm. Leaning my head down, I stare at the picture of his hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, panting as I soak my hand and cover my stomach in cum. Fuck.

I'm not very big. Nothing close to what I'm looking at in Johnny's picture for sure. Would he be disappointed in what I have to show him? I want to show him what his picture did to me, though. I try an artsy angle, pressing my cock against my stomach with my hand, so only the very tip of my dark pink cockhead is exposed, still leaking while my hand and lower stomach are wet with what is obviously the release his picture caused. I snap the picture and send it, cleaning myself up while I wait for his response.

It takes a few minutes to get a response, but when he does, I groan loudly. The picture he sends me back will live rent free in my brain for the rest of my life. It's a closeup of his mouth, licking what can only be his own cum from his fingers.

ELLISH: Jesus Christ

JOHNNY: I want to lick you clean. Thinking about it made me shoot so hard I hit myself in the chin.

ELLISH: You're killing me!

JOHNNY: I think now is a good time to admit that I'm a dirty bastard.

ELLISH: Yeah, you've been holding out on me.

JOHNNY: I didn't want to scare you off.

ELLISH: I'm not afraid.

JOHNNY: Maybe you should be.

And maybe he's right. I should be afraid, or at least cautious. But I'm not the same innocent, nerdy little boy that got pushed into that utility room this summer. Something was unlocked inside me that night, and I walked out with a new awareness of the man I could be. The man I want to be.