Frat Star Fridays!: I Don't Have Any Cool Stories :(

My name is Frat Star, and this is my personal column at BiLikeMe. You can find my other blog here. If you'd like to drop me a line, you can reach me at wsa215@gmail.com

Seriously. I don't have a Ross, the oh-so-infamous boyfriend of BLM, nor do I hookup at the moment as all of you very well know. Sometimes I find it ironic that BLM is the wild and crazy one, and I'm the prudish colleague. An interesting fact about this may have to due with our parents' ages, which may explain their styles and what they passed off to their kids. Even though I'm a senior in college, our folks are the same age. BLM is having sex in parking lots, hotel rooms, and in all kinds of different places across the world while I'm sitting "thesis-ing" in the library. I don't really have any exciting stories for you.

Except one.

I realized that my biggest issue in writing for this blog so far is that I don't give you any sexual stories, and that's probably due to one problem in particular: I'm not having any sex. However, I can tell you a little about the first time that I did hookup.

My next door neighbor was a nice kid, and a couple years older than me. He went to a different school and our parents were friendly, although quite distant towards one another. His folks, Mr. and Mrs. Bloggs, had moved in about two years before we first hooked up. They replaced a very old couple that I had lived next to for as long as I could remember. The old neighbors had one of those absolutely magical relationships, where you could see they lived for one another. They loved the children in the building, too. Each Christmas brought amazing sugar cookies, and on every Halloween night like clockwork, Mr. Jones (this was, in fact, his last name) snuck me extra lindt truffles that I greedily gobbled down like a pig. The new neighbors, however, were everything that Mr. and Mrs. Jones were not.

Once they moved in, there were no more cookies or holiday-related treats. Their apartment didn't smell or look well-worn from years of love, four kids and innumerable grandchildren who often came to visit. As a matter of fact, their place didn't have anything that exuded a life at all. It was sterile, like a hospital. White walls, no trim, no mouldings, few paintings and lots of African masks -- undoubtedly to demonstrate how "ethnic friendly" they were to the world (they weren't). They were distinctly different from the Jones, and I hated them from the start. However, they did have one thing going for them that made me perk up: they had a son, Matt.

Matt went to a different school than mine, a country day school in the neighborhood he grew up in. It had a reputation for being simultaneously athletic, but also very cold. Those kids never laughed in class. Everyone swore like sailors. They also lived for sports and had one of the few football teams in the region. Matt wasn't on it but he was, like me, a lacrosse player as I gathered from the half dozen sticks and stank-ass, unwashed athletic gear in his room one day during a poorly-attended house warming party to which everyone in the building was invited on a lazy weekend. I hadn't met him yet, but I expected this kid to be a gigantic tool. And... he wasn't.

He was actually really cool, although his bedroom was still a fucking mess.

Matt was cocky, and I instantly liked him. In many ways, he's the prototype of the guy that I actually look for. When I first met him though, it was awkward. The building was largely furious at their year-long renovation process and contractors who had skipped the rules. At one point, a contractor had accidentally broken into my father's bathroom, and for the next week he had to live with a two-by-two foot hole until things were patched back up. Literally and figuratively. His folks just weren't community oriented, and it showed both in their actions, demeanor, and their kid. Matt was largely ignored by his parents, who raised their two sons to be a trophies. This also meant that Matt absolutely hated his parents and took his aggression out in unhealthy ways. There was heavy drinking and partying, but also a heavy dedication to his work life. Instead of going home, he went to the gym, and if his folks were still up to the library.

We bonded slowly. At first, it was just a few head tits in the hallway acknowledging each other since he was so much older and, by older, I mean he was three years older than me. That age gap initially kept us from talking much because I was a middle schooler while he was a high school sophomore. Then, as time tends to do, a year flew by rather quickly. The Jones' were a distant memory, and the Bloggs' were now the past, present and future of our hallway. They quickly adapted to their new surroundings, and arranged a transfer for Matt from his school in the suburbs to one in the city. Following my parents' lead, they chose my new high school where we'd both be starting fresh. Going to school together became inevitable, and had we not been on the same class schedule, in the same building, and carpooling together we wouldn't have noticed each other at all.

Life, ironically, is serendipitous. You can't choose who you love, or when you love someone, or who you even crush on. That is the most sure proof of the existence of fate. I was never in love with Matt, but he could easily have been replaced by someone else. Weird, no?

One of the more exciting events of the year was spring sports. I was too busy in the fall and winter to play anything, but for some reason spring was an exception: I suppose my parents figured that I had been playing lacrosse for so long that it'd be cruel to ask me to study through the team practices. JV began practice a week later than the varsity. My earliest memory of this time was one of severe stress: for some reason even though we were so young, everyone was so stressed out. There was a universal expectation of success. College was only four years away, but every freshman began taking SAT prep examinations. By the time we were 14 or 15, we became little men. Throughout this whole adjustment process, I took Matt's lead. When I didn't know what to say, he nudged me. He fed me jokes. He introduced me to girls. Actually, that was Matt's biggest thing: girls. He roped them in like an underage Tucker Max, which honestly makes this story sometimes even more surreal.

Matt's biggest introduction to my life was alcohol. His mother was a borderline alcoholic, and as high school life virtually revolves upon getting fucked up, he was a naturally popular kid. The Bloggs' spent most weekends upstate so Matt was able to rage in town. One weekend, my folks also left town so I hit Matt up so I didn't have to crash by myself. With the hallway vacant and my apartment locked up, we could make all the noise we wanted without interruption.

This was a poor decision on behalf of every party. Hardly ten minutes after my folks left, there were twenty kids who appeared almost instantly with red solo cups. Matt was now in his element.

"Yo is that kid on the JV?" someone asked.
"Yeah, he's mad chill. Crashing in the guest room, I'm lookin after him. Yo!" he called to me, "Bro, bro... this is Frat Star. He's the chillest little dude and he can mack on biddies."
"Oh, forreal. Whatsup dude. Wanna take a shot?"
"Uh. Sure?" I looked at Matt. Fuck, what should I say? "And you too, pussy." They laughed.
"Matt, you are a pussy! Preach, Frosh, preach! Frosh is trying to do it up! More shots!"

From there on, it was a haze of alcohol. I remember flip cup on the dining room table, and being taught drink proportions. At one point, I had to find a bathroom but every toilet was full. Matt led me into his bedroom where he produced two empty water bottles out of the trash can. "You know what to do." He motioned into a corner on the same side of the wall. There was a rustling of jeans and the unbuckling of belts, followed by the sound of piss hitting plastic.

"Damn, I really needed to piss. I'm so gone, man." I was probably slurring my words like mad.
"Yeah dude, its those girls from [a girl's school] who keep hoggin' up the place. Whatever, Jenny's probably going to blow me."

She didn't. He was far too brash even for a 17 year old girl, and she instead retreated. I noticed with some pleasure that Matt's game was simple: it was a numbers game. Hit on as many girls as humanly possible and show them you're the shit. Then try and get a blowjob. If she's down, date her... again for the blowjobs. It was almost a racket that the team was trying to perpetuate. Couples split up and made out on couches as people drank. Those who knew they were getting pussy occupied bathrooms or left entirely. By one o'clock in the morning, there was nothing except for liquor bottles and solo cups.

"Fuckin sluts," he growled.
"Fuckin sluts!" I yelled, a little too enthusiastically, having enjoyed the party a little too much.
"I just wanted a fucking blowjob, bro. Got major blueballs now." He cupped his dick at he hopped onto one of two couches facing one another and kicked off his shoes. I followed his lead. Like every 16 year old boy, he put one hand down his shorts while exploring with a clicker. "The fuck is with Robin Byrd?"
"Oh, I just order the good shit once a week on the TV in my bedroom. My stepmom doesn't check the bill or anything," I said casually. "But my place is locked up."
"Well, you have a guest room, right?" He perked the fuck up at that news.
"Yeah." I still didn't follow.
"Is it cool if I watch for a few minutes then go back home?" Now he looked nervous. That's an all too-obvious suggestion.
"I could probably get the key from downstairs... plus we have food in the fridge. Wait here though, otherwise no one's gonna fall for it. You get in way too much trouble." I ran downstairs, undoubtedly wreaking of alcohol, with the excuse that I'd left my non-existent medication in my bedroom. Coming up with the elevator, I had a feeling about what would happen. He's probably going to put some pillows up to block the view and jack off, I thought. For some reason, doing something actually gay hadn't occurred to me yet.

When I got back up, he was waiting in the small hall that divided our two apartments in mesh shorts and a t-shirt. We laughed about the entire night as I opened my front door. We bee-lined it to the fridge, grabbed some shit, plated it, and headed to my room. "Hold up man, I just need to change, gimme a sec," I told him while closing the door.

"No, bro, it's cool, we're both guys." If you're bi or gay and reading this, these are famous last words. This sentence virtually guarantees that the guy you're dealing with is into dudes. I shucked my clothes and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and put some athletic shorts over them. "Let's see this good shit bro... mind if I choose?" He jumped onto the other twin bed.

"Go ahead." I said timidly. I put a pillow blocking his view of my dick preemptively, and he followed my move. "Uh... what do you want to watch?" Matt picked something random that contained three small movies into one.

"Fuck, look at those bitches go at it! Damn." He put his hand down his pants and adjusted his cock. Instead of uptucking it, he pulled up his waistband and let it stick up. We chatted about girls and sex. I'd gotten my first real blowjob earlier that summer, so I bragged about that to him. "These beds are too damn small, we're both guys, and chicks dig our shit. Is it cool if I just drop this pillow?" Before I could respond, it hit the floor.

"Some of this stuff is weird. Fast-forward to the good parts, man." I became a little bolder. The next scene featured a girl blowing a guy with a gigantic dick. "I'm not that big," I joked, "but I'm pretty huge." Matt called me out, saying he had the bigger piece. "Well, we're both guys, right? Bet you can't beat my seven-and-a-half," I shot back. This would become my adult size, but I was nowhere near that at that age. "Stand up, let's compare then."

"Aight," Matt said, "but we can't tell anyone about this. This is our secret." I was on board. As I stood up, I got nervous. I'd never really compared this closely with another guy before, and I was so hard I was shivering. "Drop em, man." I did, and he followed. Matt's dick seemed huge at the time, and he was absolutely bigger than me. We stood next to each other and continued to watch porn while stroking until a blonde got on her knees to absorb her partner's dick. "I could still really use a blowjob." He looked at me.

"No way."

It took another ten minutes of convincing, and his rule was that the guy with the smaller dick went first. "Plus, I know you're trying to hit up more upperclassman parties. Help a brother out." I was going to suck my first dick. He was pretty gentle. He rubbed my shoulders, he played with my hair, but he yelled at me to pull off before he came too fast. I was more aggressive, but he told him to chill and he complied. As he was blowing me, I felt my balls tighten. I pulled off and we jerked off into our hands. "Fuck, that was great," he sighed. I wasn't as impressed. I just felt dirty. And shame.

The next two days were awkward. When you first start fucking around with guys, you do feel a certain guilt. That'll fade away with time. We fucked around a few more times over the next year, but that stopped once Matt hit senior year and then began making plans for college in Texas. "You know what they say about Texas..." I told him once I heard of his admissions choice.

"Don't even start."

We fucked around one last time after my freshman year of high school. I was then a sophomore in college, and Matt was home for Christmas break. He lived in Dallas, and had a girlfriend that was a smokeshow. He got his blonde girl. We went out for drinks with my fake and asked me about college life. "Hold up Matt, I have to piss." He joined, and as we walked to the bathroom it was already obvious what was about to happen. "You have a hotel room, right?"

"Yeah."

This time, he sucked first. Bet he regretted making up that rule.