Kegs and Dorms
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by Stephanie Vaughan, Tory Temple, Jane Davitt
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: The best time of a young man's life is when he hits the college scene. From figuring out the best way to meet guys on campus to testing untried limits, the men of Kegs and Dorms take university life and turn it upside-down. In Kiernan Kelly's "Secui Domus", clever Aidan thinks he has a solution for solving campus housing problems, and all he needs is a little help from his friends--including the delicious Bobby Hatcher, who might just carry a torch for Aidan. Stephanie Vaughan's "Another Believer" takes a look at the train ride of a lifetime in which two college-bound strangers find they have a chemistry that can't be denied. Tory Temple's "What It's All About", a rip-roaring adventure through Rush Week, tells the story of Max, who's out, proud, and confused. Last but not least, Jane Davitt's "Reading Between the Lines" tells the story of Seth and Gabe, the odd-couple-from-hell roommates who are either going to kill each other or fall in love, and it's anybody's guess as to which'll come first.
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Top Shelf, 2008 http://www.torquerepress.com
eBookwise Release Date: February 2009
61 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [408 KB]
Reading time: 250-351 min.
Secui Domus By Kiernan Kelly
The houselights dimmed, multicolored spotlights swirling across the curtains, the murmur of the crowd swiftly growing into hoots and catcalls. Aiden Barrows stood alone in the wings, dressed in his favorite costume--the nerd--waiting for his introduction. He wore plaid, floodwater pants that stopped several inches short of his ankles, black socks, sneakers, green suspenders, a striped, button down shirt complete with pocket protector, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses taped at the bridge of the nose. His hair was a carefully arranged mess of black, spiky hanks.
The audience liked the costume because it was comical, but what they paid to see was the body beneath it. Honed to perfection, thanks to a combination of good genes and a regular work-out schedule, there wasn't an ounce of fat to spare on Aiden's six-foot frame.
Aiden loved the nerd costume for a different reason. The audience didn't know it, but it reflected the real him. He wasn't really the self-assured exhibitionist everyone thought, although he wasn't shy by any stretch of the imagination. He stripped only because it was the one job he found that would more than pay for tuition, his dorm room, books, lab fees, and food, and still leave him the study time necessary to maintain his 4.0.
The work was easy, the money was great, and he couldn't beat the hours. The club was a drive, nearly twenty miles away in West Caulfield, but the money made the commute worth it. He worked two days a week, Fridays and Saturdays, four hours each night, and never cleared less than six hundred for the weekend. It left the rest of his week wide open for school. It was perfect.
The first thunderous beats of The Stroke by Billy Squier echoed in the room, his cue. The screams of the women in the audience increased exponentially when he walked onstage, his nose stuck in a book. The extra large printing on the cover read, "Algorithms for Love" in black letters. He reached center stage and paused, ostensibly too engrossed in his reading material to notice the couple of hundred women screaming and vying for his attention.
Suddenly, Aiden picked his head up, cocking it as if he heard something. He pretended to notice the audience and did a double take, his mouth dropping open. First he looked at the audience, then the book, then the audience, then the book again. A slow smile creased his cheeks as he tossed the book over his shoulder and faced the screaming women. By the time Billy Squier began singing "Stroke me, stroke me," Aiden had discarded his glasses, pocket protector, suspenders, shoes and socks, and was unbuttoning his shirt.
His hips thrust in time to the beat of the music as he peeled it off, revealing broad shoulders, a finely sculpted chest, and an abdomen rippling with muscle. Naked from the waist up, he walked down the narrow runway, playing to the women who lined it. He licked his lips, wiggled his ass, and played with his nipples, working the crowd into a barely controlled frenzy.
Finally, he walked to center stage, turned his back, reached between his legs and pulled hard on the material of his pants. Fastened together with Velcro, they came off easily, revealing the red satin g-string he wore underneath. Faced with his firm, naked butt, the women went wild, drowning out the music.
Aiden went into his routine, an easy bump-and-grind, flashing his impressive pecker now and then. Money appeared in the hands of the crowd, waving at him. He selected the highest denominations, dropping to his knees so the lucky women who proffered a ten or twenty dollar bill could stuff it into his g-string and cop a feel at the same time.
Quite often he'd get an erection, courtesy of the grasping fingers. Eight and a half inches of hard cock was always good for tips, but it never failed to surprise him when his body reacted to their touch--Aiden didn't swing that way. He liked women well enough, especially when they were generous with their tips, but they didn't do anything for him sexually. Onstage he might get hard, but offstage, no matter how beautiful the woman, his cock remained as soft and pliant as a wet dishrag.
It might be the excitement of performing that turned him on; maybe he was actually more of an exhibitionist than he wanted to admit.