Making Friends and Influencing People — Part 3

[tekuno]

A really, really long part, this time. Blame MuscleAsh — I told him I’d get through Raymond Donovan’s transformation before going to bed, so I felt obligated to keep going.

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Making Friends and Influencing People
Part 3

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From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

June 27:

I decided to try going for a jog in the mornings, so I headed to the gym at 6, when it opens. (It seems a little funny to travel so far in order to run, but frankly I overheat a little too easily, so I’d rather be where there's some air conditioning.)

I actually managed two miles! I don’t think I’ve run a mile on a track since high school, and back then I nearly fell over and died! I guess my general fitness must really be improving. (Of course, I had been doing all that cardio over the last year, but that doesn’t feel like it counts, because it wasn’t on a real track, just machines.)

And, just as a bonus, when I was about two thirds of the way through, this huge black dude came in, did some stretches, and started tearing up the track. I wouldn't have thought a guy that big could move that fast, but he really did. I wish he’d been going the other way around the track, though — I love the way a big guy’s pecs move when he’s running. (And the enormous bulge in his shorts was pretty hypnotic, too. Tony and Rocco looked about the same, but of course I never saw them jogging.) I had to make do with watching him out of the corners of my eyes when he passed, and seeing him on the other side of the track.

I really think I’m starting to see changes. My arms look a little bigger, I think. And I'm getting a little stronger, too — Tony and Rocco keep smirking at Ken; apparently I’m doing better than he did. For some reason, every single one of them is turned on by this. What have I gotten myself into?

(Yeah, first-world problems.) (Come to think of it, “I’m having a lot of sex with the hottest guys I’ve ever met” isn’t even first world. Zero-th world problems? Alternate-universe problems? Heh.)

June 28:

Oog. Man, I’m stuffed.

Spent the afternoon cooking with Tony and Rocco (and Ken, too, towards the end). (No, not that kind of “cooking”.)

Tony and Rocco and I were working out, and Tony asked me how much I was eating each day. When I told him “around 2500 calories” he rolled his eyes, and the upshot was that he and Rocco insisted on coming over to show me how “a real man eats”. It was kind of interesting to see, since studs or not they’re practically babies in the kitchen. We ended up making a huge meal, which was good because Ken showed up and so we had to split it 4 ways.

(It was still too much. Tony and Rocco seem to regard measurements as things which happen to other people.)

I think Tony is probably right. I almost feel like my arms are getting bigger already.

It was amazing, though — I ended up feeling bloated and sluggish, but the guys were all fine right away. Half an hour later, Ken was actually fucking me while Tony and Rocco were feeling each other up; by the time he was done I felt well enough to pair off with Tony while Rocco and Ken went at it, although I was still not really feeling good. I don’t know how they do it.

Well, okay, I can kind of guess. I know it was just the pump from the workout, but they’re all looking bigger than ever. Amazing how some guys just keep growing and growing, while others stay the same.

Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

“Hey, Donovan!” Raymond winced.

“Yeah? What is it, Chad?”

“I’ve been wondering about something. Tell me if I’m wrong, here.”

“Yes?”

“Well, that faggot who tried to join the frat a little while ago... the one who was the cook.”

Raymond looked around nervously. Tony and Rocco had made it graphically clear what they would do to anyone who talked that way. Fortunately, nobody else seemed to be around.

“Yes, Phil Elkhorn. I think Ken is... well, I think they’re having sex.”

Chad snorted. “In Dad— my father’s time, we would have kicked him out of the frat for that. Hell, we might have had him arrested. I know we could do that back home.”

Internally, Raymond rolled his eyes. Even if Ken and The Twins were kind of loud, they never gave anyone any trouble, and he was kind of inclined to like Adrian and Cyrus, who were considerate and tidy and didn’t make any extra work for him... to say nothing of what had happened with Sanjay. That was more than he could say for Chad. But when 50% of your budget comes from donations from one family, you don’t argue with the oldest son of that family.

“Yes, but that’s not true any more. We’d get the whole national organization down on us like a ton of bricks.”

“Hmph. This frat really used to have standards, my father says. Now we’re letting in fags and wetb—”

“Hello, Juan. What can I do for you?”

Chad whirled; Juan del Amico was standing behind him. His expression suggested that he had heard exactly what Chad had been saying, but he said “Sorry to bother you, Raymond, but Dad wanted to know if the check cleared?”

“Oh, hang on.” Raymond fished out his phone and prodded at it for a bit. “Yes, it posted this morning.”

“Excellent. My apologies for the interruption.” He gave Chad a look which would have frozen someone with less self-confidence and departed.

“What’s this about a check?”

“Oh, Juan’s father wanted to make a donation to the frat.”

“Trying to buy their way in? Like they could afford that.”

“Actually, they sent almost as much as your father did last year.”

“What?” Chad spun around again and glared at the door. “I’ll have to talk to dad.”

Raymond was so relieved by the thought of another donation that he put aside his annoyance. “Anyway, you were saying? What was it you noticed?”

“Oh. Well, we didn’t let the little homosexual chef in, right?”

“Right.”

“How did we know?”

“Well, Ken told us that... wait...”

“Right. Ken told us the guy was a faggot and to keep him out — but Ken wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“You’re right. So why did...?”

“And now that you’re thinking about it, wasn’t Ken straight? He kept us all awake a month fighting with his girlfriend about whether she was going to stay in town for the summer.”

“You’re right, he did. No, that can’t be right, Ken spent finals studying with The Twins, didn’t he?”

“I remember that, too. What’s going on, Donovan?”

“I really don’t know. This is really weird.”

From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

June 30:

Still not growing, according to my measuring tape, although I seem to be gaining a lot of strength. And I feel bigger. (Ken says I look bigger, too, so phooey on the stupid measurements.)

I’ve continued to go to the gym for a run in the mornings. Two miles every day; I go counterclockwise, now — the big black guy is there every morning. A sight to get me up in the mornings... and awake, as well, ho ho ho.

He looks bigger, too. I did a little spying on him — no pictures or anything, just sitting around the gym to see what he did next — and he’s really strong, too. He’s not as big as Ken or Tony or Rocco, but he’s still impressive... how can I put this, if you took Adrian, averaged out his muscles so that his legs weren’t so outsized and his chest and arms were bigger, and then turned him black, you’d basically have this guy. I had to jack off in the bathroom after seeing him using the freeweights.

Another workout with the guys in the afternoon, followed by massages and sex and food at my place, not in any particular order. God, life is fantastic!

July 3:

Great news! My tape measure broke!

It was an old one I scrounged from a drawer at home, and apparently whatever material it was made from was somehow getting stretchy. I measured my biceps after the workout at the usual 16 inches, and suddenly it snapped. I went to the store and bought a nice new one, and discovered that I’m actually the proud possessor of 17½-inch arms, now!

...of course, since we’ve been using this tape for everyone lately, it must mean that Ken and Tony and Rocco... oh, wow. This is going to be interesting.

July 4:

This was the best day, ever.

Went to the frat 4th of July party. Tony and Rocco insisted; they said after all the cooking I had done, for them and for the whole frat a while back, it was only fair that the frat should feed me now and again. Tony and Rocco and Ken got into a brat-eating contest... and I actually beat them all! 7 brats, baby! (Tony insisted that I fuck them all to celebrate. I almost turned them down because, well, there are certain limits to what I can manage... but I actually did it, with fifteen-minute breaks in between.

This is really one incredible summer.

Oh, wait, I almost forgot: it turns out the black stud from the gym in the mornings is in the frat, too. (Why am I not surprised?)

He was sitting on the porch railing, reading some enormous hardback tome while slowly eating a hamburger, when Rocco and Tony were pushing me into the house after I won.

“Oh, hey, Cyrus! Haven’t seen you lately!”

He looked up. “Oh, hey, man. Sorry. Been going to the gym in the morning, lately. Got a class in the afternoon.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, sure. And then you go and sit in the library for a few hours before you go intern at the hospital.”

Cyrus looked startled. “Geez, man, how’d you know?”

“Wait, you really—”

“Work in the library every day and then go do an unpaid internship at the hospital. Yeah.”

“Fuck, dude, only you, you know that? You could be getting laid every fucking day, you know? Oh, yeah, Cyrus, this is Phil Elkhorn. Do you remember that lamb dish you liked so much? He made it.”

Cyrus closed the book — Organic Chemistry Ⅳ — and shook my hand. His grip was as amazing as his smile was beautiful. “Thanks, man. Seen you at the gym, lately, but I didn’t know you were Tony’s latest protégé.”

Tony slapped me on the back. “He’s a machine in the sack. And we think he’s gonna be bigger than Ken someday.”

Cyrus raised his eyebrows. “Really? Wow.” He gave a grin and a wink. “Maybe after my class finishes up I can give you a test drive. But not right now. They let me into a grad-level course early, and it’s really busting my ass.”

As we went up the stairs to Ken’s room, Rocco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Cyrus is the hugest fucking nerd I’ve ever met. If he weren’t a jock at the same time, I’d be tempted to roll him for his lunch money instead of fucking him. He has, like, four academic scholarships at once and his parents send him money and food all the time. No way he’s having trouble with a single class. I bet he’s found some cute doctor at the hospital or something, and that’s where all his time is going.”

I looked back through the window; Cyrus took another bite of his burger and flipped a page.

...Oh, crap, I forgot to tell them about the measuring tape. Oh, well. They don’t seem to be too concerned about numbers, lately.

Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

Omar came in from wrestling practice. Fuck it; he’d been gaining weight slowly over the last four months, and now he was up another weight class. Every time it happened, he ended up in deeper shit; everyone else was getting stronger, he was getting fatter. But nothing seemed to do any good — he was even going to the gym with Maury, these days, and all it seemed to do was localize the fat onto his stomach. And made him so fucking hungry all the damn time.

He sighed, and deflated. Oh, well, he had another 7 pounds of safety before the next weight class jump. He could afford to eat something good, get his blood sugar up for his date that evening. He looked around the kitchen.

There was a tin on top of the refrigerator. That looked promising. And it was full of candy! He tossed one into his mouth and chewed it a few times before swallowing. Not bad!

Hmmmm. Maybe he needed sleep more than food. Suddenly he really felt like a nap. Still four hours before he had to pick Cindy up. Plenty of time...

From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

July 7:

Did I somehow start emitting pheromones at the beginning of the summer, or something? Or maybe it’s like The Truman Show except they’re making a porno. This is really almost starting to become alarming.

I went to the gym this morning as usual, and when I finished, I was headed back to the lockerroom for a shower. I got my stuff ready and was headed for the showers when somebody stopped me from behind by grabbing my shoulder. I mean really grabbing. It was like my shoulder was in an iron vise; my feet were still moving forward and I almost fell over backward. The hand spun me around like I was nothing, and I was face to face with a big hairy naked guy with a gut. Well, face to scalp — he was shorter than me, but it was like Ken had been crushed downward and hair had been forced out all over his body to make room for the muscles — his body was insanely thick, and there was thick hair growing out all over, including what I thought was a beard but later found out was just one day’s stubble. He had a wide mouth set in a grin under a hawk-like nose, and he either had a light tan or just slightly dark skin, it was impossible to tell.

“Hey, you! You’re that Elkhorn guy Ken’s been fuckin’ lately! The one who cooks, right?”

I nodded, and he looked at me hard.

“Not bad. Pretty cute, in fact.” His hand pushed me down until my face was a little below his. “Mmmm. Yeah. Not exactly my type... yet... but I can see you’re growin’.” He started to drag me away from the showers.

“Uh... hey, I was headed for the showers. Do you mind?”

He grunted and kept dragging me along. “You don’t want those showers.” He pulled open a door, revealing a room with a sort of whirlpool tub and a tiled area with a bunch of showerheads along the wall. “This’s where the sports teams shower. This time of day, ’s more private, all right?”

He practically threw me in, and then pulled the door closed behind us. He walked over, and pulled me to his incredibly broad chest. “Whatsamatter, don’t you want a fuck?”

It actually hadn’t dawned on me that that was his purpose. Now that I looked at things in that light, it was pretty inviting, so I nodded. He gave a broad grin. “Good! Let’s get started!”

The experience was... unusual. He was hung, all right, but I’m getting used to that. What I’m not used to is the strength he had. He pushed me up against the wall, and I thought I was going to be punched right through the tiles. Not that it felt bad, but I would have thought Ken, or maybe Tony and Rocco, would be some kind of upper limit on that.

Another thing — the guy had serious musk, a sweaty, testosterone-laden smell. It was, again, like Ken distilled — not unpleasant, but it did remind me to turn the showers on.

He had just finished when the door opened again and Adrian and Cyrus walked in. They stopped short in the face of the muscular guy’s groan. He pulled out of me unceremoniously, dripping cum across the floor from his still-rock-hard cock, and turned to face them.

“Eh, Cyrus... Adrian... what’s up?”

“Geez, Omer, couldn’t wait for us?”

Omer grunted. “Hey, saw this guy here, decided to see what all the fuss was about.”

Cyrus gave a sophisticated little smile. “And?”

“Pretty good. Another month or so and he’ll be excellent. Of course, I haven’t tried him as a top, yet.”

“Hey, brah, no fair keeping him all to yourself!” Adrian walked over and leaned up against the wall where I had been standing, thrusting out his ass. “Dude, come on.”

There really isn’t much more to say, except that it was quite an intense hour. Cyrus was half an hour late to the library, since everyone wanted to try all the possible combinations of partners. If I hadn’t recently been doing this sort of thing with what I was beginning to think of as “my guys”, I would probably have run off in fear, but I was getting used to the idea of sex as more than a one-shot deal.

Omer was the first one to leave the room, thumping across the floor as Cyrus and Adrian and I all stood in the spray of the showers, enjoying the afterglow. He looked back over his shoulder, and barked “Cyrus, make sure he’s invited from now on, eh? He gets my seal of approval.”

Cyrus looked at me sheepishly. “Yes, we do this a lot. About once a week, for all three of us. Omer and I are here nearly every morning, though. You’d be welcome to join us, if you’d like...”

Adrian coughed. “Dude, I think I may have to start showing up in the mornings more often!”

...I was half-expecting a throbbing baseline to start playing, but nothing.

(Oh, and Tony and Rocco laughed their asses off when I told them about it. “Omer and Cyrus were roommates last year, and you could hear Omer squeaking the bedsprings every single night. I always wondered why they didn’t object to being split up this year. That explains it. Probably had to switch to mornings to fit Cyrus’ schedule at the hospital.”)

(Ken wasn’t so happy. He looked at me with puppy dog eyes and asked if I was going to stop working out with him. I had to assure him I was only jogging in the mornings.)

Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

Charles sighed and scratched his head. This was supposed to be a nice, easy class for the summer session, so he could justify staying at the frat house instead of going home. So why was he unable to make the equations balance out? He thought he’d figured it out a minute ago, but then it turned out that the axle would have to end up being thicker around than the wheels. He tossed his latest sheet of scratch paper in the garbage, closed the lid of his laptop, and headed downstairs.

After a drink or three, he’d feel a lot better. And the assignment wasn’t due until after the weekend, anyway.

He looked around the kitchen as he passed through. He never ceased to be amazed at how cluttered it was. Even in a frat house, you’d think someone would—

That tin! It was a perfect housing for the final project! He opened it up — candy? Well, fuck. He looked around, and found a plastic tub of about the same size. After a moment’s work, the candies were transferred. He washed out the tin and dried it with a paper towel.

Just at that moment, Raymond walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, Raymond. ’sup, dude?”

Raymond looked at the tin. Charles said a silent prayer that he was wrong about what was going to happen next.

“What are you doing with that? It’s house property.”

“Aw, come on! It’s perfect for my robotics final! I need it!” Raymond rolled his eyes. “Please? I already put the stuff it was holding into another container — look, I’ll even buy the house another tin! Full of candy, if you want it!”

“Candy?”

“Yeah, that’s what was in this. Up there.”

Raymond took the tub down and opened it. “Huh. These look kind of familiar.” He sniffed them. “Smell good, too.”

“Well, if there weren’t any left, you wouldn’t need the tin, right? Look, I’ll eat them right now—”

“No, you won’t. These belong to somebody. Get permission.”

“Come on, Donovan, they wouldn’t have left them sitting out if they didn’t want people to take them.”

“But—”

“I’ll have one. Just one. And if anyone notices, you can tell them it was me. And if not, then it’s all right if I have the tin. Okay?”

Charles’ arm shot out, and he took a candy and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he ran out of the kitchen before Raymond could make him put the tin down.

Raymond sighed, and poured himself a mug of coffee. Did it always have to be like this? The chapter head last year didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping people in line when necessary. Then again, the chapter head last year had let everyone get away with murder, which was why the house was under scrutiny now.

If only they’d show some respect. The only people who ever did what he asked without complaining were the faggots — which was odd, considering they were all total jocks. You’d think they’d just laminate him against the wall and go on doing whatever they were doing, but even Omer the über-alpha-wrestler obeyed all the regulations. Hell, Cyrus was even at the head of the Dean’s list! Not even Chad’s family could buy that distinction for the frat. Instead, it was the normal guys who were always defiant, or rude at the worst times, or behind on paying dues, or not-quite-obeying the rules to try and tick him off. He looked at his reflection in the window glass — upper management material, you would have said, from the wavy short hair to the immaculate button-down shirt to the slim, tall build, to the khakis. So why couldn’t he get anyone to follow orders?

He sighed again and finished his coffee. Then he sniffed the air again. Those candies... they would really go well with coffee. Maybe just one... he gave a nasty grin — he could always blame it on Charles if anyone complained. He carefully poured another cup of coffee, took one cube out of the tub, popped it in his mouth, grinned, and headed back into the lounge.

Hmmmm. Was this coffee decaf? Suddenly he was exhausted. Well, he could go to bed early, just once...

From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

July 10:

Okay, I’m officially worried. The “something funny” about the frat is getting worse, and I have proof. Oh, and I’ve been threatened personally, but I don’t think it was serious.

In chronological order: I was at the gym this afternoon with Tony and Rocco — Ken actually had something to do for the football team, it seems they’re already gearing up in a major way — and this guy was staring at everything I did. I’ve seen him around before, he’s good-looking and big. Well, pretty big. Honestly, I’m catching up to him fast. But before I met Ken, I would have said he was one of the five biggest guys on campus. Now, I’m reasonably sure he’s not in the top 10.

He finally came over while I was forcing out bench presses (295 pounds, now, for reps — say what you like about Tony and Rocco, never claim their training doesn’t work! ...of course, everyone else is using 495 pounds without even particularly straining, but it still makes me happy to have improved so much) when he finally came over and started trash-talking at me.

Tony growled at him, and then he started unloading on Tony. “Hey, steroid-breath, fattening up another bum-buddy? When will you put the silicone in his lips so he can give you better blowjobs, huh? Or he fucking you like the pussy you are?”

Rocco was suddenly behind him, and spun him around. It was interesting to see how much bigger Rocco was than the other guy. “Hey, Maurice, take it elsewhere. You’re interrupting Phil’s workout. Maybe he’ll drop a weight on your foot. Maybe I’ll drop a weight on your foot. Fuck off.”

Maurice stood his ground, which was impressive. I don’t think I could have stood up to Rocco, let alone Rocco and Tony. Tony made sure I had racked the bar properly, and then went over and stood on the other side of Maurice from Rocco. He bent down a little so that his lips were within a few inches of the bridge of Maurice’s nose before he started talking. “Listen, you fucking shithead, what we do or do not do in bed is none of your fucking business. If you can’t build up this kind of muscle” —punctuated with a most-muscular— “then stop fucking trying to get in the way of the folks who can, got it? Just ’cause you’re a shithead loser doesn’t mean everyone else has to stop and give up to keep you looking good! You mess with my friend Phil, here, you mess with me, and I’ve already given you all the fucking chances you’re gonna get! Get out of here, asshole!”

Maurice had gradually been going pale; I think his courage had started wearing thin when Rocco talked to him, and Tony’s little speech spooked him completely. In any case, he took a step back and bumped into Rocco, grimaced, and then started walking away quickly.

“Don’t worry about him, Phil. He’s just fucking jealous because we’re not just bigger than him, we made Ken bigger than him, too. He’s been plateaued all last year, and went fucking insane when you started working out with us and growing, too. He’s been on steroids for the last six months, and he’s still just as small as ever, while we’re already this big just from workin’ out and eatin’ right.” He flexed a huge arm.

“I’ve seen him around, now and again.”

“Yeah, he’s not at the frat much.”

“Wait, what? Is every single hot guy on campus at your frat?”

Rocco smiled. “Just the big ones. Anyway: you’re doing ten more reps, at 305, or we’re holding Ken hostage tonight.”

I would have forgotten about all that, but when we left the gym, Maurice was standing to the side of the exit. He grabbed me and pulled me back as Rocco and Tony walked on without noticing, and muttered in my ear: “listen, you, I don’t give a shit what those two jackasses say, if you don’t fucking stay away from the gym I’ll kill you!”

Tony and Rocco had a good long laugh at that, when I told them, but it’s stuck in my head.

Anyway, that was unpleasant, but it wasn’t weird.

When we got to the frat house — Ken and I were going to go out to eat, later — one of the windows on the second floor smashed, and a fucking rocket came out. It landed in the bushes near me and started a fire, and this guy in goggles stuck his head out the window.

“Hey, hey, hey, sorry ’bout that, amigos! Little problem with the controller circuitry.”

With that, he jumped out of the window, landed on his feet, and ran over and sprayed the bush with a fire extinguisher. “Shee-it. Of all the places to land, it’s gotta hit something flammable.” He looked glum for a minute, and then pushed the goggles up onto his forehead and extended an oily hand to me. “Yo, mister popular. You’re Phil. The cook-y guy. Been hearing a lot about you lately. I’m Carlos, premiere representative of the school of engineering. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself before.”

It was a little difficult to tell under all the grease, but he was a handsome latino with curly black hair and an olive complexion. He had the widest lat spread I think I’ve ever seen, but unlike Adrian he had chest muscles to compliment it, under a wife-beater covered with grease stains. Despite his bulk, the general impression was of energy and a kind of feline grace.

Tony and Rocco were inspecting the damage. “What the hell are you doing with live rockets?”

Carlos looked embarrassed. “Well, I finally cleared up the BIOS errors for the damn robot’s controls, and I thought it would be cool to give it a rocket punch. But the damn thing glitched on boot — fucking open-source A.I., it just said something like ‘Not doin’ anudda cameo ins a stoopit computa, not witout da characta bein’ named’ and went crazy.”

“You better go tell Ray about this right now.”

“You’re telling me? I gotta come up with an excuse first, though. He’s still pissed about the water damage from the tea machine I made for Sanjay.” He gave me a grin. “Got a text from Adrian a little while ago. I’ll be meeting you again tomorrow morning in the gym showers. So long ’til then!”

He did a spontaneous back-flip and went sprinting off to the side entrance.

“Wait, is he gay, too?”

“Queer as a three-dollar bill.”

Food for thought; to my knowledge, there were... Ken, Tony, Rocco, Sanjay, Adrian, Cyrus, Omer, and Carlos, that was 8 men, who were in the frat, and gay, or at least not straight. There couldn’t have been more than about 20 members of the frat at the meeting, and the house didn’t have that many rooms... and I knew that all of those 8 had reason to want me in the frat. So how come I wasn’t inducted? Where had all those guys been that night?

I was still thinking about this when we went into the house, and had a shock. Tony and Rocco were standing more or less at attention just inside the door, and I ran right into them. After I recovered my balance, I looked at what had them so impressed.

There was a behemoth standing at the foot of the stairs. Without exception, the biggest man I have ever seen, anywhere. He was crammed into a pair of bluejeans, and he had his arms folded over an incredibly broad chest. He was wearing a wife-beater which had been stretched so much that it managed to hang loose over even his massive torso, revealing an even, but not too heavy, coating of medium-brown hair across his pectorals. His forearms were similarly coated, and his lantern jaw had a coat of stubble. He was glaring at Carlos, who was halfway up the steps, and Carlos was gabbling out an explanation of the bush incident.

Finally the huge man nodded. “You’re docked a hundred for replacement costs. Don’t let it happen again.” Carlos sagged with relief, and nodded before heading upstairs.

“More troubles with Carlos, eh, Ray?” Tony tried to sound jocose. Ray turned to look at us, and I involuntarily took a step back. He was overwhelmingly intimidating; not even Omer projected an aura like that. It wasn’t that he was built, because he wasn’t. Proportionally, any of my guys had him beat. But he was just so huge that he was like a living threat.

“Dues by the end of the week, Garbo.” One of the man’s hands flexed slightly, and Tony swallowed.

“Yes, sir. You’ll get the check tonight.”

The huge man nodded, and walked away into the house, and Rocco breathed out.

“Who the hell was that? Has the Delta Sigma Chi organization been sending thugs?”

Tony looked at me oddly. “No, that was Ray. You know, Raymond Donovan? The head of the chapter? You met him at the meeting?”

“Wow, the other Raymond Donovan must hate having the same name as him. They’re like day and night.”

“Another Raymond Donovan?”

“Well, yeah. The guy who I met at the meeting was a little guy. Well, about my height, really, but thin. Are they related? How’d they both end up in the frat?”

Tony’s incredulous look grew, as though I had suddenly started wearing underpants on my head. “Huh? Phil, there’s nobody else named Ray Donovan in this frat. Not even anyone close.”

“Huh. Well, he said that was his name.”

“Phil, do you seriously believe that anyone would be dumb enough to impersonate Ray?”

I thought about it. “No, I guess not. I saw what he did to Carlos.”

This restored Tony and Rocco’s humor — they laughed about it for quite some time. “Eh, sorry, but you got the wrong idea, there, Phil.”

“Huh?”

“Carlos and Ray have been dating for three years now. They get off on the whole ‘troublemaker vs. authority’ dynamic. Don’t worry about it — Ray was only ordering me around to cover up his hard-on. I think, at least. He never talks much. He doesn’t have to, looking like that. Boy, wouldn’t it suck if I was wrong? I’d hate to be on Ray’s shitlist.”

They kept talking about frat gossip, but I was busy thinking. I’m still not sure what’s going on over there, even now that I’m home. Even when I was balls-deep in Ken tonight, I couldn’t stop wondering: that’s ten gay men in the frat, out of a maximum of twenty. There certainly hadn’t been that many before — maybe not even any. And for the first time, I had proof. Maybe Tony and Rocco — and Ken, when I asked — didn’t believe me, but Raymond Donovan had been a yuppie-in-training, a skinny guy in fussy clothing, nothing like god’s younger, sexier brother who we met at the stairwell. Something is definitely happening to the frat, and nobody else seems to even notice it.

Of course, it seems to be happening in my favor. So — do I try to stop it, or egg it on, or what? I’m not even sure what “it” is, so that may just be a moot point.

Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

Chad looked over his shoulder. There was no telling, these days, who might be around. And he couldn’t afford to let the faggots know what he was doing — there wasn’t an official on campus who was willing to stand up to Ray, and even Chad’s grandfather had been cowed into silence the time he had come out to complain about the dorm letting faggots in. And Chad’s grandfather once shouted down a sitting President of the United States in an argument.

“Listen, Cody, Declan, something’s wrong with this frat.”

Declan yawned. “You always say that. You’ve been bitching about how lousy this place is since you joined. What’s the matter, you can’t get a hard-on without a servant around to act as fluffer or something?”

“Fuck you. Remember that dinner we had a month back? That guy wanted to get into the frat, and he cooked us dinner?”

“Yeah, and we voted him out because... he was... a... hey, wait a minute!”

“See? You remember what happened, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Raymond shut the door in the guy’s face, I was chuckling all night... but wait, Ray would never—”

“Exactly. Carlos, too — I think he was Charles, before. And Ken was white and straight, and so was Jay. And I think Cyrus. It’s hard to remember. I checked the records and the yearbook, but there’s no sign.”

“That really is weird. Do you think we’re in any danger?”

“No idea.”

“Well, what do we do about it? Flee the frat?”

“Hell, no. I’m not abandoning my family’s frat to a bunch of faggots. Just... keep your eyes open, and tell me if you notice anything. ...what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Juan started guiltily. “These candies have been up here for a long time, now, so I thought I’d just try one...”

Chad snorted. “Just like you people, taking other people’s food. Don’t you get enough to eat at your father’s tacqueria?”

Cody pointedly got up and walked out. He didn’t like Juan particularly, but he had no patience for Chad, either — and half the guys on the baseball team were hispanic. Declan looked back and forth helplessly — he was trapped behind the table by Chad.

Juan flushed. “My father runs a chain of steel mills across three continents, and I pay my way as much as anyone here! This tub of marzipan has no name on it.”

Chad rolled his eyes. “It’s Turkish Delight, you stupid— oh, well, I suppose you grew up too poor to know any better.” He snatched a piece from the tub and popped it in his mouth. He grinned at Juan. “Go ahead, mister nouveau riche, maybe your father can buy you a candy factory.” Gloating, he strode out. Declan, embarrassed, looked at Juan and then ducked out of the room himself.

Juan shrugged. He had met people like Chad a lot in the past, but he hadn’t expected to meet them at college. Not for the first time, he wished his father had let him go to school in Brazil. He had friends down there, it was a booming economy, the people might not be particularly nicer but at least he wouldn’t be around Chad Wellington... oh, well. He took one of the candies, made a face in the direction Chad had gone, and ate it.

Bleah. No offense to the Turks, but if this was their idea of a candy, he would be happy to leave it to them. Not even particularly sweet! That was one thing he liked about North America, at least, they knew how to do “sweet” properly here.

He yawned. Funny thing, to be so tired after being so angry. Well, perhaps he’d risk letting Chad mock him for having a siesta, and go take a nap...

[MonsterMash62]

I am seriously loving this story. I like that Phil is now sure that something's going on, but even more that others have figured it out too.
And the last two paragraphs in particular was so well done. I wasn't sure whether or not Juan would eat one of the reality changing candies and your writing kept me guessing right till the last minute.

[Lucas88]

Really enjoying this. I like the format, "Phil's Journal" vs "Not Phil's Journal". The jumping between perspectives can get pretty confusing but you're handling it very well. Too bad there's not an advisor checking in every now and then...wonder what they'd notice.

Looking forward to more!