DIONYSIUS
By
Rev Jesse Penfield Gibson, MDiv, DMin
Copyright 2016
DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction and involves sex between college students both male and female. This chapter is more plot driven.
Complaints or compliments to revjpgibson#hotmail.com
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CHAPTER 3
If Cass had gone back to prowl, Alex almost never stopped prowling. He was a super predator. He made it to Club Element downtown after midnight, waved in with out ID. Her name was Marlena and she was a wannabe. It didn't take much figuring to know that Alex was a member and she had thought before that if she could just fuck her way through the membership, the males at least, she could find a place. Three or four times before, he had fucked her. She was rubbing up against him on the dance floor.
"C'mon" Alex whispered in her ear. "I wanna fuck you"
She gave him a half smile and shrug. "Your place or mine?"
"The men's room, right now"
"Why should I?"
"I'll make you cum"
There was a line in the bathroom but Alex barged ahead, leading Marlena by the hand. There was protests and cat calls, a guy at urinal making sure she could see. He pushed her up against a wall, put his hand up her dress, grabbing her tits with the other as he kissed her hard, waiting for the last stall to open. A guy came out, hearing the cheering going on, adjusted himself and left. Alex practically pushed her in the stall and locked the door. Leaning her over the toilet, he yanked down her panties and spread her legs apart. He could smell her funky musk. She was wet.
His shorts hit the ground. His dick was hard. He mounted from behind, his stiff dick sliding effortless up her glistening snatch. Skin against skin. He cupped his tits with his hands and fucked her hard. He had all ready cum once that night, so he was really able to fuck the living shit out of her. She was screaming as the sound of their two bodies slapping together filled the bathroom up.
When he was done, the guys in the bathroom gave him a round of applause
Cass coming in just before 3 am woke Dylan up. He reeked of marijuana smoke and was clearly drunk, stumbling around in the room. He had fallen into the bottom bunk of their tiny room with a heavy thud, so it was no wonder that Dylan had bolted awake. It only took minutes before he could hear his roommate snoring but it took Dylan longer to go back to sleep. Despite that, Dylan knew he wouldn't complain to Cass about even as he muttered ill words toward him. The two of them were roommates but not friends. Being in the small student cell together was just happenstance, or the product of a malicious computer joke. Even Cass had joked about it, saying the room was home to the sinner and the saint. On the other hand, the relationship wasn't yet unfriendly and Dylan was willing to make accommodations for their different lifestyles and interests.
In a way, he admired Cass, perhaps even to the point of envy. Cass was self-confident, at ease with himself and comfortable in his own skin, all things that Dylan knew weren't true about himself. He was attracted to him too. That part was more difficult to acknowledge. He knew that those feelings were wrong. They were sinful and shameful. But at night, with the lights off and Cass below him sleeping soundly, Dylan couldn't help having them. Every few nights, he would breakdown and have to do something about them, do the thing that boys have to do. He wasn't proud of it but he knew from past experience that the choice was to get those images in his head full flight and find some relief or it would happen anyway in his dreams. It was better to do it, get it over with and clean himself up than to wake up sticky in the morning. He didn't ask forgiveness for it either when he prayed. It was a sin that he would not repent of because he knew he would return to it willingly. The rationalization he told himself was that he could control his behavior, with God's grace of course, but the thoughts were beyond his control. That attraction was his thorn in the flesh.
When he had surrendered to full-time Christian Service, his pastor had tried to talk him into going to Bible College. His argument was that they were better: a good, solid, Christian education without unnecessary exposure to liberalism and other heresies. He had considered it, looking up the suggestions on the web and doing the research carefully. But he had rejected that. He was going to a real college not a fake one, a place where you learned what you had always been taught and no real exposure to anything else. His mother had supported him in that decision and even seemed relieved that he had made it. Willingham was going to be a good compromise since it was a Baptist school, even if it was almost entirely secular. In fact, it was more than a good compromise. Willingham is a good school, very selective and rigorous academically with a very solid reputation. When he got accepted and the scholarship money started rolling in, he could almost feel her pride. Willingham had class. Willingham had prestige. Not only was her son going to college, he was going to a good college, not Georgia Military or Valdosta State. Without the scholarship money, there would have been no way for him to come here, not on what she made as an LPN.
But he was beginning to think it had been a mistake though. Part of it was social. He had tried the BSU and found them to be a group of cliques that he had no interest in trying to worm his way into. Worse than that was his class on the Old Testament. He had always been taught and had never questioned that the Bible was the inerrant, literal Word of God. From the very first day, the Professor had introduced them to new ideas about how the Bible had been written – the documentary hypothesis, the supplementary, the fragmentary – and new ideas about how the culture influenced what was there. The worse thing was that he was reading the Bible with new eyes for the first time and finding both less and more there than he had before. The Bible is a literary masterpiece to be sure and an invaluable historical document but not an unchanging, infallible and ultimate statement of absolute truth. That revelation was shaking him to the core and it was made worse by the fact that he really had no one to talk to about it.
Dylan got up on Sunday morning and got dressed in his blazer and caught the van for church. Last week, he had gone to the First Baptist because they sent a van to campus but had found it less than appealing. His church at home was plain, simple but alive. Beyond the fact that everyone knew everyone and there was real brotherhood and fellowship, there was the reality that there was a real spirit there. The First Baptist was large, monumental, rich, formal and dead. This week, he was trying another church, Vineville, because they too sent a van. Since he didn't have a car, he was limited to the van. It turned out that Vineville was more of the same, just on a slightly different scale, more modern but ultimately unfulfilling.
Cass had gone to his first lacrosse practice of the year on Sunday afternoon. Lacrosse wasn't a varsity sport, although there was talk that it might become one, but rather a club team that got some financial assistance from the university. But Cass had told him that most college lacrosse was club level and the club league was pretty good. Willingham had done well in the 5 years or so that they had fielded a team. Dylan knew nothing about lacrosse except that they played with sticks so he accepted it without much question or even real interest. But Cass came back from practice frustrated. They were trying to make him a long stick middle which he didn't want to do. A little later on in the evening, Dylan's TA from First Year Seminar came by the room to talk to Cass, to console him. Even though Dylan didn't really understand the issues involved, he did gather Alex's point. Cass, it seemed, had a choice: try to be a both ways middle and be a substitute this year or be a long stick middle and be a starter. Dylan tried to tell him to go for the starting job but Cass shot back that long stick was boring since it was totally defensive.
In FYS, they were discussing their reading assignment, which were some essays by Bertrand Russell. The logic of them was compelling even if Dylan didn't like the direction they led. The other thing he found compelling was Alex. How fair was it that one person could combine charisma, coolness, looks and brains all together in one package? The blond hair and sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks might lead one to believe that he was boyish, but Dylan was aware just as well of his rock hard body and what looked to be a sizable bulge in his crotch. He had to distract himself from those kinds of thoughts by participating in the discussion because he wasn't going to give in to temptation. The fact that Cass slept in his underwear was all ready enough temptation to drive him mad.
As the class was breaking up Wednesday afternoon, Alex signaled him. "Hey, dude, you're from Valdosta right?"
"Yeah" Dylan answered. They had actually had a brief discussion about that yesterday when Alex came around the dorm looking for Cass.
"I'm headed that way Friday if you need a lift. Coming back Sunday afternoon. Just let me know if you're interested."
"Yeah, I am but it's actually south of Valdosta in Twin Lakes, if you know where that is."
Alex smiled. "That near Lake Park? That's right before the Florida line."
"Yeah, but exit 5."
"Well cool then. That's exactly on my way or pretty close as long as you don't live too far off the interstate. I'm headed for this bumfuck, boondocks, piece of shit place in the middle of the fucking woods. I could use the company."
The weather was hot and bright Friday afternoon because early September in Georgia is still summer. The traffic was heavy on the interstate in Macon and stayed heavy all the way to Warner Robins. They rode in the Jeep with the top down and the wind in his hair felt good to Dylan. Alex drove fast, but was a good driver.
"So tell me," Alex shouted over the wind noise. "Exactly how smart are you?"
Dylan was surprised by the question and didn't know how to respond. It wasn't the first time somebody had asked him something similar and he didn't really like it. "Why do you ask?"
"I have this half-brother that goes to Lowndes and we were talking yesterday. He seems to think that you are some sort of genius, graduating third in your class, STAR student with nearly a perfect score on the SAT, Governors Honors, all that shit."
"Who's your brother?"
"Ian De Renne. He's a junior this year, I think. Maybe a sophomore, I'm not sure."
"I don't think I know him. Lowndes is a really big school, though." Dylan said.
"Yeah, you probably wouldn't `cause he is a big time stoner and serial fuck-up. But that doesn't answer the question of how smart you are."
"Can I just say that I am smart and leave it at that? Where did you go to high school?"
"Galloway my freshman year. I am the rare student who couldn't live by their rules," Alex grinned, looking over toward him. "Oh, you see, you're not from Atlanta so you don't get the joke. Galloway only has two rules: behave yourself and try. Well, actually there's a third, wear shoes. That one I could do. The other two were my problem. So then woodward, then westminster, finally North Atlanta. So I am the perfect student for the Dub: an underachieving prep school product."
Dylan was staring at the scenery. Those sound like expensive schools, he thought. "You must be rich," Dylan allowed himself to say out loud.
"Not me. My grandparents are. The Dub named the library after my grandfather, the Stafford Library, which is ironic because as far I as I know the fucker has never read an actual book in his life. All last year, I kept checking the Communist Manifesto out just so I could see the Stafford Library stamped on it. It was my birthday present to him over the summer. It really pissed him off. My mom was a lesbian hippy and she hated his fucking guts. I lived with him for all 4 years of high school so I get that."
"Why did you live with him?"
"My mom died when I was 13, brain cancer." Alex said, as he changed lanes to the right hand side to speed around a slowpoke in the middle lane.
"Sorry"
"Don't tell you had something to do with it. I liked her. I'll kick your ass," Alex grinned. "It's cool. She was a good mom, it just sucked, you know?"
They sped down the Interstate, usually topping out at about 85 or 90, making really good time. For the most part, they talked about Buddhism, since Alex had actually been raised Buddhist. Dylan thought it interesting and learned a bit, and was especially fascinated at how Alex dissected what he had been taught objectively, commenting on strengths and weaknesses of the religion. They also talked about lacrosse, which Alex was passionate about, a passion he shared with Cass. He promised to teach him how to play. It only took a shade over two hours to get to Lake Park, which is really fast from Macon, and they pulled off toward Twin Lakes. Dylan guided him around Long Pond, the centerpiece of Twin Lakes, to his house, which was a small, old house built in the 40's or 50's when this was a semi-fashionable vacation spot on the main route to Florida. They had a dock on the pond and the land was worth a bunch but the house was old and looked bedraggled. Dylan was sure that it made him look even poorer than he actually was. Getting out, he grabbed his clothes.
"You know how to get back?" Dylan asked him.
"Turn around and go the other way?" Alex asked, tapping his head with his finger. "Got a mind like a steel trap. Hey, give me your cell number, I'll call you Sunday to pick you up."
After trading numbers and Dylan thanking him, Alex left. The house was empty but it didn't stay that way. His younger brother and sister arrived from school, loud and boisterous. His brother, in particular, was annoyed to see him since that meant he had to share a room again. In just 3 weeks, he had gotten used to having his own room. His mom got home when her shift at the hospital ended at 7 pm. She was excited to see him, hugging him tightly and rocking him a little. She spent the evening spreading out the feast of the Prodigal for him and Dylan didn't stop her. He had been incredibly home sick anyway and home cooking tasted like ambrosia.
He really hadn't thought about it so he was surprised when he figured out that almost none of his high school friends were around. A few of last year's juniors were, now seniors of course, but they had plans of their own and, while they made it clear he was welcome, Dylan decided not to go. All of the rest were off in college. They had been best friends for years, had shared almost every secret except for the secret that Dylan shared with no one, but in less than 6 months all of that had evaporated. Everyone, including him, had moved on. So, he mostly just stuck around the house on Saturday, swimming in the pond and relaxing. Sunday, of course, was church. That felt good. Everyone there knew him and welcomed him warmly, making a bit of a show about him. Even the pastor acknowledged his presence from the pulpit, asking him to give the closing prayer, which is kind of an honor usually reserved for a Deacon or older man. On the way home, he reflected that if he could have just stayed in his safe little world at home he would never have questioned anything. But he had to get out and get an education, a real education, but he wasn't sure that he was any happier.
Alex called while they were on the way home from church to say that he would be there in about an hour. Dylan was actually excited about it. He thought he was beginning to forge a friendship with Alex, the first at college really, and he was glad. Alex actually pulled in to the drive about 35 minutes later unexpectedly. His mom insisted that he come in and eat with them which Alex seemed happy enough to do. The meal was a traditional Southern one: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, sliced tomatoes fresh from the garden, acre peas, and creamed corn.
"No chicken?" his mom asked when Alex loaded up on the vegetables. "You're a growing boy, eat up."
"Nah, this is great, way better than what I usually eat. I have to work out constantly or I'll get fat really easy. I spend a lot of miles on the road running."
"Well, I think both of you boys are just too skinny anyway. You need some meat on your bones," she said handing the plate of chicken toward him in the insistent Southern Mama way.
"Plus, I only eat meat twice a week. It's kind of a religious thing."
"He's Buddhist, Mama" I told her.
"Oh, well I don't know much about that. Is your roommate Buddhist, Dylan? He looks kind of Asian" she asked as Dylan winced.
Alex laughed. "I think his mom is. I don't think Cass has a particular interest in it. I knew his older brother a little bit last year and he was pretty, well not into religion let's say."
"He liked to party?"
"A little bit." Alex said.
"You're a runner?" Dylan asked, trying to change the subject.
"I play lacrosse, dummy." Alex smiled. "Lots of running."
"Dylan is a runner. He ran cross country in high school, came in second at State last year."
"I didn't know that but I've seen you out making the lap around the Dub. You get up earlier than me."
"The Dub?" Dylan's mother asked.
"Willingham, W, the Dub. It's a student nickname." Dylan explained to her.
"Speaking of which, we need to get going" Alex told him gently, but he was standing up as he did. "Thanks for the food, ma'am. Next time I drop him off, I'll budget more time to enjoy it."
His mother was all over him, kissing and making over him as he left. It embarrassed Dylan but he had no choice. His mother told Alex to drive safely. Surprisingly, he did drive safely, much calmer than on the way down, never going more than 9 miles above the speed limit. It gave them longer to talk. Alex was asking him about wanting to be a minister and, in particular, what he would want to do if that didn't work out.
"I don't know. A lawyer, probably."
"Standard Dub answer. Lots of little lawyers running around school."
"What about you? Kind of a stupid, but what's your major?" Dylan asked him.
Alex grinned broadly. "I am the problem student at the art school. Actually, my major is in jewelry design with a minor in painting. Kind of queer but, then again, I'm a total art fag."
The fag bit intrigued Dylan, piquing his interest. He felt a little bit of that interest in his groin. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, why do you think I'm your TA? MacMahon is an art professor and that's why he picked me. That and he wants to get in my pants."
"So you're gay?"
Alex shrugged indifferently. "Actually, I am bisexual. Or maybe omnisexual or just plain sexual. Let's just say that I like having sex with women but wouldn't want to have a long term relationship with one. If I settle down, it'll be with a guy. So, call it whatever you want."
"Wow," Dylan said. This put a new spin on it for him. Always before, he would be attracted to a guy, lots of guys really, but knew that they were unavailable. Here was a guy, a hot guy at that, announcing his availability. But there was something else he also wanted to know. "Was it hard to come out?"
"For me? Not really. My mom was basically a lesbian and she didn't care. My dad, I didn't grow up around him much but he is very left wing and let's say not into traditional morality. I have 8 brothers and sisters, with 5 total Mom's in there. Now my grandparents were a different story. I lived with them in high school and they are very right wing, reactionary pieces of shit but I hated them anyway so it's not like it cost me anything psychologically to piss on their parade. They just basically gave up on me anyway. My friends didn't give a shit either. You know one path to happiness is not caring what other people think about you"
"Wow" Dylan repeated himself. He wanted to say something more, wanted to scream out loud that he too was gay but fear held him back.
"Look I know that's not what you believe in. I wasn't trying to be insulting there at all. It's just that you asked and I'm not going to lie about who I am, you know? I am not ashamed of who I am. Now I've done some fucked up things that I'm ashamed of but I'm not ashamed of who I am. But basically, I don't believe what you believe. I think that everybody has a right to enjoy their own sexuality and what's the point of having a dick if you're not going to use it?"
"Yeah," Dylan replied, absently as he looked at the scenery passing them by, trying to process the conversation for himself. Wrong or not, he knew what he wanted.