Key to My Heart -- Chapter Seven By Sean Reid Scott
NOTES TO THE READER
Please see the "Notes to the Reader" at the beginning of Chapter One if you have a desire to read a bunch of nonsensical, disclaimatory fine print.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AND SLEEP I DID. VERY HARD. As has become the norm, I awoke surrounded by Key's magnificent warm body--under me, on top of me, and around me.
Breakfast in the Dining Hall was fun. Key was bombarded by awestruck worshipers who just wanted to congratulate him on his win the night before. There were more requests for selfies than usual, and even a few peeps wanted his autograph. I beamed while he gratefully met his fans' needs. Oh to be the man Key liked to be with! It was me! I floated.
Greg was a no-show at breakfast; no surprise there. He had some `splainin' to do, that was for sure. He'd been my lifelong friend, basically, and at the first opportunity to jump ship, he abandoned me. I had no idea why, but I planned on finding out at the earliest opportunity.
"Dude, I'm just freaking out about how fucking jacked you are," one well-built guy gushed. "And last night... fuck... I was there, and holy shit it was just incredible to watch you show how strong you are too. I really couldn't believe it man. I mean... if I hadn't videoed it, I doubt my friends would believe it." The guy looked like he really wanted to be Key's friend. It was so hawt--and mind-blowing--to see this buff jock dude practically ask my man if they could be besties forever and ever.
Key engaged the guy--for longer than seemed necessary. And I'm sure that gave the dude all kinds of vibes that he was going to be Keyshawn F. Tanner's next best friend.
And Key was this way with everyone. He really was humble and grateful for all the accolades. I kinda wanted to get him alone, of course, but it was so damn amazing to see him mingle with the "natives" that I didn't mind at all delaying our "alone time." In fact, I knew that the next time Key and I were "together" in a private way, I would recount the faces and words of some of these envious dudes.
Thing was, the dudes were obviously envious of Key... but when they happened to glance my way (only--let me assure you--to note who the kid standing next to the Stud was, not because I stood out in any way, shape or form), they sometimes cocked their heads in a, He's with this kid? kind of look. But then they'd look at me and I'd see it: They were envious of me too! Jealous, really. Do you know how to process that? I had never had anyone look at me that way, in my life... like... they wanted to be my friend too, since I was Key's friend. It was something I couldn't really figure out... but I fucking loved the feeling. Key was my roommate (something every dude in the Dining Hall would have probably killed for) and he was my friend! Well, and he was my lover!
Stop gravity and find me a way to get to Luna. I was so fucking dizzy being with Key. I was definitely over the Moon. I was in danger of losing my ever-loving mind.
KEY AND I ACTUALLY SHARED one class together. It's actually one of the biggest classes at the University: General History and the Political Landscape of America. It's a requirement for everyone to attend at least two semesters during their tenure at the school. There are few times offered, and Key and I had scheduled the same time. Since it was required and everyone attended, it was held in the university's big Auditorium, which seats almost 2,000 people.
We walked through the Quad toward the auditorium, and I'm surprised we weren't late to class because of everyone stopping to get a piece of Key.
Being the studious students we both were, Key and I usually sat somewhere down toward the front, so we could see and hear the lecturer without much distraction.
That morning, the lecturer was Professor Jones; his scheduled topic was on how the current American political parties formed. I was prepared to begin a Bleak Mid-Winter nap, but when the prof lit up the big stage screen with a picture of a nearly naked Keyshawn Tanner and the whole room erupted, I decided to forego the sleep.
"Where did he get that?" I leaned in to Key to ask above the roar.
"That's from a contest I did last year," he said. "He probably got it off the `net." Key didn't seem phased at all that his physique was up there for everyone to see. Seated next to me, he was smiling wide while everyone cheered. I suppose if you're used to standing up on a bodybuilding stage, with just a minuscule amount of fabric covering (trying to cover... heh heh) your privates, you'd be okay with that kind of exposure--especially if you were built even half as good as Keyshawn Tanner. So yeah... if I were built like him, I'd be marching around campus like that all the time; I'd prolly not be waiting for a slide to pop up on a big screen.
It took the prof a few minutes to get everyone quiet. People close to where we sat were slapping Key on the shoulder, grinning, and offering compliments.
"Okay," the prof finally got control of the auditorium. "I guess most of you know who this is...." Another earthquake-worth of cheers. "And I suppose most of you know what happened last night at the The Irish Pub over in Flexboro...."
Screams of "Keyshawn! Keyshawn! Keyshawn!" took over the auditorium.
While the crowd cheered, the professor switched to another slide. It was of Key outside, by a pool... I assumed it was at his parent's place. I couldn't tell how current the picture was, but it couldn't have been too old. The picture was just sick--so fucking stunning!
Then the screen switched to another picture. Key was wearing a light blue posing thong. His hands were clasped behind his head and he was flexing his abs. Just holy fuuuuuuck.
The picture switched once again, this time Key was sitting, relaxed by the pool, smiling comfortably. Holy shit the man was beyond belief. So fucking muscular and so fucking hot! And this whole time, the entire crowd in the auditorium was cheering and yelling.
[A link to these pictures (the entire slideshow that the professor presented) is provided in the text of this chapter, down below a bit.}
Eventually the prof found Key (sitting next to me) seated in the third row of the big auditorium. "Keyshawn, can you come on up here?" he grinned, motioning to The Physique. The crowd screamed, encouraging him to comply.
Keyshawn got up, leaned down and kissed my forehead (which, I mean... come fucking on! What was I supposed to do with the rest of my life now?!?) and scooted down the row; he walked to the side of the stage and mounted the stairs, to screams of adulation. The man's body was earth-shattering in its size and definition--even fully clothed in that long-sleeved t-shirt! Admittedly, his shirt hugged him like it loved his body as much as I did. It left basically nothing to the imagination.
"Holy fu--fudge, Keyshawn," the prof practically fell all over the man when Key arrived next to him. And I suspect he would have fallen all over him if it weren't for the fact that Key was so tall... he stood an easy foot taller than the prof--and had like a hundred pounds of bulging, jacked muscle over the man too. "You are just.... Wow! What a... specimen you are!" the prof gushed.
The students were louder than the crowd at the bar last night; understandable since there were a lot more people here than had been there.
"Well, first of all... congratulations, man," the professor continued. "You definitely represented Collegiate University last night. Go Capers!" Our school mascot was the dumbest ever. We were named after Cape Cod, which was like, over 100 miles away... so there's that... and no one got it! Capers = people from Cape Cod? Everyone wondered if we were supposed to be those spice/seasoning things you add to meat when you cook it. It was downright embarrassing. Regardless, the students in the big room cheered themselves nearly hoarse.
Professor Jones offered Key the mic, and he took it. He lifted one hand, raising it (and that astonishing biceps--even in that long sleeve, it was staggering) to the throng of cheering Capers. "Thank you so much," he beamed. His bright white teeth and just-as-bright eyes nearly shut down the auditorium's spotlights. "I really appreciate all y'alls support, guys."
I guess Key had some Southern in his blood?
It was hard to hear everything that he said, for all the din in the room, but when he handed the mic back, Professor Jones was so open-mouth awestruck over the physique that stood close to him, he had to work to get out the next question: "I want to ask you... I mean, I don't want to put you on the spot or anything, but you have to get requests like this all the time... so maybe if you do it here, for all of us..." he motioned to the crowd, "you can check off the box for everyone at once, you know?" The prof cleared his throat and came right out with it. "Would you be opposed to taking off your shirt and giving us a few flexes of that physique of yours?"
As if everyone would be satisfied with just one look.
Key demurred for a moment, but when the crowd nearly started rioting, he complied. And once again, I was the recipient of Keyshawn's attention... as if it were him and me... like we were a thing. He looked at me standing in the third row (believe me, everyone was standing) and shrugged those Aircraft Carrier-sized shoulders with a, Whatcha-gonna-do? grin. He stepped to one side and started untucking his shirt, and if you thought the room had been loud before, you have no concept of sound.
Cat calls, whistles, girl's screams (you've seen those 1960s films of when the Beatles came to the U.S.? Think that), guy's hoots and hollers, (and I think I actually heard one of those air horns you usually only hear at sporting events. Who brings one of those to a history class?) and just plain cries and cussing spurt Key on (Oops, I meant spurred. Sorry). And he didn't have a problem with any of it.
If I didn't know him better, I'd be thinking I'd have to spend the next few days knocking down his hubris a few notches. But Key wasn't like that. Yeah, he was obviously enjoying this--as he should!--but I'd never yet seen any of the fawning, worshiping adulation that he got all the time go to his head. I truly didn't think this little spontaneous (thank you Professor Jones) riot of appreciation would do it either.
When he got his shirt above his head, and that serratus, rib cage, abdominal and pectoral magnificence filled the big screen behind the prof and him (yeah, they had a live camera, so everyone got to see a really crisp, good picture of what a Perfect Man looks like), the place actually kinda hushed in reverent adoration. The screen showed every finger-like serattus and rib line, all diagonally pointing across the front of those flared lats, downward toward his magnificent river-rock abdominal columns, down farther, to his low-hanging, too-big-in-the-waist-so-that-it-was-fucking-erotically-slung-almost-low-enough-to-hint-at-his-pubes, jeans... his hips were so narrow that there was a definite space between his belt line and the waist they were supposed to hug, but did not. He didn't wear a belt; his hip bones were the only thing (barely) holding up his pants.
I swear people fainted. I have no stats or documentation to support that, but my anecdotal experience would indicate that there was at least some serious light-headedness going on. And some serious sexual arousal--from all genders.
Anyway, the almost imperceptible pause in the thunderous roar of worship was immediately replaced by a sonic boom when Key finally maneuvered his shirt up and off his head. He let it gracefully (slow motion again; don't ask me how he did that) fall to the stage floor, and then he took a few steps toward the audience and stood right at the stage's edge, hit a most-muscular pose, and well... school was out for summer.
And it was only February.
I had never seen--or in any way experienced--anything like this.
Keyshawn transitioned from the most-muscular to a double-biceps. Then a side chest... hands-behind-head abdominal (which, if I'm not mistaken made the dude next to me cream his pants--he had all the signs), and a few more poses that showed off his upper body to perfection. Fuck, he knew how to display his assets.
There were screams for him to take off his pants, and I knew if he had done so, he would have been prepared; he always wore posers wherever he went. But he declined the taunts.
Professor Jones talked loudly into the mic: "You will all have to hit Keyshawn up for a personal posing session if you want to see his legs, I guess." I think it was meant to be some kind of a concession, to appease the crowd into letting Keyshawn be... but that idea backfired, because the roof nearly lifted off the auditorium at that suggestion.
Key, all coy and polite, waved and shook his head "no", but he was so fucking friendly that it wouldn't have been hard for someone to interpret his unassuming demeanor as an invitation to do just that: hit him up for a private showing.
Ha. I know I'm small, but no way in HELL was anyone going to get Key alone--at least not if I had anything to say about it... (and... well, only if I could watch, for sure).
Key shook the prof's hand, and the man took the opportunity to cop a feel of Key's Testament to Male Strength, his upper arm. Again with the deafening screams. And the camera zoomed in on the contact too. Key held still, allowing Professor Jones to move a hand--then both of them together--all over the lumps and mounds of his mammoth biceps and triceps.
But Keyshawn didn't want to overstay his welcome (as if that were even possible).
Yet the prof wasn't done. "Well, before you leave the stage, Keyshawn, we found a few pictures of you that we'd kinda like to put up on the screen, if that's okay. Maybe you could tell us a bit about some of these pictures?"
[DO YOU want to see the ENTIRE slideshow that the professor presented that morning? Well, you're in luck! CLICK HERE to see the whole thing. Most of the pictures he's going to show (below) are edited out of this chapter, so make sure to click so you can see all of them. There are some more suggestive pix, too! You won't want to miss it!]
The audience cheered its enthusiastic approval, and Key grinned. He nodded his okay, and the prof used his small remote to start flipping through a slideshow; the screen's live picture of them standing on the stage changed to a pic of Keyshawn.
The picture was just astounding. Key was by the pool, wearing only some kind of black pouch that looked like it was held up only by magic. He was so fucking muscular and ripped it took your breath away. The crowd understandably went berserk once again. Key just smiled and waved to the audience, saying nothing. I suppose the picture spoke for itself. Fucking fuck the man was just stunning. Beyond stunning.
The screen switched to a picture of Key wearing what looked like a work uniform. He was at a golf course. The prof said into the mic, "Look at that guy. Even fully clothed you can't hide that physique. Can you imagine having this dude come up to you and say, `Hey, I'll be your golf pro today....'?" The crowd cheered and laughed.
"That was some years ago... at one of my first jobs," Key said into the mic. "And no, I wasn't a golf pro. I just helped out on the course."
The guy next to me said softly, "I'd let that dude put a Hole in One inside me any day."
The next slide was inside a dark room.... The lighting was red and moody. Key was standing on a couch, wearing a posing thong, looking intimidating and mean.
"Where did you get this one?" Key laughed to the prof. "Oh fuck... this was at a frat party when I was a frosh. Halloween party. It was a fuckin' blast... but...." He looked a bit embarrassed. "Shit... I hope you don't have other pictures from that night!"
"Oh really?" the prof laughed. "What happened?"
"You don't want to know. I just hope...." He looked a bit nervous. "Fuck."
Everyone cheered and laughed.
The next picture was... well... the student body nearly started to riot. Key, by the pool, was actually naked! The bottom part (the important part) of the pic was cropped off though. But you could definitely see... holy fucking shit! He was standing, relaxed, wearing only a smile. I was beyond conscious--whatever that means. I just... couldn't. I swear people were taking off their clothes now. Keyshawn's body was downright astonishing. Never has there been a better-developed man. He belonged in an anatomy class. Yes, please.
For his part, on stage, Key was grinning and laughing, making like where the hell did you get that picture?
The prof answered Key's un-asked question: "Well, Keyshawn, all the pictures we have of you are from the net. Well... most of em. Okay? Let's just say we have some sources too."
You needed earplugs it was so loud.
The next picture was of Key looking hotter than snot in some sunglasses. His thong had a really long schlong in it. "Damn, prof You would show one of me getting a stiffy!" The students stomped their feet and screamed.
Next, we were treated to a pic of him grinning from ear-to-ear next to a pool. He looked a bit younger in this shot. I think he was naked again, but his hands were covering up things. "This was back when I was 17. My parents took me to Hawaii. I loved hanging around the pool."
The dude looked like that when he was freakin' seventeen?! How was that possible? The guy was a genitic wonder.
Then the coup de grace. I was fucking shocked that they'd even show this picture in public--let alone in a university class. Someone should report the professor... to like... the Dean of Students! (Yet for all I knew, Key's dad was the one who supplied the prof with this picture! I got the impression that the dean was drunk-proud of his son.) Key was in that dark frat room again... the lighting was the same, and it was pretty obviously the same night. But this one was decidedly NOT Safe For Work! Key was buck naked... and Stone-Hard Erect! Holy FUCK! The man's full-on-hard penis was enormous, of course, and it was so stiff that it was practically glued to his abdominals!
Of course the students were climbing the walls, cheering, yelling, clapping, practically rushing the stage.
Keyshawn dropped his head forward and covered his eyes with a hand. Yet beneath his hand you could see he was laughing. Evidently he had no problem with the entire student body--the entire world--seeing a picture of his naked muscle body, with his oversized cock all erect... and ready to... holy fuck!
"Halloween party again?" the prof asked.
Key took the mic back. "Yeah... shit, prof I thought all of these pictures had been taken down! Fuck, man!" He came across as kind of embarrassed, but his laughter gave away that he wasn't bothered by this in the least. He was genuinely having fun with all of this. I suppose if you were built like that, you wouldn't ever need to be embarrassed... about anything.
"I should probably apologize to those who might be offended by this," the prof said. "But seriously, guys, this is simply about anatomy, right? I might end up sending this pic to the biology department, you know?" He was laughing as he talked. "They could use this in class, right? A depiction of the perfect male."
I can't even tell you how loud everyone was. They were eating this up!
The next picture of Key was outside at the pool again--totally nude, again. And even though he wasn't vertically-erect this time, his semi was a sight to behold. With all those muscles just glaring at you, the picture was spectacular. Spank-bank-worthy times 100! Fuck me!
"Someone needs to put away their camera when they're a guest at your pool, huh Keywhawn?" the prof joked.
Key shook his head, grinning, while everyone laughed. "Well, I guess I've never been accused of being shy."
Then... a shocker. (Okay, another shocker.) My mouth dropped wide open. The entire audience audibly gasped as a picture of a naked Keyshawn filled the stage's big screen... but in this picture, Key was in a back yard again... and holy fucking fuck... he was kissing a dude! Another naked dude! A White guy... and shit me! They were pretty damn intense! Really going at it with a passionate kiss... with muscles all over hell!
The students' collective gasp actually caused a hush to fall over the room. But not for long. The silence was broken when some dude a few rows back from me blurted, "Holy fuuuuck!" And then some other guy, farther back, yelled, "How do I get to be that dude on the right?"
Well, that sent everyone present into the loudest tizzy yet. Which was saying something, since, like, I was practically deaf from all the noise. I swear, the decibel detector on my Apple Watch stopped sending me alerts, with one final message. "WARNING: IF YOU'RE NOT DEAF ALREADY, YOU SHOULD BE!" Something like that.
Key grabbed the mic and said, "Okay... well, in my defense, that dude was my boyfriend at the time. Okay?" he grinned.
And I wasn't even jealous. I mean, obviously Key had had many, many men. And of course not all of them would have been shallow, one-time hookups. Of course. We had only hinted to each other about our pasts, and I knew Key had had boyfriends before. How could he not. At the moment, jealousy was nowhere to be found in me. All I could feel was out-and-out lust. And just like that guy had blurted out, I wanted to be that dude!
Oh, wait... I already was! Key and I were definitely together.
In fact, from the stage, Key met my eyes and lipped, "Sorry," to me. And I melted. The man was everything.
I know for certain that many guys and girls there were fantasizing about being that other guy in the pic. Key's physique was so fucking ripped, so big, and so sexy.... The prof should have had a couple of ambulances on standby at this class--like they do at pro football games and shit. People were gonna need medical attention.
Key told me later that this pic had to be leaked by his dad. The dean was the one who took the picture on his phone. And although he'd sent the pic to Key right after he took it, Key said his dad never actually told him he'd deleted it.
"Oh, wow," Key said when the next two pictures showed.
"Could you explain these pictures for us please?" Professor Jones grinned.
"Well, back when I was in high school, I entered the Mr. Nude Dude contest in Boston. So, these are from then."
While the audience screamed, the prof asked, "So tell us, Keyshawn... did you win?"
Key laughed and nodded. "Prof," he joked, "I always win."
People were getting hoarse now they were yelling so loudly.
And even though Key was laughing at what he said, I don't think he was really joking. The man undoubtedly always won.
"Oh fuck. I don't know how you found this one. I had to send in an audition pic to get into the Mr. Nude Dude show," Key smiled when the next pic came up. The pic was just another in a long line of mind-bending pictures of Keyshawn. Naked, the man was a downright threat to public safety, I thought. People were renting their clothes. And with good reason. Key's big, steel-hard erection protruded up from his very ample ball sacs. The man was the fucking definition of virility and male brawn.
"I see," the prof said as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Um... well, I... I mean...." I don't know if the man actually said much after that... or if he did, if it was in any way coherent, because the cacophonous uproar made it impossible to tell. He was moving his lips, but....
"Okay, Keyshawn. Just two more pictures," the professor eventually said. The screen showed Key in a hands-behind-head-abdominal-flex pose again, and even though he was clothed in some kind of poser, or underwear thing, this one was mind-numbing. The amount of muscle and definition this man had was simply beyond incredible. Why was this man not on the cover of every friggin' magazine and newspaper... website... whatever... in the world?
"This one was actually done by a professional photographer" Key said. "He digitized it and shit. I really like this one. I made some posters of it and I think a lot of dudes have this hanging in their room... for, well... you know... when you need some Alone Time, I guess," he grinned bigger than that ol' Cheshire Cat you've heard tell-of.
The place was rocking from side to side now. Two guys next to me stood shoulder-to-shoulder and they were both mimicking the jack-off motion with their fists in front of their crotches... up and down, in and out. I'm pretty sure I even saw a couple of other dudes embracing and kissing the fuck out of each other, grinding their crotches against each other while they made out.
The prof said into the mic, "As a matter of fact, we ordered a big supply of these posters and they'll be available to purchase at a table outside in the foyer after class." I knew they'd sell out in five minutes. Keyshawn needed to make sure he got a cut from the profits, that was for sure.
The last pic was a nude pose again. Fuck it was astounding. Breathtaking. Keyshawn was relaxed, and erect. The man was endowed to say the least. There wasn't a small part to this man (except--as I can't stop noting--that waist and those sexy, narrow hips). Keyshawn was, once again, by a pool, looking at the camera with a sly, proud, but almost mischievous smile... very suggestive, obviously. Well, with that boner hanging on him like that, what else could the picture be but suggestive?!
The professor took the mic back and yelled something into it--trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd--but his voice was so loud and distorted you couldn't understand what he said. But the people in the room ate it up anyway, cheering and practically fighting each other they were so out of their minds. It was pandemonium. Total truth right there.
Professor Jones shook Key's hand and thanked him for being a good sport. (And btw, Key was still shirtless.)
Key thanked the prof one more time, waved his thanks to the crowd again, then proceeded to tip everyone over the edge, into a collective orgasm, by hitting a double biceps pose that, if digitized, could have sold for a billion dollars if Key was into those NFT things. When he was satisfied that his muscles had rendered everyone about 50 IQ points lower, he grinned, then yelled, "Go Capers!" He bent down and picked up his shirt. He walked to the side of the stage, waving while he took the steps down.
I had a feeling the campus infirmary was going to have a lot of visits for sore throats. And penile fractures. (They're a thing. Look it up.)
Interestingly, Key did not put his shirt back on before he left the stage.
That may have been a mistake, because when he got to the bottom of the stairs, hands everywhere reached out--as if he were Ringo Starr himself--to touch and get a once-in-a-lifetime-chance to experience what a real man felt like. Still, Key was polite, and let a few dudes feel him out: Arms and shoulders, his stupefying pecs, and even a few abdominal rubs. He had his shirt back on before he reached me in the row, if only for necessity's sake. He couldn't keep shirtless if he wanted to somehow exit the auditorium later. He hugged me with those immense arms, grinning.
After the audience finally settled down and took their seats, the prof joked, "Well, I have a feeling we might need to ask Keyshawn to come up here before every lecture... might increase attendance anyway!"
Everyone loved that comment.
"Seriously though," he added, "I have no idea how to segue into American politics after that. Please bear with me, okay?" The camera showed a sweaty forehead, and the man truly did look a bit disoriented.
[AGAIN: DO YOU want to see the ENTIRE slideshow that the professor presented that morning? CLICK HERE to see the whole thing. Most of the pictures he showed (above) were edited out of this chapter, so make sure to click so you can see all of them. There are some more suggestive pix, too! You won't want to miss it!]
THE AFTERNOON WAS WIDE OPEN as far as my schedule, so while Key went to a basket-weaving class (or some such thing) I headed for the library. It was one of the regular times Greg and I met up there.
If he wasn't there, I was planning on going to his dorm. Like I said, there needed to be talking.
He was indeed at our regular table. I sat down across from him. I didn't say anything. Greg didn't look well; not sick, mind you... just... depressed? maybe angry? what he was feeling ended up being ticked off--mostly at himself. And okay, a little at me.
He looked up from his laptop screen. His scowl turned to a more benign resignation. "Sup?" he eventually asked me.
I paused before answering. I was kinda pissed at him, and I wanted him to know it. "You tell me."
He closed his laptop and drew in a deep, long-sigh breath. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. But fuck, Ol. I felt like you just dumped me--like our friendship--our not unsubstantial friendship of many years--meant squat to you once you fell in love with Mr. Muscles."
I squinted at him. Really? I can be an introspective guy; I don't automatically dismiss criticism when I get it. I try not to take it personally, and I try to accurately weigh any criticism to see if it's valid. Had I dumped my best friend, in favor of love? Well, okay... maybe not love, but lust for fucking sure. I pursed my lips. I was gonna need a few. I didn't want to just agree with him and become all submissive. But I didn't want to dismiss his feelings either. (Maybe instead of Medieval History I should have explored Counseling?)
My turn to sigh. "Thanks for being honest about your feelings. And thanks for the apology. But let me assure you, any dumpage on my part was not on purpose. Definitely inadvertent."
"Does Key get all hard when you use big words like that? 'inadvertent?' Because I'm pretty straight, and it does something to me, to be honest."
I laughed loudly. Unfortunately, I didn't command the same dominion over the library as did Keyshawn Tanner. I was shushed by at least three people.
I shook my head, smiling. "I guess I really did flip over the guy... and yes, I can see where I might have given off signals that I wanted to spend every single second of the rest of my life with the dude."
"At the expense of your best friend, no less," he said.
I nodded. "And I truly am sorry." Wasn't this supposed to be me getting all angry at him? My approach needed work, clearly. I regrouped: "But what was with that competition at the Irish Pub, man? It was like you turned into a Ferengi or something, and were trying to exercise the Ninth Rule of Acquisition against me or something."
"Just don't touch my ears."
I chuckled. And... that was the second reference he'd made to a sexual situation with me. (If you know--Star Trek--Deep Space Nine and TNG... and Ferengi's ears--you know.) "Greg, I'm not sure what to say... I mean... were you jealous? Are you jealous?"
"Fuckin' A, man. Bingo." He put a finger on his nose and pointed at me with his other hand.
"Really? Wow. Just wow man. I had no... I mean... you're blowing me away."
"I'm not saying I'm gay, dude. It's just that... the absence of your attention--and our always-on bond--made me realize how much I enjoy being with you."
What the fuck was he saying...? I sighed again. "Well, again. I'm sorry for all that. But I wish you would have just talked to me about it. Instead of conniving to take Key down like that. That was the shits, man. Did you have any idea what you were doing? I think Key would have survived just fine, but I would have been devastated if he lost."
"I know, I know. And I was totally out of line. I really am sorry. But I did try to talk to you. You were just too busy feeling out his biceps and who knows what other body parts."
I wanted to say, All of `em, but that would have been mean. Instead I gave him a sly smile.
We looked at each other, and it quickly became obvious that we'd just kissed and made up (figuratively; I was still gonna keep my eye on the guy though. Who knows if he was going through a period of self-discovery?).
Greg met up with us a little later, and he was his old self again. He apologized to Key (somewhat reservedly, but kudos for the effort, man), and we all tried to move forward.
THAT EVENING, KEY WANTED to take me out to dinner; he'd made reservations at a nice restaurant a town over. It indeed was nice, and I enjoyed every moment. Being with Key is like being with the President or something--without the Secret Service.
I was surprised that even some 20 minutes away from our little college hamlet, people recognized Key from his win at the The Irish Pub of Flexboro. Admittedly, some people didn't need his recent "fame" to just stop--mid-bite, literally--and ogle him. He was quite the physical specimen--the exemplification of the perfect (IMO) physique.
The restaurant was really cool. It was a high-end establishment that billed itself as serving "luxurious, healthy food for the fit man, and those who love him." So... healthy food, and all of the staff apparently had to be really in shape. They dressed the waiters and everyone in, well... not Chippendales garb actually, but often shirtless, or wearing no shirt, but with an open suit jacket so their six-pack abs were on display. And it was an obvious requirement of the job to have really delineated abs... and be buff.
The host seated us--a dude who although was really muscular and jacked, paled in comparison to my man. And you could see it in his face--the envy. I expect the staff here was always on the giving end of physical and good looks intimidation; they were to be envied by the regular guy-on-the-street. So having Key here was a new thing for them.
After the host dude left our table--his eyes lingering long on my man--I said to Key, "You picked this place just so you could drive the staff crazy, didn't you...." Obviously Key was ten times more buff and jacked than anyone there.
He looked over the top of his menu and said, "I wouldn't know what you're talking about."
I just smiled and shook my head.
Our waiter was a tall brown-haired guy who had just stepped off of a magazine page. Really gorgeous, with the obligatory abdominal rack and pectoral shelf to match. Yet again, the dude was in envy purgatory when it came to Keyshawn.
Life can be hard, you know? Other things can be hard to, though.
Anyway, after we ordered, we discussed the "Worship Service" we'd attended at the school auditorium that morning. Well, I was the one who brought it up. He wouldn't have mentioned it on his own. It was just his way to not dwell on his triumphs like that. He was always moving forward. He was always grateful and appreciative, but he was definitely not stuck on shit like that. He wanted to improve, no resting on the laurels of others' idolization (which, admittedly, he got a lot of... yet not nearly as much as he deserved, IMO).
The dinner was fantastic. Delicious. (The food wasn't bad either, as they say.)
One issue did arise when a guy who was with his girlfriend (I assumed) had had a bit too much to drink, and started to talk to Key. Let's just say he was not a "happy" drunk. The guy was buff, too. Very muscular. Obviously a frequent visitor to the gym.
But yeah, he was inebriated... and rude. He and his girl were actually sitting one table over from us, and he spoke up to Key during the meal. "Hey man, aren't you the dude who won that contest over in Flexboro last night?"
Keyshawn was polite, but we both could see that the guy was acting like a jerk. Key replied politely, but made it evident that since we were in the middle of our meal, he wasn't interested in starting up a convo.
"Yeah," the guy piped up, "big, buff dude took everyone else down a notch. I bet you're pretty hot stuff, huh?"
His girl was definitely embarrassed, although she looked like she'd had a bit too much as well.
"Or at least, you probably think you're pretty hot stuff, huh?" the jerk continued.
Key ignored him and encouraged me to do the same.
Didn't help. The guy continued: "I bet all those big muscles of yours are just for show though. You can't tell me you really beat a powerlifter, man. I think it was alllllll buuullllllll." He was slurring his words a lot. And he was getting louder. His girl tried to get him to quiet down... to no effect. The guy kept taunting Key.
Finally Key turned to the dude and said, "Excuse me, man, but we're trying to enjoy a nice evening together. Maybe we can talk some other time?" (Like when you're sober?)
The guy looked at me, then at Key, and his eyes brightened. "Oh, I get it. You're too busy with your boy-toy to talk with us lowlifes?" He looked to his girl and said, "Figures. Big muscles, but he puts his little dick inside other dudes! What a prick."
I was getting upset. Key saw that. He nodded to me, and cocked his head in a silent suggestion that I get up and hail the host or manager. I did so, and as I left I heard Key address the man. "Dude, you've had a bit much to drink. I offered to talk with you later, but now you're getting a bit aggressive."
"So...." the guy spat: "Big faggot can't handle a little criticism?"
Key used as much tact and diplomacy as he could, but when I returned with the host (who had enlisted the presence of a few of his staff) I was glad to help put a stop to this.
"Sir," the host said, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please."
Fortunately the guy settled down. His girlfriend was helpful in that. Still, he left under protest; it was a total scene, and I felt bad for Key.
"Fuck," Key said after everything settled down. "I'm so sorry Ollie."
"No worries," I said. "Not your fault. You can't help that you're beautiful," I joked.
He knew I was trying to make light of the situation. "You're the best. But I'm sorry anyway. I feel bad he put a wet rag on the evening. Not what I had in mind."
"Thanks," I said. "It's good. We'll make it good, okay?"
He got a sly twinkle in his eye. "Damn straight we will. When we get back to the dorm, I plan on making everything good for you." We made gaga eyes at each other.
The good thing was that the restaurant manager ended up comping our entire meal. He was lavish in his apology for the ordeal. He certainly didn't have to do that, and I got the idea he really appreciated Key's patronage of his place.
Key thanked him graciously, and promised we'd be back. Which we would. Aside from the jerk, the atmosphere was romantic and really nice; the food and service were excellent as well. The wait staff wasn't bad to look at either--especially when I knew I was going home with the man they all wished they could be.
We came out of the restaurant, and I had slipped my arm through Keyshawn's. It was pure love, and... so romantic. The heat of the man kept me warm on this dark, chilly, damp night.
But the dude who had gotten kicked out was ahead of us by a ways, being assisted to the parking lot by his girlfriend.... And he was loud and walking a bit erratically. You could hear him cussing and talking smack. And WTF? He had a glass of wine in his hand. Isn't that illegal? Restaurants can't give you a To Go glass of Merlot, can they? I wondered how he had gotten out of there with it.
Anyway, I stayed close to my bodyguard, and I felt entirely safe. There's nothing like a huge dude to make you feel taken care-of.
When we were almost to Key's car, Mr. Jerk startled me by slipping out from between two cars. His girl was trying to pull him back, but he was big, and she was small.
"You had that guy throw me out man?" the Jerk asserted, pointing his finger at Key.
"Dude, back off," Key took one step forward and closed the distance between them. Of course, Key had a half foot on the guy, at least, not to mention at least 75 pounds of pure muscle. A confrontation would not end well for the drunk. Even if he were completely sober, I had a distinct feeling that Key was not a man to be trifled with. You kinda got that vibe from the man, you know? Look up intimidating in the dictionary, and you'll see Keyshawn Tanner's picture. (I know, sorry... waaayyyy overused saying, but it was apt here.)
"Nothin' doin' faggot. You insulted me back there, and embarrassed Shayla, here." The A-hole pointed his thumb at his girl.
She kept pulling on him. To us she said, "I am so sorry. He's not usually like this."
I would hope not.
The dude hissed at her, "Shut up, cunt. You don't speak for me!"
Fuck. I know Key felt the same as me: We did not want to leave this woman alone with that guy. For a moment, Key and I just stood there. Yet it was obvious that Key was not inclined to settle disputes with physical force if he could help it.
But the idiot solved the conundrum for Key. He lurched forward and threw a punch at The Physique.
Bad idea.
Key grabbed the man's extended arm before it could land a punch. Granted, the guy would have probably missed entirely anyway he was so out of it. Key pulled him close, turned him around so he was facing away, twisted the dude's arm behind his back, locking it against Key's steel abs--to the point of eliciting a loud cry from the guy--leaned down close to the dude's ear, and said (rather convincingly, I thought): "Either you back down, or I'll take you down, man. Your choice." He tightened his squeeze on the guy, causing another whimpered grimace. And again, this guy was no slouch. If he had been sober he A) would have been smart enough not to start anything with Key in the first place, and 2) might have been a bit scary.
But not to Key, though. I knew that. "This is the only warning I'm gonna give you," my man said. "Step away--or deal with the consequences." With that, Key shoved the man into the back side of the closest car.
The dude fell against the trunk in a clumsy heap.
But unfortunately, for the guy, he did not heed Key's warning. He stood up, turned toward us again, tugged his shirt down, and launched himself at Keyshawn, arms flailing. Either the guy had no idea how to fight, or he was so drunk that he forgot what he knew.
Effortlessly, Key put the man into the same hold as before. But this time his brawny arms squeezed a bit harder. An agonizing yell came from the man, filling the parking lot while Key once again held the guy's arm behind his back. As soon as the agony of the guy's cry faded, the report of his arm snapping echoed through the dark parking lot. The sickening percussive sound was quickly eclipsed by the howl of the guy, as Keyshawn released him, and he fell to the ground, trying to protect his now useless limb.
Key and I stuck around till the cops arrived. His girl was mortified, and if I read my women right (which... who knows), I had doubts as to the future of that relationship. The guy was booked for assault and carted off to the drunk tank.
The cops had nothing but pure adoration and props for how Key handled the situation. (Of course, I fantasized that a couple of the cops actually spilled orgasms into their uniform pants while they assessed him--I mean, assessed the situation. You never know....)
Fortunately a number of bystanders had whipped out their phones when the ruckus started, and the video--as well as the witnesses--backed up Key's story to the letter, so he was in no danger of being accused of anything.
I, however, was definitely going to accuse him of staging the whole thing just so I'd get some more spank bank material. Truly, watching Key easily handle himself was pure sex. Fucky fudge on a stick. The man was a god.
Like I alluded, the cops were in awe of Key. I think guys who become cops are in to the power thing a bit. That's not a bad thing; we need law and order, IMO. But these guys' personalities seemed to automatically move toward power. And that was Key--with a capital "P".
One of the cops who showed up looked like he was on the bomb squad, or the SWAT team, or whatever. The dude was buff and jacked! He was an Alpha, for sure (that's what I was trying to say above. Cops are usually very Alpha). Anyway, he practically wet himself when he realized who he was dealing with in Key. (And we can all sympathize with those who wet themselves around Keyshawn Tanner, can we not?) So yeah... Key could checkmark the box "Take cop down a notch, just by being." Not that that was on his list. But he did it without even trying, you know?
There was even a cadet cop kid there, and I'm pretty sure he left the scene of the crime with a woody in his pants harder than the toy nightstick they'd issued him.
All in all, it had been a very good day with Keyshawn. Excessive (yet not nearly enough) adulation from his adoring student body fans; an apology from his (rather impotent) nemesis Greg; dinner out (with me!) at a really nice restaurant; catching the bad guy to keep the streets of Massachusetts safe for Truth, Justice and the American Way; and now... now we were driving back to the dorm for an endless night of... personal appreciation on my part.
I practically sat on his lap while he drove us home.
And next, it's time for the "climax" of the story, as it were: Chapter Eight.
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