To the Mat - Pt 1
To the Mat -- Pt. 1, by Swimmboy4@aol.com
This story involves sexual contact between young males. If such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.
Sweat. Cody Fox loved the smell of sweat -- he reveled in it. Walking into the wrestling workout room in the campus athletic building, Cody always had the same reaction -- he would deeply inhale, savoring the body odor of his teammates, and then he would become semi-aroused, as his long penis began to stretch and twitch, pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, tenting them noticeably. And he didn't give a damn who saw it, for Cody was a man, and felt no shame in being a man, or letting others know he had a sex organ that was in working order. He was a junior on the Holden College team, and one of several stars on the squad. Coach Weber, one of the most successful wrestling coaches among Division II schools, had built the team in just five years from a so-so squad of wannabes into a powerhouse team that had won their divisional championships two years running. With seniors such as Mark Jamison in the 184 weight class, and Luke Collins at 165, the team was in good standing for the upcoming battles with the bigger boys. The heavyweight position was still tenuous, however, as Bryan "B-man" Bingham was still nursing a pulled shoulder muscle from an early September training accident. Cody was the anchor for the juniors, and he wrestled at the 174 weight class level. Joey Mangini, another top junior, was one of the smallest kids on the team, in the 133 class, but he was also one of the toughest.
The sophomore class was not lacking in talent, either. Jamie Knox was in the 125 weight group, and he was another tough wrestler, having been runner-up at divisionals the previous spring. Several other soph boys -- including Carter Jacks and Jeremy Gasconde, were highly ranked in pre-season standings. But the freshman class was perhaps Coach Weber's pride and joy. His recruiting had been phenomenal, and several kids who could easily have attended a Division I school, had instead opted for Holden College. Zach Crisswell was a Michigan state high school champion who had been offered a full ride at Ann Arbor, but he said the big UM campus just didn't `feel right', so he chose Holden, which was not that far from home anyhow, being located in northern Indiana. Josh Rettig was another standout freshman who would be strong in the 149 weight class. Then there was Bryan Carmichael.
Bryan wrestled in the 174 class, like Cody. He was strong, he was tough, and he was what Coach called a "technical" wrestler, meaning he knew the moves, the pins, the escapes. He wrestled as much with his mind as with his body. But where Cody was outgoing, Bryan was rather introverted. Cody's loud, boisterous, strapping personality was the opposite of Bryan's quiet, subdued, almost shy nature. On the mat, Bryan was fierce and determined, but off the mat, he was reserved, introspective. Since boys of the same weight class usually paired off in practice so they could get the "feel" of wrestling a guy of similar weight and stature -- as they would during meets -- it was only natural that Cody and Bryan would share a lot of time together during workouts, away trips, etc. Close, almost intimate friendships often formed between the young men who shared so much with one another, and so Cody expected the same relationship would develop between himself and "the new kid Bryan." When Cody had arrived on campus two years ago, he had been paired with Doug, a junior, who wrestled in the 165 class (also Cody's class as a freshman, before he'd packed on ten lean pounds of muscle). Cody and Doug had become inseparable, to the point where many mistook them as brothers. Grad school had taken Doug to the West Coast, and Cody found himself missing his `brother' more than he could have imagined. He wondered if it would be possible to build such a relationship with a new guy, this freshman kid named Bryan.
Bryan had blossomed as an athlete during his high school years in suburban St. Louis. He had attended a huge school of some 2,400 students. In a school that large, you could remain anonymous if you so chose. And, except for his membership on the wrestling squad, Bryan was, indeed, just another face in the crowd, though certainly a more handsome face than most. At 6'1", he was about average in height for an athlete, but his toned, muscular body attested to his prowess on the mat. Besides wrestling, he was an excellent swimmer, and had continued to swim on his community's summer league team through high school, both for the aerobic workout, and for the sheer joy of swimming, a sport he loved almost as much as wrestling. His brown hair would be bleached almost blond by the end of summer, and this caused him to be the victim of some razzing and teasing from his wrestling mates each September. In fact, it was normal for a couple of his athlete buds to show up at his summer meets, just to tease him about wearing a `skimpy little Speedo' in public. Bryan took their teasing good-naturedly, as was his way, and delighted in pointing out that the wrestling singlets they would don that fall were no more useful in covering their `manhood' than were his brief racing suits. But though he had a few close friends, Bryan had always felt rather shy and almost awkward in most public settings. At the few high school parties he attended, he spent most of the time sitting in a secluded corner, admiring the ease with which his teammates -- both swimmers and wrestlers (though usually not at the same party) -- mixed with the pretty girls, making small talk, getting them to laugh and giggle and nod their heads. Bryan, with one much older brother who'd left for college when he was only ten, had always felt almost like an only child, and he found it hard to make small talk with any of the few girls who took notice of the quiet guy in the corner. In fact, Bryan could count the number of serious dates he'd had on one hand, and he still blushed with embarrassment and perhaps a little anger when he remembered his fumbling, futile attempt to `score' with Samantha at the end-of-summer pool party just before his senior year of high school. His shy, nervous innocence had been obvious to her, and when things hadn't gone as planned, she spread word of his performance problem among various schoolmates, which naturally included his fellow wrestlers. His senior year had been painful, as friends hinted that he was `different', or `maybe not into girls,' and some long-time buddies seemed to pull away from him. This only reinforced his shyness, and the chance to start anew at a college hundreds of miles from home seemed like a godsend to him.
Thus, the quiet, Midwestern wrestler arrived at Holden College, only to be paired up with Cody Fox, a loud, flamboyant product of a boys' Catholic school in New Jersey. Cody was the life of every party, the taker of any dare, the first to break out the booze, and the first to pout and protest his innocence to any authority figure who might happen to catch him in some sort of indiscretion or another. His charm was legendary, and had aided him numerous times in escaping punishment for his less-than-stellar behavior. His laughter was infectious -- everyone, girls and guys, felt a strong attachment to him the minute they met him, and Bryan was no different. The boys would practice on one another daily, rehearsing moves, trying new techniques, working on pins and escapes and holds and all those things wrestlers mastered at practices day in and day out. As a junior, Cody lived off-campus, in an apartment he shared with two other wrestlers, while Bryan was forced into the dorms, as all freshmen were. The college had this rule -- freshmen students had to live on-campus their first year, though after that they were free to pursue housing of their choice. So Bryan was in a large dorm, and shared a room with another freshman, a kid named Edward Prescott III, a chemistry major from Pennsylvania. The two had been paired by Holden College's `magic matching' computer, though it seemed to Bryan they had nothing in common. Bryan was a jock -- a little shy maybe, but still a collegiate athlete, with a hard-muscled body, a barely-passing GPA, and membership on a D-2 wrestling team. Edward was a nerd -- there was simply no other way to put it, Bryan thought. The kid was smart but awkward, gangly and inept, nervous but nice -- all the things Bryan associated with the nerdy wallflower kids back in high school. How the hell had the computer matched them up? Bryan could not imagine, though he did learn they both liked dogs over cats -- aha, that MUST be it! They were a perfect match after all!
Edward was a straight-A student who came from a family of achievers -- his dad was a professor at a Penn State campus (though not THE Penn State campus -- a local branch, maybe it was Altoona? Allentown? Bryan couldn't remember), his mom a public school teacher, his older sister in grad school at Cornell studying Biology. Edward was a nice, polite kid, Bryan had to admit, but that first week sharing a room was not too pleasant. Bryan would make a mess -- Edward scolded him to clean it up. Bryan played his music too loud -- Edward asked him to turn it down. Bryan playfully tossed his flip-flops at their shared trash can, pretending to play hoops -- Edward got peeved when the can tipped and spilled its contents across the floor. Bryan found Edward to be too uptight, too annoying. But Bryan was at fault for causing most of the feelings of annoyance in their room. He would toss his books on Edward's neatly made bed when returning from class -- he never made his own bed. He spilled food crumbs and soda on the floor, which brought a mini-invasion of ants into their room -- in all, the two boys drove each other to near-madness with their petty bickering and fights. But it didn't bother Bryan too much -- he spent most of his time in class and in the gym. He was asleep for 90% of the time he was in his dorm room. And, it didn't bother Edward too much either, for you see, Edward had developed a hopeless crush on the bigger wrestler, and he would never push so hard as to drive Bryan to the RA in search of a room switch. The boys finally established a few ground rules, and found themselves able to set aside most differences and have an amicable dorm mate relationship by the end of their first month together.
Bryan's relationship with Cody had developed into a strong bond very quickly. The hours spent together allowed them to get the `feel' of each other -- to learn their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams and goals, their interests and concerns. Often, they would withdraw to a corner of the large gymnasium room reserved for the team, and work on their moves and holds alone for nearly the entire two-hour practice sessions. The head coach or an assistant would often stop by to give them some tips on strategy, or demonstrate a more correct grasp or arm-lock, but usually they wrestled one another on their own, drilling and struggling, twisting and turning, feinting, grabbing, holding and pinning for maybe ten to fifteen minutes at a time. Then they would take a short rest break, to discuss what worked or didn't, what an opponent might do to counter one move or another. Then their talk might stray into other areas -- personal life, school work, family problems, etc.
One day, about a month into school, during one of their breaks, Cody scooted over close to Bryan, wrapped his big arm around the freshman's shoulder, and said, "There are a few wrestling moves you need to know about that we haven't practiced or talked about. They involve the once or twice in your collegiate career when you will come up against a dirty wrestler." He took Bryan out onto the mat and proceeded to lie on the mat, positioning Bryan above him. "Now, Bry, in this position, you can probably pin me, but look how far apart your legs are. I can quickly move my knee upwards and, with my shin, ram your walnuts hard enough to mash them into something the size of two baby peas." He suddenly shot his leg up, too quickly for Bryan to react, and firmly but not too painfully, nudged Bryan's exposed genital area, causing the younger athlete to grunt in anguish, though more from the shock of what COULD have happened, than from any real pain. "You have to be on guard for moves like that, and be ready to take precautions," Cody explained. Bryan nodded, understanding the gravity of such a move by an opponent.
"Now, usually such a blatant move will be caught by the ref," continued Cody, "but there are sneakier things you have to watch out for. Back in high school, almost no wrestler would be caught dead making a grab or throw that required him to reach into his opponent's crotch -- your high school buds would call you a fag - but it's different in college. We've practiced a number of moves where it is perfectly legit to reach a hand between a dude's legs and use the advantage to bring him off-balance, or to toss him over your hip, or to lift him off the mat. You will experience such moves many times in your matches. But once in a while, your opponent might get a little overzealous, and really put a hurting squeeze on your favorite toy down there. Some refs see it, some don't. So be ready." Again, Bryan nodded knowingly.
"Another problem you might have, and I'm sure it happened in high school, too, is getting a woody during a match. Did it ever happen to you?" asked Cody. Brian shook his head in the affirmative. "Well, in college, it's worse -- guys will purposely TRY to get you hard, take your mind off your match. Often, when they do perform a crotch grab, they might quickly poke a finger into your ass crack, trying to get you worked up. But that is usually pretty obvious, so they won't try it often. But they will go for your perineum, and if they get a response from you, you're in big trouble."
"Um, what's my perineum?" asked Bryan, unfamiliar with the word.
"Oh, it's that real sensitive area between your ballsack and your ass. Here, let me demonstrate what I'm talking about," said Cody. Placing Bryan in position, he performed a maneuver where a crotch grab or lift might be expected, then, holding Bryan in place, began to massage the younger wrestler behind the scrotum, quickly bringing a two-fold response from Bryan -- he grunted in surprise and arousal, and his long shaft began to quickly harden and lengthen, though Cody had only touched him for a few seconds. Once released from the intimate hold, Bryan sank to his knees on the mat, inadvertently glancing down to where his gym shorts were tenting as the `tent pole' beneath them was raised. Following Bryan's gaze, Cody smiled and chuckled. "See what happens? See how easy it is for an unscrupulous foe to get you worked up?" said Cody. "Now, here you are, in a match in front of your team, his team, and maybe a hundred family, friends and fans, and you've got a boner in a tight, thin singlet that already shows way too much of your body's most private parts! Suddenly, all your focus is on trying to hide that big long schlong of yours from public view, but your opponent now seizes an opportunity. He's taken you out of the match, and focused your mind on something entirely different. He will lift you, stretch you, turn you to face the audience, all the while holding you in positions that put your family jewels on total display. He'll pull your singlet tight, force your legs apart -- anything to humiliate you, put you at his mercy. All the while, he may be sneaking a hand in -- rubbing you, give your dick a quick massage or stroke -- tormenting you, keeping you hard and exposed to view. Hell, some guys get so worked up, they start leaking dick drool, and in red singlets like the ones we wear, that's the kiss of death. The red fabric turns dark almost instantly, and you get a big wet spot right over your cock -- then, EVERYONE knows the score -- they know you are hard and leaking, that your opponent is not only dominating your body, he's also dominating your fuckin' dick. He makes you his bitch, then puts you on public display."
Cody's demonstrative rubbing of his privates had already worked poor Bryan into a total erection. Now, his lurid description of the sexual humiliation a fellow wrestler could perform on him had kept Bryan totally aroused, and indeed, had brought a small drop of precum to the tip of Bryan's penis. Fortunately, his dark blue practice shorts hid the evidence, the slightly darker wet spot not being very noticeable. Still, the intimate contact and frank discussion he'd had with Cody made Bryan realize that college wrestling would be a whole new ballgame from what he'd known in the past, and he appreciated Cody's honest warnings about the possible consequences of dealing with an unsavory foe on the mat. He would have to be on his guard, that was for sure. Bryan reached over and grasped Cody's hand in a warm handshake, thanking him for the lesson, and the warnings. Cody smiled, saying, "Hey, I'm just looking out for my freshman bro, you know?"
Walking back to his dorm after the day's practice, Bryan could not stop thinking about the "what ifs" he might face on the mat. As Cody had warned him: "No matter what the other guy does, keep your mind focused on YOUR moves, YOUR skills, YOUR strengths, YOUR abilities. Don't let the other guy get into your head. Stay focused." Good advice, thought Bryan, as he reached the door to his dormitory room. Entering the room, he found Edward, as usual, with his nose buried in a book. He smiled to himself, thinking how different the two of them were.
Edward was terribly shy, and wore baggy boxers to bed, though upon rising, he would immediately pull on jeans or sweatpants the moment his feet hit the floor. Bryan, on the other hand, felt no shyness in his own dorm room, and paraded around in colorful boxer-briefs, and occasionally tight white briefs. This proved a source of great torment to poor Edward, who watched in hidden awe as his muscular roomie strutted around in virtually nothing, his muscles and other bulges protruding in all the right places. Edward would watch Bryan out of the corner of his eye, quick to turn away if Bryan glanced at him, terrified the jock would realize the nerd was `checking him out.' But secretly, Bryan didn't mind at all -- in fact, he loved parading around the room in his briefs, showing off his athletic bod, of which he was justifiably proud, knowing Edward was looking at him slyly.
One night, about six weeks into the semester, Edward arrived at their room from the dining hall one evening, and was shocked to find Bryan in nothing more than the briefest little pair of white bikini briefs -- briefs much smaller and more revealing than any he usually wore. Edward tried to look away, but felt somehow mesmerized by the vision before him. At 6'1", Bryan was a walking wet dream -- at least to Edward. He had short, wavy brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a handsome face with dimples. His body was muscular, hard, with developed pecs, six-pack abs, arms and legs swollen with muscle and power. Edward couldn't help but notice the guy's large `package', snugly hugged by the small bikini that barely covered it, or the way the wrestler's smooth ass was cupped by the thin white fabric. The wrestler had a faint `treasure trail', that little line of hair running from his belly button down to his pubes. Edward had secretly admired that trail before, but now, with Bryan's small underwear, he actually got his first peek at the boy's pubes, where a few stray hairs curled temptingly over the top of his low waistband. Immediately, Edward was swept with a desire to strip the small bikini down Bryan's thighs, and unleash the large manhood beneath, just to see it, maybe to touch it, or to...
"Dude," said Bryan, "sorry I smell so bad! Wrestling practice was hard as hell, and the showers in the locker room were off for some maintenance," said Bryan. It was only then that Edward's sense of smell pushed his sense of sight aside, and he detected the musky scent of the jock. Instantly, Edward's body began to react, as the jock smell coalesced with the jock sight, forming an image of raw sex in Edward's mind. His cock began to harden, pushing against his boxers and his outer shorts. Afraid the athletic stud would notice the stirring in his pants, Edward coughed quickly and began speaking.
"Ahem, uh, why...why are you wearing those small briefs...I...I mean, did you run out of your regular underwear?" Edward asked, speaking slowly, awkwardly.
"Huh? Oh, have you been checking out my underwear, dude? How did you know these were new?" Bryan asked, starting to laugh. Seeing the look of sudden guilt and embarrassment on Edward's face, he explained. "Well, next week we have our first early-season tournament, sort of a warm-up for the coming year. It's the first time I've worn my singlet -- that's what they call the uniform we wrestlers wear, if you didn't know -- and I always wear bikini briefs underneath to hold my boys in place, sort of keep things down there under control," said Bryan. "Some guys go commando, but the material from the singlet is sort of itchy, and sometimes in a match, it can be rubbed and stretched against your cock and balls, and, well, things can start to stir down there, if you know what I mean! Some guys wear a jock, some regular briefs or even boxer-briefs, but I like the small, snug bikinis -- they tend to hold my stuff in place better. They're called `Elance', made by Jockey." Bryan reached into a drawer and pulled out another pair, tossing it to Edward for him to see. Then, with a flourish, Bryan reached his right hand between his strong thighs and cupped his male equipment in the briefs, smiling devilishly at Edward. "I just wanted to wear them a little, sort of break them in before I need them next week. It was just so warm in here, I didn't feel like putting anything on over them, but if a guy in a bikini freaks you out, I'll go ahead and get dressed."
"NO...I, um, mean, no, don't bother, it's OK, doesn't bother me, I hardly even noticed, it just was a surprise, that's all, you are usually in regular underwear, not something that skimp...uh, that small," Edward stuttered and stammered, finally forcing himself to look at the wall, his desk, anything but the nearly naked muscle god before him. "It doesn't bother me, really it doesn't," he said, still holding the small bikini in his shaking hand.
Bryan smiled, then grabbed a crumpled piece of paper and tossed it at the garbage can. The paper hit the edge, bounced off, and rolled under Edward's bed. Rolling his eyes, Edward knelt on the floor to reach under the bed and retrieve it, but Bryan, knowing how annoyed Edward got by his little games, rushed over and said, "I'll get it," as he tried to nudge the smaller youth aside. But in the kneeling position, Edward was off-balance, and the small nudge sent him toppling onto the floor, ticking him off even more. Now somewhat angry, Edward batted Bryan's hand away when the wrestler tried to help him up.
"Your dumb games always end up making a mess I need to clean up," Edward said sarcastically. Bryan just pursed his lips, but said nothing. But he was surprised when his roommate gave him a rather sharp shove, and sent the athlete stumbling backward a step or two.
"Dude, it's just one piece of paper," Bryan said, stepping back over next to Edward, who was once again on his knees. But now, with Bryan right next to him, Bryan's well-filled briefs were virtually in Edward's face, and the smaller boy could smell the jock's musky scent -- and could clearly see the outline of his manhood in the tight little underwear he wore. In frustration, he tried to shove Bryan again, but this time Bryan was ready, and easily deflected the slight blow, laughing playfully as he pushed Edward's skinny, flailing arm away, then used his bulky body to muscle his way next to Edward's bed to pick up the paper. "I'll clean up my big mess -- one piece of paper -- so you don't have to," said the wrestler. Now rather angry, Edward again shoved against Bryan, who was now on one knee, and the force pushed the bigger guy against the side of the bed -- hard. Another push, another shove, a nasty word here and there, and suddenly, the two boys were seriously struggling, arms locked around each other as each vied for control. The match was unfair from the start -- a thin, bookworm in baggy shorts and tee-shirt vs. a toned, muscled jock in briefs -- a wrestler with years of experience countering holds, grabs, and shoves. In moments, Edward was pinned to the carpet, totally helpless, as Bryan lay atop him, holding Edward's arms above his head with one hand, his thick legs easily immobilizing the thinner ones beneath, while with his free hand he teasingly, but softly, slapped Edward's cheek, taunting him by saying, "Dude, you really want to challenge ME? I'm the jock here -- I'm far stronger than you, tougher than you, more powerful than you. Do you really think you stand even a remote chance of beating me?"
Bryan was still smiling, seeing this all as a game -- two buds wrestling playfully. Edward continued to struggle beneath him, pushing his body upward in a futile attempt to roll the big jock away. As the battle continued, Bryan felt something hard pressing into his groin -- apparently Edward had something rigid in his pocket that was forcefully thrusting into his crotch area. Probably his cell phone, thought Bryan, until, glancing upward, his eye caught sight of the phone on the desk next to Edward's bed. "What is that long, hard...,." wondered Bryan, until he suddenly knew exactly what it was. Through his thin briefs, he could now feel the size and shape of the object -- even through the fabric of Edward's shorts -- that was pressing against his own genitals. And he could see it in Edward's face -- a face red and flushed, eyes beginning to tear, eyes that would not look into his own. And for some reason Bryan could not understand, the realization that Edward had a hard-on, apparently aroused by their close contact, caused a strange sensation in the wrestler's loins. A sudden surge of - what was it? Envy? Desire? Need? Bryan wasn't sure, but he quickly found himself growing hard in his small bikini as Edward continued to thrust helplessly against him. Suddenly embarrassed, and knowing that an erection would be completely visible in his briefs, Bryan quickly said matter-of-factly, "I win," reached under the bed and grabbed the paper, extricated himself from atop Edward, tossed the paper into the can, and hurried over to his own bed. Edward slowly stood up, a look of shame and humiliation on his face as he furtively tried to pull his shirt far enough down to cover the prominent bulge in his shorts. Quickly pulling on his sweatpants, sandals and a shirt, Bryan said, "I'm going out for a while," and fled from the room, leaving his beaten foe looking ashamed, guilty, and oddly sad -- even depressed.
"He knows," Edward's mind screamed. "Oh God, he knows. He felt my erection. He knows how I feel. He knows now."
Walking in the warm late-afternoon sun, Bryan was confused. "What just happened?" he asked himself. "Is Edward into...well, into guys? Is he into me?" Bryan pondered. But then, as he calmed, the wrestler realized he was over-analyzing things. "Shit, I've sprung boners plenty of times in both wrestling practice and in matches. And I wasn't `into' those guys -- it just happens! Dicks get hard sometimes, that's what they're supposed to do! It's no biggie -- hell, no big deal at all. I'm such a nutcase sometimes," he said, chuckling to himself. Hurrying back to his room, he found Edward writing something in longhand on a piece of paper -- probably some homework, the jock assumed. "Hey Edward," Bryan said, "Listen -- from now on, any mess I make, I will clean up. That's only fair. Let's go get some pizza -- my treat!" Edward looked up and smiled, though Bryan noticed it was a sad smile -- a look of loss and despair, hopelessness -- an expression he had never seen on Edward's face before.
"Um, thanks Bryan," Edward said quietly, "but I need to finish something here. You go on, enjoy your dinner. What time do you think you'll be back?"
"I guess about an hour, maybe a little more. Why do you ask?" Bryan said.
"Oh, I was just wondering. Good-bye, Bryan," Edward said, another brief, sad smile flickering across his face as he bent his head and returned to his writing. Bryan turned and left the room, shaking his head, a strange feeling in his heart.
As Bryan reached the sidewalk in front of their dorm, Edward signed his name at the bottom of the paper on which he had been writing. A tear fell onto the paper, slightly smearing the ink in the "w" of his name. Furiously, the boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then folded the paper and placed it on Bryan's pillow. As Bryan reached the end of the sidewalk and started to turn in the direction of his favorite pizza place, Edward slowly stripped naked, neatly folding his shirt, shorts and boxers and placing them at the foot of his bed. He reached down and picked up the small pair of bikini briefs Bryan had tossed to him earlier -- the pair he had dropped on the floor when the two began struggling. Lovingly, he pulled them gently up his thighs and snugly into place, relishing the thought of wearing Bryan's skimpy underwear -- briefs his hero had wrestled in, sweated and struggled and strained his mighty body in, perhaps even secreted his sexual emissions in. Edward's heart was pounding in his ears, and he could barely breath, as he imagined what it would have been like to have once -- just once - been able to hold Bryan in his arms in an act of love, to nuzzle his strong neck, to kiss his shoulder, to caress his muscular body, to softly kiss his lips and face, to even, to even... .
As Bryan reached the edge of campus and started to cross the street to the pizza parlor, Edward removed the tie cord from his bathrobe, pushed a chair into the corner of the room where an old steam or water pipe projected from beneath the ceiling tiles, and firmly tied one end to the pipe. Still standing on the chair, Edward began to tie the other end of the cord around his neck. Dodging traffic, Bryan reached the far side of the street, and pulled the door of Marco's Pizza Place open, habitually reaching toward his back pocket to retrieve his ...WALLET! "Damn it, I forgot my wallet! What an idiot I am!" thought Bryan. He quickly turned and left the restaurant, then remembered an ATM only a block away, and turned in that direction. But he had promised his folks he would only use his ATM card in an emergency. "Does my dumb forgetfulness qualify as an emergency?" he wondered, as he continued up the block toward the ATM. Then, another thought hit him -- "My ATM card is IN my wallet! Damn, when Cody flipped me in practice today, he must have jarred my brain loose!" Quickly walking back across the street, Bryan headed onto campus grounds in the direction of his dorm. "Man, I am dumb AND hungry," thought the wrestler, as something urged him to jog, not walk, back to his dorm. As Bryan began to jog, Edward finished knotting the cord around his throat, and took one last look around the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on the letter he had placed on Bryan's pillow. Then, choking back sobs and tears of anger, loneliness, and bitter frustration -- emotions that had been building in him since puberty, Edward angrily stepped off the chair into nothingness.