Scotty's in Charge

Going to university was my big break from my cosy, white middle-class, homophobic, small-town upbringing. I knew damned well that I was gay - hell! every rugby-playing redneck in high school kept reminding me of it . . .

Anyway, I applied to a big-city (big by New Zealand standards, that is!) university and was accepted on the basis of my academic prowess. I was also enrolled, for my first year, into student hostel accommodation.

The hostel itself wasn’t exactly a palace; more like a confusion of buildings that had grown up around a single large old house. This house had the large communal dining room and kitchen and it’s ground floor and boasted 9 study/bedrooms upstairs. These were all either double or single rooms for males only.

When I arrived with my parents and my boxes of books, clothes and other personal items, I noticed a game of volleyball going on on the lawn outside this central house. This was the height of the New Zealand summer and the guys who were playing set my pulses throbbing. Most of them were shirtless and were displaying their well-muscled sweat-drenched bodies for all and sundry. I lusted after such images of masculinity – and yet feared their arrogant swaggering, their ‘bloke-ish’ talk.

As I got out of the car and started to unload my possessions one of these demi-gods approached me. He was a stunning Maori guy, just over six foot tall with a body that just wouldn’t stop. Broad, muscular shoulders, pecs that could be used in a tutorial on tectonic plates, abs that appeared to be made of pressed metal and legs that must have run thousands of miles. He wore nothing but very tight red shorts that left very little to the imagination. He was dripping with sweat and approached me with a smile that would dazzle the crown jewels in London.

“Gidday,” he said, extending one of his huge paws for me to shake, “I’m Scotty. Y’wanna hand? Which room have they stuffed you in?”

I grinned back at him. “Name’s Neil – I’m in room nine evidently.”

“Ooh – the party room!” he replied laughingly. “Right next door to mine! I’ve gotta room all to myself – you have to share.”

We lugged all my gear upstairs and Scotty showed me my room. It was at the end of the C-shaped corridor that hugged the stairwell – and it was huge! There were actually four beds and four study desks but the Powers-That-Be had decided that four guys together in one room was just too much bad news – so they only ever had two guys sharing it. My roommate hadn’t arrived so Scotty hefted the suitcase onto one of the made-up beds and said, “You take this bed. You’ve got a closet right next to you, it’s handy to the window – and, hey! - I’m just through the wall behind the closet . . .”

He winked at me, slapped me on the shoulder and went downstairs to get more gear.

Within an hour my gear was all upstairs, my parents had left and I was left alone in my room to set everything up. I opened my suitcase first to get all my clothes sorted out and then opened my closet to start hanging things. 

An empty closet is not usually the most interesting of things. 

But this closet had certain features that could not be overlooked. 

Like sawdust on the floor.

And a four inch diameter hole in the back wall - about three feet up from the floor . . .

What the fuck . . . ?

I took a quick peep through the hole . . . There was Scotty, sitting at his desk, idly tapping away at his computer. 

He’d discarded the shorts I’d seen him in earlier and was now sitting naked in a director’s chair with one chocolate-brown leg thrown casually over the arm. While his right hand tapped away at the keyboard, his left idly groped his crotch – and what a crotch! His balls appeared to be size of hen’s eggs and he was slowly juggling them between his fingers. His slightly bloated dick – a fat hooded beauty at half-mast – lay across the top of his fingers and just seemed to be enjoying the ride. He was focussed intently on the screen but was grinning – almost leering; he was just kickin’ back and havin’ himself a good time!

I leapt away from that hole in a panic. Fuck! Every fantasy I’d ever wanked myself silly over was there on the other side of my closet! Nervously, I knelt down and peered through the hole again . . .

Scotty must’ve heard me. Instead of staring at the computer screen, he was now staring, grinning, directly at me.

Instead of idly juggling his balls, he was stroking his dick – and that dick was growing! I’d thought it was fat when I first saw it – but now it was pulsating its way to an enormity that I hadn’t thought possible . . .

“Hi!” barked a voice behind me.

I leapt out of the closet, slammed the door and whipped ‘round to discover a tall, lanky, bespectacled guy with a huge backpack and – what I came to realise was – a trombone case.

He leaned forward and grimaced at me.

“I’m Greg. I guess we’re roomies!”

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Greg – my roommate – turned out to be the ultimate nerd.

Not only he did he play the trombone, he played it in the Salvation Army band! He had a girlfriend named Melissa back in his home town of Waiporiti and he’d already planned his life; get his accountancy degree, go back to Taramura, get a partnership in his father’s accountancy business, marry Melissa and live dully ever after.

Meanwhile, I had a glory-hole in the back of my closet that lead directly to – well – glory!

At 6pm Greg flashed his overbite at me and barked – “Wo! I guess it’s chow time! Wanna eat?”

“Sure,” I replied.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The dining hall was crowded with excited first-year students. While standing in line to select our meals Greg told witty anecdotes of his life in Taramura.

I feigned interest while discreetly searching the tables for any sign of Scotty. The place was packed! But finally, during a story about the first time that Greg’s chicken had produced eggs, I spied Scotty. He was sitting at a table with what looked like the rest of the volleyball players from that morning. They were all laughing and relaxed – enjoying each others company.

As I kept staring at him, he suddenly switched his focus directly to me. He grinned in recognition, winked at me, then carried on his discussion with his fellow hunks.

“Do you think we’ve missed grace or is it up to the individual?” Greg’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.

“Eer, I’d say it’s individual choice.”

I collected my meal and looked around for a spare seat.

“Wa-hey!” barked Greg. “There’s two spare seats together up by the door! Let’s go, roomie!”

Greg barrelled his way down the noisy, chattering aisle to claim the spare seats and I reluctantly trailed after him. 

Until I met a barrier.

A strong, brown barrier.

“Spare seat here.”

Scotty.

The arm that had barred my way gently pushed me into a vacant seat.

Directly opposite Scotty.

“Cheers,” I replied. “Helluva crowd in here!”

Scotty leaned across the table towards me.

“I hear you like cock.”

“I . . . what?” I stammered.

He leaned back and said in a strong clear voice, “I said, I hope you like the new mailbox I put in your room. I like to post mail. You met these guys? Hey! Mitch! This is Neil!”

Scotty introduced me to the rest of the guys at the table. Most of them had rooms in the same central house that I was in. The talk amongst the group was hearty and convivial: classes, timetables, good local gyms . . .

Once Scotty had finished his meal he piled his plates onto his tray, hefted himself out of his seat and announced to the table at large that was heading for the gym and then to find himself “ . . . a damned good fuck for the night!”. 

The other guys howled with laughter.

“Neil!” he barked at me, a grin on his face. “Don’t forget to check your fuckin’ mailbox . . . Catch you dudes later!”

With that he sauntered off.

Mailbox.

I wolfed down the rest of meal, made vague promises to meet the rest of the guys at the pub over the road and raced back to my room.