Sexy Possessed Roommate (Planchette Playboys #1)

1. Pentagram Cuddles

Being the only out gay guy in my fraternity was a challenge; one that wasn’t without its rewards. There’s a sense of loneliness that comes with speaking your truth when so many around you can’t or won’t do the same, or just downright judge you for it. To further complicate things, I’m not exactly what you’d call a man’s man, either. Little did I know things were about to change in a big way—all culminating in me begging for more as a demon threatened to destroy everything, including my hole.

My frat brother and roomie, Stacio, would often joke that my ‘straightest’ quality was my undying love for all things scary. The real laugh, however, is that whenever we would watch a horror flick before bed or after a night out, this great big hulk of a man—all six feet, five inches, and two-hundred-twenty pounds of pure muscle—would wind up cowering under his covers. Sometimes, if it was a particularly long, lonely night—and especially one where a few too many drinks were had at any number of keggers up and down fraternity row—I’d end up under those covers with him.

Hey, now. Get your mind out of the gutter… Well, for now, anyway.

While these cozy movie nights could sometimes lead to what my housemates would refer to as ‘ bro cuddles’ —mainly my roommate pushing his Adonis-like body up against my much smaller frame, accidentally dangling his veiny arms around my shoulders, or even the seldom act of wrapping me into a bear hug while letting out the most effeminate scream I’ve ever heard from a man—there was nothing sexual about our relationship. I would say nothing romantic, too, but—well, that’s where things get confusing. I’m not saying Stacio isn’t straight, or even that he’s bi, bi-curious, or gay. It’s just—I don’t know. He’s part of a short list of self-identified straight men who seem drawn to me, intrigued by my openness, and perhaps even excited by my perceived sexual freedom. It’s like he has a straight guy man crush on me.

But before you get too excited, hold up.

As both a gay man and a horror junkie, there’s two tenets I live my life by (rules guided by both lived experience and seeing way too many scary movies): never fuck around with straight guys or Ouija boards. My fated attempts at courting straight (or ‘straight’) men in both high school and college only ended in disaster. Some great hook-ups, sure, but talk about heartbreak. The scary films where characters play with a planchette and talking board like they are party favors and summon otherworldly spirits that end up murdering them have influenced the latter of those principles. Well, that—and my own experience with them, technically.

The familiar and seductive scent of vanilla absolute and black pepper oil was enough for me to know that my roommate was home. “Man, Crispy, I am so beat,” Stacio wallowed, a low, masculine grunt escaping from his chest as I unlocked our shared suite and stepped inside.

I had just come back from the library. After a long study session—plus navigating through a circus of beer-bonging brothers preparing for a wild Thursday night downstairs—I couldn’t wait to just relax and unwind. “Hey, Stacio,” I replied as I stepped into the room.

“Gah,” my roommate began again, “can you believe everyone’s still doing Thirsty Thursday even after last night’s wild mixer with the Gammas?”

At first, it was hard for me to comprehend exactly what he was bitching about. Why? Well, instead of gallivanting around our shared space in a tight little white towel as per his usual routine after an evening shower, my handsome tease of a roommate was instead laying naked on his bed. His towel spread out underneath him, it looked as though he had just sprawled out to relax and forgot I’d be coming home so soon.

Anastacio Andrade was our university basketball team’s starting shooting guard, and as such he had the body to boot. Though he grew up two hours away from our sleepy American college town, he was full-blooded Afro-Brazilian and boasted a beautiful sepia skin tone. You see, there were—how should I put it— reasons I hadn’t fully banned him from my bed for bro cuddles, some of which included his defined jawline, lush lips, and perfectly faded crew cut. A few more were in sight tonight, such as his smooth and shapely pectoral muscles, his lean and defined core with four rippling abs pushing out just below his chest (the other two just barely visible because he liked to drink beer), a pair of just-muscular-enough arms that screamed “squeeze me,” and— my personal favorite until now —his perfect, perky reddish-brown nipples.

Tonight, however, those “squeeze me” arms were pinned to his stomach as his hands reached down between the ridges of his protruding hips to cover what I assume is the one part of his body he wasn’t purposefully trying to flaunt before me.

Holy fuck, I thought to myself. Did I just catch him jerking off? Did I actually just see his dick? My jaw understandably hung open for a few seconds before I snapped out of it. I tried to press rewind on my short-term memory without being obvious. “R-right?” I finally replied. “You’d think they’d all calm down, considering we’re hosting arguably the biggest Spirit Week party of the year tomorrow night.”

“Heh,” Stacio replied, his eyes meeting mine. I wondered if he had caught my eyes as they followed every curve of his beautiful Brazilian body. A goofy grin crossed his face as he looked down at himself and realized his position. “Sorry ‘bout that, Crispin. I was just laying here after my shower. Thought you might not be back ’til after eleven.”

“Well, guess we better not give the entire floor a show.” My face felt hot as I closed the door behind me. I dropped my books and backpack on my desk before kicking off my shoes and hanging my jacket up in my closet, then turned back to him as I made my way to my bed—a full mattress and bed frame positioned across the room from his.

As I maneuvered through my routine, I knew that Stacio’s eyes were on me. Making no effort to cover himself further or grab a pair of underwear from the dresser drawers under his bed, he shot me another one of his signature silly smirks. “Well, you want one, then?”

“Huh!?” I blurted out.

It felt like we were playing a game of chicken. You know, the one where guys take turns moving a hand up each other’s leg until one gets too nervous and calls it quits. Except he already had his dick out. Covered, but out.

“Just teasing, man,” the jock chuckled. “Don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The only thing uncomfortable is how tight the front of my pants are , I thought to myself as blood rushed between my legs.

I tried my best to look away—or at least appear to be looking away—when Stacio swung his legs over to the side of his bed and used his hands to pull himself to his feet. His impressive uncut cock flopped down against his low-hanging ball sack as he stood up. I ball-parked him to be at least six inches flaccid.

Like he sensed me thinking about it, Stacio looked down between his legs before making eye contact. “You didn’t invite that asshole Eddie Amber to tomorrow’s party, right?” he asked, turning around and bending over to pull open the top drawer of his dresser.

“No way,” I replied absentmindedly. Eddie was a homophobic prick on Stacio’s basketball team; the one guy across the entire campus that he didn’t get along with. I suspected it was because Eddie was gunning for Stacio’s starting position, but secretly hoped it was because of the crude anti-gay comments Eddie had made to me in passing.

“And you’re gonna let loose and have fun, too, right?”

From this position, I couldn’t help but to catch a glimpse of his behind. To my surprise, his ass protruded like a small shelf, each cheek smooth and perfectly sculpted. It was like he had two shapely apples below his back—and I so badly wanted to go bobbing for apples. Lucky me. I get a double feature, I thought to myself as I studied my new favorite part of Stacio.

“Crisp?” Stacio came again, pulling a pair of white briefs from his drawer and stepping into them.

“Oh, sorry,” I began, sensing a moment of blunt honesty coming on. “Your ass just distracted me. But, um, yes. I’m the Spirit Week party chair, so I’ll at least hang out for a while. Plus, as you know, the theme is spooky. Part of the reason I rushed this frat was because they make their Spirit Week celebration an extension of Halloween instead of capitalizing on that stupid school spirit bullshit.”

Stacio remained facing away as he pulled his underwear up, stopping momentarily as the elastic band snagged on his sculpted glute muscles. “ Didn’t think of you as much of an ass man. Since I pegged you as a bit of a size queen, I always figured you were more interested in what’s up front.”

My hard-on throbbed as I adjusted myself in my bed, trying not to make it obvious how turned on I was. “I, um—well…” The words I was searching for escaped me.

Stacio took his time, his big fingers slipping down into his briefs to flip the bunched up elastic band out. He slowly followed the full length of his underwear in a circle with either pointer finger until the band made a slapping sound against his lean thighs. Only then did he start inching the briefs up and over his cheeks. “Size queen is the right term, I suppose. But, I mean, your ass is—I mean, if a guy’s ass is nice and plump, that’s pretty hot, too. A lot of gay men, regardless of sexual position, enjoy eating ass.”

With one final snap of his waistband, Stacio tucked away all his goods and turned to face me. “Huh, what do they call that, then? Wait. I think I know this. Service bottom, right?”

Coming from a religious and sheltered upbringing, Stacio’s knowledge of gay culture never ceased to surprise. “Um, what?” I asked, surprised by his comment.

“You, I mean,” he continued, his mannerisms relaxed like he were having a casual conversation. He took a seat on the side of his bed, facing me as he fished out a pair of socks from the same drawer. “I, uh, met this cool DJ last night at the Gamma house last night. He’s not in Greek life, but we were just kickin’ it. He filled me in on all these gay terms. Told him you were my lil bro and everything. He called you that.”

In a matter of seconds, the arrow on an internal meter reader somewhere inside of me progressed rapidly from the words turned on , to really confused , to fucking jealous. Wait a second, another gay guy is moving in on MY fag stag? Also, how does this random DJ know anything about me!?

I blinked at a rapid pace, shaking my head as I tried to figure out what to even say first. “What?” I asked, quick to reign in my dramatic tone. “I mean, who?”

“Don’t think you know him,” answered Stacio, a smug expression crossing his face as he slid the socks over his feet. I couldn’t help but to study their size, impressed by how well-taken care of they were. “His name’s Dante. Dante, uh, something.”

I ran my hand through my hair as it flopped in my face. “And how’d he come to that conclusion, Mr. Andrade?”

“Well,” he began, crossing the room and snatching up the TV remote from the entertainment stand below our mounted flatscreen. “I told him about you. You know, five-foot-five, one-hundred and twenty-five pounds soaking wet. Um, what else was there? Blonde, no body hair, an affinity for jock straps. And— oh, yeah. Rumored to give great head from at least two other guys on frat row.”

The last little detail made me flustered. He must have picked that up from the rumor mill. And how does he know what kind of underwear I like to wear? My eyes darted across the room, searching for signs of what I perceived to be a secret. There was nothing. Leaning over my bed, I examined my dresser and noticed the hot pink straps belonging to one particular pair of my aforementioned jock straps.

Fortunately, it appeared my roommate was now distracted by flipping through channels. I watched as he stuck his hand in his underwear and scratched himself. It was the kind of mannerism that I presumed his very religious mother would’ve paddled him for. So straight, I thought to myself. But… so hot.

I pulled my underwear drawer open, stuffed the jock back in, and quickly slammed it shut. The sound was deafening.

“Already saw that cute pink one earlier, lil bro,” Stacio replied, his eyes still focused on the television. “I wear jocks on the court, you know.”

Well, at least he called it cute?

I huffed, deciding now was as good a time as any to get ready for bed before shuffling through the next drawer down and grabbing a pair of short, comfy sleep shorts. “So, does that make you a service bottom, too?” I asked, hopping up and pulling off my shirt and khakis. I slipped the shorts over my underwear—which, by the way, was not currently a jockstrap—before making my way to my desk.

Stacio sneered. “Who, me?”

I grabbed up my bathroom caddy, my lips curving into a smile as I caught him peeking at me. “Well,” I replied, “you’ve certainly got the ass for it.”

“Hey, now. I’m the ass guy around here,” Stacio shot back with a chuckle. “And even though I haven’t seen yours yet, I gotta say it looks like you’ve been keeping up with leg day yourself.”

I felt his fingers brush against my arm as I passed by him before ducking into the hallway. Once I made it to the bathroom, I had time to collect my thoughts. What’s up with him, anyway? I asked myself as I brushed my teeth.

Stacio was always someone I knew to be a friendly ally in my fraternity. We were randomly assigned as roommates in the house, but we instantly clicked as friends. I told him more than I told my best gay friend, Bridger. Sure, I had a small crush on him. But I wasn’t looking to waste my time on bi-curious or overly flirty straight guys, remember? Been there, done that, I thought to myself.

Even still, I would probably jump at the chance to fool around with Stacio. The thing is, I wasn’t sure if I could actually keep my emotions out of it.

“Crispin!” I turned to see Riley Donovan, the president of our fraternity. Tall, blonde hair, in shape, hairy chest—and, from what I could see now, a decent-looking cock. He was buck naked while shaving his face. It still surprised me how comfortable some of my brothers were with walking around in the nude. “Yo, excited for the party tomorrow. You are gonna love what me and some of the decorating committee did today. Some real spooky shit, man.”

I couldn’t respond, still waiting on my electric toothbrush to vibrate and remind me to move on to the next row of teeth. Riley seemed to get it—that, or he just enjoyed listening to himself talk. I was okay with it. “There’s actually this quiet little guy in my history class who did a report on all the wild shit that happened on frat row back in the day. You know, the real story behind our house ghosts. Uh, what do they call ‘em? The Big Delt Three. I even talked to him about it after class and got some of the juicy deets. Think the guy’s your friend, actually. Bridger, right?”

I spit out the remaining toothpaste in my mouth and switched my toothbrush off, a move partially motivated by my surprise. Wait a second, Riley actually pays attention in class? More importantly, Bridger spoke actual words to him!?

I immediately visualized my gay bestie—the textbook definition of a shy, nerdy twink—adjusting his thick-rimmed black frames and cowering behind the stack of notebooks in his hand like he usually did when confronted with social situations beyond hanging with me. If I had to describe Bridger to someone, I would tell them he was a total cutie that was both clueless of his sex appeal and too shy to function. That’s why Riley’s bathroom small talk caught me off-guard. “Bridger Sherman?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Riley nodded, now back over at his own sink and splashing water on his face. “Short, quiet, looks like he’s too young to be enrolled.”

“That’s him,” I said with a nod before rinsing off my toothbrush and setting it aside. “His father, uncle, and grandfather all were Big Delts, so he knows a lot about the history of this place.”

“Huh. He mentioned his dad, but that’s quite a legacy,” replied Riley, a dumbfounded look on his face as he made eye contact with me in the mirror. “Even though he’s not a freshman, I told him he should pledge. You should make sure he comes tomorrow.”

As I splashed my face with warm water and squirted a dollop of face wash on my fingers, I could hardly imagine what Bridger would be like at a party. Actually, scratch that. I could. And that’s why I’m chuckling, I thought to myself as I let out a muffled laugh. “Well, he’s a pretty shy guy, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome, Crisp!” Riley sounded as overenthusiastic as ever. “I’ll have to show him the cool ass inverted pentagram we put together. He’s gonna flip.”

Wait a second . A chill ran up my spine even as I mixed warm water with my sudsy facial cleanser. My party theme was supposed to be more cutesy, classy spooky vibes than occult. In fact, even as a horror movie fan, I often avoided occult-themed films either because they were too cliched or they just— well, hit a little close to home. “Did you just say penta?—”

“You faggots done hogging the hot water or what?” came a deep voice from the row of showers behind us. The gay slur combined with the gruff New Jersey accent was enough for both of us to recognize the voice as belonging to an asshole named Mateo Ricci. He was pretty much the only guy in the fraternity I adamantly avoided, and I knew his membership was on thin ice for several inappropriate comments he had made over the past semester.

Riley came to my defense in a way that warmed my heart. “Ricci, I know you ain’t using language like that in my fraternity. Crispin here already told us that word was off-limits to anyone who doesn’t identify as queer.”

As I listened for a response, all I could hear was a long sigh mixed in with the sound of running water.

“Hear that, Crispin?” Riley nudged me. “Guess Ricci might be the newest member of the LBGCTQ community. Look, I gotta go get dressed, but if he gives you any more trouble, just let me know.”

I cringed at Riley’s honest attempt to dunk on Mateo, but couldn’t fault him. The acronym thing was hard for most of my brothers, but they never purposefully mocked queer culture. I wonder what he thinks that C means, though. Cunty? Cute? Crispin?

Riley patted me on the back, and I nodded my head in response. “Sure thing, Ri. See you tomorrow.”

I hurried through my routine to avoid an awkward encounter with my showering brother. Dispensing a pea-sized amount of moisturizer on my fingertips, I pressed it into my face and savored the sensation of hydrated skin.

The sound of the shower turning off caught my attention. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Kramer?” Mateo’s voice echoed from behind me. “Bet you’d be the first in line to get this big Italian cock nice and hard. Probably be begging me to fucking drill you right here in the showers.”

What extreme detail, I thought to myself. His words were both hot and unsettling all at once. I knew that Mateo could be a pushover if pressured, but he outmatched me in both height and muscle mass, so I didn’t want to ever get into a fight with him. Could his homophobia be rooted in self-hatred? Maybe what he’s saying is what he actually fantasizes about.

“Heard you swallow from some old buddies at Sigma Nu,” he spoke again. “You wanna get back here and suck a nice load out before I finish toweling down?”

Sigma Nu? God, I thought to myself. One night of poor decisions and pale ale, and now everyone knows my business. “N-no way, asshole,” I was quick to reply. I moved fast to gather all of my toiletries into my caddy.

“Aw, what a shame,” replied Mateo. I heard the sound of his shower curtain being pulled back and the squeaking of his flip flops against the wet tile.

As though almost on cue, Stacio pushed the bathroom door open and stepped in. He moved to the nearest urinal while a towel-clad Mateo appeared from the row of showers behind us and took the sink to my right.

My lower lip quivered as Mateo’s eyes fell on me. How can a douchebag be so hot? I thought to myself. I glanced in his direction quickly before looking down. Mateo was indeed Italian—and the bulge in his towel seemed to suggest he wasn’t lying about being well-endowed. He had thick, short black hair, and the mane of chest and stomach hair that accented his fair-skinned, muscular body was enough to make any gay man scream for daddy.

Mateo pulled his towel off of his waist and draped it over a nearby sink before stretching and letting out a long, obnoxious yawn. I didn’t mean to look, but the monster between his legs was definitely living up to his words. “Andrade, you goin’ out tonight?” he asked my roommate.

I watched through the reflection in the mirror as Stacio shook his head no. “Not if you are, dick.”

“Very funny,” replied Mateo. “That’s what I was thinkin’ about giving to your femmy little roommate here.”

I heard Stacio’s underwear band flick again before he moved over to Mateo’s side and grabbed him by the throat. “Cut the jokes, man. Kramer here could do way better than you, you closet case.”

Holy fuck! I grabbed up my caddy and stepped back, my eyes wide and my mouth open. “St-Stacio…” I began, my hand reaching for my roommate’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” Mateo hissed. “Like who, you?”

Stacio shook his head in frustration, releasing Mateo from his grip and shoving him back. “Just chill, dude. You know if I go to Harlow again, you’re outta here.”

A smile met my lips as my roommate invoked the name of our university staff supervisor. Now, that man is the true definition of daddy, I thought to myself, picturing the buff, hunky forty-something alum who now acted in the mostly ceremonial role of house father for the Big Delts. Jason Harlow did, however, have the power to report and remove members from the fraternity if the president was in agreement.

“Riley was just saying the same thing,” I added to the conversation. “Guess you’ll just have to find another guy to blow you, Mateo. See you back in our room, Stacio.”

Turning to leave, I breathed a sigh of relief. That situation was all kinds of weird. Was Mateo just bating me? Or, rather, has he been masturbating about me giving him his first gay experience? Whatever. I’m getting out of here.

I had almost completely forgotten about Riley’s pentagram decoration for tomorrow’s party until I got back to my room. The tense soundtrack of a horror movie Stacio had put on was enough to stir the memory. With our fraternity’s history, it seems a little sketchy to go playing with occultist symbols, I thought to myself as I put away my bathroom caddy and got comfy in bed.

Stacio returned within a couple of minutes. “Crispin, I’m sorry about that back there. Mateo’s a total jerk.”