Chapter 18 Handshake Rule-ette
I’m going to ask you four questions,” Matt said to William. “You’ll answer whether each one constitutes a handshake or not. If you answer ‘handshake’ even once, you win. If none of the situations involve a handshake, I win.”
William eyed Matt’s cock skeptically. “And what happens if you win?” he asked.
“First, we’ll pick up where my wet dream ended—without violating The Handshake Rule.
” Matt left the words hanging in the air while he gave his cock a slow stroke, squeezed out a drop of pre-cum.
He lazily stretched the drop into a silky thread that extended a couple inches from his slit before it broke.
“Don’t hold out on your Godmother, dahling. What else happens if you win?”
The ceiling fan above them creaked as it whirred, stirring the locker room’s warm, mildewy air.
“Fine,” Matt said, “you’ll also let Paul Olson interview for membership in the GM.”
William laughed dismissively. “Nice try with the pre-cum. It would take more than a spoonful of that sugar for me to swallow the medicine of Paul in the GM. He’s a total loner. No friends. Hygiene and grooming issues. Frankly, he seems like a head case.”
“Paul’s an odd duck,” Matt said. “I’ll give you that. His idea of sports is playing chess. He tells me he has one friend who comes to his room to play chess, so not total loner.”
Matt did not rebut the hygiene and grooming issues. They were minor but real enough. He had a plan for that.
William held up a hand. “Paul’s GM sponsor is Harley. Not you. How exactly did you come to know this kid so well?”
Matt squared his shoulders, ready for the coming rebuke. “I’ve hung out in the library with him several times in the last couple of wee—”
“WHAT?” William interrupted. “Don’t even pretend that you didn’t know that was against GM rules, Matthew!”
“People think he’s tutoring me,” Matt said.
“My point is that I know Paul pretty well now. And, yeah, he’s extremely introverted.
Socially awkward. The most literal thinker I’ve ever known.
This is a guy who doesn’t round up or down.
It is either ‘39’ or ‘41’—not ‘around 40.’ Never ‘around’ anything, trust me.
And if there’s any question about it, he’ll stop and count—or measure.
If I’d been telling him about Caleb’s Kraken tonight, he would not have accepted that its girth is more kielbasa than hot dog.
He’d want to know to the quarter inch. He plans to be a computer programmer.
I’m guessing precision is a good thing where that is concerned. ”
William crossed his arms. “You just agreed with me that the kid is WEIRD. We can’t risk it. And you’re not off the hook for the rules violation.”
Matt’s dick drooped. “There are things you don’t know about Paul,” he said.
“Such as?”
Matt shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell. I’m just asking you to greenlight the interview. Give him a shot. If, after you’ve heard him out, you still don’t want him in the GM, vote against him.”
“I don’t need to interview him to know that he’s not right for the GM.”
Matt sighed. He only had one card left to play. “Guess who stopped me for a chat last Friday morning outside the cafeteria?”
“Who?”
“Colton Langley. He threatened to come after my friends if I took that card to Adam. Paul is my friend. I can’t leave him vulnerable to Colton.”
William looked down at the crusty, linoleum floor. Grimaced. “We didn’t discuss what will happen if you lose this little game of yours,” he said. “If I win, you’ll break off all contact with Paul. You’ll also submit to whatever punishment the GM imposes for this grievous breach of the rules.”
“Fair enough,” Matt said. His dick came to life. “Okay, first question of Handshake Rule-ette. Two guys, hypothetically you and I, are in this room, sitting on one of these benches, kissing. We’re clothed. Just kissing. Handshake? Yes, or no?”
“No,” William said.
Matt nodded in agreement. “Second question. Same situation as before, the only difference being that while kissing you, I touch you on the face or neck. A caress. Does that caress change this to a handshake?”
William shook his head.
“Two questions down. Two to go.” Matt felt his erection flagging, so he fondled his balls a bit, raking his fingernails through the pubes. That did the trick.
William’s lips parted slightly. His eyes tracked Matt’s fingers.
“Third question,” Matt said. “Same situation. Kissing and minor caressing, except after a few minutes, we go to different corners of the room, remove our clothes, and jack ourselves off.”
William needed no time to consider his answer. “I believe if it’s solo, Christians refer to it as the ‘Sin of Onan.’”
William fanned the air away from his nose, looked skeptically at the corners of the room. “Practically speaking, since I’m one of the guys in this hypothetical, I prefer my Onanism in settings where my eyes aren’t watering.”
Matt smiled. “Just to clarify, your answer then is that since a handshake involves two guys, anything solo is not a handshake?”
William nodded. “No offense to your lovely dick, but I wouldn’t sit in some lonely corner of this room tugging my Willy even for sight of Caleb’s Kraken.”
“No offense taken.” Matt’s lips curled into a small half-smile.
He admired the slender, regal lines of William’s neck.
Its pale, almost translucent skin needed the attentions of a lover’s lips.
Matt would mark his conquest this night with a hickey that William would not easily be able to hide, a visual reminder that it was Matt’s hands that had pinned him in place while Matt’s lips gave him a vampire’s kiss.
“Final question,” Matt began.
William held up a finger. “As fascinating as this little game is, dahling, I feel we’re veering into the same wasteland where theologians quibble about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Could we speed this up a bit?”
“Sure. We can pause the game. Do you want to kiss?” Matt asked. “That’s safe, handshake-free territory, right?”
“It could be, if you weren’t naked.”
Matt grinned, played with his cock just for the hell of it.
He was nailing this seduction and loving every moment.
“Remember what you said when I greeted you earlier wearing this jock? Your objection was that Emily Post says we shouldn’t wear white clothes after Labor Day.
Your words, not mine. Ten minutes ago, you considered a jockstrap to be clothing. It is clothing still.”
“But your dick isn’t even in the jockstrap!”
“If I were wearing a sock with a hole in it and one of my toes was poking out of the hole, no one would say I wasn’t wearing a sock.” Matt teased more pre-cum from his cockhead, licked it from his finger.
William eyed Matt’s cock. “That’s a rather large toe you’ve got poking out of that sock is all I’m sayin.’”
“I’m still in a kissing mood,” Matt declared. He pointed to the towel he had placed on the nearby bench. “Take off your clothes. Wrap that towel around your waist.”
William crossed his arms, shook his big head.
His coal-black eyes narrowed. “No baiting and switching allowed. I played your little game and agreed that kissing-while-clothed is not a handshake. And, for the sake of argument, I’ll accept your hare-brained justification that your non-jockstrap jockstrap is clothing.
But—if I do what you’re asking and wrap that towel around my naked tush, at least one of us—me—will be naked.
And kissing-while-naked is a textbook handshake.
Thank you for playing. I win. And that means I don’t have to let your crazy friend interview for membership in the GM. ”
Matt smiled patiently, as if he were talking to a toddler. “Almost a billion people on this planet wear sarongs on a daily basis. Are you going to tell them that they aren’t clothed?”
William’s face went slack. His mouth hung open. A sarong, after all, is little more than a towel wrapped around one’s waist.
Matt smirked. “Now, hurry up and change into your sarong, dahling, because, based on your answers to the first two questions of Handshake Rule-ette, I can kiss you and caress you while I’m in this jock and you’re in a sarong—and it won’t be a handshake.”
William undressed—all while offering a running, fussy, commentary on his surroundings. The smells. The lack of hangers in the empty locker. Where were the shower sandals for his feet? Surely, he wasn’t expected to walk barefoot on that nasty linoleum floor!
“Tick, tock dahling,” Matt said.
Still, William dawdled. Still, he complained.
“How did you ever survive high school gym class?” Matt asked.
“Medical waiver. I took chorus instead.”
Finally, eventually, William stood swaddled in his towel/sarong.
Here in this masculine space infused with the testosterone and sweat of thousands of athletes, stood this chicken-legged, pale, raven-haired boy with a head too big for his bony frame.
He stood awkwardly, his skinny arms folded across his chest, long fingers covering his nipples as though he were a maiden and not a twenty-year-old libertine.
Here, stripped of his haughtiness, humbled by the ghosts of all the knuckle-dragging hetero mouth breathers who had scratched their hairy nuts in this room, he was no Godmother.
He was the cringing boy who had sought a doctor’s note to escape gym class.
And he was gorgeous. Not Adam-level, grown-up Christopher Robin gorgeous, but he made up the difference Tallulah Bankhead style.
Matt’s throat went dry, his chest drew tight with longing, and his cock swelled to near bursting, engorged as it was with blood that would normally be feeding his brain. He almost swooned, so smitten with lust was he.
“Come here,” Matt rasped.
William obeyed, tucked himself into Matt’s embrace.
Matt held William in his arms, slowly pivoting their bodies until William’s back was against the lockers. Matt held him there with the weight of his own body. Matt’s cock drooled against William’s sarong.