Freshers’ Ch. 01
N.B. ~ Hey guys, this is my first story, so if you have any comments, please feel free to leave them! I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer ~ Any likenesses to real people/places/events are purely coincidental.
The majestic beauty of the building was like nothing he’d ever seen. Well, other than when he’d visited for the open day, and again for the interviews. But walking past the porter’s lodge on that warm, October morning, the quad, and the sandstone college that surrounded it, were inexplicably awe-inspiring. The air was fresh. It was a fresh start.
Jason stood, his baggage by his side and saxophone case in his hand, in the middle of the Dewham College quadrangle, that rectangle of immaculately maintained grass that was the archetypal image of a college at Brookford University. The quaint university town, built on the river Brook in the 1100s, was littered with colleges ranging from fairly standard ones like Dewham, with about 400 students, to tiny ones, with less than 50, or huge ones, with up to a thousand. Some of the larger ones were very modern, while those like Dewham dated back hundreds of years.
Like any new student, Jason was standing still because he had no idea where to go. And the same applied to the 60 or so other students, each bearing bags of their own, either standing to admire the building or wondering around aimlessly. There was a large clock face on the side of the quad opposite the porter’s lodge – the main entrance – which, embossed with gold leaf in an ornate, floral pattern, clicked its heavy iron hands into place for 12 noon as Jason admired it.
The resulting 12 chimes were of a large bell, its peals soft and pure, yet penetrating. A D, if Jason wasn’t mistaken. On the third strike, the large wooden doors beneath the clock swung open, and a woman walked out. She wore flowing black robes, somewhat archaic, but tradition was one of the things Brookford prided itself on most. She stood atop the steps to the doorway behind her, surveying the crowd. The dean of the college, Professor Margret Birch, waited until the sound of the bell had subsided before speaking.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I welcome you to Dewham College, and congratulate you on attaining the necessary grades required to attend Brookford University, this reputed centre of academic study.” The students stood, silently, as she spoke. Only the rustle of wind in the trees beyond the college and the distant birdsong filled the brief gap in her address.
“I’m sure over the coming term I will grow to know you all personally, and look forward to the opportunity to watch you grow and mature as young adults. Your stay here is only a stepping stone to further life, further experience, further learning.” She smiled at those assembled, the expression softening the wrinkles across her aged but caring face. “But before we can learn to view your entire university experience as a stepping stone, we must appreciate the smaller leaps we must take. Thus, before we reconvene this evening, I would ask that you all find your rooms – the lodgings lists and maps can be found in the hall behind me. Make yourselves at home, introduce yourself to your roommates or neighbours, and I look forward to seeing you all again in the hall tonight.”
With that, she turned and disappeared into the building.
Jason grabbed his bags and entered the hall. It was mesmerising, like the quad, with three long mahogany tables running down the hall. The wall, floor and ceiling, in a typical Tudor style, were carved from a dark wood, the walls adorned with portraits of various students or tutors from antiquity. Light spilled in through the high, lead lined windows, lighting the room surprisingly well, and illuminating spiralling torrents of dust motes with each shaft. On the central table, several lists of students and their accommodation were fixed down with some sticky tape, and piles of maps were littered around them.
As soon as he found his name, he grabbed a map and left the hall through a door at the opposite end. This led to the college grounds proper, filled with an assortment of buildings of different styles. Jason made his way past a sleek, modern timber and glass library, a concrete science lab and an old, vine-clad concert hall towards a row of quaint town houses, incorporated into the college as it expanded. He double checked the map before entering the second house from the concert hall, climbing two flights of stairs and heading down a corridor. On his right was the door to a room, labelled ‘3F’. Where he would spend the next three years of his life. Sighing, not out of resignation but rather marking the end of his old life, he kicked open the door and entered.
Quinn lounged on the sofa lazily, listening to Rob whistling from the shower. Despite having only met him a few hours ago, he seemed like a decent enough roommate – charming, charismatic, and a nice butt to boot. His character was well suited to that of a young and budding politician, so it Halkalı travesti was no surprise he was studying PPE. He also seemed well off, sporting designed clothes and a deep surfer’s tan – an asset for which money to travel was a necessity in the UK.
In contrast, Quinn was a pauper. He lay, dressed in his best polo and shorts – both supermarket own brand – with his pale, freckled skin and close cropped ginger hair, resting after the flight and coach journey from Ireland. He liked to think his hair was styled after Tintin, to try to add a streak of suave French class, but his body was quite the opposite to his favourite comic book hero. Rather than the lean physique of Tintin (or Rob, for that matter), his broad shoulders, bulky arms and big hands made him a perfect candidate for both the rowing team and the rugby squad. He wasn’t going to lie to himself – that was probably the only reason he got in. He had applied for Geography, his favourite subject, at Brookford simply on the off-chance that he’d get an interview. Not only did that happen, but he was interviewed by a Geography tutor at Dewham who happened to be the head rugby coach. Quinn was by no means shining academically, but his ability on the field had been enough to get him through the gruelling application procedure – and he was the first of his family to ever reach higher education.
It was as he lay in that state of semi-consciousness, contemplating his luck at being enrolled in arguably the best university in Britain, when another boy fell into the room. He had kicked the door, which was unlocked and flimsy at the hinges. It had flown open, and the guy behind had tumbled onto the carpet, his bags crashing down on top of him.
“Gosh, are you alright?” Quinn asked, rising from the sofa to help, the Irish lilt clear in his voice.
The student looked up from beneath his suitcase. “I’ve been better.”
Quinn grinned widely, appreciating the underplayed humour, and hoisted the intruder to his feet. For a moment, he held him close to his chest, his strong hands clutching his arms. He was panting from the adrenaline of the sudden fall, and Quinn breathed deeply to get a taste of the fresh scent. Then, realising what he was doing, he sheepishly let go.
“I’m Quinn, fresher, reading from Geography. From Ireland,” he added, gesturing to his hair and freckled complexion, as if the new roommate hadn’t already guessed.
“Jason,” he smiled in return, “fresher, reading Maths. From England.” They both laughed gently at the joke, before reaching forward to shake hands with an over-the-top British gentleman vigour. They laughed even more, enjoying the brief immaturity of the moment after weeks of intense academic talks about higher education.
It was when they shook hands and Jason’s shirt had scuffed back that Quinn noticed the rainbow wristband that hung loose next to his hand. Gesturing, Quinn asked, “here for some batty jockeying?” They both chuckled again, a little softer than before – this was less immature, and more based in fact.
“You could say that,” Jason responded. “Call me a stereotype, but I applied to Dewham because of its left-wing reputation.” And by ‘left-wing,’ Quinn knew he meant gay.
“That makes three of us,” Quinn said, smirking. But Jason pulled a confused expression.
Quinn gestured over his shoulder to a door at the opposite end of the room to the exit to the corridor. “Rob, our other roommate, is having a shower.”
Nodding in understanding, Jason looked around the room, making Quinn give it another once-over. It was a rectangular communal living space, with a large sofa and a flat screen TV on the wall, with a desk at one end and a bookcase at the other. The desk was backed onto a window, which looked out over a neat lawn and small pond next to the college bar. One long side of the room held the TV and three doors, while the other had some shelves, the exit and the bathroom. Each of the other three doors was a bedroom.
“You’ve been lumped with the middle room, I’m afraid,” Quinn said, helping to gather the fallen bags, “so you’ll have to put up with snoring from both sides.”
“That’s quite alright,” Jason chortled, opening the door to his room. It was identical to the other two, with a single bed on one side, and a wardrobe, shelving and a sink on the other. Quinn lugged the bags in after him.
“What is this thing?” In addition to the suitcase and carry bag, Quinn carried a large, black case that was deceptively light for its size.
“My saxophone, thanks,” Jason responded as he relived Quinn of his load. Quinn smirked, then left him to get unpacked.
This new boy was quite a catch. Quinn had deemed himself lucky when he’d first met Rob that morning on the coach from the airport. But Jason was something else. He had a slight, slender frame, with a healthy neither pale nor tanned skin tone, and a carefully maintained sweep of sandy blond hair. It stopped just short of his dark blue eyes – they were nice, but nothing on Rob’s Levent travesti – and from the look of his arms, his body hair was minimal and transparent where it was present. He also carried an air of innocence – the fact he played a musical instrument, or studied Maths. He was the perfect nerd twink.
Just how Quinn liked them.
Rob stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound down on his shoulders. The heat rejuvenated his body, tired from his flight and subsequent coach journey. Despite the old appearance of the building, at least the bathroom was modern and working.
He admired himself in the ceiling height mirror opposite the shower cubicle, only faintly fogged from steam thanks to an extractor fan above his head. His swimmers build was characterised by his muscular shoulders, flat stomach and tight, round buttocks, every inch of it tanned following his two month holiday in southern Greece. A thread of blue string, bearing a single bead with a lucky eye painted on it, sat just above his ankle and served as a souvenir of the trip, but he also thought it was quite sexy. He ran his hand through his wet mop of dark brown hair, which would usually hang down to just above eye level – to just above his bright green eyes. They always tended to capture the heart of whoever he met in a bar on any given evening.
As he thought of his various encounters over the summer, he felt his cock twitch. Later, he thought. It’s the first night of freshers’ week. There’ll be plenty of opportunity for that later. His arm, still raised after ruffling his hair, exposed a clump of dark brown hair. Damn – he knew he’d forgotten something. He reached for the razor, and set upon removing the rogue tuft.
As Jason emerged from his room, he saw Quinn sitting with a girl on the sofa. No, two girls, the second shorter and obscured by his bulky frame. They smiled at him as he appeared.
“Hi!” squealed the first, rising to meet him and throwing her arms around him in a hug. Her dark hair cascaded down upon him, freshly washed and smelling of olive oil. Jason stood, a little shocked, and endured the embrace.
The girl pulled away, her brown eyes glinting. “Not even the slightest reciprocation?” She seemed to pout at the prospect. “And from a gay guy?”
Jason winced at the banding around of his sexuality, but realised that, here at least, it was a description – like he would call someone tall, or thin, or short haired, he was called gay. A simple fact of his being.
Smiling bashfully, Jason wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, rubbing her back a little.
“That’s better,” she said, eliciting a laugh from the two seated. “I’m Roxanna, but my friends call me Roxie.” She extended her hand, tanned and soft, and shook Jason’s excitedly. “Second year, classics, and I live next door. Spent the summer in Italy learning about pots!”
Jason laughed as the other girl got to her feet and approached. “Who wants to learn about pots?” she joked. “Jenna, her roommate, studying Maths.” She was Chinese, with short black hair and deep, dark eyes.
“Jason, also Maths,” Jason said, putting on his best socialising smile. Jenna’s hand was hurtling towards his before he knew what was happening, the ensuing slapping sound denoting her enthusiastic high-five.
“Nice to meet you, Jason,” the girls said in perfect sync, making them giggle.
Just then, Rob emerged, swaggering from the bathroom in nothing but a plain white jockstrap. Jason followed the other three sets of eyes that feasted upon the flesh on display. His skin had a perfect bronze tone, even across his bare backside, and glistened from the moisture left from his shower. His dark brown hair fell in ragged but calculated tufts over his forehead, leaving his green eyes to glint in the light. He knew he was the centre of attention, and nonchalantly saluted as he entered his room.
“Ladies,” he said, before adding, in a more sultry tone, “gentlemen.”
Jason both loved and hated him instantly. He was gorgeous, there was no question about it. But he knew it, and the arrogance, the brash dominance he carried was in such juxtaposition to his own timidity that he felt a deep rooted desire to dislike him. He felt like grabbing his face, kissing it and then smacking it into a wall. The others seemed to have no such reservations, continuing to stare silently as the round buttocks were obscured by the closing door.
“I’d tap that,” said Roxie. There were another few seconds of quiet, then they all burst out laughing.
Quinn stood against a pillar inside The Puffin, the Dewham bar and club. Music throbbed from the speakers behind the bar, where many students were ordering drinks from a volunteer second or third year. The vast majority of those at the venue were strutting their stuff on the dance floor, but a few were gathered outside on the lawn. Quinn was more than happy to stay alone, with only his pillar and a drink for company.
The dinner had been less Şirinevler travesti patronising than Quinn was expecting, with Professor Birch coming across like a kindly grandmother rather than a college dean. Plus, the food had been delicious – an improvement on the food at his old school, at least, though that wasn’t difficult. Then they were released, and most had come to the first party of freshers’ week. A few second and third years were dotted around, giving information on various societies. Quinn had already been to sign up for rugby and rowing, and that had been his social interaction for the evening. He was perfectly happy to stand, alone, sipping on a vodka and coke.
He didn’t really feel at home with this crowd. While he was in the same clothes he’d made the day’s gruelling journey in, almost everyone else had changed into specific party wear. Even Jason wore some slim fitting chinos and a t-shirt and cardigan combo. A few of the girls tottered around in high heels, drinking champagne. They could not be bigger stereotypes if they tried.
Still, Quinn was determined not to be disconcerted. He would be himself, and play rugby, maybe work if he could be bothered, and have a great time. Class had nothing to do with it. He caught another glimpse of that round butt in those slim chinos, headed for the bathroom.
Love. That was another thing he was hoping to achieve at university. And what better place to start looking than the first night of freshers’ week. He took a sip of his drink, savouring the burn in his throat after the brief fizz. What a terrible idea, love at first sight? It was a fallacy. He sipped again. But maybe, just maybe, Jason liked him back. It was worth a shot. Another sip. The mere concept was ridiculous, following him in would make him look like a creep after a hookup, not the gentle, hopeless romantic hunk he was. He downed the rest of his glass.
He would never know unless he tried.
Rob used his arm to support himself against the wall as he emptied his bladder into the urinal. His white tank top exposed his smooth arm pits and dark tan, while the tight black jeans covering his long legs would leave little to the imagination when he re-packaged himself.
To his right, some poor guy was vomiting into a toilet. Rob was glad he could hold his drink. He was swaying, and was having to support himself to endure his improbably long piss, but he had never once vomited from alcohol abuse. To be honest, he’d never really had a proper hangover either. He was invincible.
As his bladder finally emptied, he spied his roommate drying his hands by the sink. Not the Irish jock, the other one – the nerd. James, or Jordan, something like that. He was quite cute, if a little spindly. So Rob took it upon himself to walk up behind him, gently holding his shoulders as he leant in to whisper in his ear.
“How about you and I go use those toilets?” He winked, seeing the nerd – Jason, that was it – lock eyes with him in the mirror above the sink. They were a dark blue, like a deep sea, but they shivered with fear. Rob’s own eyes bore holes into Jason’s reflection, unrelenting in their impassioned gaze. He hoped the green, no matter how dilated his pupils were, would win his case.
Jason turned around beneath him so they were facing one another. Yet another easy win. It was as he was considering if he should bother with following through such an easy submission when the palm connected with his cheek. He was momentarily dazed, the stinging numbness unlike anything he’d experienced in years – on his face at least. Those blue eyes were now fixed with determination, as they both stood silently, the sound of retching from the cubicle the only noise over the dull throb of music from beyond the room.
Rob moved in for a kiss, their lips brushing. This tactic always broke even the hardest of catches, knocking them off guard. But once again, before he could get his tongue working, the same, cold, hard slap met his face. Agitated, Rob grabbed Jason by the scruff of his shirt and held him over the sink.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” They said at the same time, eyes locked. Jason shook and twisted, but Rob’s grip was relentless. Rob hungered for this sort of confrontation, and felt his rod throbbing as it grew to curve towards his hip, bulging in his tight trousers.
“Is everything alright?” Rob turned to see the jock, Quinn, in the doorway. Jason wriggled free and ran to join him, leaving Rob fruitless.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jason said, obviously relieved, and the two left hurriedly.
Damn. That could have gone better, Rob thought. Well, there was still the vomiting guy. He sat on the floor, curled around the toilet, but colour was beginning to return to his face. He probably still couldn’t stand, and would never remember anything. Not a challenge, but following the feistiness that Jason showed, maybe an easy picking would be the best move.
Rob stepped into the cubicle and locked the door.
“Thanks again for rescuing me from that creep!” Jason stumbled into the shared room, and Quinn closed the door behind them. “I mean, he actually had the nerve to kiss me. To kiss me!” slurring his words, he gesticulated wildly at his lips, hitting himself in the face in the process.