Cloaked in Many Colors

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Sitting quietly, hands folded, pensive, apprehensive, sweating just enough to form a bead on my brow and upper lip, not to mention my nether parts, the nervousness pervaded my body, as I slowly re-read the document I held in my hands. For the life of me, I had no notion, inclination, or clue what brought me to this point in my academic career. My grades were excellent, I rarely cut classes; I made no effort to be a BMOC (Big Man on Campus); I just wanted to graduate and move on with life.

Racking my brain, seeking some malfeasance or mistake I'd made, I thought it might just be my participation in the Gay Rights Parade and demonstration two years before. No, I was fully dressed, unlike some others I saw that day. Perhaps it was this spring, when many of us participated in the "Naked Bike Ride" where I, along with all involved, were quite naked, our appendages dangling over bicycle seats or resting comfortably on them. I wouldn't say I would've been a candidate as a poster child for "Hung Boyfriend of the Year;" just the opposite I'd think. The university was pretty tolerant promoting and enforcing a "zero tolerance" policy against discrimination, so I discounted these two incidents.

Furrowing my brow, I continued to dredge the recesses of my mind, seeking a reason for the unreasonable. Suddenly it hit me! While in high school, I had an altercation with some big, red-neck, pencil-dick, homophobe, who decided to get pushy with the "little fag boy" in the physical education locker room. I'm only about five foot seven or so and weigh in around one hundred and thirty, but that big ape was over six feet tall and close to two hundred pounds; a muscular, strong, mean, mother-fucker- although a bit tender in the balls after I planted a size eight shoe in his crotch. He just doubled over, hands on his nuggets, moaning something awful!

Nah, that can't be it; that happened in high school and I'm beginning my senior year at the university, so that's old lunch. It's got to be something else, but what I've no idea. I'm really a very non-aggressive person and generally attempt to diffuse a situation and calm things down. I do have a bit of a stubborn streak however; I'll not tolerate a bully. God, I just hate screaming, threats, shouts of abuse; you know, that kind of shit, so I try to avoid those situations or put a stop to it.

Glancing down at the letter again, it clearly said to report for fall term a day early, before the official residence hall move-in day, and to report to the Director of Resident Life office at ten in the morning. I squirmed some more in my chair in the outer office. I've never been here before, in fact, I didn't even know there was such a person or persons. Hell, I rarely saw my resident hall director; the resident assistant (RA) handled everything on my floor.

My roommates during the past three years and I got along fine. They seemed comfortable with having a gay roommate and I was comfortable having straight roommates; besides, there was no competition for dates. No, I was one of those many who tried to stay in the background, blending into the crowd, someone who wouldn't be perceived as threat to anyone. So, why was I here?

The secretary looked up, smiled at me, and said pleasantly, "You may go in now, Peter." Here I am, a gay guy named `Peter;' I suppose it's better than `Dick.' Either way, I go by `PJ' for `Peter James Allenby.'

Entering the inner office, I noticed a number of people already present, including my RA and one other RA I recognized from the floor below ours. The other two gentlemen, including the one behind the desk, I didn't know. He smiled, invited me to sit down, and began the introductions.

"I'm Dr. Anderson, Director of Resident Life. I think you already know Jacob Pedersen your RA and Mary Beth Jackson, RA also. Jim Oslo, whom I don't think you know, will be your Hall Director this year."

Now I was perplexed, all of the big boys (and girl) here in one place- what the fuck did I do to merit all of this attention? Were they meeting with me in some sort of conclave in order to toss my ass out? I hoped not! Jake Pedersen, seeing the look of consternation on my face, quickly intervened in the conversation, "PJ, don't panic -- you're here on my recommendation because the University, not you, has the problem."

I suppose that was to relax me, give me a satisfied feeling; instead it only prompted a very hasty retort, "Well, if it's funding because of the cut-backs by those assholes in the Capital, they've come to the wrong bank -- I'm pretty short myself." Perhaps I did speak rather quickly, but I smiled when I finished. The rest of the assembled group chortled along with me, acknowledging the University's dire financial straits and realizing mine.

Dr. Anderson, re-entered the conversation, "No, PJ -- you prefer that to `Peter' don't you?" Before I could respond with even a snort, he continued. "It's not that we couldn't use some financial help, but our problem is more of a political one; more of a public relations problem that we need your help with and your residence hall director and the RA's have recommended I speak to you concerning it. According to them, you'd be a natural for handling the situation and, perhaps, get us off the hook."

"I'm told you are a very patient man, able to handle most difficult situations, and won't be bullied or tolerate one. In fact, I understand you can become rather determined, in a very quiet, deliberate, unobtrusive, very discreet manner. We need someone who thinks discretion is the better part of valor, so to speak, to do this little deed for us."

He certainly wasn't wrong there; I'd take just so much and then dig my heels in. I wasn't very big, but a person's strength isn't always physical. What he said would certainly give the average person a big head, but I felt no growth in my groin and I wasn't about to stuff a hand down in my crotch to find out.

"Do you know Zachery Samuel Erhardt?" Jim Oslo inquired.

Shaking my head slowly, "No," I responded, "should I?"

"If I told you his father is Bishop Samuel Erhardt, pastor of the Shining Light Gospel Crusade on radio and television, would you know him then?"

Again, shaking my head in the negative to Oslo's question and shrugging my shoulders, I answered, "I really don't go to church often. I find most of them don't accept my open gayness, although there's a couple here near campus that do. The others I think are pretty well populated with bigots and hypocrites."

What I didn't say was that when I did attend one of those "other" churches, there'd be at least one God-fearing, right-wing true believer, who, evidently forgetting or disregarding the preaching from the pulpit or hiding under the guise of the "true religious," wanted to haul me off to the men's restroom and fuck me stupid, but I refrained, thinking it just might offend their sensibility.

Oslo sighed a deep sigh and finally proposed, "How about if I said the kid who stands outside Bascom Hall ranting and raving about homosexuals and perverts and the coming damnation of them all?"

Him, I know, so I just smiled, "Yeah, I've seen him, but I pay him no mind. He's got the right to speak his mind and he's not bothering me with all of his talk."

The room grew uncomfortably quiet, the proverbial tomb on a dark night, and "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse" type silence. My eyes flicked across the faces of those gathered there, all staring at me, and the realization hit me like a bomb, more like a bucket of pig shit! Whatever the problem was, it involved this Zachery kid and me! I didn't think it was going to be good -- for me, that is.

I raised an eyebrow in an inquisitive manner, cast a side-ways glance at Jake Pedersen, who by now was doing a very thorough examination of the carpet beneath his feet, and then to the Hall Director, who like-wise seemed to be convinced there was something either wrong with the carpets or his shoes; both unwilling to face me, it would appear.

I stood and everyone, except me, inhaled deeply, evidently anticipating me to create a disturbance the likes of which would collapse the walls and blow the windows out, but instead, I just stretched, pushing my arms out, causing Dr. Anderson to quickly sit back tightly in his high back, leather chair. He certainly seems to be a bit jumpy or he's been poked in the nose one too many times. I had no intention of doing so, it just wasn't in my nature -- short sheet him perhaps, but not get any more physical than that.

So, I yawned and said quietly, "Why don't we just quit the bullshit and get to the nut-cutting before someone here suffers apoplexy and it won't be me, boys and girls."

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat saying, "O.K., we want him to be your roommate this semester."

There it was, in a nutshell, but the "why" was still forth coming, I hoped, so I offered, "Please continue."

Again, he cleared his throat, as if it would clean out the crap and make it easier for him to explain the "why" to me. "Zachery has had a number of roommates over the time he has been here. Each time, the roommate lasts anytime from one day to two months, that's the longest I think and he was a Fundamentalist also, but left anyway. It ends up Zachery gets a private room for the price of a double, which I find, frankly, ridiculous and poor use of our crowded housing situation. When we ask the roommates for a reason for them leaving, the answers are basically the same -- he drives them nuts with all of his Bible-thumping and railing against minority groups, specifically the LGBT community."

"Encourage him to transfer to another university," I suggested.

"We tried, only he insisted on staying here and his father did also."

"Put him in another dorm, one where there's some tough guys, like the football players," was my next tentative solution.

"I'm afraid that's also out of the question."

I smiled knowingly, thoughtfully, looked at Dr. Anderson, and asked, "How much money has his father donated to the University?"

There was a noticeable intake of air from all present except me, of such quantity one would fear asphyxiation from the lack of oxygen would occur. Apparently, this was a question they either didn't expect to be asked or, if asked, how to respond. A pregnant pause would best describe the atmosphere; the calm before the storm.

"Well?" I asked again. "I'm waiting for an answer, unless you'd rather approach someone else about becoming Zachery's roommate."

"A considerable amount," Dr. Anderson finally answered, "although I personally don't know how much. I do know he endows a chair in Religious Studies, provides a large endowment to the scholarship fund, and has spoiled the boy, his youngest by the way, terribly, giving in to his every wish and whim. Bishop Erhardt has high hopes of Zachery following in his footsteps, taking over the church someday, although he has two older sons in the ministry who could do so, and better I should think. I believe he sees Zachery as his "Joseph," you know the "Coat of Many Colors" type of son, destined to do great things and be the great hope of the family and the faith."

His response provided me with the answer I needed; not only politics but money as well -- a very dangerous but powerful combination. As we continued to visit, I learned Zachery never requested a different roommate; the requests for transfer always came from the other party. Zachery seemed quite adept at driving his roommates away and then having the double room all to himself. It would take a very strong-willed, determined person to withstand his activities and his intimidation to the point of seeking a transfer.

"We're prepared to refund your room and board payment to you if you decide to allow him to room with you for the semester. If it is successful, we will make the same arrangement for the next semester, your final I believe."

I suddenly became the determined and strong-willed person the group was seeking. For such a deal, I should pass up? I would not, could not, "Sam I am."

I nodded my acceptance, with one caveat, "Let me handle this my way and don't interfere."

When their eyebrows went up in doubt and concern, I raised my hand, "Don't worry, I won't hurt him or cause a scandal, but he won't get away with intimidating me or forcing me out."

All present nodded their approval, so I rose to leave, but paused at the doorway, turned to Dr. Anderson and said, "Please put your proposal in writing. I wouldn't want anyone to conveniently forget our discussion." There was no way in hell I was going to room with some stiff-necked religious homophobe and not be compensated for it in some means. It was their idea after all and they came to me, not vice-versa.

"When does he move in?"

"Tomorrow," was the collective answer, giving me twenty-four hours to prepare for a new roommate and a very interesting senior year.

Back in my room, I set about unpacking my own clothes and personal items and putting them in the dresser on my side of the room and made up the bed. The room wasn't all that big, but two beds, two dressers, two desks, and two closets for two guys pretty well described it, except for the two bulletin boards over each bed for whatever purpose you chose. They were there to discourage plastering posters and pictures all over the walls. I don't think they ever fully served the purpose when viewing walls in other dorm rooms.

I postponed putting up any pictures of family and friends, especially of the naked bike ride. I figured I could wait until after Zachery settled in since I assumed the Bishop would show up with him and really make a scene if he saw me standing naked, cock pointing north, ogling all of the other bare dicks flopping around on bicycle seats, although I was tempted to put up the picture of me standing alongside my bike at the end of the race. I was in my normal state of relaxation then, having ridden for quite some distance at that point in time and I was tired and so was it. I did put up my "Rainbow Pride" poster on the bulletin board, just to serve some sort of notice, so to speak.

That Zachery would appear with his father in tow was a foregone conclusion as far as I was concerned. It would happen for no other reason than to establish his bone fides as a true believer, preacher of the faith, defender of the justified, and missionary to the world, ridding it of the unjust, the non-salvable, the perversions of homosexual sodomizing acts committed by persons such as myself. Forget, "do unto others," "love thy neighbor," and the rest of the stuff they preached. After all, they were the most righteous and judges of the rest of mankind, especially if someone else's beliefs or actions differed with their view of the world. It should be an interesting beginning of the fall term, for both of us, I thought.

The next morning, after breakfast, a couple of friends and I decided to spend the day wandering State Street and lounging around Lake Mendota and campus in general. I needed a few things, so we took a city bus out to one of the outlying malls and a "big box" store. The trip and shopping took more time than we anticipated, so we decided to forego lounging around the Lake and spent the rest of the afternoon meandering up and down State Street. As supper time drew near, we decided to eat Chinese at one of the many small restaurants lining the street. The food is plentiful, delicious, and cheap.

It was after eight o'clock and growing dark when I finally made it back to my room. When entering, I was greeted by "Jesus Loves Me" and "Sodomy is a Sin" type of posters plastered all over the room, a pile of documents and pamphlets on my bed proclaiming the same, and my "Rainbow Pride" poster in the trash. Zachery wasn't in the room, although his clothes were on his bed. I thought he must be in the shower down the hall so I carefully, methodically removed the various placards from my side of the room and lay them carefully on top of his clothes on the bed. I put up my "Rainbow Pride" poster and retrieved from my dresser, the several framed pictures of my family and me, with some of my friends at the spring naked bike ride. I purposely put out the two of me; the one of me erect and the one of me at rest. I figured I may as well; naked as I was then, naked I'll probably be in his presence in the future.

I was sitting at my desk when he returned, wrapped up tightly in a terry-cloth bathrobe, unlike me who used a towel to cover my nether parts when walking down the hall to and from the shower. He wasn't at all what I expected; of course, I'd only seen him from a distance, dressed in black, waving a Bible in one hand, gesturing with the other as he extolled all passing by to give up their libidinous life styles, men fornicating with men, animals, toys, and whatever else he thought they used. He looked rather formidable at the time, from a distance that is. Up close, he presented a different picture. I guess I expected someone taller, bigger, a bit more sturdy so to speak, even athletic, but what entered the room was a dark haired, slightly built, ordinary looking guy, about my height and overall size -- not a bit formidable, actually kind of cute.

He stopped, looked at the posters on his bed, then at me, and asked with a strong, from the pulpit type voice, "What's with all of this? These are my posters and I put them up to remind me of my service to the Lord and announce to others they should seek the path of the righteous. I demand they be put back up!"

I looked him over, starting at his toes and progressing upward past his covered crotch and chest, until I came into full eye contact with him. "Please do," I said quietly, but with steel in my voice, "but on your side of the room. Just so we understand each other Zachery, I'm not about to put up with your bullshit -- clear? If they show up on my side of the room again, you'll not have to use toilet paper to wipe, you'll have a built-in supply."

Zachery seemed to be oblivious to my remarks or threat, instead focused on the picture of me with a hard-on standing beside my bicycle. Pointing at it, he railed, "That's an abomination!"

I looked at the picture and smiled, responding calmly, "Maybe to some, others might find it admirable. Granted it's not the biggest in the county, about average I should think, and compared to my friend in the other picture," pointing at one beside it, "it's rather diminutive, don't you think? However, it's mine and I enjoy having it."

Before he could continue with his verbal attack, I spoke a bit louder, "You have one too, I assume. Are you ashamed of it? I'm not of mine, so lighten up, Zach baby."

"That's sinful," he sputtered fixing on the picture of me and my stiffness, "and ..."

Again I interrupted. "Now, let's get something straight Zach; I'm gay -- have been, will be, and won't be changing anytime soon. If you harass me concerning my sexual orientation, then I'll report you and you'll be the one transferred, not me- that's University policy - can't have intolerance and discrimination -- that's a no, no -- at the University. About the only rooms left on campus are over on the football floor of the athletic dorm. One of those boys just might try to kick your balls through the goal posts. I don't think your daddy, the Bishop, would be a very happy camper, would he?"

Zach looked at me, strangely, then at his poster ridden bed, turned a bit white remembering what I'd said earlier about his use of toilet paper, and responded firmly, "Well, the reverse is true. I want to practice my religious beliefs and convictions without interference or aggression from you."

"Agreed," I quickly said and turned back to my desk to continue reading over my class schedule as he set about putting up his pictures and posters, on his side of the room, with a background of Christian music playing softly (after I cautioned him) in the background. When bedtime came, I said, "Zach, I sleep nude, so you'll probably want to look the other way while I disrobe for bed."

I shed my clothes and climbed into bed. He worked at his desk for a while and finally, thinking I was asleep, opened his closet door, stood behind it, disrobed, and put on pajamas. After he turned out the lights, before climbing into the sack, he knelt beside it, hands in front of him, and said his prayers. He prays a lot and long, it would appear, since it took him quite some time. With a slight groan and sigh, he finished and crawled into his bed.

For some odd reason, he seemed satisfied with our arrangement and an informal truce was drawn. He continued his preaching around campus, but he became a docile little lamb in our room. I really kind of liked him; he wasn't that disagreeable and was fun to be with when he relaxed and forgot about his missionary zeal and family. I thought things were moving along quite well until the weekend of the Wisconsin/Iowa football game in October.

I chose not to stay on campus that weekend, but go home instead. There'd be huge crowds, lots of drunks, and who knows what else. It was also a time when many alumni and families chose to visit campus. I figured Zach would be busy saving lost souls that weekend.

When I returned Sunday evening, I was greeted with the religious posters all up again and all of my pictures, except the one of my family, gone! My anger growing, thinking Zach had broken our informal truce, through the still open door, I could hear footsteps pounding rapidly down the hall coming toward our room.

Zach burst into the room, looked at the anger in my eyes, and dissolved in tears!

"I'm so sorry, PJ," he sobbed. "My parents showed up unexpectedly and I really had to hustle taking things down, hide them, and get mine up before they came to the room. If my Dad would've seen that picture of you with a hard-on, he would've destroyed it and then raised Cain with the University. I just couldn't have that happen."

I stepped forward and I don't know why except it seemed the right thing to do, embracing him, bringing him close to my chest, resting his head there, while I reassured him it'd be fine. "We'll just get things put back up," I said soothingly, smoothing back his hair and brushing aside a tear with one finger.

It didn't take us long to put the room back in shape with all of the pictures and posters all back where they were before the weekend began, except for the one picture of me with my dick pointing north. We looked all over, but just didn't seem to be able to find it. Zach swore it was somewhere and he'd find it eventually. He seemed most distressed at my concern.

Finally, I said, "Don't worry, it'll show up sooner or later. If not, I'll have another printed; I have it stored on my laptop hard drive."

There was no need for that since, a couple of days later it appeared on my desk while I was in class, where it belonged. The note next to it said simply, "I forgot, it got stuffed it in my duffle."

Strange, I could've sworn we looked there. Looking around the room some more, suspicions raised, I found a receipt in his waste basket for a copy of a picture from one of those self-serve kiosks in one of the department stores. When he returned, I said nothing about that but did thank him for finding my picture. Zach beamed all over, so all must be well.

I still had my suspicions so I started watching him more closely, my imagination overtaking my reasoning, I thought. It appeared he didn't look away anymore when I prepared for bed or returning from my shower. When I dropped my towel, he focused on my flaccid penis. On more than one occasion, when waking in the morning with a stiff woodie pointing north, he didn't close his eyes, but stared at it.

One night, after I'd gone to bed and he assumed I was asleep, he knelt to say his prayers. As I watched in the semi-darkness of the room, his right elbow moved frantically in that all too familiar motion. The little shit was jacking off!

I had an idea that wasn't a prayer sheet he was staring at so intently laying on his bed in front of him as he vigorously pumped his organ, so I quietly crawled out of bed, crossed the room, and peered over his shoulder. So intent was he in bringing pleasure to himself as he fixed his eyes and concentration on the picture of me and my hard dick, he failed to realize I was there. All these years, Zach covered up his sexual orientation from his parents, his past roommates by forcing them out, and himself through his ranting and raving. That was the reason he wanted a private room all these years, but couldn't admit to anyone for fear of disclosure and disownment by the Bishop.

I carefully reached around with my right hand and clasped his hard cock in it and began stroking for him. "Is this what you want?" I asked, my own rod popping to attention and sliding into his pajama clad ass crack.

"Yes," he moaned, "ever since day one. God help me, I can think of nothing else."

I eased up closer behind him, bade him lean forward, and with my free hand, slid his pajama bottoms to the floor and off. To my surprise, he peeled off his top also. Looking at him, draped over the bed, naked as the day he was born, I couldn't help but notice he had one fine ass, so I leaned forward, nuzzled his neck, and began gently prodding and poking at his pucker with my cock. Tonguing his right ear I said softly, "I'm going to fuck you, Zachery. Are you O.K. with that?" and he nodded his approval.

Laying my bare chest across his bare back, slicking up my stiff rod and his eager portal with some lotion, I eased my cock into his magic passage, and sighed, his anal ring clenching, massaging, and pulling me into his depths; "You are so tight, warm, sexy, and so fucking beautiful, Zach, I don't know how long I can pump before I fill you," and so I fucked him!

And he loved it!

So I fucked him again!

And we loved it again because I loved him and he loved me and that's the way it's been these five years since we graduated from the University and began living together. Zach gave up preaching, but we didn't give up fucking.

The End.