Frat House Troopers tells the story of two state police officers who, in the course of solving a case, come to realize they mean more to each other than simply best friends.
This is the book I never expected to write. When I began jotting stories, I had no intention of publishing anything. But then my curiosity got the better of me–would anyone be willing to read what I’d written?–and I put up some short pieces on the Nifty Archive. I got some good feedback (a lot of it related to the relatively solid grammar of my writing–being an English professor pays off in this regard), and kept writing. When I’d finished the first draft of Frat House Troopers I uploaded it to Literotica, where it rose to be the second most popular gay-themed story of all time. I also got terrific support from the folks at Screeve, who curate the best free gay writing on the web.
I submitted Frat House Troopers to Dreamspinner Press, about whom I had heard good things in my research into publishers. All of the good things I’d heard, by the way, turned out to be true–Dreamspinner is a professional outfit top to bottom. Andi, the senior editor I was blessed with, took a wire brush to my rough prose and helped me turn it into a solid first novel.
I have since added new stories to the series, and I hope you will enjoy them all.
Brandt’s undercover mission requires him to take a job in a sex-cam house. This scene is his debut performance, in which Nick leads him through the experience.
“All right,” Nick said as they walked, “We’re going to shoot in the master bedroom today. It’s a great room—big sunken tub, this shower with water shooting all over the place, and a big window so there’s lots of good light on the bed.”
Nick’s every word made Brandt’s stomach hurt even worse as he followed him down the hall. This was going to be awful. Determined to salvage some actual police work from the wreckage, he pulled out his cell and typed a message to Donnelly: “Drake, Tim. State College 2001.” Brandt had noticed Mr. Drake’s class ring.
Too soon they arrived at the bedroom. It was, as Nick had promised, beautiful. The kind of place where Brandt could imagine spending a weekend. With a woman. What the hell was he doing here?
Nick was all business as he got the room set up. “We’ll have two stationary cameras, here”—he pointed to the corner opposite the bed—“and here”—he pointed to the ceiling above the bed. “And I’ll have this camera so I can move around and get all the angles. So the technical side is covered….” He trailed off, seeming to sense that Brandt was overwhelmed.
“Look,” Nick said, his voice softer, “I know the first time can be a little nerve-wracking. We’ll take it slow and make sure you’re comfortable, okay?”
Brandt could only nod. He was afraid if he tried to speak he would yak up his breakfast.
“For the test video, sound doesn’t matter. So you can ask me questions if you need to, and I can give you suggestions. All we really want to see is how you come across on camera, okay?”
Brandt nodded again. He stood, not knowing at all what he was supposed to do.
Nick picked up the camera and began shooting.
“So, Mason,” he said.
Brandt looked confused. Nick peeked out from behind the camera.
“I made that up for you. Pretty quick thinking, huh?” he grinned.
Oh, great. Now I have my own porn name. Fucking lovely. And it’s one letter off from my other fake name—it’s like I don’t even have a real name anymore.
Brandt realized he couldn’t afford to lose the momentum he had built by allowing himself to even consider the implications of what he was doing—what he was about to do.
Focus, Brandt, focus.
He smiled back at Nick, trying to look pleased with Nick’s inspiration.
“All right, now, how about we head for the shower?” Nick suggested.
Brandt smiled—slyly, he hoped. He walked toward the bathroom, and Nick followed him. Funny how Brandt was on camera, yet Nick was the naked one.
The shower was large enough to need no enclosure. Brandt reached in and turned on the water, which splashed down from three shower heads on the walls and one in the ceiling. He waited for it to warm up.
“Take your shirt off,” Nick suggested. His voice was too soft to be commanding; it was like he was encouraging Brandt rather than ordering him to do things. It made Brandt feel even dirtier.
Regardless, he whipped his shirt off over his head.
“Whoa, there, big fella! Let’s take this a little slower,” Nick said, handing Brandt back the shirt he had dropped onto the counter.
“Because you’re unveiling yourself. Your audience is dying to see what’s under that tight shirt of yours, and you’re about to show them. But you have to do it slowly, so they are aching to see it come off. Build the suspense before you show them those amazing pecs of yours, okay, buddy?”
Nick’s jocular tone of voice clashed with his visible leering at Brandt’s body. Is he attracted to me? Brandt wondered, completely lost. But he put his shirt back on.
Nick offered more instruction.
“Okay, now grab the bottom of your shirt. That’s the move that announces that you’re about to take it off. But don’t do it yet. Just lift it up a bit, and then turn toward the mirror, like you’re checking yourself out. That’s it—I’m getting a great shot of those fucking awesome abs of yours. Holy shit you are hot!”
Brandt was in agony. What the fuck was he doing here?
“Now, turn away so we don’t get to see your chest right away as you uncover it. Make us wait. Ooh, that’s it. Now up over your head, slowly, slowly. Awesome. Now stuff it into one hand and turn back to us. Ah! Fuck! That’s it! I think I just came!”
Brandt turned to Nick in horror and saw that he was joking.
“Hah! Gotcha! Now, let’s test the water again, and then we’re going to do the same thing with the shorts, okay?”
Brandt felt the water, which was by now quite warm enough. Then he returned to his striptease. He turned his ass to Nick, undid his shorts, and ran his thumbs around the waistband. He pulled down the back, slowly, and was just starting to show the top of his cheeks when Nick gasped.
“Holy shit, you aren’t wearing underwear! That is so hot!”
Brandt wasn’t sure he could stand being told one more time by a guy that he looked hot. But he bit his tongue and continued to slip the shorts down his ass. As he did so, he felt something being taken from him—a sense of his most private things being released into the world, where people who didn’t know him would see them and make their own use of them. He was profoundly saddened by the feeling. But then, as quickly as it came upon him, it vanished. In its place was only a feeling of dangerous power—his ass could make people stop and look, could excite them in ways Brandt had never imagined. He felt suddenly free.
“Okay, now turn around, slowly, and just show the top of your pubes.”
And just like that, the feeling of freedom evaporated and Brandt once again felt like a whore. But he dutifully turned around and faced Nick and his camera with his most private part just barely hidden by the thin fabric of his shorts.
“Okay, buddy, lay it on me. Show me that awesome cock of yours.”
Brandt looked at Nick. “Are you sure you’re straight?”
Nick grinned. “Is it straight to want to rip those shorts off of you? Yeah, I don’t care. I’ve got to see that huge dick.”
Brandt felt that freeing power creep back into his psyche, confusing him even more. He was hiding what Nick, and who knows how many other people, wanted to see. This was not a couple of fags in a dressing room; this was an audience of anonymous viewers, perhaps dozens of them, who would see this video, and for this moment their only thoughts would be focused on him. On his dick. A slight but genuine smile played around the corners of his mouth. He tugged his tight shorts down further. Most of the fabric was gathered under his buttcheeks already, and the front slid smoothly down the length of his cock. In a moment, he was fully exposed. Nick drew in an admiring breath.
“Fucking hot piece of meat, dude,” he exhaled, his camera trained closely upon it.
Brandt kicked off his shorts and turned to get in the shower.
“Ooh, nice,” he heard Nick say behind him. What was nice? All he had done was step over the lip of the shower…. Oh. He must have flexed his ass muscles in doing so, and that’s what Nick was responding to. Brandt was realizing that being a sex object meant that everything he did was somehow a performance. It would take some getting used to.
In the shower, he did what he always did—he stuck his head under the spray for a few seconds, then grabbed the shampoo, squirted some into his hand, and starting scrubbing.
“Whoa whoa whoa there, big guy,” called Nick. “You can’t just charge into it like that!”
Brandt was at a loss.
“What should I do?” he asked. “This is how I take a shower.”
“But this isn’t a shower—it’s a fantasy video. People want to see that rockin’ bod of yours and study it from all angles. They want to see that you love it as much as they do.”
“What, you want me to start going at it right now?”
“No, not yet. But what you should do is stand under the water and let it run down your body. See how it flows down your chest, and then ripples over your abs? That’s awesome, and that’s what they want to see.”
“So, I’m going to stand here and let the water run down my body? Who does that?”
“No one, in real life. But that’s what makes these videos work. Give it a try.”
Brandt stood under the water, motionless, and let the water run down him. It felt stupid.
Nick peeked out from behind the camera again. “Now, run your hands up and down your torso.”
“Why would I do that? I don’t even have any soap.”
Nick took a deep breath.
“Jason, what do you think the people watching this video want?”
“Um… I guess they want to see me jack off?”
“Well, yeah, they do. But not right away. First they want to see you work up to it.”
“That’s what I was doing!”
“No, you were just standing there. What they really want is to be here, with you, rubbing their hands up and down your amazing body, feeling the hard muscle under your soft skin. They want to brush their hands across your chest and feel your nips harden. They want to count your six pack and then run their fingers down your treasure trail and try to wrap them around your cock. Which is getting bigger, now that I look at it.”
Brandt looked down, horrified. It was true. As Nick described what these faceless viewers wanted to do to him, he was boning up. Shit. Brandt was starting to think he really had become a slut. He decided to ignore it, if he could.
“Okay, so they want to maul me. What am I supposed to do again?”
“You have to touch yourself, because they aren’t here to do it. Your hands fill in for their hands. You should do to yourself what they would do to you if they were here.”
“Who watches these things, anyway?” Brandt hoped that by talking shop he could distract his still-hardening cock.
Nick shrugged. “Well, men mostly.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that. But creepy old men, or what?”
“No, actually, most of our viewers are in their thirties and forties. They want to relive the frat house days they never had, or something. We get some that are older, and some younger. You remember I told you my boyfriend, Pete, was in Europe with his friend Josh? Well, Josh was one of the first guys who came to my live shows, and he’s my age.”
Brandt took in this information and glanced down quickly to see that his dick, as he had hoped, was starting to soften again. Whew. Nick’s eyes flashed down as well; if he was concerned by Brandt’s shrinkage, he was too much a gentleman to mention it.
“So, you good to go?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just kind of weird to think about all of those guys watching this video. You want me to touch myself the way they would do it, and that kind of freaks me out.”
“Well, then, imagine that the people watching this video are the cheerleaders from the U., or lesbian porn stars, or whatever.”
Boom. Brandt’s cock began to rise again.
“Now start feeling yourself up.”
Brandt tried hard to do what Nick asked of him, but it felt so strange. He rubbed his hand across his chest as Nick had suggested, and to his surprise he felt his nipples harden. Trying to get into the spirit, he pinched his left nipple; this was meant to show Nick that he was trying, but the spark of hot pleasure that shot across his chest—his whole body—from that pinch shocked him. He looked down in surprise, and saw his nipple honed to a sharp point, goose bumps all around it. Perhaps he really had been missing something by rushing through his showers all the time.
He looked up at Nick, right at the camera, and tweaked his right nipple; again, an electric bolt sang through his chest and bumps radiated from the hard nub. Without thinking, he sighed, half closing his eyes as he gave a little more of himself to this… this thing, whatever it was, that Nick was making him do.
“Ohhhh, fuck,” Nick whispered. His tone shifted, softening, as if he recognized that Brandt’s reserve had finally given way.
Brandt felt himself go on some kind of demented autopilot as he squirted some body wash into his hand and started rubbing it over himself. Every few seconds he would feel flashes of detachment from his own body—moments when his hands really did feel like they belonged to someone else—and then his body responded even more ardently to his touch. His cock was full-on steely hard and throbbing now, though he hesitated to touch it in case it wasn’t what Nick wanted him to do. Was he really doing this? Was he really more worried about pleasing some nineteen-year-old pervert with a camera than he was about his police work? What the fuck?
“You’re forgetting to wash something,” Nick murmured, and Brandt saw his ever-so-slight head-tip to his crotch. “I’m assuming you usually wash there too, right?” he asked with a wink.
Brandt hoped the heat in his cheeks would not show up in the video. He was just getting the hang of this, and now it was the moment he had been dreading. Up until now, all that had been recorded was of him showering; if anyone he knew ever saw it, he could claim it had been made without his consent, with some kind of spy cam. But now he was going to be recorded beating his meat, and he would have to look totally into it. This was the career-ending moment, the life-altering moment. He couldn’t do it. Never.
He looked at Nick, whose golden eyes met his gaze. He saw a grin flirt with Nick’s lips, and then Nick growled—an urgent, primal sound—“Come on, do it for me. Stroke it for me. Don’t think about them.” He shot a glance at the camera he still had trained on Brandt’s junk. “Think about me. Give it to me. Just me.” He licked his lips.
Brandt wrapped his hand around his cock.
He did it without thinking, without stopping to doubt or worry. He did it for Nick.
He gripped his cock with his right hand, slick with soap, and slid it down the full eight-and-a-half-inch arc from base to tip, and then he pulled it back in to press against his flat, muscular lower belly. This simple transit made his breath ragged, and he let out a “woof!” as he repeated it, more quickly, gripping harder, friction building. His hand was soon a blur along the length of his urgently hard cock.
“Perfect.” Nick’s exhaled praise was barely audible, but Brandt heard it like a bell, and he felt the spasming start in his loins. If he didn’t stop right now, he was going to go right off the cliff and—
“Stop!” boomed Nick. Brandt did as he was ordered, as he always did when ordered to do anything. He looked up at Nick and shivered off his preorgasmic trance.
Nick smiled. “It looked like you were about to rub one out there, and we don’t want to do that in the shower, do we?”
How the fuck did he know I was about to shoot, wondered Brandt.
“Ugh—sticky mess. If I ever jack in the shower, I just do it in my hand and lick it up—that’s far better than trying to clean it off later. Anyway, let’s get to where you rinse off and get to the bed, okay?” he said brightly.
It was too much for Brandt. Had he really been about to come—here, doing this? Fuck. He saw Nick duck back behind the camera, and he knew he was back on. He would have to think about this later. Or never.
He rinsed off the soap and took the towel that Nick had set out for him, an impossibly fluffy white monstrosity that looked brand new. He dried himself, even patting down his cock and balls without being prompted by Nick. He wrapped the towel around himself and walked into the bedroom.
Brandt stood before the bed, knowing that this was where he would humiliate himself, body and soul, in the line of duty. He breathed deeply to calm himself and was so focused on trying to summon the courage to continue that he didn’t feel Nick approach from behind. His warm breath in Brandt’s ear sent a shiver of surprise down his spine.
“It’s okay to be nervous, stud.” The deep voice softly filled Brandt’s ear with its rumbling, soothing heat. “But you are the sexiest man who’s ever laid on that bed, and people are going to go crazy over this video. Now just go do your thing, and I’ll be watching.” He felt Nick pull away from his ear, and then lean back in. “I’m totally hard for you, by the way,” he whispered. Then Brandt felt something on his earlobe. Did Nick just kiss him on the ear? Fucking kiss him?
Brandt’s resolve to get this the hell over with was now ironclad. The only way out of this bizarre, oversexed, fucked-up place was to just get it done. As he moved to the bed, he noticed with some surprise that there were goose bumps all down his left arm. Which Nick had made. When he fucking kissed him. Fuck.
Brandt threw himself down on the bed. He pulled open the towel and defiantly exposed himself to Nick, as if he expected the younger man to be knocked back by the force of his unveiling. Nick’s raised eyebrows and sharp intake of breath showed Brandt that his gesture had been received. Nick retreated behind the camera.
Brandt grabbed his cock and began stroking. There was lube on the nightstand, but he ignored it; there was porn on the monitor at the foot of the bed, but he didn’t even look. He just gripped tight and pumped away, staring angrily at the camera. Fucking Nick, fucking kissing him. What did that bastard think was going on here?
Nick kept his camera trained on Brandt’s cock, wincing as if he could feel the dry rub it was getting.
In less than a minute, Brandt could feel the orgasm starting to build. He tensed his abs to bring it closer—he was chasing it down, he was going to grab it, choke the life out of it—and warmth spread across his body from his groin. His chest began to tighten, and his pecs stood up round and taut as every fiber of his being reached out for this orgasm. He closed his eyes, threw his head back, and pumped as if he were trying to wrestle it into submission.
His hands tightened around that elusive orgasm, felt its life begin to flow into him. He howled as he thrust his hips into the viselike grip of his hands, pushing, pushing to get all the friction he could. Then he froze.
From his red and motionless cock, gripped tightly in his frozen hands, the first shot of cum exploded. It shot up, then stretched itself like a river, a twisting white Amazon, across Brandt’s abs. A creaking groan escaped his lips, his whole body twitched, and then another blast erupted, arcing up to his chest. The third flew gracefully through the air and pooled at his throat. Then the thrusting started again, and his whole body was in convulsive motion as he beat the life out of the orgasm he had finally caught and made his bitch. Cum flew everywhere, splattering like thick rain on the sheets, the pillows, all up and down Brandt’s body. His body wracked with spasms, he jerked and shook and cried until he was exhausted, empty, done. He panted, his fingers laced together around his still-hard cock, wet with the product of his frenzy.
Nick stood breathless. “Oh… my… God,” he finally croaked, with obvious effort. “That was incredible. I’ve just never… no one’s ever… that was amazing.”
Brandt’s mind had been a blank, scorched by the cleansing fire of the most brutal orgasm he had ever experienced. But Nick’s voice brought him back to himself, to this place, and to what he had just done. His cock ached, his earlobe tingled, and the air conditioning was blowing across the pooled spunk on his chest, giving him a chill. He opened his eyes, sat up. He shook his head quickly from side to side, hoping against hope that this would prove a nightmare.
“Did you—” he rasped, his throat rough from the groans and shouts he was just now becoming aware he had made. “Did you get what you need?”
Brandt looked at him quizzically, and he pointed to his crotch. His cock was standing straight up, and a gleaming silver thread dripped lazily from its head.
“Another minute of that and I would have just shot all over the place without even touching it.”
In spite of himself, Brandt was flattered. The humiliation of his performance came to rest in his mind right next to the pride of having done it well. He had been told on several occasions in the past that he was too eager to please, and this was pretty much the ultimate proof. He had just jerked off in front of another person for the first time ever, and instead of being disgusted by the whole thing, he was blushing with pride.
“Can I go get cleaned up?” Brandt asked.
“Sure, if I can join you,” replied Nick, winking.
Brandt just stared at him. This was over the top.
“Kidding! You go take a shower and I’ll start getting this stuff on the computer for editing.” Nick gathered up his equipment and walked to the door. “Just come on down when you’re ready—I’ll be in the dining room. That’s where we edit video.”
“Okay,” Brandt mumbled numbly.
In the shower, as he scrubbed the cum off his chest (and legs, and arms, and was there any place this stuff didn’t land?), he tried to think—about anything other than what had just happened. It seemed unreal, even as he soaped the semen out of his pubic hair, that he had really done it. He had masturbated, on camera, for money. He had become what he never wanted to be by doing what he was ordered to do. There was an empty feeling in his chest, a space where his dignity, his privacy—a big piece of his humanity—had lived, and now that it had been taken from him he felt the ache of its loss. He put his hands against the wall and pressed his forehead to the cool tile while the hot water washed over him.
“Damn you, Brandt,” he said aloud, hoping to focus his mind, “Get it together.”
He forced himself to analyze his situation. Clearly he had been successful in his audition—he was in. But what was the next step? How would he begin the search for the documentation the Chief was expecting him to gather? That lived in spreadsheets somewhere, and the only sheets he had touched in this house were in the next room, splattered with his sperm.
“Get it together,” he repeated to himself under his breath. He did what had always worked in the past when the stress of the job overwhelmed him—he put himself back in his academy days, in that time when his body and mind were pushed to their limits. The state police force was widely known for running an academy as demanding as West Point, and graduates could be justly proud of simply surviving it. Brandt did more than survive it, of course, but it was the hardest thing he had ever been through.
As he called up an image of himself crawling through the stinking mud of the urban assault course, his resolve strengthened and his spine drew up straight. He would get through this too. Somehow, he would get through this.