Owen:
It’s my third year of college and to save some money, I am sharing an off-campus house with five roommates, rather that living in the dorm. When Wyatt suggested this, I was skeptical. A house was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Who wouldn’t prefer a house with friends to the cramped and smelly dormitory? But Wyatt ran the numbers and broke it down for us. A three bedroom, furnished house’s rent divided by six roommates would save us all a couple hundred dollars each, per semester. That included utilities. So, yeah. I jumped at the chance.
Wyatt and I are both on the Basketball team and finding four other teammates to go in with us was easy. Wyatt was a good salesman. He should probably be a real estate agent after graduation. I’d hire him. Anyway, the problem came when Ray dropped out on us last minute. He had some family thing come up over the summer and he won’t be back at school at all this year. Wyatt’s plan for us to save money was dependent on expenses being divided six ways. Reduce six to five, and it becomes a financially unfavorable situation, to the point where guys can’t afford it. The dominoes would fall from there.
It was so late in the summer by this point that everyone else’s situation was already established. Our other teammates had set plans of their own. It was a real problem. But then I had an idea. My friend Enzo is a commuter and he shouldn’t be. He drives ninety minutes each way to save on room and board, but I could recruit him last minute if Wyatt could prepare a proposal just for him. So, that’s what we did. Wyatt made a power point presentation illustrating to Enzo that if he quit his job in his hometown, took an on-campus job in the science lab and stopped spending so much on gas, he would break even financially and gain three hours of time every day.
Enzo is an improbable dude to be our sixth housemate. Wyatt, Aiden, Cooper, Ivan and I are all on the basketball team. We are five burly, athletes all over 6’ 2” and 180 pounds. Enzo is not that. I don’t know specifics, but I’d estimate that he is 5’ 8”, 130 pounds and can probably fit both of his feet into just one of any of our giant sneakers. And he doesn’t know the other four guys at all. He and I met as freshmen in a finance and statistics class. Enzo’s major is in science and mine is English, so neither of us were math geniuses. We weren’t even through week one of classes when Enzo introduced himself and suggested that we study together a few times a week. By the time the semester was over, we both managed to pass the class and an unlikely odd couple sort of a friendship was born.
I liked hanging out with Enzo. He was different from my other friends in pretty much every way imaginable. And his car, his job and his commute made him seem so independent and cool. So adult. If we can convince him to move into our house, it would be awesome to spend more time with him. And he deserves to have the traditional college experience like the rest of us. He’s already lost so much time in his first two years.
The other guys didn’t care that Enzo wasn’t on the team (or any kind of an athlete). Besides, I would be the one to room with him anyway and the financials were back in order. It was thanks to Enzo that we were back on track. Our sixth housemate could have been a billy goat if it paid its share of the expenses.
I told the other guys all about Enzo, including that he is gay. Enzo was clear about that from the beginning. He said he’s been “out” since he was fifteen and he’s not going to start hiding who he is at age twenty. He needed to know that his five prospective jock housemates all were aware of his sexuality from the beginning and that they were cool with it. They were. We unanimously voted that Enzo was in. And “out”. He was out and he was in. He laughed at my lame joke.
But he still needed to be convinced. He said he didn’t mind being the only non jock in the house and he was already used to being the only queer person wherever he was. It was still a leap for him. A life changing moment to quit his job and move away from home. But our man Wyatt had his laptop fired up and his power point presentation loaded and Enzo got a kick out of the whole thing. He found Wyatt’s effort and enthusiasm endearing. Aside from the dollars and cents logic of the situation, it gave Enzo a sense of who these guys are. This was going to work out.
Enzo:
I wasn’t so sure when Owen first approached me with this whole housemate proposal thing. Sure, I was sick to death of the long daily commute. Yes, Owen and I had become friends over the last two years and he promised me that with six guys and three bedrooms, he would be the one to share a room with me. I wouldn’t be stuck with a stranger. It was still such a big, scary change. I insisted that he tell them all that I’m gay. That needed to be a nonissue from the start. I wasn’t surprised that none of them had a problem with it, after all, Owen didn’t when I told him the day we met. I didn’t expect his friends would be any different, but still. It was only fair for them to know too.
It was when Owen brought me to meet Wyatt that I was finally convinced. His little power point presentation was adorable. He had put some serious time and energy into creating it. He won me over from the very first slide. If the other three guys were even half as nice as Owen and Wyatt, this would all work out just fine. And it wouldn’t bother me at all that I was sharing one house with five hot jock dudes. I can compartmentalize. I need them to be my friends and roommates, not my secret crushes. No matter how gorgeous they all are.
But the brain thinks what the brain thinks. And my brain is gay. No rational thought will change that. The first time I bumped into Ivan in the hall as he came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a low-cinched towel, I lost my breath for a minute and half of the blood in my body rushed to my crotch. Fortunately, Owen is the one I share a room with. Okay, fine. If I’m honest with myself, Owen is the cutest in a house of five extremely cute guys. But the thing is, I’ve known Owen for two years now. We are established friends. I don’t even notice how cute he is anymore. Hardly. Much.
It’s all irrelevant anyway. None of them fall anywhere near the queer umbrella. Not that they’ve said, at least. I was open about myself from the beginning. None of them ran away screaming, but also none of them came out and joined me in the big gay pool. Not that I expected them too. I have “come out” to dozens (maybe hundreds) of people in these last five years, but to this day, not one person has ever “come out” to me. Maybe now that I get to be here at school all the time, that will change. I sure hope so. Aside from being a virgin, I get lonely sometimes.
But Owen really has been a good friend. That first week freshman year, he seemed completely lost in that statistics class. I pretended to be just as lost as he was as a reason to introduce myself. I suggested that we could meet up and figure it out together. He took me up on my offer and we’ve been friends ever since. I’d already had it all figured out, but I acted like it was a collaboration. It really wasn’t that he was gorgeous (which he was). I never dared to hope that he might be gay – I stopped hoping such hopes years ago – he just seemed like a nice person and I wanted to make a school friend. It worked out. And as a bonus, Owen didn’t fail statistics.
Being his friend made me more social too. I started going to the basketball games and even a few on-campus parties. When Owen and I had no classes together second semester, we still made a point of having lunch together most every day and spend time studying after. He took the lead in maintaining our friendship beyond that first semester. I wasn’t sure why. He had his team and lots of other friends. I was nothing special. But Owen kind of looks out for me and that makes me feel cared for and important.
Owen:
All of the guys took quickly to Enzo. I knew they would. He’s just a sweet guy. And being so different from the jocks we usually hang with, it’s cool. He is the one and only friend any of us has who shows up at all of our games. He’s always there, rooting us on. And it’s not just for show. He understands the game. We all get a kick out of hearing his post-game analysis in the kitchen afterwards. He gets into it and is passionate about heaping praise on each of us. He should be part of the coaching staff. The truth is that we are a mediocre team with a 500 record, but to hear Enzo talk about us, we’re headed for the championship. He’s just that guy.
On nights that we have practices, Enzo always cooks for us. He shouldn’t go to the trouble. I told him so. He does it anyway. He makes these authentic Mexican dishes that are part of his heritage and while they are sometimes initially intimidating to the guys, once we try them, we just fall in love. He should consider dropping out and going to culinary school, but that would make me sad. The first time he cooked for us, he made pozole. It was so simple and so delicious. Every one of us guys has loved and devoured every one of his creations. I’ve tried telling him that he doesn’t have to cook for us. That he owes us nothing. He assured me that he genuinely enjoys doing it, and I believe him. He’s just that guy.
It was Enzo who introduced himself to me way back that first week. I saw through his little act of subterfuge. He was not lost in that statistics class. He had it all figured out from the beginning. But for me, the struggle was real. I was clueless and afraid I would fail the class. Enzo unofficially tutored me. He got me through it. But he did it in this subtle way so that I never felt ashamed. Even though I knew what he was doing, he still managed to be humble and to help me maintain my pride. And I really did learn. I learned way more from him than from the professor. Yeah. Enzo is that guy.
He told me that very first day we met that he is gay. I was so impressed with how confident and self-aware he was. He slipped it into our conversation in a way that was so seamless and natural that neither of us was uncomfortable. He was obviously an experienced professional at “coming out” and he put me as much at ease as he was. It was that blunt honesty that got him through high school. While he was the only “out” person in his entire class, he won over enough people that the few assholes in the school chose not to bother him. We are in college now so I expect that there are way fewer assholes than there are in high school, but you never know. I’ve taken to kind of looking out for Enzo whether he needs it or not. He doesn’t know that I do that.
Enzo:
I have no choice but to live my life as a gay man because that’s who I am. I will not change. Given that, I need to be able to take care of myself and I think I’ve done an okay job of that so far. I am not a physical threat to anyone. At 5’ 8” and less pounds than I care to admit, my presence is not intimidating to most middle schoolers. But I am open, direct and confident and that seems to go a long way. Owen thinks I don’t know that he’s looking out for me, but I totally do. I should tell him not to, but I don’t. He’s just that guy. He’s sweet and he’s doing something nice for his friend. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
All of my housemates are actually good guys, but being a bunch of twenty year old boys, they sometimes do stupid things. Owen told me that a couple houses down from ours, there is a house of six stars of the baseball team. Our baseball team happens to be the regional champions, while our basketball team is middle of the road at best. For months now, there has been a lot of trash talking back and forth. Their guys flaunt their success (and their trophy) and make fun of our guys for “sucking”. Our guys point out that college baseball is nothing but a playground for losers. The best baseball players are drafted out of high school and go straight to the minor leagues. The NFL and the NBA pull their talent from the college scene. Baseball does not. The best college baseball players are nothing more than the best losers.
This has been going on back and forth for a long time. It’s all been pretty harmless. Until now. Two days ago, led by Cooper, he, Ivan and Aiden all snuck into the baseball team’s house at night and stole their trophy. Owen and Wyatt were smart enough to not only discourage it, but to stay out of it. When they found out, they both walked the trophy over to the baseball house and returned it, apologizing for their idiot teammates’ behavior.
It was idiotic, but who am I to judge? I am not in that world. Hopefully the baseball guys just accepted Owen and Wyatt’s apology and this whole little rivalry thing between the two houses can be over.
It’s Friday night and there is a basketball practice ahead of tomorrow afternoon’s game. The guys all just left and I’m alone in our house. I really do genuinely like all five of my housemates, but I do enjoy these rare moments of alone time too. I’m making enchiladas for when they get home, but the prep work is already done. All I have to do is shove two baking dishes in the oven in an hour and we’ll have a nice late night dinner when practice is over.
In the meantime I slip on my headphones, grab by chemistry book and stretch out on my stomach across the couch that is usually overloaded with too many muscly jock bruhs. I am dressed comfortably for a lazy night in. I am wearing my softest hoodie with loose sweats and my house high-tops. I have mild plantar fasciitis so I always wear shoes in the house, otherwise the hard floors would kill my heels. I own two pairs of shoes. One pair for just in the house and another for everywhere else. So, my house high-tops are on as I luxuriate on the couch. I’m more enjoying my music than reading my chemistry, but that’s fine.
The Baseball Team:
We know the basketball team is at practice. That makes this the perfect time for revenge. How dare they steal our trophy. Even though two of them brought it back and apologized, the damage had been done. We have our pride. What would it say about us as a team, as a sport, and as men to not seek payback.
What we know is that breaking in in the dark during an evening practice is way safer than in broad daylight during tomorrow afternoon’s game. Beyond that, we have not thought this through. We have no real plan. We don’t even know how to break in. Will a credit card pop a locked door open like in an old movie? Should we smash through the front window? And once we’re in, what do we take? Since they suck so bad, they have no trophies. We are clueless idiots, but we’ll have to figure something out. As we mount the front steps to the basketball house, one of us has the brilliant idea to try the door knob and we’re shocked to find it unlocked. Who are the idiots now?
We barge in, knowing the house is empty because practice just started. We’re inside for all of ten seconds before we realize why all the lights are on and the door was unlocked: the house is NOT empty. Someone is home.
There is a boy sound asleep on the couch with his face buried in a text book that has become a pillow. His eyes are peacefully closed and we can hear faint music leaking through his headphones. He doesn’t see us and he can’t hear us. He looks peaceful.
We all talk in urgent whispers:
What do we do now?
We leave.
No. The dude is out cold. He’ll never even know we were here.
But we don’t even know what we’re taking and now we don’t have as much time as we thought.
Who is this guy?
He’s definitely not on the team. He’s too little. He’d just get knocked around.
Maybe he’s the little brother of one of the guys and he’s here for a weekend visit.
No. He’s a student. I had him in a biology class last year. I think his name is Enzo.
Why’s he here?
No idea.
Well, he seems to be welcome here. We don’t know what to take, right? Maybe we just take him.
What do you mean?
We take him. They stole our trophy. Maybe this little dude is like their mascot or something. Maybe he’s important to them. Let’s take him.
Like, kidnapping?
We’re not gonna murder him and dump his body in the middle of the football field or anything. We’re just gonna borrow him. A long weekend sleepover. We’ll return him in time for his Monday classes.
What are we gonna do with him all weekend?
He won’t want to stay. We’ll have to make him stay.
This is sounding like a lot of work.
Sometimes work can be fun. He’ll be at our mercy. We can do whatever we want with him.
With no plan and no other obvious alternatives, the six of us nod in agreement. Enzo is about to become our playmate for the weekend. One of the guys grabs the kid’s sneaker by the toe and jiggles. Nothing happens. The way he’s lying on his stomach, there is a small patch of olive toned skin visible between the bottom of his hoodie and the waistband of his sweatpants. One of the guys pokes at the exposed tender spot with his finger. That does the trick. Enzo jumps about a foot straight up before crashing back down.
The dude is super ticklish.
Good. Now we know how we’ll keep him occupied and us entertained all weekend. Laughter is the key to a long and healthy life. This little guy is about to laugh his ass off for two straight days. And so are we.
Enzo’s eyes are open now and they bulge out when he realizes that he has uninvited company. He pulls off his headphones, surveys the six burly athletes that surround him and he says nothing.
You’re coming with us.
Owen:
Practice is over. None of us ever expect Enzo to cook dinner for us on practice nights, but he always does. I saw him prepping enchiladas this afternoon and right now, my stomach growls in anticipation. Wyatt and I are out of the showers before the others, sitting by our lockers getting dressed.
Wyatt scooches next to me, “You really should tell him how you feel.” He pulls on his left sock.
“What are you talking about?”
He contemplates his bare right foot, but lets it dangle in the air for a moment. “Come on, Owen. It’s me. You can talk to me. Hell, you can probably talk to any of us. I’m guessing I’m not the only one who sees what’s going on here.”
“I still don’t get it.”
Wyatt sighs, “It’s only a matter of time before someone else sees what you see, but unlike you, is brave enough to do something about it.”
“You need to stop talking in riddles.”
“Owen, you are totally in love with Enzo and it’s time you tell him.”
“He’s my best friend. Of course I love him.”
Wyatt shakes his head, “You two are much more than best friends. You’re always there for each other. Okay. Let’s try something. I want you to imagine that you are stuck in an elevator for six hours. You can pick anyone. Who do you want to be stuck in there with you?”
Enzo, of course. But I say nothing.
“You’re going on the trip of a lifetime – Paris, Rome, wherever you want. It’s an all-expenses-paid trip for two. Who do you bring?”
My mouth opens but no words come out.
He continues, “If you got bad news, who do you want to hug you? If you got great news, who do you want to hug you? Who is the first person you want to see in the morning when you wake up?”
“We share a bedroom.”
“And you’re not sick of him. Sometimes I want to punch Cooper in the face.”
I laugh. If Cooper were my roommate, I would too.
“Let’s try this. Close your eyes.”
I do as I’m told.
“Imagine It was Enzo and not Ray who left school to not return.”
I literally feel a little jab in my heart.
“Keep your eyes closed. Someone is kissing you. Whose lips are on yours? Who do you want to own those lips?”
Enzo. I swallow hard, “You think I’m suddenly in love with my best friend?”
“No. I think you’ve ben falling in love with your best friend for more than two years now. You told me about how you two met. How he introduced himself and pretended to be as lost in statistics as you were. I think you felt a flutter in your heart that very first moment and it’s been growing into something bigger ever since.”
I blink at him.
“But here’s the thing, Owen. Enzo is here at school full-time now. While you’re busy doing nothing about how you feel, someone else is going to come along, see all the things you see and fall in love with him for all the same reasons.”
“What things?”
“How he shows up at all of his best friend’s games and cheers him on. How he makes delicious food from his heart and shares it with the people closest to him. How he helped you in statistics while never making you feel ashamed. How his head lands on your shoulder when he falls asleep on the couch. How he never complains about being the only normal guy in a house full of apes. How he is always cold when it is not cold where he is. How he smiles every time you walk in the room and it makes you blush.”
I nod. It’s all true. I tell Wyatt, “I might be bisexual.”
“Maybe,” He grins. “You’re definitely Enzo-sexual. And you need to tell him. It’s probably pretty unlikely that someone else hasn’t already fallen in love with Enzo for all the same reasons you have. Hell, if I’m honest, I think I have. Basically from the first day you introduced him to me.”
“But you’re not…”
“Yes I am. I am gay. I am not as brave and confident as our friend Enzo. Maybe some of it has to do with being on the basketball team and the fear of being ‘out’ among my teammates. I don’t know. But I will tell you this. If it weren’t for the fact that Enzo is as crazy about you as you are about him, I would have confessed my secret and scooped that boy up months ago. But I didn’t because you two belong together. But that doesn’t mean that someone else won’t jump in ahead of you if you let them. Look, Owen, Enzo ‘came out’ to you the day he met you. That was more than two years ago. As much as he is in love with you, you have not made a safe space for him to tell you that, like he has for you. The ball is in your court. The move is yours to make. What queer man wouldn’t fall for Enzo? You better hurry before you miss your chance.”
Wyatt finally pulls on his right sock as the others emerge from the showers.
Enzo:
I wouldn’t go willingly, so they carried me right out the front door and onto the night darkened sidewalk. They threatened me with dire consequences if I were to scream out. Big strong hands gripped me around the ankles and wrists as we made the one minute journey three houses up the block.
My phone had been on the table next to the couch and that is where it still sits. No one will be tracking my location. All I can do is hope that my housemates notice that I’m missing and piece together the nonexistent clues and come find me. I think Owen will care about my absence. At least I hope he will. But how could he figure out what happened and where I am?
Once inside their house, they inform me that I am to be their houseguest for the weekend. They assure me that I will not be harmed in anyway, I just need to do as they say and follow their rules. It’s only Friday night and I will be held captive for pretty much the next sixty hours. That is a long time and they are bound to get bored. I am told that I will be their toy for the weekend. I am advised it will be easier on me of I don’t fight them. And if I play along, I might actually have fun.
I have no idea what any of this means. I’m about to ask when one of the six hulking guys surrounding me pokes a finger in my ribs and I flinch and giggle. I say don’t do that and he laughs. A guy on the other side of me pokes a finger into my soft side between my ribcage and my hipbone. I flinch in the other direction and yelp out a laugh. I tell them to stop, but seeing my reactions, all six of them are grinning from ear to ear. I’m starting to get the idea. I will be their plaything for the weekend. Their entertainment. Their toy. If I survive.
Two of them bend my arms behind my back and I arch toward the other four facing me. My hoodie gets pushed up and at least four hands grope around my exposed stomach. Tears spring to my eyes and I howl in agonizing laughter for what feels like twenty minutes. At some point, my hoodie is pulled off completely and I am left vulnerable and shirtless. Not by choice. I get the feeling that for the next sixty hours, nothing that happens will be my choice.
They lay me down on the floor and the six of them take stations. Two take my feet (one for each) and two take my hands. The other two flank my sides and prepare for further attacks on my stomach. They said they won’t harm me, but stretched out all exposed, weak and defenseless like this, I truly think I might die.
The two by my hands pin me down by the wrists and use their free hands to mercilessly prod, poke and drill into my armpits and my ribs. The two at my feet flip my untied high-tops right off and begin to peel off my white Nike crew socks. They give my naked feet an unnerving visual examination before they dig in with strong athletic hands. They bend my toes back and drag finger nails up and down the soles of my tender bare feet. My whole body bucks and thrashes as I howl in uncontrollable laughter. Then their fingers scratch at the area under my toes and I shriek. Meanwhile the two guys in the middle have decided that one will squeeze the shit out of my sides above the hips while the other swipes and sweeps his fingertips across my lower abdomen causing me to quiver and convulse.
I am full out screaming now. I can’t help it. The combination of the sensations of these six guys is pure torture. There are twelve strong hands gripping, holding, grabbing, squeezing, swiping, poking and prodding most of my body. Then the foot guys start something else. Teeth nibble at my toes, the balls of my feet and my arches. The teeth are followed by tongues that bathe the full length of my feet. My heart is pounding, my body is sweating and my shrieks weaken to breathy gasps. I’m on the brink of passing out.
I feel helpless and violated. My biggest fear is that to these guys, I’m not even a human being anymore. I am nothing more than their toy to use and abuse. I merely exist to be their entertainment. To them, I’m nothing more than the newest gaming counsel and their gonna play the shit out of me. This terrorizing assault has me in genuine fear and tears. Then the guy squeezing my sides decides he wants to squeeze something else. He fumbles under the waistband of my sweatpants and finds the ends of the drawstring. He begins to pull and my voice comes back. I thrash wildly and scream, “NNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Owen:
I was silent on the walk home from the fitness center. The other guys were talking and laughing about any and every thing while I stayed quiet. I was thinking about what Wyatt had said. He called me out and he was right. I’ve known about my feelings for Enzo for a long time now. I’ve tried to tamp them down, but I’ve known. And now I realize that I don’t want them tamped down. There’s no reason to. I would be proud to be Enzo’s… Boyfriend? Wyatt was right about everything. I do need to talk to Enzo. And I will. Tonight. I don’t want to be too late.
I imagine the table set and hot enchiladas ready to be served. My stomach growls again.
We enter the house, kicking off our shoes into a gigantic pile by the door and something immediately feels amiss to me. The other guys don’t notice, but I can tell. The quiet, still air in the house feels empty and wrong. I start to get frantic. I run into the kitchen and Enzo is not there. The oven is not on and the two prepared trays of enchiladas are still in the fridge. I run up the stairs to our bedroom and Enzo’s wallet and keys are on his dresser. I run back downstairs. His phone is on the table by the couch and his headphones are on the floor. My heart pounds hard in my chest.
Something is really wrong. I have to shout to get the attention of the other guys. I tell them that Enzo is missing.
Aiden says, “So? He’s a grown man. Maybe he went out for a walk.”
I shake my head, “He doesn’t go for walks alone at night.”
Cooper says, “Maybe he went home for the weekend. He probably told you and you just forgot.”
The three of them all start chattering and laughing again, but Wyatt’s eyes are on me. When I indicate Enzo’s phone on the table, his expression changes from mildly concerned to moderately alarmed. He yells at the others, “Shut up and listen to Owen. Just shut up! This is important!”
I say, “Our friend is not here, but it was not his choice to leave. He was taken away.”
Ivan frowns, “Like, he was kidnapped?”
I tell them, “Look at the pile of sneakers by the front door, What do you see?”
Aiden says, “Like always, I see six pairs of sneakers. Five pairs are around size thirteen and one pair is about a size eight. What’s the big deal, Owen?”
I say, “Come on guys. Enzo has been living with us for three months now. You know his routine as well as I do. He only has two pairs of shoes and one of them is strictly for in the house. He never wears that pair outside. What shoes are there on the floor?”
Wyatt’s eyes widen, “Those are his outside shoes.”
“So?” says Cooper.
Wyatt was right before. I do feel like punching him in the face.
I sigh, “Enzo isn’t here. I looked everywhere. But guys… His phone is here. His chemistry book is open on the couch. His wallet and keys are in our room. His car is parked out front. The wrong shoes are by the door. The enchiladas are in the fridge… Guys! Don’t you see?”
They are starting to. They’re beginning to believe me.
Aiden says, “No one goes out anywhere without their phone. Not on purpose.”
Ivan agrees, “He wouldn’t even leave his book out like this. He’s the neat freak.”
Cooper asks dumbly, “So, where is he? Who would take him.”
Wyatt gives him a shove. His brain has caught up to where mine has been for five minutes now. “It was your idea to steal that stupid trophy, you fucking moron. Now those guys stole our friend!”
Ivan cracks his knuckles, “Let’s go get him back!”
~~
We don’t really have a plan, but I guess that makes sense since we don’t know what to expect. Is Enzo on the first floor? Is he locked up in a bedroom? Is he restrained in some way? Is he alone or is he being guarded? If guarded, then by how many? Are all six of those assholes home?
We’ll have to do whatever recon we can upon arrival and take things from there.
We cautiously approach the house and we can hear muffled shouting and screaming as we get closer. We look through the first floor window. All five of us are in shock at the sight before us. Enzo is half naked and being tortured by all six of them. His face is crimson red and he is screaming bloody murder. He is in absolute agony. Tears come to my eyes and my fists clench.
Wyatt’s hand grips my shoulder, “We’re gonna save him.”
Some way, somehow, my brain kicks into action. I tell Ivan, Cooper and Aiden to go around back. This house is the same layout as ours. There is a back door in the kitchen. I tell those three to go bust it down and make as much noise as possible while doing it. Three or four of them will go see what happened and when they do, you beat the shit out of them. Meanwhile, Wyatt and I will bust through the front door and handle the ones who stay behind. We’ll grab Enzo and get the hell out of here.
It's an admittedly rough plan, but time is of the essence. I send those three on their way just as there is an even more terrifying scream coming from inside the house. It’s Enzo screaming, “NNNOOOOOOOOOOO!” Wyatt and I look through the window again and see that one of those six assholes is tugging on the drawstring of Enzo’s sweatpants.
We rush to the door and hope that our three idiots get in place quickly. We hear the crash we were hoping to hear and we count to three before busting through the front door. Only two baseball assholes stayed here with Enzo, still pinning him down by the wrists and ankles. Fortunately, his pants are still in proper place.
The two guys release Enzo when they see Wyatt and me standing in their living room, looking down at them. They jump up. I am vaguely aware of the sound of a fist fight coming from the kitchen, but I can’t worry too much about that right now as we have guys out here to be concerned with. Wyatt and I dance around these guys a little and start to jab at them like boxers. The one closest to me takes a big swing that I easily duck. On my way back up, I deliver an uppercut blow to his gut. It wasn’t properly centered and he doesn’t crumble to his knees. I have no idea how Wyatt is doing with his guy, but it is at this moment that I realize Enzo is no longer on the floor where we found him. As a matter of fact, I don’t see him anywhere. And then I take a blow to the chin.
Enzo:
As week as I feel from two hours of tickle torture, I know I need to help my friends. With out me, it’s five against six. I know that basketball players are better athletes than baseball players, but this is a baseball house. In addition to having an extra number, two of them went into the kitchen with bats. I saw Owen and Wyatt bust through the front door, so I can only imagine that Aiden, Cooper and Ivan are outnumbered and unarmed in the kitchen. I force myself up off the floor and grab a bat for myself from behind the couch. My friends came to my rescue. The least I can do is lend a hand and even things up.
I run into the kitchen and find that one of their guys is already on the floor, effectively neutralized. Unfortunately, two of the remaining three still have baseball bats in hand and Ivan, Cooper and Aiden look worried. My presence has not yet been noticed by anyone on either side, so I sneak attack one of the batboys with a crushing swing to the right arm. There is a crunch and the dude drops like a sack of potatoes. I am particularly pleased when I realize that he was the one who was pulling at the string of my sweatpants. I was already being violated, but that asshole was willing to go as far as sexual assault.
The remaining five people in the room all become aware of my presence at the same time. The baseball guys are closest to me and they start to descend on me, one with a raised bat in hand. But my guys are on it. Cooper rips the bat out of batboy’s hand, casts it aside and wraps a protective arm around me while Aiden and Ivan each tackle them to the floor. A few openhanded palm strikes and they’re both down for the count with no permanent damage done.
I hear fighting coming from the other room and I run back to see what’s going on.
Owen:
It was only a glancing blow and it had little effect on me. I pop him gently in the nose and he folds like a lawn chair. I look over in Wyatt’s direction and he’s got his guy on the ropes as well. He delivers a knee to the groin and the guy is done.
I turn to see Enzo, still barefoot and bare chested, walk out of the kitchen holding a baseball bat. He is almost comically small in stature compared to the other eleven men in this house right now, but he looks like a warrior. He looks like a superhero.
I rush to him and he drops the bat. I grab him in the biggest bearhug, lifting his feet off the ground and he squeezes me back. Aiden, Cooper and Ivan all enter the room and none of them appear to be injured in any way. When I set Enzo down, Cooper picks him up again. As he squeezes Enzo, he tells Wyatt and me, “He saved our lives. We took the first guy down easily enough, but two of the three behind him had baseball bats. We had nothing. We didn’t know what to do. Then this guy snuck in and slugged a grand slam. He took down that big fucker.”
Cooper releases Enzo as Aiden hands him his sweatshirt that he found on the floor. Cooper and Ivan go to work on tracking down his shoes and socks. Within a couple minutes, Enzo is fully clothed and we are ready to leave. At the door I stop in front of Enzo and squat down, offering him a piggyback ride. I say, “I know these aren’t your outside shoes. Hop aboard.”
When we get home, we don’t have that talk. I don’t say the things I promised myself I would say. The things that Wyatt and possibly others already see. The other four guys can’t stop hooting and high fiving. Enzo is celebrated as a hero.
After a long hot shower, he finds me in our bedroom waiting for him. This is when he finally opens up and talks for real.
“I know you were the one who realized I was missing. It was you who figured out where I was. Thank you.”
I shake my head, “It only happened at all because of our stupid rivalry with those assholes. If Cooper, Aiden and Ivan hadn’t—”
He cuts me off with a sharp, “Don’t! Those three guys were not responsible. What they did was a harmless prank. Guys goofing around and having fun. Boys being boys. What they did hurt no one. It was the Baseball Guys who crossed the line.”
I take a step closer, “Are you hurt?”
He looks away, “Not physically.”
“What was there plan?”
“They knew there was a scheduled basketball practice so they came to our house seeking revenge. They didn’t know what they were going to steal, but they figured they’d know it when they saw it. They were surprised when, A- the front door was unlocked, and B- someone was home. They made the brilliant decision that I would be what they would steal. They were going to hold me captive for the weekend and set me free by Monday morning in time for classes.”
“That’s insane!”
“I had fallen asleep on the couch with headphones on so I saw and heard nothing until they woke me up. They were in the process of figuring out what they were going to do with me all weekend. Keeping watch or dealing with restraints or whatever was starting to sound like a chore, so they decided instead that I would be their entertainment. Their toy for the weekend. They woke me up by poking me and they discovered that I was ticklish. That would be the basis of their entertainment. They tortured me for two hours but that would have only been the beginning. I would have lost my sanity by Monday morning.”
“You went through hell for two hours?”
He scoffs, “They told me to just let them have their fun and to not fight it. They said that if I did that, I’d even enjoy it.” He shudders and sniffs, “Twelve hands were all over me. They violated me.”
“I am so sorry, Enzo. I should have gotten to you sooner. None of this should ever have happened.”
He looks at me, “You saved me. And you showed up sooner than I thought you would. You had practice. Once you made it home, you figured it out in record time. And really, your timing couldn’t have been better. That guy who was the biggest one? He had just gotten a new idea of how and where to tickle me. He was going to… He was starting to take my pants off!” He sobs.
I rush to him and hug him, “I know. But he didn’t.”
He hugs me back, “You were right on time.”
I spend the night on Enzo’s bed, spooned up against him. Holding him. Keeping away the demons.
Enzo:
I wake up this morning, still in Owen’s arms. He couldn’t have slept too well, spooned up against me in a bed that’s made for one. Big burly manly athletes are not supposed to be as gentle and sweet as Owen is. He’s also ridiculously gorgeous. He’s my best friend and hopefully always will be. We love each other in that bro, dude, best friend kind of a way. I’m lucky to have him.
But still… I can’t help but fantasize that there was more to it. But the fantasy is always broken by reality. Friendship is where this ship stops. It’s not fair of me to wish him to be someone he’s not.
He’s still asleep, but he unconsciously pulls me into him tighter. I melt into his warmth. His nose and lips are now on the back of my neck and when he exhales, it gives me goosebumps and it gives me another bump. And then I realize that behind me, Owen has a bump of his own!
Okay, settle down. It means nothing. Owen is a healthy twenty year old guy. Normal, healthy young men wake up with morning wood, right? It’s natural. It has no cause. There is no reason. It’s kind of a phenomenon. And right now his “phenomenon” is poking me in the back of my thigh.
He’s still asleep and he absentmindedly kisses the back of my neck. That causes my bump to become a lead pole. His “situation” might be normal morning wood but mine is the direct result of a hot guy, who just happens to be a hero who saved my life, lying in my bed pressed up against me.
I need another shower, but unlike last night, this needs to be a cold one.
~~
I’m not up for going to the game today and the guys all understand. Owen, however, refuses to leave me home alone. He calls in sick for the game. He instructs the others to tell his coach some unpleasant things involving simultaneous vomit and diarrhea.
Once the others have left, he joins me on the couch. I’m not sure that in the three months we’ve lived here that it’s ever been just the two of us in the house without some combination of the other guys. Right now, we have at least four hours alone.
Without saying a word, he picks up my left foot and places it in his lap. My house high-tops are never tied; I wear them like slippers. He slips it off and begins a gentle foot massage through my sock. He is not tickling me. It feels nice and I let my eyelids go droopy.
He eventually asks me, “This isn’t triggering or anything, is it. I should have asked. I could stop.”
I never want him to stop. Owen could never be a trigger. He might be twice my size, but he is a giant teddy bear. I smile, “This is nice.”
So he really digs in. He uses thumbs and knuckles and he goes all in on the spots that make my eyes roll back into my head. I can’t suppress some embarrassing groans of pleasure, but I don’t even care. He gradually involves my calf and plays at the top of my sock before pushing it down toward my ankle. I silently will him to take off my sock and it works. He does.
He asks, “Is this okay?”
I nod, trying not to look too eager.
He gives me gentle fingertip strokes up my arch that can only be described as loving. It’s while he’s massaging each individual toe that he clears his throat and says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
A wave of fear rolls over me. Irrational paranoia takes over my brain. What have I done? Am I late with the rent? Am I not a good roommate? Is their old friend Ray coming back meaning I’m being kicked out? Did the guys all vote and I’m now homeless? I imagine this massage being a consolation prize. A parting gift.
He clears his throat again, “Did I ever tell you how brave you were the day we met? I mean, I know that you ‘came out’ to a hundred people before me and a hundred more since, but that’s my point. You’re brave every day. That is a bravery in life that I have yet to achieve.”
I scoff, “But you are brave. Last night you—”
He interrupts me, “Not that kind of brave. I’m talking real bravery.” He picks up my other foot and slides its sneaker off too. This foot is freshly out of its shoe prison and sensitive to his touch. I gasp and flinch a little and he smiles, “Sorry. I’ll get it broken in.” And he begins a repeat of the routine from the first foot.
I think I notice that in his lap, under the now neglected first foot, there is another bump. Hmm. Is afternoon wood a thing? Is this natural and involuntary? Not a response, but just a consequence of being a healthy young man? It must be. As he eventually works off my second sock, his situation seems to be only strengthening. I have a situation of my own that I’m attempting to conceal, but mine is very explainable. The very hot guy who I have been crushing on for over two years is touching me in an intimate way.
He's wiggling my pinky toe between his thumb and index finger when he says, “You never struggled in statistics.”
I blush. “What?”
“You selflessly helped this guy you didn’t even know. This guy who couldn’t be more different from you in almost every way. You pretend to like basketball much more than you actually do. For me. You put up with our idiot housemates.”
“Hey, they’re good guys.”
“I know they are. But sometimes they’re still idiots.”
“Agreed.”
“You cook for us all. Enzo…”
“Yeah?”
“I—”
“I know—”
“No, you really don’t. You don’t because I haven’t told you. Because I’m not brave like you. The truth is that I am falling in love with you.”
My face flushes and my fists grip the couch cushions. “But you’re not…”
He nods, “I am. I don’t know what to call it. I guess I’m bisexual. Whatever. Wyatt calls it Enzo-sexual.”
I snort. Wyatt is awesome.
“Whatever it is, Enzo, I’m ridiculously in love with you. And this has nothing to do with what happened last night. As a matter of fact, after a reality check conversation with Wyatt, who by the way is waiting in the wings of I strike out here—”
“Um, can we avoid baseball metaphors for at least a little while?”
He laughs, “I intended to talk to you last night, but other events derailed my intentions.”
Like him shedding his Clark Kent disguise and flying to my rescue.
“The truth is, I’ve been falling in love with you over these last two years starting with that very first day.”
Owen:
He pulls his feet out of my lap and sits up straight. I’m not sure if he’s upset, disappointed or another emotion all together. He is as “out” as out can be. I have been hiding in the shadows. Is that something that he can forgive? Does it need forgiving? And just because Enzo is gay, doesn’t mean that he is interested in me. Look at him and look at me. He is a cute, regular sized – okay, slightly smaller than average sized – dude. I am a hulking ogre of a beast compared to him. Why would he be into me? More than likely, friendship is all he wants from me.
He takes my hands in his and I just know that polite rejection is forthcoming.
But what about what Wyatt said? Wyatt is a smart, observant, intuitive guy. And he’s a good friend. He would only tell me the truth and he would never hurt me. He said that Enzo is as crazy about me as I am about him. I force myself to meet his eyes.
He sighs and says, “I’ve decided I’m not gay. I’m Owen-sexual!”
His smile beams and my insides melt as a warmth spreads through my whole body.
He lunges and tackles me right there on the couch. I pretend like he has me pinned down and overpowered. Giggling, he kisses me in quick pecks that eventually slow to sensual passion. He tastes just like I imagined he would; delicious. For the first time, I realize that I did imagine what this boy would taste like. I was a clueless idiot. But not anymore. I part his lips and my tongue finds his. As I get goosebumps everywhere, I realize that I haven’t had goosebumps since I was a kid. My whole body is buzzing. His hands release my wrists, but I keep my hands above my head. He trails fingers down my arms and I giggle into his mouth as he crosses my pits. I know my erection is pressing into his leg as I feel his pressing into mine.
Enzo sits up and lifts at my shirt. I help him out and pull it off. He grins down at me with hungry eyes. I know I have an athlete’s body, but it’s not for everyone. Apparently Enzo is not disappointed. His mouth is back on mine and my hands find their way under his hoodie. His skin is covered in goosebumps too and it feels so smooth, so warm and so good. I explore his back and his ribs with my hands and his kisses begin to travel down my chin and my neck. He scoots his body lower down the couch as his lips and tongue travel southward. As he comes to my deep innie navel, his tongue takes the plunge and I see skyrockets.
He kisses all across my lower abdomen and I’m in a ticklish delight. As the kisses continue, he tugs on the waistband of my sweats and suddenly, they’re between my knees. I went commando today, so my raging hardon is standing straight up, pointing at the ceiling. He grabs my substantial manhood with both hands and I see him grin just before my eyes roll back into my head. A rivulet of precum rolls down my shaft and provides lubrication to Enzo’s talented hands. I am more turned on than I ever have been at any time in my life. I have never been with anyone sexually before this moment and I am already close to blowing my load.
Enzo senses my predicament without words and he slows things way down, drawing out my first experience. His gentle stroking is wonderful, but the immediate crisis has subsided. He explores every contour and ridge of my throbbing cock with first his hands and then his tongue. After about twenty minutes of intense attention, I’m close to climaxing again. This time, Enzo does not slow down. He grabs my ass cheeks in his hands and squeezes as he takes as much of my length in his mouth as he can. I so want to entangle my fingers in his hair and guide his warm wet mouth up and down my pulsating steel rod, but I don’t want to choke him.
He does just fine without my help. My eyes close, my back arches, my toes curl and I scream as I shoot ropes of hot cum down Enzo’s throat. He keeps on sucking until I have nothing left to give. He kisses the tip of my dick and licks at the last trail of my man seed. I am flushed and panting on the couch. Every ten seconds, my whole body racks in post orgasm reverberations.
While I recuperate and regain some strength, Enzo moves to the end of the couch and puts my giant size thirteens in his lap. He gives me a gentle massage as my body slowly becomes less jelly-like.
Enzo:
Owen demands, “Get out of that hoodie, now!”
I do as I’m told. He visually examines my naked upper body and my inclination is to cover in humility because I hardly have any muscles at all, but I don’t do that. I don’t cover because of the look on Owen’s face. The look screams of lust and love. I blush, but I allow him to take this moment.
Through a wide grin he says, “You are fucking hot!”
I blush harder.
He puts both hands on my chest and begins to gently maneuver his fingers around my ribs, my shoulders, my arms, my sides and my abdomen. It tickles a little, but not torturously so.
I giggle, “What are you doing?”
“I am conducting both a visual and a physical examination of the man I love. First, I am getting to know the unique characteristics of this exquisite body.”
I blush harder still.
“And second, I am checking for any damage those assholes may have caused.”
I sit up and hug him, “I’m okay.”
“They assaulted you.”
“Yes. But you saved me before they could...” I trail off, unable to even say the words.
He shakes his head and fights back tears, “They violated you. You are beautiful and perfect and no one gets to touch you without your permission.”
I hold his eye and nod. “Owen, you sweet, gentle, kind, huge, giant man. You always have my permission.”
He starts by kissing my flat, smooth, hairless abdomen. He circles my round innie belly button with his finger and I jolt from the sensation. Then he goes back to kissing and just for fun, he blows a raspberry. We both laugh and the seriousness recedes into the shadows. It will be a while before I am mentally whole again, but with Owen with me, I’ll get there sooner than later. The loving way he held me all night last night already has me on the road to recovery.
Last night’s attempt was thwarted when my five friends busted in the house and rushed to my rescue. Right now, no rescue is needed. All I feel from Owen is mutual respect and love. I’ve had an erection since he began my gentle foot rub almost two hours ago. My aching cock has been dying to fully stretch out and breathe some fresh air.
Owen does nothing. I’m just pointing skyward like a flagpole. I wonder if something is wrong. I look at him and his eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Dude! Your dick is fucking huge!”
I blush and swell with pride. I have no live and in person experience to compare to, but I always suspected that was the one place that my diminutive body was not so diminutive. Now I have confirmation.
He goes on, “Seriously! It’s bigger than mine. And I’m a big guy!”
“And so modest too.”
He laughs and swats my arm.
Suddenly, it’s enough with the talking. And it’s rude to talk with a mouthful. And that’s what I am. A mouthful.
Owen rotates between hands and mouth but I’m most in ecstasy when he uses both at the same time. I always hoped that someday I would get to experience physical pleasure with someone who was special to me. I never imagined that Owen – the most special person – would be that guy or that the physical pleasure could be so…pleasurable. He is bringing me to places I never knew existed.
Eventually he finds a rhythm that I know will conquer me soon if he keeps at it. His hand strokes my lower shaft while his mouth goes at the upper half. He is twisting and sucking while his tongue dances on my underside below the mushroom cap. When the fingers of his other hand fondle my balls, things escalate with urgency. He is relentless and it’s only five more minutes before I can’t hold back any longer. Just because I was willing to swallow doesn’t mean I should presume that he is too. I give him a courtesy, “Oh my God, I’m about to cum!”
He giggles once and gives me a thumbs up, but he doesn’t stop. I wrap my legs around his back and squeeze him like a boa constrictor as I pulse shot after shot down his throat. As my convulsions subside, he holds me in his mouth. Applying gentle suction and prolonging the orgasm as long as possible. I feel like I’ve melted into the couch.
This is actually real. The dream I had no right dreaming in fact came true. The guy I’ve crushed on since the day I met him was crushing on me right back. So, we spend the next hour entangled together just hugging, touching, kissing and giggling. We are two boys who know each other intellectually and are now getting to know each other physically. I could explore his body forever. As these hours wind down, I think my old crush is becoming my new love. We’ve only been a couple for a few hours but I guess we’ve been falling in love for more than two years.
When we finally rip away from each other and get dressed, we realize how close we came to an embarrassing moment as five minutes later, our five housemates all bust through the door, laughing and celebrating a win. Owen and I look at each other sheepishly then giggle, realizing what they almost walked in on.
Wyatt can tell just by looking at us. It’s not surprising. We’re both wearing dopey lovesick expressions. Or maybe it’s our flushed cheeks, our messy hair and our rumpled clothes. He grins and gives Owen a knowing thumbs up.
But then the other guys see it too. Cooper grins and points, “You guys finally got your heads out of your asses.” He play punches Owen in the arm and musses my hair.
Aiden says, “Awe… You guys! You finally figured your shit out!”
Ivan says, “I couldn’t be happier for you both.” Then he frowns. “You know, there are two perfectly fine beds up in your room. There’s no way I’m sitting on the couch again before it gets professionally steam cleaned.”
We all laugh and Owen and I turn a darker shade of red.
Wyatt winks at Owen, “The only one you managed to fool was yourself.”
Two Weeks Later
Enzo:
This time our plan is more thought out. It’s 2:00AM and the whole town is asleep. Except for the six of us. We are standing at the front door of the Baseball House and we each have a bag of evil tricks. Owen and Wyatt busted through this door two weeks ago, but it has since been repaired. It only takes Cooper a minute to jimmy the lock and we’re in. I don’t even want to know where he learned that skill. Just like ours, this house has three bedrooms and six residents. Two per bedroom. It’s tricky because it’s six on six. How do we get and keep the advantage? Getting our quarry all gagged, tied and subdued without the others hearing… The element of surprise only works once. The first time. So our plan is simple – we need to have three first times.
We enter the first bedroom we come to and split up so three of us take each bed. Three of us, one of them. The first thing we do is silence the asshole with a gag so the rest of the house doesn’t wake up. That’s how we maintain the element of surprise three times. One of us shoves a dirty sweat sock into our victim’s mouth while another quickly applies duct tape to prevent screaming or sound of any kind. While this is happening, the third of us is already tying one of the victim’s hands to a bedpost. Nylon zip ties make this a quick and easy job. At this point we are half way there. The three of us have one job done and one job to go. With one hand, two feet and three bedposts remaining, it’s easy math. The whole silent operation takes less than ninety seconds. We check on our friends at the other bed and they had as little trouble as we did. Our first two victims are both wide awake now, but helplessly immobilized and gagged.
We had determined, through some extremely unpleasant field testing, that Cooper had the worst smelling dirty sweat socks of all of us. Unsurprisingly, Cooper was proud rather than embarrassed to win that unglamorous competition. So, it’s three days of his socks that we’re using tonight as gags. Another layer of well-deserved torture.
We move to bedroom numbers two and three and repeat the process with the same efficient positive results. All six of them are now tied and gagged. We each get one guy all to ourselves to do whatever we want for however long we want. It’s Friday night after all, so we have all weekend. I had pre-selected the biggest guy. The one who decided my pants needed to come down. The one whose arm I crushed below the elbow. Because of the cast, we had to forego the zip tie and tape down his arm.
We turn on all the lights and my five friends each choose a bed. Really, they’re choosing a victim. I look inside my bag of tricks. It’s loaded with feathers and screwdrivers and dental floss and toothpicks. I choose the fork with the tines bent in different directions. His giant bare feet are primed and waiting for me. My fork meets the arch of his foot and the whole room shakes as he wildly thrashes in ticklish torture. I have hours of fun ahead of me.
He never got the chance to do what he wanted to do to me because my friends interrupted him. But he aimed to. He meant to. Intention is as guilty as action and that alone, I have decided, is a crime. Crimes are followed by punishment and on this occasion, the punishment will be set and exacted by me. No one will save him from me getting his pants down. The punishment must fit the crime. His erection will stand tall and it will be at that moment that I pull the pastry wheel out of my bag of tricks. The one that is sharp and fluted. I’m gonna carve this son of a bitch up. Even his tight gag won’t suppress all of the screaming that is in his future.
Payback is a bitch.
And closure is delightful.
