dontravis.com blog post #393
Hope the reader who prompted me to write something about the pandemic enjoyed my story, COVID Closet. Doubtless he’ll let me know soon enough. The last I heard from him after the prior installment is that I was a “tease.” Okay, I admit it. I am.
I’ve had some requests for more of Jarrod Gray and the Drama Club at Casa Verde College, In
earlier posts, we’ve seen Jarrod with the football rough who thought he could dominate, with Kahn, the lithe Asian with whom Jarrod could have fallen in love, and with the Chameleon. Alas, they only last so long as they are in college. This year, it’s Jarrod’s senior year, so he’s the one who’ll be leaving at the end of the term. So let’s take a look at Jarrod and the new Drama Coach, Thad Reid.
THE DRAMA CLUB
Upon his return to Casa Verde College for his senior year, Jarrod Gray learned Ms. Atherton, his Drama Club coach, had retired. Downer! He’d earned his place as Lighting Director under Ms. Atherton and wasn’t interested in breaking in a new drama teacher.
He was sitting third row center in Thespian Hall Theater at the Drama Club’s first meeting when he got the second shock of the term. The new coach was a man. A handsome man. A drop-dead, handsome young man. Thad Reid probably hadn’t even seen thirty. What was going on? Casa Verde was a small, expensive college with a strong drama department built by people like Ms. Atherton. Why risk that reputation with a kid barely older than the students?
Thad Reid stood five-eleven and weighed in at around one-seventy-five. His shaggy, sable hair, which sometimes looked black, kept falling over his forehead like a damned kid’s. But his voice wasn’t a kid’s; it was deep and booming as if always projecting from a stage. Broad in the shoulder, trim in the waist, the coach looked like a darker version of Barbie’s Ken. But he didn’t move like Ken; GI Joe was more like it, graceful but loaded with testosterone. Big brown eyes swept the gathered members of the club, captivating every female in the group.
After dismissing the meeting, the new coach called for Jarrod and a couple of others to remain behind. Once the set decorator and cue coach were dispensed with, Reid turned the force of his personality on Jarrod. “Ms. Atherton had great things to say about you. You’ll continue lighting for the club this year again… unless there’s something else you want to try.”
“No, sir. That’s my bag.”
“So I understand. However, this is your senior year, and we need to provide for the future. I’m assigning you an assistant so you can show him the ropes.”
Jarrod frowned. Accustomed to running his own show from the control panel, he feared another student in the loft would complicate… things. “Uh, nobody taught me, that is—”
“I know. But you had high school and amateur summer stock experience. No one in the group has a similar history. At any rate, I wanted you to know you’ll have company in the attic this year.”
“Uh… thanks,” Jarrod responded, trying not to notice the light sprinkle of hair that showed at the coach’s open collar. A lot of body hair was a turn-off, but a little was nice. But he didn’t want to be turned on by a guy converting him into a babysitter.
Reid’s method of teaching was different too. The students spent more time in the classroom and less in the theater. Unimpressed by the changes, Jarrod did approve of the three plays selected for production this season: a drama, a dark comedy, and a mind-piece. Shoot, did the club have enough talent to pull them off? He was not enamored of his peers.
Bobby Lyles, the baby-faced, blond freshman from the Midwest that Jarrod was given as an assistant, acted like he was hot shit because he’d been in a couple of high school plays. The guy was impressed by the setup on his first visit to the loft, but Jarrod soon figured out that was because of the easy chair, mattress, small refrigerator, and stereo Jarrod had collected over the years. When Jarrod showed the kid the lighting panel he’d largely constructed himself, Billy stared at it like he’d never seen one before.
Because Jarrod spent most of his time in the theater when not in class, Bobby—shit, he even sounded like a kid—took to hanging around. Jarrod grudgingly admitted the blond with the pretty face and trim butt asked reasonably intelligent questions. Within a week, Bobby had dropped the attitude and opened his mind to learning. He even got to be halfway likeable. Within a week, Jarrod figured the kid was frantically looking for a girlfriend but was so picky few could meet his standards. As a result, he was beginning to show signs of frustration.
“How about it, Jar?”—Bobby insisted on shortening Jarrod’s name.—“How many gals you laid on this?” The freshman patted the mattress he was sitting on.
Jarrod looked up from his English Lit text. “None.”
“Come on, bro! Then why’s it here?”
Jarrod looked over and met the big blue eyes. “It’s where I give blowjobs to a select few.” Although it was perfectly true, he said it in a flippant tone.
Bobby’s frowned. “No crap! You give many?”
“Enough,” Jarrod returned to his text, leaving the guy frowning.
Over the course of the next week he almost got used to the freshman, but every once in a while, Bobby would manage to get to him. One afternoon he came up behind Jarrod as he was walking across the stage.
“You’re shitting me about the mattress, aren’t you?”
Jarrod stopped and turned to face the fresh-faced kid, noticing that his biceps looked pretty good. In fact, so did the rest of him. Bobby’s slight frame hid a good physique. “Why are you so interested? You angling for one?”
Bobby’s eyes bugged. “Well…no. Hell, no! What do you think I am, a pansy?”
“I don’t know what you are.” Jarrod spun on his heel and walked to a rope hanging from the ceiling. A hand-over-hand climb was his way in and out of the lighting booth, even though there were two ladders and a freight elevator available. After climbing—using just his arms—Jarrod looked down on Bobby standing on the stage below.
When the kid saw Jarrod was watching, he grabbed the rope and made it to the loft, but it was obviously an effort. He collapsed on his back atop the mattress and lay panting. Jarrod was suddenly interested.
“You find a girlfriend yet?” he asked.
“These college chicks are so snooty, you wouldn’t believe it. How about you? You got a girlfriend?”
“Got better things to do than waste time on them.” Jarrod moved over beside the freshman sprawled on the mattress. “You getting all hot and bothered remembering what I said the other day?”
“Hey, man! I’m no queer.”
“You think every guy looking for a little relief is queer?” Jarrod asked.
Bobby didn’t answer. He just swallowed hard and laid a forearm across his eyes. Jarrod knelt and ran his hand up the kid’s legs. Bobby flinched. Jarrod froze… until the kid relaxed. Then he went about pursuing what he wanted, moving slowly so as not to panic his partner. Bobby kept still and silent for ten minutes, then he let out a loud moan and went into a frenzy of muscular contractions.
As Bobby worked through his orgasm, Jarrod heard a slight noise but stayed with the boy until it was over. Then he turned toward the ladder behind him in time to see a dark head disappear.
After it was over, Bobby scrambled to cover himself. His eyes moved restlessly, not focusing on anything. He acted like he didn’t know what to say. Within minutes, he scampered down the ladder. Jarrod took the rope and was standing on the stage when the boy reached the bottom, damned near scaring Bobby out of a year’s growth.
After the freshman fled, Jarrod searched the building. No one there. But there had been, and Jarrod thought he knew who.
Did Jarrod get caught blowing a freshman? It certainly looks like that’s the case. Will there be repercussions?
Until next week.
The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old email@example.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:
See you next week.