1
Travis Makes a Deal
“ J esus Christ, Travis. Are you trying to actively kill yourself?”
I can’t answer my frat prez because I’m currently doing a two-story beer bong and it’s either concentrate or drown. When it’s over, and I’m still alive, Cody takes me by the elbow and drags me outside the frat house. I’m blasted by frigid air that feels amazing. I might actually live.
“Come on, throw it all up,” Cody says, poking my stomach. “If you die the paperwork will be fucking unreal and I’m not in the mood. I’ve got a paper due next week in Lit class and I haven’t read the damn book yet. I do not have time for your corpse.”
After enough shouting and poking, my system gives up and opens the floodgates. I vomit cheap beer and who the fuck knows what else into the bushes in the back yard. I feel better afterward, but then I remember the grade I got on my statistics test and go back to feeling like shit, only now I’m half-way to being sober. This is not an improvement.
“Stop fucking with my buzz,” I grumble.
“Your buzz? I just saved your damn life,” Cody shouts.
“Meh.”
“What the fuck is your problem, dude?”
I lean against the wooden fence and close my eyes. “Just flunked another statistics test,” I say. “Coach is gonna murder me if I lose my scholarship, then my dad is gonna murder what’s left.”
“Get a fucking tutor.”
“Already got one,” I grumble. “Didn’t help. I can't math or some shit.” Strictly speaking, this isn't true. The problem is Statistics is boring as shit. Put a math problem in front of me, I can solve it, but this is all story problems, and I hate those fuckers. Plus, all these numbers are just so fucking pointless . I hate every second I spend in that class.
“You can’t get kicked out of uni, Travis,” Cody moans. “You’re my VP. My second runner up who will take my place if I’m unable to execute my duties.”
I stare at Cody. “Like Miss America?”
“Sure. Only the frat version. Instead of a crown you get a gavel.”
“Gavels are cool,” I admit.
“Super fucking cool. So don't fuck this up, okay?”
I rub my eyes and wish I had a red Solo cup full of something that will get me back to being drunk. “I don't know what to do, Codes.”
“Ask for extra credit.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don't think there's enough extra credit in this world.”
“Then see if you can work out some kind of deal with your prof, dumbass. Who do you have?”
“Foster. He’s just the worst.”
“Oh. Oh.” Cody looks like he should have a lit lightbulb above his head. “ Dude . You could try sucking your way to an A.”
“That plan has never, in the history of ever, worked. I mean if we got caught he could get fired. I could get expelled. I need to not get expelled. And he’s gross. No. Fuck no.”
“Dr. Foster’s gay.”
“So?” I grumble. “That doesn’t mean I want to suck his cock. I mean you don’t wanna fuck every woman you see, do you?”
Cody, that asshole, looks like he’s thinking it over.
I punch his chest and note that I can’t really feel my hand. Guess I’m still drunk. “Dude. Really?”
He shrugs. “Never say never.”
“Fuck that. Never. And even if I was into him, and I’m not, there’s no way he let me suck his dick for a better grade. So fucking what if he’s gay. That doesn’t mean he’s into career suicide.”
“Dude,” Cody says, folding his arms over the spot I just punched. “I’ve literally seen you suck cock you weren’t into for the greater good.”
“That was one time! For a dare!”
Cody nods. “Greater good. Exactly what I just said. Look, I'm not saying you march right in there and offer to blow him as your first offer, T. I'm just saying it's an option you've got available.”
“Even if I was willing to go there, what makes you think the prof would even play ball?”
“I'm pretty sure it’d be you who was playing with his balls.”
I give Cody a shove. “Stop it. This is serious.”
He shoves me back. “I know, dumbass. And I think he'd let you play with his balls for a better grade because I had that fucker for Calculus last year.”
I eye Cody skeptically. “No way. You know someone who did this and it worked? I don't believe it.”
“No, really, it happened, I swear.”
“Someone was fucking with you, Codes. You need to stop believing all the bullshit you hear.”
Cody gets this stubborn look on his face. It's the same look he gets when Coach shouts at him. “Believe me or don't, asshole. I was just trying to help.”
I sigh. I need more alcohol in the worst way. “Okay, fine. How do you know this nugget of wisdom, O Great One?”
“Because it was me . This is my first-hand fucking account of how I passed that Calculus class. We had a once-a-week thing. Every Friday I'd go to his office for ‘help’ and afterward I went to Sufficient Grounds to get a peppermint latte to get rid of the taste. End of the quarter, I had a C. No big.”
I'm not as drunk as I'd like to be, but I am drunk enough to think this might actually be a solid plan. “Cool, cool. Didn't know you played for my team, though. Welcome to the alphabet mafia. Did they teach you the secret handshake?”
“I'm not gay! I mean not that there's anything wrong with it. Or being bi or whatever. But this was what you'd call ‘situational’ for me. You know, like prison sex. I was pretty fucking motivated to pass that class. Was sucking cock awesome? Hells no. Did I die? Also no. Did I pass the class? Fuck yeah I passed that class. And Brittany says it was perfectly normal behavior even for someone who identifies as straight. Sex isn't digital. It's analog.”
I remind myself to never ever date a psych major. I'm pretty sure Brittany sees Cody as a convenient test subject for all the bs she learns in class. It sounds like a nightmare.
“Getting back to Dr. Foster. How do I like… approach him?”
“Just go see him during office hours, duh.”
I elbow Cody in the ribs. “No, I mean how do I bring it up in like… conversation? I can't just start out with ‘Hey, prof, I'm failing your class, and I was wondering if I let you skull fuck me once a week would you give me a C? ‘Cause that would be awesome.’”
Cody rubs the spot I elbowed thoughtfully. “I just said I'd heard that in special cases he'd help out members of the football team who couldn't fail his class. He gives me this look up and down and asks if I ever sucked a cock before and I'm like, ‘I will suck anything to get a C in this class,’ and he tells me to show up every Friday when his office hours are over. Pretty sure you can figure it out from there.”
“Um… okay. I’ll… I'll think about it.”
All it takes to get me in Foster’s office is another failed quiz. I can survive some blow jobs but getting kicked off the team and then thrown out of school will end me.
Don’t think I haven’t realized this whole thing is totally a cliché porn scenario. You have this Daddy-looking guy nerded up like a teacher then some twink who really needs a better grade. Before you know it, the teacher is naked and ripped and covered in tats and the twink is taking a cock up his ass like a pro while pretending he's a virgin.
This, unfortunately, is not that porno. First of all, I’m not a twink. I’m a football player, for fuck’s sake. Twinks are the ones who suck my cock before I fuck them. I’m not someone’s boy and Dr. Foster sure as fuck is no one's Daddy.
He isn't just dressed like a nerd—he’s the real goddamned thing. He's got dirty blond hair that's too long to look good and too short to be cool, a neck beard, glasses straight out of the eighties, and acne. He's got this outfit he wears every damn day—some random t-shirt and a pair of olive-green cargo pants. There are things in the pockets and I don't want to know what they are. On his feet are the oldest and dirtiest pair of Keds in existence. Overall, he looks like Shaggy’s less attractive and charismatic brother.
He's so unappealing it's sad. Sucking his cock is gonna be a true act of charity. I just hope to god he bathes more often than he changes his pants. He wears the same pants day in and day out, the thighs white from him wiping his chalky hands on them. So gross. But I'm on a mission and rocking this guy’s world by letting him take a ride on my face is going to happen.
There's something a little off about the prof today but it's hard to put my finger on it. Maybe it's something about his eyes. I know it's my imagination, but I swear they keep changing from brown to green. Maybe it's just the fluorescent light in here. One of the bulbs is flickering and it's about to give me a damn seizure.
“What can I do for you, Travis? Are you here to discuss your grade?”
“Um, yeah. I'm having a real hard time in class and if I don't get a C, I can't play football. If I can't play football, my dad won’t keep paying my tuition and I’ll have to get loans and shit. I mean stuff. I really need some help here.”
“Have you considered getting a tutor?” he asks.
“I have a tutor and I still can't understand this shit. I mean stuff. The stuff you teach. I'm not getting it.”
Foster looks me up and down just like Cody said. “Football team, you said?”
“Yup. I'm a wide receiver.”
His eyes, back to brown, flare. “Are you now? Getting a better grade in my class requires effort, Travis. Hard work. Are you willing to do what it takes to bring up your grade?”
I nod my head like an idiot. “You bet. Anything. I'm totally up for that. Or down. Whichever. Whatever it takes.”
“I see. Even if what you'll need to do is… unusual?”
I'm sick of dancing around this bs. I have to be at practice in less than a half hour. “If you're asking if I'll suck your cock once a week to get a C so I don't fuck up my GPA and get killed by my dad, then yes, I'm up for something unusual.”
Foster blinks and his eyes do that color change thing again, flickering from brown to green to brown again. “Ah, good. That's good. I'll expect you here, on your knees, every Friday at three-thirty. I come down your throat and you start crawling out of that failing hole you're in.”
“Um, sure. Good.” I've never sucked a prof for a grade before. I wonder if it's always this awkward. “Do I start today?”
Again, that flare of green shows in Foster's eyes. “No! Not today. Next week. I'll be ready next week.”
Weird. But I'm more than willing to let this go until next week.