The GSA's New Direction

The meeting had been in session for a few minutes already, the air warm with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights and the soft scrape of chairs shifting on linoleum. Leon, Trevor, and Damian sat loosely spaced around the long, slightly scuffed table in the small, underused classroom tucked behind the school's computer lab. The room had that vaguely stale schoolroom smell--old books, dry-erase markers, and the ghost of yesterday's snacks.

A whiteboard stretched across one wall, the word "Welcome!" scrawled across it in blue marker. A rainbow flag--folded at the edges and taped on with determination--hung beneath the message, fluttering slightly whenever someone moved past it. Leon had brought it in that morning, carefully folding it into his backpack before school. Now, it gave the otherwise bare space a bit of life, a declaration.

Trevor leaned forward, his elbow resting on a folder covered in doodles and stickers, fiddling with one of the rings on his fingers. His blue-dyed hair flopped a bit as he turned to Damian. "So, like, I know four hundred isn't amazing," he said, his tone both sarcastic and upbeat. "But it's not nothing. I mean, that's like... half a float's worth of glitter."

Damian snorted softly, the bracelets stacked up his arm clinking as he leaned back in his chair. "We could at least buy matching shirts that don't suck. Or bribe someone to let us on their float." He grinned, showing his dimples, then added, "Pride's in June--we've got time."

Leon, sitting upright at the head of the table with his hands folded neatly on the table, nodded, his expression focused but warm. His pale blue eyes scanned a loose sheet of notes he'd scribbled earlier. "It's a start," he said, always the optimist. "And we made that from a bake sale, y'all. That's community power. We'll fundraise more. This is just the beginning."

There was a pause. The hum of the old ceiling fan made a lazy circle above them. The pride flag rustled again.

"Next time," Trevor muttered, "I'm putting glitter in the cupcakes. People love that shit."

"Only if you're baking them," Damian replied. "You're the only one who can make gluten-free taste like something."

The three of them laughed, and for a moment the space didn't feel so empty. The table wasn't just a table, the flag wasn't just fabric, and the $400 wasn't just four hundred dollars--it was something real. A step toward being seen. Toward showing up, together, in June. Of course, no one had joined the organization last year despite all their efforts to make the group more public via the bake sale, some educational programming, and a small three-person on the campus quad.

Trevor let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back in his chair and crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between bitter and amused. "You wanna know what I heard in the hallway earlier?" he said, already bracing for his own irritation. "The football team just got another twenty thousand dollars from one of the school's precious donors. For their stupid pep rally this weekend."

Damian groaned and rolled his eyes. "Seriously?" He asked the question rhetorically of course. Jocks always got their way. He remembered one of them from his old school, Mason, with his smug grin and permanently grass-stained cleats, and the other, Jordan, tall and loud and always somehow smelling like Axe and sweat. They'd sneer and call him names, shove past him with that practiced, casual cruelty--but every time they did, a strange heat had bloomed in his chest, low and confusing. Even now, thinking about it, Leon felt it stir again--his body reacting before his mind could make sense of it. He shifted in his seat, cheeks flushing slightly, both ashamed and quietly aroused by the memory.

"Yup," Trevor said, popping the 'p'. "Twenty. Thousand. For one event. For a team that already has two sets of uniforms, their own bus, and a locker room with working A/C."

Leon frowned, the corners of his mouth tightening. "Meanwhile we're scraping together cupcake money."

"And don't even get me started on the theater department," Trevor went on, voice rising slightly. "We're still using microphones held together with tape. That spotlight hasn't worked since before we started college here. It literally hums. Audibly!"

Leon nodded, glancing at the whiteboard like he was seeing right through it. "The art room has six working brushes and one bottle of tempera paint left. The same blue. Everything's blue."

Damian shook his head, beads clacking softly on his wrist. "It's like if you don't throw a ball, this school couldn't care less."

Trevor leaned forward again, resting his chin on his palm. "I mean, I get it. People like football. Whatever. But it's exhausting, you know? To always be the afterthought. Just cause were...."

"Say it." Damian waved his hand through the air.

"Fags." Trevor finished.

"Settle down." Leon tried to use his very limited authority to calm the only other two members. The real leader of the club was supposed to be a representative of the school staff. That was Mrs. Evans, one of the college art professors but even she got tired of coming and let them meet on their own, "It's time for the next segment."

Trevor groaned immediately, dropping his head to the table with an exaggerated thud. "Oh god. It's the feelings portion, isn't it?"

Damian raised both hands in mock excitement. "Oh yay, group trauma time. My favorite part of the week."

Leon gave them both a look--equal parts fond and exasperated. "It's called processing, thank you very much," he said, adjusting the collar of his blue polo like a therapist might adjust their glasses. "And it's therapeutic. Research-backed, even."

Trevor raised his head just enough to speak. "So is retail therapy, Leon. Ever think of that?"

Damian snorted. "We barely have bake sale money, and you wanna go shopping for healing?"

Leon chuckled, a hint of color rising in his pale cheeks. "Come on, I know it sucks sometimes. But it helps to talk about this stuff. We all have our stuff--we wouldn't even need a GSA if things were perfect."

Trevor sat up again, tugging at his septum ring with a sigh. "Fine. But if I cry, I'm blaming you."

"You always say that," Leon teased.

"And one day, it'll be true," Trevor shot back, though the corners of his mouth were twitching toward a smile.

"And just because of that, you get to go first," Leon added. Trevor sighed, already fidgeting with one of the rings on his finger again. He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling like maybe the words would just fall down for him. When they didn't, he exhaled slowly and stared at the table instead.

"So... this was back in high school," he started, voice quieter than usual, the sarcasm stripped from it. "Back when I still had gym seventh period. We were changing after class, right? And I was minding my business--like, seriously, not even looking at anyone--just trying to get out of there. And then this one guy--Matt something, linebacker, you know the type--he saw the pin on my backpack. The pronoun one." Trevor touched the enamel pin still stuck to his shirt now. "He starts pointing at it and making these loud-ass jokes, like, 'What even is a they?' and asking if I was gonna 'gender-fluid my way out of push-ups.' Real creative stuff."

Leon winced. Damian's smile was gone.

"And then it just spiraled," Trevor continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "A few of the other guys started laughing. One of them--god, I don't even know who--tossed a towel at me and said I was probably looking for a 'dick parade.' Like I was some kind of perv just for existing in that room."

Leon looked down at the table. There was something about jokes that turned him on. Always had so he oddly knew where Trevor was coming from. He also knew Trevor probably wasn't being completely honest, he probably was checking one of the guys out. What gay man didn't? He kind of missed having gym class. The GSA president felt his dick stiffening thinking about the idea. Shaking his head he pulled himself back to reality.

"... even say anything. I just grabbed my stuff and left. Didn't even change. I walked home in sweaty gym clothes that day because I couldn't stand being in that space one second longer." Trevor finished.

There was silence. Trevor was waiting for Damian to say something as he had blanked through a portion of the story. Finally, Damian reached across the table and placed his hand gently over Trevor's, grounding him. "That wasn't okay," he said softly. "None of that was okay."

"Seriously," Leon added, his voice low but fierce. "That's not on you. That's on them being ignorant assholes. And cowards, too--cowards always laugh the loudest."

"Thanks," Trevor said softly. He shook his body as if shaking off the negative energy. While he had felt a pain building in his chest, he also realized how hard his dick got thinking back. Matt was fucking hot. He had gotten a scholarship of course and left the state after school. "Your turn, Damian."

Damian let out a breath, bracelets softly clinking as he rubbed his hands together. "Alright," he said, voice quieter than usual.

He glanced at the flag, then back at his friends. "It was two years ago. School talent show. I was doing spoken word--something I wrote about identity, being Black, being gay, just... me. And I was maybe halfway through when someone from the back yelled out 'fag.'"

His voice wavered slightly. "And then they added something like, 'Figures it's the Black one up there, showing off.' And the worst part? People laughed. Not everyone, but enough. That sound--I can still hear it. I froze. Just stood there with the mic like a deer in headlights. Of course, some teachers shut it down but obviously, it happened and.... Yeah."

"Oh wow." Leon rubbed his arm. He never found himself attracted to feminine men like Damian but seeing the black man so vulnerable was a different feeling.

"Can I be genuinely honest?" Damian asked.

"Of course!" Trevor said.

He paused for a moment more, then added, eyes low, "And now... I don't know. Sometimes I get turned on by humiliation. Like, it messed with my head. I talk to my therapist about it!" He made sure to point out, "I'm working on it."

"Thank you for saying that," he said gently. "That's not easy. And there's nothing wrong with how you're processing it. You're doing the work."

"You're not alone in weird trauma spirals, trust me," Trevor added. Of course not admitting to the fact that he was sporting a rock-hard erection right now.

Leon knew he was up. His gaze dropped to the table, fingers tracing the edge of his notebook as another memory crept in--one he hadn't thought about in a long time. There was this country boy in his sophomore year, always hanging around the library after school. Boots, flannel, that slow drawl that could turn cruel in an instant. He used to make comments every time Leon walked by--calling him "princess," asking if he was lost on his way to the girls' bathroom, just loud enough for others to hear and snicker. It got so bad Leon stopped going to the library altogether. But later, alone in his room, he'd think about those moments--the way the guy leaned back with a rugged confidence, that smirk, the heat behind his eyes, the muscles barely visible under his dingy barely white t-shirt. More than once, Leon had gotten off to the memory. He was not about to share that story

"I guess you're up," Trevor said. He reached under the table to adjust his bulge that was beginning to hurt against his skintight purple pants.

Leon hesitated for a beat, then exhaled slowly. "Alright... I'll share one. It's more recent--here at college."

Trevor and Damian leaned in, quiet.

"So... there's this guy, Kennedy. He's on the football team. I have no idea what position he plays--linebacker? thrower?--whatever," Leon said with a half-smile. "You both probably know him."

Trevor raised an eyebrow knowingly, Damian just nodded once, lips pressing together. Neither said it, but it was obvious--they both knew exactly who Leon meant. And yeah, he was hot.

"Anyway," Leon continued, "a few weeks ago I went to the pool to swim laps. I wore my pink Speedo--you know, the shiny one from Pride last year" He paused, just long enough for Trevor to smirk. "I'd barely gotten into the water when Kennedy walked by with a few of his teammates. They stop, watch for a second, and then he says--loudly--'Damn, didn't know they made those in toddler size. Must be a tight fit with that baby dick.'"

Leon looked down, embarrassed. "They all laughed. I tried to pretend I didn't hear, but it was obvious. I left after one lap."

Trevor shifted in his seat, biting his lip. Damian cleared his throat and adjusted the bracelets on his wrist, eyes avoiding the table. Neither said anything for a second, but the heat between them was suddenly palpable. The pair had seen Leon at pride last year and Kennedy wasn't exactly wrong. Leon definitely wasn't packing.

Then Trevor spoke, voice soft but sincere. "That's... awful. He's such a dick."

Damian's mind wandered, uninvited, to Kennedy--his broad, muscular frame straining against the sleeves of his compression shirt, the way the water must have clung to the soft dusting of body hair on his chest that day at the pool with Leon. Trevor's eyes a little glassy now, were clearly picturing the same thing--Kennedy's thick thighs, the lazy swagger in his walk, that buzz cut, and the way his deep grey eyes seemed to look right through you, like you didn't even exist.

Damian finally brought himself back to reality. "Seriously. That's some fragile masculinity in a buzz cut. You didn't deserve that."

Leon gave a small laugh. "Thanks. I know. I just... I still think about it sometimes. And not always in the way I expect."

They didn't press. They didn't have to. There was tension, sure, but also understanding.

The three of them sat there in the quiet room, the air thickening with the weight of their unspoken thoughts. Trevor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He again adjusted his bulge, this time a little more firmly.

"I don't get it," Trevor muttered, his voice tight. "He's such a dick, but damn if that body doesn't make me want to--" He stopped himself, then added with a rueful smile, "I hate that I'm saying this, but I can't help it. He's just... you know..."

Leon nodded, his face flushed, his mind racing with images of Kennedy--his broad shoulders, the confident way he carried himself, the muscle in his arms, the deep V of his hips. It was like his body was betraying him. "I know. It's... messed up, right? He treats people like crap, but I can't stop.... Trauma is... hard."

Damian let out a soft laugh, clearly feeling the same pull, though he didn't voice it as openly. "Yeah, it's like we're just supposed to hate him, but then you see him without his shirt or hear that deep voice, and it's like."

"God, just imagining him in those tight shorts at practice," Trevor murmured, his voice hushed as though he was afraid to say it aloud. "Those thick thighs. I swear, I could watch him run around the field all day. The way his muscles move under that jersey? Unreal."

Leon let out a slow breath, his eyes unfocused as he nodded. Somehow the trauma was disappearing as the three were losing themselves, "Yeah. And the way he walks--so confident like he knows exactly what he's got. Every step feels like he's putting it in your face, daring you to look. That buzz cut of his... it just makes everything sharper. Like he's cut from stone."

Damian shifted slightly in his seat, running his hand over his stiffening dick barely concealed under his jeans, "And the way he just owns the room. He's got that stare like he's always on top. I bet he knows exactly how much he affects people. Makes you feel small, but in a way that makes you want to crawl up to him and beg for it."

Trevor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flicking between Leon and Damian, a slight, embarrassed laugh escaping his lips. "I don't know, man. It's messed up, but I kind of get it." He paused, scratching at the back of his neck. "I mean... those jocks in my high school... they had it going on as well."

As the conversation shifted to Trevor, Leon felt a slight pang of jealousy creep in, realizing the topic was veering away from Kennedy. He cleared his throat, pulling the focus back. "But seriously," he said, a little more forcefully than he intended, "we can't just leave it there. I still keep thinking about that day at the pool when Kennedy made that comment. About my dick, of all things. He said--" Leon paused, just for a second, gathering his thoughts, "--he said my dick must be tiny, and didn't even fill out the Speedo." He stared down at the table, trying to keep his voice steady, but the sting of the memory was still fresh. "I just... I don't know... I..."

Trevor, annoyed Leon took the attention from him, leaning back in his chair with a bit of a spiteful edge to his voice. "Well, let's be real, Leon. We all know you've got a tiny one."

Damian laughed, the sound bubbling out of him unexpectedly. Catching himself when it was too late, he cleared his throat. Leon was stunned for a moment. His dick felt like it could burst through his pants at any moment. What was going on here?

"Wow." A stern and deep voice penetrated the room. The three men all looked to the doorway. Much to their horror the 6' jock stood broad framed in the doorframe. His deep grey eyes swept over the group with an unreadable expression before a crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "Here I thought this was supposed to be a safe space."

Leon's mouth opened, then shut again. Trevor blinked, stunned. Damian looked away, swallowing hard. The air shifted immediately, thick with tension and confusion. How long had he been there?

Leon finally managed to find his voice. "Why are you here, Kennedy?" He almost went to his feet but realized with his erection, it probably wasn't the best idea.

Kennedy strolled further in like he owned the place, casually tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. "What? The sign says Gay-Straight Alliance, right? I figured I'd check it out. It's open to everyone, isn't it?" He smiled, all teeth and challenge.

Trevor muttered under his breath, "You're straight."

Kennedy shot him a look. "Exactly, They/Them. That's the S in GSA, right? I'm just doing my part. Showing support." The way he said it--slow, smug, every word laced with something sharp--made it clear he was enjoying himself.

The three of them exchanged glances. They knew what this was. He was messing with them. There was no sincerity in his voice, no kindness in his eyes. But even so, even knowing that... none of them moved to kick him out. None of them could.

Leon's throat was dry. He could smell the faint hint of sweat and cologne on Kennedy from across the room. Trevor's jaw was tight, but his eyes kept flicking downward, catching on the stretch of Kennedy's sweatpants. Damian had stopped fidgeting entirely, just watching, lips parted slightly.

They all knew he was being cruel. They all knew this was some twisted joke to him. But the weight of his presence, the way he filled the room--confident, cocky, magnetic--had them frozen. And beneath their indignation, tangled up in discomfort and shame, was that same hard-ons concealed beneath the table.

Kennedy leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, that smug smirk never leaving his face. "So, who's in charge of this little club, anyway?" he asked, voice casual but with that unmistakable edge.

Leon sat up straighter. "I am. I'm the president."

Kennedy raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider that. "Huh. That's cute. But maybe it's time for some fresh leadership. Someone with, I dunno... school spirit."

Trevor winced. His erection was becoming unbearable. Secretly he unzipped the fly of his pants to give the stiffened member some room. Immediately he felt some relief even with it still contained within briefs. "Wait--are you saying you want to be president? You just walked in here." The student looked to Leon as if for answers.

Kennedy shrugged. "Why not? It's an alliance, right? I think I'd be great at it."

Leon frowned, heart racing and his boner pounding. He wasn't sure how to handle this. Their advisor was gone for the evening. "That's not how it works. We elect presidents with a majority vote."

"Oh," Kennedy said, his smirk widening. "Well then... let's vote."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Trevor looked at Damian. Damian looked at Leon. Leon stared at both of them, eyes narrowing. They all wanted to demand him to leave the space but really had no authority to. And it they admitted it... they didn't want to.

"If no one is protesting like you gays love to do, it's a vote then!" Kennedy said slamming his fist on the table, "Raise your hand if you are in favor of me, Kennedy as your new president of the GSA?"

Leon's jaw tightened. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Trevor's hand slowly move into the air. He was stunned but before he could speak he heard Damian shift in his seat. With a brief hesitation, the black student made an unreadable expression. Then, with a small shrug and a hand half-heartedly raised: "Yes."

Kennedy raised his own hand, lazy and triumphant. "Three to one. Looks like I'm your new president!"

Leon stared in disbelief at the man who overtook the room so quickly. "This is a joke!" Leon pushed his rolling chair back and stood to his feet.

The jock's eyes slowly lowered to the all too distinct bulge that almost rested on the long office table. Trevor and Damian also couldn't help but notice. The pair cleared their throats and turned their gaze anywhere else.

"Oh, it looks like you raised as well! That's four votes for me!" The jock laughed, "Though I'm surprised you can even see that thing through your pants." Kennedy straightened up, clapping his hands once. The room was tense, and uncertain. No one laughed. Leon's expression was a mix of anger and hurt, but Kennedy just stood there, basking in the moment like he'd scored the winning touchdown. Whether it was real or just another cruel flex of power, he didn't seem to care.

Leon was too embarrassed to push back. Instead, he silently reached back for his chair to take a seat.

"I think that's mine," Kennedy said pointing to the head of the table. Leon looked to his two club members, but they avoided his eye contact. Slowly he made his way around the right of the table, sitting next to Trevor as the jock came up along the side and grabbed the chair. Swinging the chair under him he kicked off his shoes and flung his feet on top of the table.

"Oh fuck..." Trevor muttered. The three members watched as his body convulsed. While they didn't see it, both Leon and Damian were aware of what was happening as Trevor's dick began to release under the table. The blue-haired student winced and looked down at the table. "I need to run to the restroom really quick." Not waiting for a response the student stood, with his hands in front of his crotch, and hurried toward the door.

"Which one are you going to use?" Kennedy called after him, "Do you like, throw darts or something to decide?"

He disappeared beyond the door frame. Leon wondered if Trevor would come back but somehow, he knew he would.

"Okay there's no need to wait for him... they... whatever the fuck they are to come back. Let's get started." Kennedy stretch out his hands and crackled his knuckles into each other, "Those fag cakes you made were pretty good the other day, I was thinking you could host another bake sale but instead of spending the money on whatever mess this is," he gestured at the empty classroom, "You can donate it to new team uniforms. I think that's a great sign of alliance building with the straights!"

"But you just got new..." Damian stopped speaking when Kennedy's eyes fell on him. Leon also didn't dare interject when the jock looked his way.

"That's the spirit!" Kennedy Jumped to his feet and moved to the whiteboard.

Grabbing the rainbow flag off the board he began wiping away the welcoming sign before tossing the fabric to the ground. Leon sat stiffly in his chair, lips pressed in a thin line while avoiding Damian's questioning eye contact.

The jock grabbed a black marking from the holder and began to spell out his new mission. As the letters began to appear on the board Leon and Damian feel their dicks jump.

Slowly and silently, Trevor appeared back in the side of the room. His eyes fell on the jock he stepped back from the board eyeing his new work. The blue-haired student looked at the dark ink smeared over the crisp white surface. It read:

GSA: The New Straight Direction