Rodney Joins the GSA

The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead as Rodney made his way down the mostly empty hallway, the soft squeak of his boots echoing off the tile floors. His tight v-neck clung a little more than he liked--he'd thrown it on that morning without thinking--but it was too late now, and besides, it wasn't like anyone was around to see him.

Except there would be. In just a few minutes.

He glanced at the room numbers ticking past: A-207... A-209... His fingers tightened slightly around the worn leather strap of his bag.

Finally going to check it out, he thought, trying to ignore the little jitter in his chest. Room A-213. The college Gay Straight Alliance. It had been on his mental to-do list since the first semester, back when everything still felt new and overwhelming. But between classes, assignments, and trying to find his footing, he'd always put it off.

Now, though? He wasn't new anymore. And he wasn't hiding either.

Still, the idea of walking into a room full of strangers--even ones who were supposed to be on the same wavelength--made his palms a little clammy. He hated that Statistics had drained so much of his confidence. Numbers never made sense to him, no matter how hard he tried, and he'd spent the entire class pretending to follow along while his professor rambled on about chi-squared tests and binomial distributions.

But English, his major--that was his thing. Stories, poetry, language that twisted and turned like breath. That was where he felt most himself.

And maybe, hopefully, this meeting would feel like that too.

Rodney took a breath, ran a hand through his red hair, and stopped in front of the door to Room A-213. A flyer with faded rainbow borders was taped to it: GSA Weekly Meeting -- All Are Welcome.

Rodney stopped just short of the door, his fingers hovering near the handle. From inside, he could hear the low murmur of voices--chatter, laughter, someone dragging a chair across the floor--but the words were too muffled to make out.

He swallowed hard.

A familiar feeling crept up his spine, one he hadn't felt in a while. That flicker of uncertainty, the voice in his head that always asked: Are you sure you belong here?

Back home, in his tiny rural town, being queer was the kind of thing you kept quiet. Everyone knew, sure--but no one talked about it. He still remembered the side-eyes in church, the whispered jokes in the hallways, the way the word "bisexual" was always followed by some variation of pick a side, man.

No one had ever slammed a locker into him or called him names to his face--but there was something worse in the silence. That slow, isolating kind of rejection that made you shrink yourself just enough to survive.

Rodney adjusted his bag on his shoulder. He wasn't there anymore. He'd promised himself that when he got to college, things would be different. He could be different.

And yet, standing in front of this door, the noise behind it a low hum of belonging he hadn't earned yet, he felt the old hesitations clawing at his resolve.

It's just a room, he told himself. A room full of people who get it.

He let his hand drop to his side, took one deep breath--and then another.

You've come this far.

Rodney's fingers hovered on the handle. But his mind wasn't in the hallway anymore.

It was back in that high school auditorium, heavy with the scent of sweat and dust and costume paint. Romeo and Juliet was nearing its opening weekend, and everyone was exhausted. The lights above the stage had hummed all day, baking the cast under their glow. Rodney remembered fiddling with the ties on his doublet in the backstage mirror, cheeks still flushed from the mock fight scene he'd just finished rehearsing.

He'd stayed late, as usual. He liked the quiet of the theater when everyone else had left--liked the fantasy of it, how it felt like he was someone else under the stage lights. Someone braver. Someone more himself.

He hadn't realized Mitchell was still there.

The sound of footsteps behind the curtain sent a flicker of unease through him. And then--there he was. Mitchell, leaning in the doorway of the changing area like he owned the place. His costume shirt was half-open, exposing a hard chest damp with sweat. His lip curled.

"You always hang back just to watch me change, huh?"

Rodney had frozen, hands still at his collar. "What? No, I--"

"Don't lie." Mitchell stepped closer. "I see you. Always looking."

Rodney's heart had hammered. His mouth went dry. "I--I wasn't--"

Mitchell got right up in his space then, one hand slamming the wall beside Rodney's head. "You're disgusting."

The words had stung. But what burned more was the heat rising in his own chest, the way Mitchell's breath brushed his cheek, the closeness, the threat laced with something else--something electric and wild and unspoken. Maybe he had looked... but was that a crime?

That's when the shove came. Quick and sharp, knocking him against the prop table. Before he could react, Mitchell had lunged at him, and the pair were going at it. Fist collided with chest, legs were kicked out from underneath each other. The turmoil quickly caught the attention of other students and the Drama Club faculty.

This was the second time Rodney had lashed out in anger towards another student. He was suspended for a month immediately after. Rodney became an unintended LGBT martyr for the small country school.

Back in the present, Rodney's breath caught. He hadn't thought about that night in a long time. And now that he did... there was heat again... and a familiar stiffening in his pants. Fuck! He couldn't walk in like that.

It made no sense--and yet, it was there. That complicated, contradictory pull. His body had remembered what his mind had buried.

He swallowed, chest tight with the weight of it.

Maybe it was twisted. Maybe it meant something was wrong with him.

Or maybe... maybe it meant he had more to unpack. Maybe the GSA members inside--might understand. Might not flinch if he said it out loud.

Taking a moment more, he drew his mind towards anything else to take the sudden presence in his straining pants away.

Statistics was the first thing that came to mind.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and finally pushed the door open to Room A-213.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Rodney found himself standing in the middle of a room that, frankly, looked more like a budget office than a safe space. The overhead fluorescents buzzed faintly. Beige walls. Scuffed tile floors. A long faux-wood conference table took up most of the space, surrounded by mismatched rolling chairs. On the whiteboard, in faded marker, someone had written 'GSA: The New Straight Direction'. What did that mean?

He blinked. Where he'd half-expected glittery banners and Pride flags hanging from every wall, there was... this. Sparse. Functional. Not unfriendly, but not exactly festive either. Then again, he reminded himself, it was a shared campus room. The GSA probably had to take what they could get.

A few students milled around the table, chatting in small clusters, five to be exact.

Rodney's eyes drifted toward the far end of the room.

There, lounging with exaggerated ease, were two guys who looked straight out of a locker room. Tall. Built. Cocky posture. One of them threw his head back in a laugh, the sound too loud, too confident. Rodney's stomach tightened. Jocks. Just the sight of them stirred old instincts--guardedness, suspicion... and something murkier. The head of the table was still empty.

Much closer to him and the entry of the door were three men who set early quiet compared to the jocks at the far end of the long table. One of them looked up when he walked in. Grabbing a clipboard, he made his way around the table to where he stood.

Before he could dwell, a cheerful voice broke through his thoughts.

"Hi" The man spoke, "First time?"

Rodney found him strikingly put-together. The young man standing in front of him had a clipboard in hand. Blonde, blue-eyed, wearing a crisp blue polo and a smile that somehow felt both welcoming and evaluative.

"I'm Leon," he said. "The president... or.... well, not currently."

"I'm Rodney." He gave Leon a confused look, but before he could ask any questions, the man continued.

"Pronouns?"

"He/Him." Rodney replied automatically.

"Sexuality?"

"Bisexual."

Leon nodded, jotting everything down with quick, efficient strokes. "Welcome, Rodney. Here's your name tag and a marker. Just fill that out and stick it on."

Rodney took the plastic name tag and uncapped the marker. His handwriting came out a little uneven, but legible.

Leon gestured to the nearest end of the table. "You can have a seat here. This half's the queer zone."

Rodney hesitated. Something about being assigned a seat rubbed him the wrong way--especially when the jocks down the table were clearly holding court at the other end. But he wasn't here to stir things up. He didn't know their code of conduct.

So he nodded, gave Leon a tight smile, and walked toward the indicated spot, pulling out a squeaky chair and settling in.

He placed his hands on the table, palms down, feeling the cold laminate against his skin.

Okay, he told himself. You're here. That's something.

Rodney didn't have long to stew in his thoughts before two of the guys from further down the table slid over to join him.

"Hey," said the one closest, offering a small smile. "I'm Damian. He/him."

Rodney looked up. The name caught him off guard, but Damian's expression was warm--gentle even. He was slim and wiry, with smooth skin and a soft rasp to his voice. His tank top was green again tonight, matching the stacks of colorful beaded bracelets around both wrists. Despite the laid-back vibe, there was something guarded in his eyes--like he was present, but holding back just a little.

"I'm Trevor," said the other, sitting opposite. He gestured with a brief wave. "He/they."

Rodney recognized him vaguely from around campus. Trevor's hair, which he'd expected to be some vivid blue or green, was now a natural deep brown--and buzzed close to the scalp. The change suited him, but it also seemed to mute something. Like a piece of him had been packed away.

"Rodney," he replied. "Nice to meet you guys."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries--year, major, all the usual warm-up questions--but as they spoke, Rodney couldn't help but notice it: a softness in both of them, not just in tone, but in energy. As if they were recovering from something.

It wasn't sadness, exactly. More like... heaviness. A kind of melancholy that lingered in their pauses and glances, even when they smiled.

Rodney leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as he nodded toward the far end of the table. "Hey... who are those guys?"

Damian followed his gaze and gave a little eye roll. "Left one's Ryan. He's the vice president."

"He's also the football team's linebacker," Trevor added, with a tone that sounded somewhere between resigned and bemused.

Rodney blinked. Ryan? Vice president? The guy looked like he could bench-press the entire table. He had a thick beard, short-cropped brown hair, and shoulders so broad they barely fit the back of his chair. His white-and-blue jersey was streaked with dirt, clinging to his chest and arms in a way that made it clear he'd come straight from practice.

"And the one on the right is Artega," Damian said. "Treasurer. Defensive end."

Rodney's eyes flicked to Artega--leaner but no less intimidating. His dark hair was damp, like it had just started to dry from a post-practice rinse, and his brown eyes scanned the room with an unreadable calm. A faint shadow of stubble lined his sharp jaw. Like Ryan, he still wore his jersey, stained and sweat-worn, sleeves bunched up just enough to show off defined arms.

Rodney blinked again, thrown by how hot they both were--grimy, intimidating, and somehow... magnetic. It wasn't just their looks. It was the sheer presence they had. And they were part of the GSA? That wasn't typical... but a good thing! Wasn't the point of a GSA to bring people together?

"How do you know so much about football?" he asked quietly, half-joking.

Trevor gave him a flat look. "We have to. It's part of the GSA's new commitment to heterosexual understanding."

Heterosexual... what? Rodney stared at him for a second, unsure if he was serious. His temperament didn't change.

Rodney sat back slightly, still watching the two jocks joke quietly with each other at the end of the table, their dirty jerseys stretched across broad chests, the low hum of their voices just barely audible over the room's scattered chatter. It was... strange. Not what he expected from a GSA meeting.

But understanding is a two-way street, after all.

"So... who's the president?" Rodney asked.

As if summoned by the words themselves, the door swung open and in strode Kennedy--commanding the room like it was his locker room and not a shared student space. His stride was loose and confident, buzzed brown hair still damp from a shower, white athletic shirt hugging the solid lines of his chest and arms. He looked like he'd just walked off the cover of some college sports catalog--and knew it.

The energy in the room shifted instantly.

Without missing a beat, Leon, Trevor, and Damian all dipped their heads low, hands folded in theatrical reverence.

Rodney blinked, confused.

"Just do it," Damian hissed from the corner of his mouth.

Rodney hesitated for a half-second, then awkwardly followed suit, bowing his head as Kennedy's footsteps drew closer.

Kennedy barely slowed as he passed Leon, holding out a hand. "Clipboard, dick breath."

Rodney almost immediately raised his head at the words but decided not to pry.

Still bowed, Leon offered it without a word.

Kennedy took it, eyes scanning the sign-in sheet. His gaze landed briefly on the new name--Rodney. His eyes flicked up, just for a second, expression unreadable.

Then he continued down the length of the table, flipping the clipboard closed with a satisfied thud as he reached the far end. He bumped fists with Ryan and Artega, cracking a joke that made them both smirk, then finally dropped into his usual seat like he was settling onto a throne.

Only then did the others raise their heads in unison.

Rodney, still unsure what had just happened, followed their cue--sitting up straighter, eyes flicking toward Kennedy, who threw his feet up on the long desk.

Rodney felt a strange, unexpected pull as he watched Kennedy settle into his seat. It wasn't just his posture--leaning back, casually dominating the space--it was the way the entire room seemed to shift in response to him, the unspoken energy that radiated from his presence.

It reminded him of someone. A memory flashed in his mind: Mitchell, standing in front of him that day after rehearsal, towering over him with the same cocky, commanding presence. The way Mitchell had cornered him, chest puffed out, as if daring him to react, daring him to cower.

Kennedy had that same energy. It was subtle, but undeniable. It stirred something in Rodney--not again! Rodney adjusted in his seat as he felt his penis begin to harden.

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he had no concern for rules, decorum, or anyone else's comfort.

"Ryan, I have a joke for you." Kennedy turned to his right-hand man.

"'Kay."

"What's the difference between a fridge and a gay guy?" The president asked. Ryan didn't respond, just gave the man a questioning glance, "The fridge doesn't fart when you pull the meat out!"

The jocks burst into laughter--loud, careless, like they owned the space and didn't care who felt uncomfortable in it. Rodney stared in shock. He could take a dark joke any day, but there was a time and place. His stomach tightened. He glanced to Trevor, then Damian, then Leon, expecting--hoping--for a reaction. But none came. They all remained still, quiet, their eyes avoiding Kennedy's, their faces unreadable. Complicit by silence.

Then Kennedy's gaze swept across the room, scanning each person like he was taking inventory of something he owned.

His eyes landed on Rodney.

"Who's this?" he asked, though he clearly already knew--Rodney had watched him glance at the clipboard just minutes ago.

Leon started to answer automatically, "That's--"

Kennedy cut him off with a curt wave of his hand, not even looking at him. "No, queerbait. Let the new guy speak for himself."

Rodney felt the attention settle on him like a spotlight. His throat tightened, but he straightened his back and forced himself to meet Kennedy's eyes.

"Rodney," he said clearly. "He/him. I'm a sophomore as of next month. English major."

Kennedy stared at him a second longer, the edge of a smirk playing at his lips, before giving a lazy nod like he'd just sized Rodney up and filed him away. Rodney sat back, pulse ticking in his ears, unsure whether he'd passed a test or just stepped into something he didn't quite understand yet.

"I take it you're gay?" He stated plainly.

"I'm bisexual." Rodney corrected.

"So, half fag." Kennedy laughed, and the men at either side of him followed.

Rodney's brow furrowed, the tension in his jaw tightening as he looked toward Kennedy. "That wasn't appropriate," he said, his voice even but firm. It wasn't loud, but in the heavy silence that followed the laughter, it carried.

The room fell silent.

Kennedy's smile faded, replaced by a flat, unreadable expression. He didn't say anything at first--just stared at Rodney, cold and quiet, like he was sizing up an unexpected inconvenience.

The air in the room shifted.

Leon, Damian, and Trevor all visibly tensed. Trevor's hand twitched near his water bottle. Damian shifted in his seat. Leon opened his mouth slightly, then closed it.

Kennedy finally turned to them. "You didn't teach the new guy the rules?" His voice was calm but laced with something darker. "Really?"

No one answered.

Kennedy leaned forward. "Leon, maybe I should strip you of your made-up Community Coordinator title if you can't keep the new members in check. I gave you that title out of kindness after you lost your role as president. Don't forget I can take it from you just as easily."

Leon flinched, immediately bowing his head. "I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

He leaned toward Rodney and hissed, "Just calm down. Please."

Rodney blinked, stunned. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. The power dynamic felt surreal--like a joke he wasn't in on. The authority Kennedy held over the room, unspoken and unchallenged, made his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists under the table and sat back, biting back any further words.

Despite everything--despite the tension, the threat, the way Kennedy's gaze pinned him in place--Rodney felt a strange heat crawl up his neck. Something about the sheer dominance, the unshakable confidence Kennedy radiated, sparked something deep in him. He tried to shake it off, shifting in his seat as if he could physically move the feeling away.

What the hell is wrong with me? He thought.

He told himself it was just a response to masculinity--he was bi, after all. He liked confidence, power, that kind of presence. But not like this. Not when it came with cruelty. Not when it made others shrink... right?

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, casual as ever. "Look," he said, addressing Rodney but letting his voice carry to the whole room, "I get that our setup might look a little weird to someone new. But everything we do here--everything--is about bridging the gap between the gay and straight communities. You don't build understanding without shaking things up a bit."

From behind his head, the quarterback snapped his fingers. With no hesitation, Trevor jumped from his seat and walked to Kennedy's side of the table. He bent forward and began untying Kennedy's muddy athletic shoes, his face blank. Kennedy didn't look at him--just kept talking, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Rodney raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he was hearing twisted logic or a rehearsed excuse. Instead of questioning it, he watched as Trevor freed the football star's massive size 13 feet from their captivity.

Rodney's stomach tightened. The image, the tone, the ease with which it all happened--it unsettled him. Whatever this was, it wasn't about mutual respect or understanding. It felt like something else entirely.

The new attendee didn't let it go. He sat forward, his voice more insistent now. "I'm just saying--certain language can push people away. It doesn't build bridges, it builds walls. There's a difference between being provocative and being divisive."

Kennedy didn't even look at him at first. He casually tugged his shoe off as Trevor held it steady, then finally turned to Rodney with a tight smile. "You're new," he said smoothly. "So I'll give you some context."

He leaned forward but never took his feet off the table. "Since I became president three months ago, GSA attendance has doubled." He gestured to the two other members of the football team."

Trevor began to work the cotton socks off the man's large feet.

"Last month, we partnered with the athletics department to host that tailgate barbecue, remember? Leon, Trevor, and Damian here hosted!" Kennedy looked to his teammates, who nodded in agreement, "Biggest GSA event this school has ever seen! And the week before that, we got new jerseys for the football team with the GSA's bake sale money."

Rodney frowned. "Yeah, but... how exactly does that help this club?" he asked, gesturing around the table. "Because all I'm hearing are wins for the football team, not the queer students."

Kennedy raised an eyebrow, like he was amused more than offended. "Rodney, come on. It's called an alliance. The football team, which the straight students love, get to have a good time, and the gay ones get to bask in this."

Kennedy gestured over his body. The two other members of the team cheered in agreement.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, throwing an arm over its back. "Yeah, and don't forget the Homecoming float! Now that wasn't the football team! It was the soccer team that I'm also a part of. That was Kennedy's idea! He believes in cross-cultural exposure."

"I do." Kennedy stretched his exposed feet. With a suddenly jerk of his head, Trevor scurried back to his seat, "And the queers here with some added help from a few from the arts club made an incredible display!"

Artega nodded, his voice low but smug. "And he started a monthly educational series in our meetings on the fourth Thursday!" The jock hit his fist against the table in excitement, "We have had speakers from the Young Republicans Convention, American Family Association, and Christian Anti-Defamation Commission!"

Rodney sat there, stunned. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He glanced at Leon and Damian, searching their faces for some sign that they saw what he saw. Trevor returned to the seat next to him.

In a hushed tone, barely above a whisper, he leaned toward them. "Who voted this guy in?"

Damian looked down at his lap, fingers nervously tugging at one of his bracelets. "... We did," he mumbled.

Rodney was floored.

Leon let out a short scoff. "I didn't," he said sharply, arms crossed. "But... I mean... It's been kind of... great." The previous president shifted in his seat.

Rodney sat back, trying to swallow the weird knot forming in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was betrayal, confusion... or something else entirely. The frustrating pain in his crotch was taking away his attention.

Rodney stayed quiet, his eyes drifting to the name tag still stuck to his chest. Rodney -- he/him -- bisexual. It felt a little heavier now, like it meant something different in this room than it had when he wrote it.

In his mind, the question echoed louder than the chatter: Is this what a GSA is supposed to be? A place where queer students bowed their heads while jocks strutted in jerseys and cracked jokes at their expense? A place where "allyship" looked more like dominance than support?

Rodney's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, confident voice--Kennedy's voice.

"You know," Kennedy said, eyes locking onto Rodney with that same casual arrogance, "our club's good, yeah. We're slowly growing in numbers and influence, but there's one thing that sets us apart. Humility."

Rodney blinked, thrown off by the shift in tone.

"So many LGBT alphabet groups get far to cocky. They get out of line with the wild hair, over the top weddings, multi-gender nonsense..." Kennedy leaned forward slightly, smirking. "We believe in humility here. That's what makes us successful. And I expect that from everyone who joins this club. You don't come in thinking you can just change things overnight. You're part of something bigger! Something far more important!"

Rodney's stomach twisted. He had no idea what Kennedy was getting at, but the way he said it felt... manipulative.

But the bisexual man's body betrayed him as he felt a shiver run down his spine. The low, demanding tone of Kennedy's voice seemed to seep into the room, filling the space with an authority that Rodney couldn't quite ignore. It was like something primal, something powerful, that made him feel small, but in a way that was almost... electric. His dick couldn't be any harder.

He clenched his fists under the table, pressing them against his firm erection. Hoping no one would notice.

Rodney couldn't figure out why he was reacting this way. He didn't want to be drawn in by Kennedy's presence--by the way he seemed to take control of the room with just a few words. But there it was, his body's involuntary response to the dominance Kennedy exuded, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn't seem to shake it.

Kennedy's gaze lingered on Rodney for a moment longer than necessary, his lips curling into a slight smirk. The weight of the silence between them was palpable, and Rodney couldn't quite shake the tension that seemed to hang in the air.

"Well," Kennedy began slowly, his voice still low but thick with intent, "if you want to officially join as a member of this great club and all its successes, there's one thing you'll need to do." He paused, letting the words hang as though they carried more weight than they really should. "You'll need to express your humility."

Rodney frowned, feeling a knot form in his stomach. "How?"

Kennedy's smile widened just slightly, like he was savoring the moment. "Lick my feet."

Rodney's confusion deepened as Kennedy leaned back in his chair, the smug grin still etched on his face. He could sense that Kennedy wasn't done with him yet. The tension in the air thickened, and Rodney felt like he was being pulled deeper into something he wasn't sure he was ready for.

Kennedy turned his gaze to Leon, who had been silent for most of the conversation. "Leon," Kennedy said, his voice now taking on a more commanding tone, "tell Rodney about the time we helped you with that... little problem you had." He smirked, clearly enjoying the moment. "Tell him about how we helped you overcome it."

Leon visibly stiffened, but after a brief, almost imperceptible sigh, he nodded. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter, tinged with an uncomfortable honesty. "Well... it happened at the pool," he began, his eyes shifting slightly as though he were reliving the moment. "Kennedy and I were there, and I... I was wearing this tight pink Speedo, and, well... Kennedy made a comment about how small my penis was in front of some of the other swimmers."

Rodney's stomach twisted. He hadn't expected to hear something so personal, especially not from Leon, who had seemed so composed earlier.

Leon's eyes darted around the room, avoiding Kennedy's gaze. "At first, I was really embarrassed. I started questioning myself, feeling like maybe I wasn't enough... that it was a problem." He paused, looking almost vulnerable for a second before he cleared his throat. "But, honestly, the club--this group--Kennedy, helped me get over it. They helped me see that if I don't even use my dick for penetration than why does it matter if my dick is small."

"You're what?" Kennedy asked.

"Sorry, sir." Leon apologized, "My clit."

His clit? Rodney was shocked.

Kennedy nodded in agreement, clearly satisfied with how things were playing out. "Forgive him. He's still learning," he said, his tone light but firm. "Had I not so publicly made fun of him that day AND out of the graciousness of my heart taken on this role as president, Leon may have never stopped dwelling in his insecurities."

"This club isn't just about understanding each other--it's about pushing through those insecurities!" Ryan jumped in, "We all have them, well... the queer members do."

"There's a lot to unpack there!" Artega laughed.

Leon nodded reluctantly; his expression conflicted. "Yeah. But I'm not he only one! Trevor..." Leon needed to get the attention off himself. His dick had begun to stiffen under the table and his short shorts were not going to hide it well.

Trevor leaned forward a little, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his name tag as he spoke. "Honestly, I used to act out a lot. Crazy hair, piercing, effeminate clothes, wild pronouns..."

"We're still working on that!" Kennedy interrupted.

"We are!" Trevor agreed. He paused, his eyes flicking toward Leon and Damian briefly before settling on Rodney. "But when Kennedy became president, he helped focus my strange projections and aided in growing something bigger than myself! We've helped the football team, the Soccer team, bridged gaps between local political groups... we even helped one of our members join a Conversion Therapy Camp! Unfortunately, he never came back, so we lost a member, but he could be much happier out there, and that's amazing to think about."

"And you're happy this way?" Rodney asked. He remembered the blue-haired student, always in a 90's graphic T, practically prancing through the halls.

"I mean... yeah." The said, less enthusiastic than Rodney had hoped, "I liked the expression of course but... being around jocks all day is pretty nice too."

"All day?" The new attendee asked.

"Yes." Artega responded, "He needed some extra help. With our assistance, he dropped a few of his classes and helped out in the gymnasium to hopefully build up some more... masculine habits. The Latin man looked to his fellow players, "I don't hold much hope, but HEY, we're trying!"

"You actually dropped classes?" Rodney pressed. His hard-on felt like it was about to burst through denim at any moment.

"It's not a big deal." Trevor shook his head, "It was just Gender Studies and Women's History."

Damian could see a familiar discomfort on Rodney's face. One he knew all too well. One, they all knew all too well. He shifted in his seat, fingers brushing over the beaded bracelets stacked along his wrist. He decided it was his turn to share

"There was this time," he began, "back in high school. I was on stage during a performance -- just a school play, nothing major. And someone from the crowd shouted out, real loud, 'Fag!'"

He paused, letting the word hang heavy for a second. "They laughed. A lot of them did. And it wasn't just about me being gay. They made it about me being black too. Like I was some kind of punchline."

Damian's voice wavered, but he kept going. "It messed me up for a long time. I didn't want to get on any stage after that. Didn't want to be seen. But since I've been part of this group..." He glanced to the jocks at the head of the table. "These guys helped me see that I am a fag and that's okay."

He looked over at Rodney, eyes clear. "And I know what you are feeling right now. What are you hiding..." He let those final words slip off his thick lips as he glanced down at the table in front of Rodney. Though his eyes could go no further than the gray surface of the condensed wood, the red head knew where his eyes had intended to go. Did he really know? Did they all know?

"Do you have something you'd like to share with the room, Rodney?" Artega asked.

Rodney hesitated as the room fell quiet, all eyes gently turning toward him. His fingers toyed with the edge of his name tag, the paper already curling from where he'd nervously picked at it earlier. Part of him wanted to shut down, deflect with a joke, or just get the hell out. His eyes fell on the two massive feet that rested without a care in the world on top of the boardroom table.

Was that what it was like to be straight? So confident and carefree?

Did these other gay men really find comfort in this club ran by three jocks? He briefly looked amongst everyone in the room. His heart was pounding. His dick was throbbing.

"I guess..." He swallowed. "Something I've struggled with--something I don't really talk about--is how some of the stuff I've been through has shaped what I'm into. Like..." he hesitated. His eyes briefly fell on Kennedy's feet, but he moved them down more towards the able before him, "I find myself drawn to guys who are really dominant. Not just confident, but like, take-control, alpha types. And I know that's not unusual, but for me, I think it comes from..." His voice trailed off.

He paused, watching the shift in the others' expressions. No judgment, just listening. A few of them shifted in their seats. That was when a look of understanding came over him. He had been adjusting himself just like that. Were each of them sporting the same erections he had? Something about that made his dick jump.

"I used to feel a lot of shame about that," he admitted. "Still do, sometimes. It's confusing. I don't want to be controlled or hurt--I just... want to understand where that part of me comes from, and how to feel okay with it. Or grow past it, maybe."

There was a beat of silence, then Kennedy leaned forward slightly, his voice lower, more thoughtful than Rodney expected. "That's valid," he said. "Attractions are complicated. Odds are you'll never get over it. Fags never do. But at least you can project your frustration on something more productive than butt fucking each other."

Trevor, sitting nearby, nodded. "Yeah. Same here," he said softly. "I thought I was just messed up for the longest time. But talking about it... didn't really change it, but at least I'm being helpful."

Damian gave him a warm smile. "You're not alone. Seriously."

Rodney felt something ease in his chest--but not his pants. No one was rushing to fix him or tell him who to be. Just listening, sharing space. It wasn't everything, but maybe it was enough for now. Was this why the other men hadn't left the club?

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, watching Rodney with a confident smirk that didn't quite hide the curiosity in his eyes. "So," he said, voice smooth but low, "you ready to officially join the club?"

Rodney watched the man readjust and flex his massive feet.

Rodney hesitated, heart thudding in his chest. He glanced around the table. Trevor offered a tentative smile, Damian gave him a small, encouraging nod, and even Leon--met his eyes with something softer than before.

Rodney took a breath. "I think I am," he said slowly.

"Then show your humility as a gay man," Kennedy said with a strong leader-like tone.

The redhead paused for a moment before pushing back his chair and moving closer to the far end of the table. As he neared the sudden musk that seemed to emanate from the massive size 13s filled his nostrils.

"Go ahead." The president nodded towards his feet.

"I came here hoping to find people I could be real with. Not just about the good stuff, but the messy, confusing things too. And... this isn't exactly what I expected," he added, with a nervous chuckle. "But maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Kennedy's expression didn't change.

Finally, Rodney leaned forward, placing his left hand on the surface of the table for support as he drew closer to the man's glorious feet. His erection landed firmly on the edge of the table. Despite the strange dynamics and the complicated feelings, he was starting to understand what the others meant when they spoke about healing, even if their methods weren't what he'd imagined.

Rodney had never been into feet like other pervy gay men were, but if they helped him develop friends and a better sense of self, then... maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Firmly, his tongue landed on the heel of the man's foot. The skin was callused and rough, but he pushed through, carrying his tongue over the surface.

As his tongue moved over the jock's foot, Rodney was lost.

A sensation that he was unfamiliar with appeared to tear through his body with ecstasy. His eyes grew wide as it took a while for it to become evident. His dick began to twitch in his jeans, and it started to erupt.

Rodney tried his best not to make his orgasms obvious as his tongue made its way to the man's toes. Instinctively, he wrapped the massive digits into his lips. A small but quiet moan escaped his lips as his semen soaked his briefs, and the massive toe filled his mouth.

Kennedy looked down at him in disgust. He'd had enough.

"Alright, with that out of the way," Kennedy pushed the redhead back with his foot, "Today's meeting is about initiating a Straight Pride Day at our school, any ideas?

As the jocks foot collided with his face, Rodney stumbled back almost hitting the ground. Quickly gaining his footing, he felt some of his semen begin to slide down his leg.

The red head silently made his way back to his seat as Kennedy began to speak with Ryan and Artega. The other three members remained silent, knowing the men didn't care for their ideas unless asked specifically. As the new member drew closer, they couldn't help but notice the all too familiar wet spot growing on Rodney's crotch. Each of them had been there too.

Maybe this wasn't the kind of GSA he'd pictured--but maybe it was what he needed.