Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

 Siyu Jiang was in love. After moving to the United States from Guangzhou to get his degree in Software Engineering, it was a hard pill to swallow that he was less than stellar at mingling with his peers. Guangzhou was a mega city, easy for him to blend in and mind his own business, busy enough for him to get a contact-high of sorts to feed his need for socialization. New Orleans on the other hand, while not a small town per se, felt tiny and almost claustrophobic to him. Everyone knew eachother, and everyone took the time to chat, go out, have a drink or a blunt, 'fraternize' if you catch my drift... and Siyu quietly observed from a distance, watching the world bustle by.  That is, until he saw Eduardo. In China, he had never felt attracted to men. Perhaps it was the somewhat hostile environment for queer folks, or perhaps it was New Orleans' more laissez-faire attitude about stuff like that, but when the new semester started and he walked into that chemistry class, it was...

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts. He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired. I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my min...

  He is so fuckin hot. Elijah Toussaint. What a stud. You’ve come to the same gym for years, and the moment you saw him join the club, you were hooked. Laid back, cocky, a little rowdy, but you know he has some sort of energy about him that you find entirely irresistible. Every now and again he nods his head at you, acknowledging your presence at least, and for a while that was enough. The butterflies you had in your stomach lasted all day until you could get home and shoot the tension right out into your rag. The way that ripped, tatted body glistens with sweat when the light hits him, those light minty eyes that sparkle like gems, the wet hot musk that trails behind him as he passes… every inch of him is a present just waiting to be unwrapped. It wasn’t long before that little nod and piercing glance just didn’t satisfy you the way it used to. So you had to up the ante a bit. After his lifting, leaving his sticky sweat all over the benches, he always retreats to the basketball co...

 I looked around the locker room, hoping no one was watching. Luckily, it was empty. No coach, no players. I was free to enjoy my typical Friday night ritual. I’d tried this with Warren’s cleats after a long game, or Chase’s sneakers after basketball practice, but I always wanted to try with Coach Halvorson’s Nike trainers. Turning to my right, I saw them on the bench next to the bench where I was sitting. I smiled as the smell hit me, the smell that only comes from a pair of worn out, sweaty shoes. They were perfect. I reached down, picking up the sneaker. It had been soaked with sticky sweat for the past few days, the sweat dripping slowly onto the floor. He wore them all the time, on the field, in the halls, in the gym… Looking down at the floor, there was a thick dark streak, running from the shoe on the left to the shoe on the right. The streaks seemingly got wider and wider as I watched. It squirmed and pulsated, but I couldn’t look away. Looking down at the shoe, the inside ...

  Yeah, he’s pretty. Studly, sexy, the ultimate adonis. Would you be absolutely shocked to learn he was a High School History teacher? This is Mr. Rappaport. He taught AP European History at Marva Collins High School for 4 years. In that time, he won teacher of the year, brought the school basketball team to the state title, and touched the lives of hundreds of students that walked in and out of his classroom. Now, you may be thinking, this is not exactly a picture that’s appropriate for a schoolteacher. Mr. Rappaport would have vehemently agreed. It was meant as a teaser for his husband, Danny, on Valentine’s Day. Little did he know that hitting the send button his Facebook Messenger would cause his life to turn upside down. In hindsight, he should have known that Collin would have pulled something like this, especially after how pissed he was for being kicked off the team. But Mr. Rappaport never would have guessed that Collin would have snooped through his laptop during practice...

  “Little bro! Where you at?” Henry’s older brother Josh had just gotten back from some wild frat party, and he was clearly wasted. He was 6′7, captain of the basketball team, and couldn’t hold his liquor worth a damn. It was so bad this time, that he had walked all the way from Sigma Epsilon to Henry’s place. When he got sloshed, he had a tendency to crash on his couch. “I’m upstairs, Josh!” Henry called out, hearing fumbling and crashes downstairs. He could fell the thumps and knocking of his gigantic sibling sauntering up the stairs, all the way to just outside his door. Two loud bangs echoed on Henry’s door. He rolled his eyes and got up from his homework, unlocking his doorknob. Within seconds, Josh burst through into his room wearing nothing but his blue underwear and grey basketball socks. “My dudebro, you shoulda been there… It was… So fuckin’ lit… Haven’t been this drunk in weeks.” Henry broke a smirk, and point to the bed, inviting him to lay down. Instead, Josh plopped d...

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