The Fighting Irish

By Willie Cici published February 14, 2019
Summary

Nate’s roommates drank all his beer. Luckily, one of the guys in the building brews his own beer …

Nate opened the door of his beat-up 2010 Ford Explorer. Tired and exhausted, Nate spent his Saturday working at his part-time job, taking advantage of the winter break. Every little bit he earned helped. One more semester: that was Nate’s mantra. For now, he walked towards his off-campus apartment, climbed the three flights of stairs to his 3rd floor apartment and opened the door.

The minute he opened the door, Nate cringed. He shook his head in utter disbelief. There they were: his roommates, John and Paul, drinking the green Kool-Aide. Nate could not understand how two intelligent human beings could morph into abject drunken idiots – all because of college football. And not just any football - - Notre Dame football. The Fighting Irish. The Pride of South Bend. Nate grew up outside of South Bend. He experienced from childhood, first-hand, the fervor, the religion of Notre Dame football. He hoped to escape the Blue and Gold, but unfortunately, the only school that offered him any scholarship was Notre Dame. He could not pass up a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious university. Nate bit the bullet and accepted the fact that he was attending the school that he loathed.

Worse, during Nate’s time at Notre Dame, the football team excelled. Except for 2016, the Fighting Irish played in upper-tier bowl games. And this year, the perfect record Fighting Irish were poised to make a run for the promised land – the National Championship. The mindless jingoistic mentality that borders on the absurd had infiltrated everything on campus. Luckily, the bowl games were during the winter break.

Unfortunately, it had invaded the quiet of his apartment.

“Hey, guys!”, Nate said, greeting his beer-chugging, green-shirt wearing roomies, with a muted disgust.

“Woohooooooo!!”, the kelly-green clad roommates hooted and hollered. (To see John and Paul, click here). Nate shook his head. “Good! You’re here. Can you go get some more beer?”

“There were two six packs in the frig.”, Nate answered.

“Yeah. They’re gone.”, Paul announced with a trumpeting belch.

Nate stood there with his hand out, ready for the boys to contribute to the purchase. When they did not respond, Nate said, “You drank my beer and now you want me to go out and buy some more on my dime. You got some fucking nerve!”

“Chill out, asshole.”, John answered.

Nate grinned. He walked into his bedroom, dropped his gym bag, and stared into the mirror. “Do unto others — before they do unto you.”, Nate muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and refusing to look himself in the eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He sauntered out of his bedroom and headed out the door. He did not know where he was going, but he was not staying home, and he certainly was not going out to buy beer.

When he reached the parking lot, Nate met one of the apartment building residents, Kurt Kastonder. Kurt was an enigma. He was manly, muscled, beautiful – and gay. Kurt did not flaunt his sexuality, but he did not disguise it. Kurt’s frisky side attracted many partners to his bed. If he could, Kurt would seduce everyone in the building. Rumors circulated that he had lured many of the young men in the building into his lair. “Hey, Kurt!”, Nate said with some trepidation.

“Where are you going? I thought you boys would be watching the game.”, Kurt said.

“I’m … I … the boys sent me on a beer run.”, Nate whined, making up some excuse.

Kurt smiled. “I got a case. I’ll come over and watch the game with you guys.”

Nate mentally winced at the offer. “Why does 30-year Kurt want to hang with 22-year-old Nate, John and Paul? Eewww!”, Nate thought to himself. He had to think quick. If he said ‘yes’, the boys would have to entertain Kurt and his gay-ness. If he said ‘no’, he would have to explain why he was refusing the gracious offer. Nate was tired. He was also sick and tired of his roommates. “Fuck them!”, he thought to himself. “Kurt, that’s really nice of you. Yeah. Come on down.”

Nate and Kurt walked back into the apartment building. The physical fit Kurt sprinted up the flight of stairs, his duffle bag strapped to his back. Nate could not deny Kurt’s athleticism and stunning physique. By the time Kurt reached the fifth floor, Nate had reached the 3rd.

When he opened the door of his apartment, John and Paul stared at Nate and said, “Dude! Where’s the beer?”

“Kurt’s got a case. He’s bringing it down to watch the game.”, Nate said.

John and Paul stared at their roommate. “You are lazy, cheap and stupid. How can you let a ‘Titan’ into this …?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, Nate said.

“He’s a Titan. He went to school at …”, Paul shouted. “I can’t even say the name of the fucking rat hole. And you invited him into our apartment.”

“Son of a bitch!”, John shouted.

“I know. Son of a bitch!”, Paul answered back.

“No, Paulie. Clemson scored again.”, John replied. “Son of a bitch!”

“Son of a bitch.”, Paul shouted.

Nate heard a knock on the door. He opened the door and found Kurt carrying a case of beer. Kurt walked in the apartment and handed the case of beer to Nate. The two men stored the beer in the frig. Nate examined the label on the beer bottle: ‘Indenarsch’. He did not recognize the label. He just assumed it was some foreign frou-frou beer. Nate pulled out two bottles and walked into the living room, followed by Kurt. When he handed the beer to John and Paul, Nate said, “Kurt’s here.” Kurt waved his bottle-filled hand. He was wearing his favorite lycra-tight Titan shirt.

“Hey!”, John and Paul muttered, annoyed at the presence of a Titan in their apartment.

“What’s the score?”, Kurt asked.

“16-3. Second quarter. Boys look like shit.”, John moaned.

“At least you guys are in the hunt. Titans are home watching the game.”, Kurt said.

John and Paul accepted Kurt’s kind words. Their mood soured when Kurt pointed to the television screen. The boys shouted, “Fuck!!” They chugged their beer and headed into the kitchen to grab another bottle after watching Clemson score in the waning seconds of the 2nd quarter.

“23-3. Damn!”, Nate said, as he sipped his beer.

“You don’t look so sad.”, Kurt smirked.

He drew close to Kurt and whispered. “Truth to be told, I hope they lose.”

“Really? And they let you roam the campus?”, Kurt said, laughing aloud.

“I camouflage my hatred carefully.”, Nate said, as he finished his beer. “Say, what is this?”

“It’s a microbrew. I make it myself and bottle it with a bunch of friends. My uncle Stan taught me the recipe when I visited him last year. It’s really good. Have another.”, Kurt said.

Nate finished his beer and headed to the kitchen to grab another. Kurt followed him into the kitchen where he found John and Paul. “How’s the beer, guys?”

“Good. Thanks.”, John said.

“Drink up. Have another.”, Kurt insisted.

John and Paul stared at Kurt, gulped the bottles in their hands and grabbed another from the frig. “Drink up. Too good to waste.” They finished their beers and belched. “Have another.”, Kurt insisted.

Nate found himself reeling. He was never a big beer drinker. After three, Nate found himself tottering. His roomies, the expert beer drinkers, needed to go ten-deep before they began to feel the effect of the alcohol. When he heard Kurt say ‘have another’, even though he felt inebriated, Nate opened the frig and grabbed another bottle.

The boys returned to the living room just in time to watch the beginning of the 3rd quarter. The boys sipped their bottles of beer and watched their beloved Irish flounder and waste opportunities. When bottles emptied, Kurt played hostess and passed out another chilled bottle. “Have another.”, Kurt said. John, Paul and Nate graciously accepted the chilled brew.

As the 4th quarter began, Nate felt his cock thicken. It was disconcerting to him, as there was nothing to visually inspire his hard-on. He stared at Kurt, who seemed to leer in his direction, like a wolf hunting its prey. When Kurt smiled, Nate felt uneasy, but did not say anything. The alcohol left him dizzy and numb.

“You okay?”, Kurt asked.

“Yeah, just …”, Nate tried to say.

“I wish Denise were here.”, Paul said. He fondled his junk and added, “Denise would know what to do.”

“You don’t need Denise. Take off your shirts.”, Kurt said. The two studs removed their shirts and remained seated comfortably on the couch “Lose the pants.” In flash, the boys obeyed Kurt. They wiggled their flaccid cocks and giggled. “Nate, get on the couch and join your boys.”

Nate rose from his seat and removed his shirt, then his sweats. Naked and horny, Nate sat in between John and Paul.

“Now, stroke your cocks. Nice and slow. You’ll feel so good, better than you’ve felt all day.”, Kurt ordered, as he began to remove his shirt and shirts. The boys wrapped their hands around their cocks and stroked, keeping their eyes on the television screen. “That’s right. Now stroke each other.” John grabbed Nate’s cock, Nate grabbed John. Kurt sat next to Paul and started to stroke Paul’s dick. Paul reciprocated, getting Kurt long and hard.

All the while, Nate did not understand how Kurt controlled the three roomies. He knew what they were doing was not normal, but he could not stop obeying Kurt’s orders. At that moment, Nate did not want John to stop stroking his cock. It felt so good.

Kurt stared at the three studs and said, “John, get on the floor. Nate, get on top of John. Paul, you get on top of Nate.” The three studs stared at Kurt. When they did not react to his commands, he repeated the instructions. “Do it. Now.”, Kurt ordered forcefully. The boys jumped and obeyed the angry-toned Kurt. Nate sat on John’s rock-hard cock. Paul squatted and opened his buttocks allowing Nate to slid his dick into Paul’s hole. “Now, fuck like you love it.” (To see John, Paul and Nate, click here).

Kurt sat in the lounge chair and stared at his three studs. He stroked his cock and leered at the boys. “That’s right. Keep pumping.”, he said in a hushed tone. He closed his eyes enjoying his hand bobbing up and down on his erect member. He could not believe his uncle’s recipe actually worked. Between the alcohol and the special hops, Kurt fed the boys his special brew containing with a chemical agent that affected their neurological imperative. The beer-laced boys heard a command and acted upon it. No questions. No rejection. Blind compliance. The thought of it made Kurt hard. His fist stroking his meat only made him hornier. Who would he choose? Why would he have to choose?

“Get up boys and bend over the couch.”, Kurt ordered. The three studs leaned over the back of the couch and exposed their rosebuds. Kurt slammed his cock into John, then Paul and then Nate, spending a minute in the deep recesses of their buttocks before changing partners. He rotated time with his boys until finally he bust his nut in Nate’s ass. Had he been forced to choose, he would have chosen Nate. “Sit on the couch and stroke your meat until you cum. You deserved it.”

The dazed studs stroked and stroked their beefy cocks, staring at that television screen, oblivious to the fact that their beloved Fighting Irish had lost the game. “It was better this way.”, Kurt thought to himself. “At least they get laid.” Kurt laughed as he watched the three studs shooting their loads upon their chest and groins, and teased, “Fucking Irish!”

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