What’s My Type—Part 3.5 and 4

By DylanTyler - dylanerictyler@gmail.com
published June 9, 2019
Summary

Katie POV and Dylan finds a new way to supplement income.

Hey boys, so this is a little stop on the road in this story. A little shorter than usual, but I have some ideas for moving forward ;) Next chapter will be a big one.

What’s My Type- Part 3.5

—Katie—

“Haven’t you already had like six coffees today?”

“That’s my own fucking business!” These Starbucks baristas have some fucking nerve. Okay, so hello, existential universe. I’m pretty sure my life is coming apart at the seams, but I don’t know how or why yet. I take my coffee back to my room, which is covered in notes from all my crazy—that’s what they WANT me to think. That I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy.

I’m not crazy.

What’s crazy is the fact that I have all these memories of lives that I’ve lived but they all exist at the same time, on top of each other.

Like, I have the strangest feeling, it’s not even a feeling, it’s knowing—I know that I used to be friends with Dylan. Or I am friends with him. But I’m not and that’s ridiculous because he’s this douchey jock who can barely hold a conversation. And yet I have memories of movie nights and meeting him at orientation. Except it’s not him.

It’s him but it’s not him.

Okay, maybe I am crazy.

And I down coffee number seven, and stare at these notes. Never mind that I haven’t gone to class in about a week. I think I’m losing it. Maybe I should just talk to someone. But who can I trust?!

I come across the page with David written on it. A scrawling of notes about memories I have, from when he first got to school and I had a massive crush on him, to gossiping with Dylan about how cute he is. But then in my brain David is also tutoring Dylan. And they’re friends, not me. And then I also know David is a flaming twink bent on taking over the universe with his ass.

What the fuck is going on?!

I get up and take a step back and look around. I think to myself that if anyone ever walked in here I’d be locked up in an insane asylum in a heartbeat. Notes about all of these students in the program…

Wait, it’s only about students in the program.

Except Christian. Fucking Christian.

But he’s in the show!! That greasy motherfucker is in the show!!

All these people have interacted with Professor Clarkson!

“Oh my…” I trail off. And I start gathering up the notes and putting them into a folder when I hear a knock at the door.

“Oh thank God!” It must be the food I ordered. Detective work isn’t getting done without Thai food.

I cross the room and turn the knob, and my face goes pale.

“Hello, Katherine. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

There’s that smile.

————————————————————

What’s My Type—Part 4-ish

—DYLAN—

“Can you flex and call me bro again?”

So I pop my bi’s for him.

“Sup, bro. Wanna come over and catch the game?” I turn my hat around backwards. “I need a new gym partner, you down, bro?” I’m bouncing my pecs now. Guys fucking lose it when I do that.

“Unghhhhhh fuck…” He blows his load all over his hands and I flash a smile his way. He’s so into it. “Thanks, man.” I look at this puny guy through my laptop for a second, and I sort of feel bad for him. Like, it’s gotta suck to be so fucking tiny and he’s not even that cute, so like, what do you do? Seems like a shitty life. So I flex my abs a little extra and give him a most muscular as a bonus.

Wow. I’m a fucking nice guy.

I’ve been working on my posing. Clarkson says I’ve been a really good boy, working hard at the gym. He even suggested I do this videocam stuff to make some extra money for all the food and supplements I need. Gotta keep this bod going, am I right?

“You’re fucking beautiful, dude,” he says. As if I don’t know it. “Your biceps look even bigger than last week.”

“Thanks man, I’ve been working hard, got a good pump today.” He’s not wrong. My biceps are fucking melons and getting bigger every day. Went up another shirt size. I had to buy a 2X the other day just to fit my arms through the holes. Feels so fucking hot.

And this guy’s eating it up. Then I remember the tips Clarkson gave me. “Hey, if you wanna see me get even bigger, you can hit me up on Venmo. I’ve also got a link to my amazon wishlist on the bottom there.” Clarkson helped me set that up. Thank fuck, because I only ever used this thing for porn. I’m not a fucking geek.

“You wanna grow for me, big boy?” Then I remember these guys are all kind of annoying and pervy, but I really want these new posing shorts so I flash him my pouty sort of I wanna fuck you smile before closing my laptop.

And my phone dings not even two minutes later letting me know this dude just bought $150 worth of my shit on amazon. And another ding and there’s a $25 tip on Venmo. I’m gonna show him my ass next time.

“Siiiiiiick.” This is the best thing I’ve ever done.

My phone dings again and it’s that kid, Chris from class.

“Got some new shit. You want in?”

Fuck. I totally do wanna get high tonight, but also Clarkson usually wants me on his cock by nine on weekdays. Maybe he won’t mind if I miss one day? He’s gotta want me to hang with the other dudes in class, right? For us to be bros or some shit?

“Cool dude. Yours at 9:30?” I text back. It dings again.

“Sounds good.” Then another. “Davey’s gonna be there too.”

Oh fuck. My mind wanders a little as I think of Davey’s tight asshole. He’s such a good fuck.

“Nice ;)” I send back. I’ve never really thought about Chris before, but he’s actually a pretty hot dude. Just didn’t think he bottomed and I don’t let any cock fuck me that’s not Clarkson’s, so I never really had any reason to think of it—but who knows?

I’m down to show these two how fucking big I’ve gotten.

And I turned myself on from all this flexing so I head over to my mirror and jerk off to myself.

My traps are looking fucking killer and my shoulders and biceps make me easily the biggest guy on campus. My beard is so fucking hot, I’m glad it turns on Clarkson too. And all this chest and arm hair. I trim it a little on my chest, so it’s just the right length. And my abs. Bro, my abs are so chiseled I’m a fricken sculpture out here.

No.

I’m a fucking god.

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