When Evan can’t find a job after college, his career counsellor helps him into a different track.

I was in the post-graduation doldrums. The end of September was looming, and I still hadn’t figured out what to do with my life. I know everyone says you’ll figure that out in college, but here I was, still not ready to make a decision.

It seemed like all my friends from college were slipping away. Moving to new towns or starting new jobs. And here I was, just fucking around on my phone and trying not to think too hard about what I was going to do for the rest of my life. That’s a daunting idea, you know, picking what you’re going to spent the rest of your life doing.

I’ve never been good at making decisions. I remember this one time in grade school when I was supposed to pick teams for dodgeball. I just fuckin froze up and the teacher ended up picking the teams.

And kids are jerks, so of course nobody would let it go. “Choosey Chuck” they all called me, which doesn’t make any sense. My name’s Evan, but goddamn ‘Chuck’ stuck around all through college. That’s the problem when you go to college in your hometown, too many people know too many stupid stories about you.

I got this letter in the mail at my parents house. It was from my college, they wanted me to know that there was free career counselling for a year after I finished. Like they really wanted to be able to say that everybody got a job after college, so they were willing to help out. My Dad made me go.

I arrived for my session looking like… well, like me. I was 5’7” and 175lbs. Brown hair. Brown sportscoat. Brown beard. Brown glasses. Sometimes I thought about being a little more adventurous with my choices, but I could never decide.

I was welcomed into a small office off the Quad. I’d never been here as a student - the drama building is all the way on the other side of campus, and all my history classes were in the Steward building. This was all administration and admissions.

And apparently career counselling.

“Hello, I’ve got an appointment for 2:30,” I said to the handsome young man handling the reception desk. He looked like a college student, here to have marginally less student loans to repay once he had finished his four years. Or, if he’d been like Evan, his five and a half years. Evan had never been able to decide exactly what he wanted to be doing, and after a lot of switching majors eventually settled on a double major of history and drama.

The history students thought of him as a drama kid, and the drama guys thought of him as a history nerd. When it came to Evan, even other people couldn’t decide who he was.

“Yes, Mr. Frost is ready for you,” said the receptionist. “Please go inside.”

Mr. Frost had a well appointed office. Wood walls, rich carpets, lots of books. The kind of place that made you think about therapy more than career counselling, right down to the leather couch that Evan found himself sitting on. It was the only place to sit, other than a chair that clearly belonged to Mr. Frost.

“So, Chuck, tell me about the jobs you’ve applied for,” said Mr. Frost.

“Well, to be honest… I haven’t,” said Evan. “And it’s Evan, not Chuck, sir. That’s just a stupid nickname that the kids in grade school gave me. It’s probably only in my file as a prank.”

“A nickname?” asked Mr. Frost.

“Yeah. They used to call me Choosey Chuck, ‘cause kids are jerks. There was this dodgeball game, and I couldn’t pick anyone for my team, and well… kids are jerks.”

“Is that a problem you’ve had a lot?” Mr. Frost asked. “Making choices?”

“I guess so,” Evan said, not really willing to commit. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

“And you haven’t applied for any jobs because…” Mr. Frost trailed off.

“Because I couldn’t decide what to do. I know I’ve got lots of prospects, but, like, I’ve got too many prospects. I could be a teacher or an actor or a stage manager or something entirely unrelated to my education like a businessman or a cook… it just feels like once I’ve picked one thing, I’ve sealed off all the other possibilities,” Evan said, letting forth his worries.

Mr. Frost took a few moments and leafed through Evan’s record. The evidence was overwhelming. All of the course changes, the paperwork to switch majors, even the half-completed attempts where he never fully committed to the choice.

“Evan, there’s something I’m going to do. It’s rare, but we do this occasionally, especially for guys like you. I’m going to send you back to your first day of college, except this time it’s going to be different.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Evan said. “You want me to start over?”

“It’s okay,” Frost said. “You won’t remember anything. And nothing weird will happen. But I’m making a decision for you. When you run into a choice, instead of mulling it over forever, you’ll just make the choice that requires less thinking. You’ll be happier that way.”

“Mr. Frost,” Evan said getting up from the couch. “I think I’m gonna go. This is too weird…”

Mr. Frost snapped his fingers.

Evan Hanson passed through the stone arches at the front of the college. He was eighteen years old, and his 1990 Firebird was packed to the roof with boxes. It was an old car, but his Dad had gifted it to him as a high school graduation present. He’d never gotten a graduation present before.

He wandered around, looking for the housing office. He was supposed to have a dorm room all ready, he just had to check in and unload his shit.

“Chuck Hansen? Room 214, Smith Building. Just follow this road into the woods and you’ll see it on your left,” said the woman running the housing office. She slapped a key into his hand, asked him if he needed a moment to read over the paperwork, and then nodded as he flipped to the last page and signed without looking. He signed Chuck, since it seemed easier than correcting the error.

“Thanks,” he said. A minute later he was pulling up in front of his dorm building, taking whatever parking slot was closest to the door. He quickly found Room 214, a double room with an athletic young man who had already claimed the bed farthest from the door. Evan dumped his book bag on the closer bed.

“Hey, I’m your new roommate.”

“Hey, I’m Greg,” said the athletic guy. In the last days of summer, he was wearing a ripped up tank top and basketball shorts. “You must be Chuck,” he grinned.

“Yeah,” Evan said. So this stupid name was gonna follow him around college too. Whatever. Time he just owned it. Otherwise he’d never be done correcting people. “Good to meet you man.”

“Yeah bro, this is gonna be great. My parents dropped me off this morning. Yours waiting downstairs with your stuff?”

“Nah, mine’s all in my car. Mom’s teaching today and Dad has some meeting he can’t skip, so…”

“You got a car,” said Greg, breaking into a wide smile.

“Yeah, I got a car,” smiled back Evan.

“Cool. Lemme help you grab your stuff. Then you wanna hit the gym?”

It was either that or figure out where everything went, so Evan picked the gym. The two men headed down to Evan’s car to grab more boxes.

“Bro, you got a fuckin’ Firebird!” Greg whooped.

Every freshman took the same kind of general electives. English. Pre-calc math. The kind of stuff that everyone knew going into college already, except for the really dumb kids. Greg needed a little help on it sometimes, but they were a few weeks into class and Chuck never worried about it.

Instead he was always at one of three places: the campus bar, his dorm room (getting laid or sleeping, sometimes one and then the other and then the first one again), or out with Greg playing sports. Greg was such a great guy, he was always offering to take Chuck along with him.

Chuck couldn’t believe how different life was from high school. He’d been so high strung back then. So worried all the time, over-analyzing every choice. But he was different in college. He was–

“Hey, you wanna go play some hoops?” Greg asked, breaking Chuck’s train of though. “Jeff and Brian and I are gonna go hit up the gym. Maybe lift a little after, then grab some food?”

“Sweet bruh,” Chuck said. He’d taken up calling Greg ‘bruh’ pretty quickly once he realized how often ‘bro’ fell out of Greg’s mouth. No sense in trying to keep it out of his vocabulary. He tossed his textbook on the desk and followed Greg out the door.

He’d rather do anything but study.

At the end of the year, Chuck was given a choice. He could either drop out of school, re-take the semester, or transfer into another program. Engineering wasn’t going to take him with a 65% in pre-calc.

Which made him feel shitty, because even Greg was getting like an 80, and that dude barely understood numbers. Chuck just couldn’t focus on the class. Like the prof would be droning on and on about some concept and Chuck would just imagine how he felt swishing a three pointer or making an awesome catch playing Ultimate.

But with options like that… he picked a new program. Something without a lot of math. Or really anything. It was something the college made available for ‘experiential learners’, otherwise known as the kids who didn’t like to study. Chuck’s Dad was something called a ‘data analyst’ and his Mom was a teacher, so he’d never really gotten to take these kind of classes before. They hadn’t let him. But he was an adult now and could take machine shop and auto repair classes if he wanted to.

Beats studying.

Chuck never put on the Freshman Forty, but by the end of his second year he’d gained almost that much in muscle. He’d been 175 lbs going in, and still only tipped the scale to 180, but it was a lot of muscle now.

Greg would have flunked out, but his basketball scholarship was keeping him in school. Rocks for Jocks. Basketweaving. Whatever the school, there’s always some class to send the athletic types towards, with old fatherly profs who would never dream of failing one of the schools all-stars. Chuck took most of the same classes, because it was way more fun hanging with Greg than listening to some grad student drone on about whatever.

Just a few days into his third year, Chuck trundled into their dorm room. Lotsa guys lived off campus, but then you had to figure out a lease and shit. Greg had to stay on campus anyhow, for his scholarship, and Chuck didn’t feel like getting a place on his own.

Greg was sitting on his bed, watching game footage.

“Man, I need a break,” Greg said, stretching his muscular back.

“You wanna go play some pickup bruh?” Chuck suggested. He wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Greg at 5’7”, but his tightly packed muscle made him a force to be reckoned with.

“Nah bro, I want you to fuck me,” Greg replied.

A stunned silence filled the room. Even the game footage seemed to get quiet.

“Bruh. I thought you were straight.”

“Yeah… you gotta pay more attention,” Greg smiled.

Chuck smiled back. “And here I’ve been picking up guys and getting fucked while you’re at practice.”

Evan might have thought to ask more questions. Maybe even insisted that he was more of a bottom. But Chuck didn’t want to think it through, so he just dropped his shorts and let his rod lift free.

“Now bend over bruh.”

They’d only graduated a few days ago, but Chuck already had a job loading trucks. With his wrestlers build and wrestlers grades, it had been an easy choice. And even if the robots started driving trucks, they’d still need dudes to load ‘em. Chuck had thought it through from every angle he was capable.

The only problem was that the job kind of… well it sucked. There were all sorts of snooty guys who worked up in the office. Prissy fucks. Not like Chuck and the other guys who were doing all the real work.

Truth be told, the only fun part of the job was fucking around with a couple of the other guys on the DL. He still went steady with Greg, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun after his shift, peeling off a sweaty T-shirt off Harris or bending Jack over and letting him take his thick shaft.

“Chuck, do you know why I asked you to come in here?” Mr. Bozeman asked. Chuck might have given shit to one of the guys on the floor, or even shown one of the middle management guys some attitude, but Mr. Bozeman was The Boss. He owned the whole fucking company.

“I… uh…”

“Spit it out boy.”

“You caught me and Jack on the loading dock last night. He wanted it sir… I promise, I wasn’t doing nothing that…”

“Stop right there,” said Bozeman. “You’re not in trouble. In fact, I’m delighted. I want you to be my new houseboy.”

“What’s that mean?” Chuck asked.

“It means that either you come live with me and do what I say, or you’re going to have to find a new job. Either way, you’re done loading boxes.”

“What will I do for money?”

“You won’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of you.”

Between living with Bozeman and doing whatever or having to type up more resumes…

Mr. Bozeman took off early to drive his newest toy home.

Chuck slowly learned what it meant to be Mr. Bozeman’s houseboy. It was amazing.

Bozeman was only in his late forties, and incredibly successful. He owned a bunch of companies, though Chuck never quite understood how many or what any of them did. But whatever it was, Mr. Bozeman had an amazing mansion located on a huge estate.

Chuck woke up early every morning, showering and shaving and primping until he looked exactly the way Mr. Bozeman wanted. Then, rain or shine, he would put on nothing but a rubber jockstrap and bring Mr. Bozeman breakfast in his study. The cook, a thick bear named Billy, took care of breakfast. All Chuck had to do was carry it.

Soon enough Mr. Bozeman was off to work, which meant Chuck was too. He started the day by heading to the gym in his Firebird. With his 200lb muscular frame, clad only in fire engine red shorts and a multicolored tank top, he barely fit in the door. Bozeman said he loved the way Chuck looked getting out of that car, so they kept it around.

By lunchtime, Chuck was done with the gym. Then home for a soak and a beauty rest.

In the evenings, Chuck was on-call. When Mr. Bozeman rang the bell in his quarters, he would strip down to nothing but a rubber jockstrap and head to Mr. Bozeman’s suite. Once there, it was a simple matter of bending Bozeman over the bed and using his cock until Bozeman begged for mercy.

It was amazing.

Chuck’s phone buzzed while he was out by the pool, working on his tan in the late afternoon August sun. Mr. Bozeman liked him a consistent bronze. In the winter, a tanning bed did the trick, but in summer, Chuck liked to lay outside and feel the breeze tickle his balls.

Hey kiddo, got some mail from college for you. They want to know if you’re interested in meeting with a career counsellor.

It was his Dad. Always on his back about his potential. No matter how sweet of a house Chuck lived in.

nah dad I’m good

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from Bozeman.

I’m bringing home a couple of business associates. Wear the wrestlers uniform. The white one. And take a viagra, you need to take care of all three of us. We’ll be there at 4:30, tell Billy we’ll eat after you’re done working.

Chuck replied with a smiling emoji. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Mr. Bozeman looking out for him.

What a great decision.

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