The Peach-Pounding Peters of Peterson Hall, #1

Chapter 1: Eggplant Meets Peach

From the freshman orientation to the start of classes. From home life to dorm life. With my backpack on me, I walked along the small campus of Port Pelle College where everything was within a short walking distance. It was awesome that this university had a large residence hall reserved for out-of-area students, along with apartments, townhouses, and historical houses scattered around. Coming from the Detroit suburbs in the southeast to northwest Michigan was a culture shock because it was quieter and more remote up here. While I'd always been quiet and reserved myself, I still wasn't used to living life in a small town. But I was finally eighteen, and I needed my own space.

Away from everything.

What a sunny day in Port Pelle, beautiful enough for me to wear a T-shirt and jogging shorts. I inhaled the scent of freshly-mowed lawn, smiling. This charming little town along Lake Michigan looked more like a French-style village with heavy American influence, all part of the university. Too bad the warm weather wouldn't last much longer now that it was early September, and it was bound to cool down a lot sooner for being up north with the lake effect.

I entered Peterson Hall and thought about my small dorm room I was headed to. There were two twin-XL beds whose sides were against the left and right walls and whose backs were against the windowed far wall. There was a small, built-in closet on either side by each foot of the bed. In between the beds, there was a minifridge with a microwave on top. There was a small desk against the front wall on either side of the centered entry door. Drab, white walls and a rough, taupe carpet completed the design. All dorm rooms in this residence hall looked like that. Each floor had a communal bathroom and laundry room, and the kitchen was a large cafeteria on the main floor.

My thoughts? Good enough for me.

I walked through the spacious lobby where a few residents surrounded the large TV area. It seemed pretty cozy around here, well-designed and well-kept. I could find myself hanging out here whenever there weren't too many people around.

I entered the mailroom and searched for my room number. When I opened the mailbox door with my key, my eyebrows furrowed at two tiny envelopes that were exactly alike. One was for me and the other for my roommate, but they were clearly from the same sender. I opened mine, pulled out the card, and read it.

|||Dear Pete Sanzo. We've been watching you since day one. Join us on the fourth floor to find out why. Bring just yourself and tell no one about this. Sincerely, the Peters.|||

The note listed the floor number and printed emojis of an eggplant and peach, but nothing else. Hmm, strangely vague. I stuffed the note in my pocket, closed the mailbox door, and left the mailroom. I continued down the hallway and then up to the second of four floors. The second and fourth floors were reserved for male students, while the first and third floors were reserved for female students. All residents were paired with similar matches like age and class rank, which made sense why my roommate was an eighteen-year-old freshman like me.

I used my keycard and got inside the room. As I shut the door, my eyes widened. Um...wow. I'd expected many challenges now that I'd just started college. What I hadn't expected was this unusual challenge right in front of me.

My horny roommate was on the right-side bed, a freckly redhead named Lincoln Trump. He was humping with his T-shirt on, shorts down to his ankles, and his pasty ass in full view because of his jockstrap. His smooth, unfreckled cheeks were round and jiggly for not being very big—he was a leaner jock than I was—and they were probably not taut enough to bounce a quarter on them. Why wasn't he stopping, though? He obviously knew I was in here. He'd heard the door. He'd heard me walking inside. Yet there he was, just humping away.

And getting my dick hard.

As I reached my bed and laid my backpack on the floor, I remained standing, inhaling the scent of pure man that released all the right pheromones. I'd never really been with a guy before—not technically—just a couple of girls. Yet here I was, captivated by Lincoln's scent and struggling to keep my eyes off his tasty-looking man butt that practically said, "Eat me." I'd sniff it too. What was it like to be with a guy? To have just a little whiff and taste.