Chad Becomes Chaste

Chad Becomes Chaste

By Keegan Kennedy

Published by Kennedy-Empire Media

Copyright 2017

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher or author.

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, aside from a few politicians, is coincidental.

The opinions and comments made by the characters are not necessarily indicative of those of the author, Keegan Kennedy, the publisher, Kennedy-Empire Media or the e-Book platform from which this work were downloaded.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Other Titles from Keegan Kennedy

About the Author

Chapter 1

Chad Astor, this one’s yours, the ninth-floor resident advisor whose name I’d already forgotten said as he nodded toward the closed door. You’re in 931.

Thanks, I said, letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the floor. I dug my keys from the pocket of my shorts.

Anytime, he replied, his attention turning back to the half dozen other freshmen whom he was leading down the hallway. As I unlocked my dorm room, the R.A. led the other freshmen down the corridor. Chuck Brantley, 937 is yours…

I opened the door and took in the bare room that would be my home for the next two semesters. Apparently, I’d arrived before my new roommate.

Room 931 of Haines Hall was tiny for one person, much less two. With cinderblock walls, the space was in the vicinity of 15 feet in width by 25 feet in length. Facing each other on opposite walls were closets with sliding doors. Beside the closets were matching desks with a single wooden chair pushed under each. With perhaps six feet between them, two twin beds flanked a single window.

As expensive as Gulf States University was, I’d incorrectly assumed that the school would’ve spent a little of my two hundred thousand dollars in tuition to fix up the freshman dormitory, but I was wrong.

After sitting my bag down on the bed, I inhaled deeply and opened the ratty-looking blinds. The room smelled of old dust and a stale locker room.

I sighed. It wasn’t much, but I’d work with it.

So far, I only knew three things about my new roommate. His name was Brody King, he was attending GSU on a rugby scholarship, and he’d gone to public school.

With their massive legs and beefy upper bodies, rugby players were hotter than football and baseball players combined, at least to me. I got a taste for rugby players back at Hanover Academy, the private all-boys boarding school where I’d spent six years. During my junior and senior years, at least once a month, Riley Connor, the star of the rugby crew, would show up during the middle of the night, drunk as shit, and want me to suck his dick. I always obliged.

With no girls at Hanover, the boys were always hard-up. Most guys whom I knew or knew of were getting it on with each other. I knew which guys liked just jerking off. I knew which guys only wanted their cocks sucked. I knew the ones who liked to suck cock. I also knew who got fucked and who was doing the fucking.

Not much got past me at Hanover. I was one of the few guys who was actually out. Most of the others at Hanover hooked up with their roommates or teammates in secret behind closed doors.

Although I was stoked to be in college, a part of me missed Hanover already, but it wasn’t out of some sense of nostalgia. There was a more practical reason. Here at GSU, there were too many women around, and they were going to be major cock-blockers! Don’t get me wrong—I adored females, but back at boarding school, there were no girls, so even the straightest of dudes could be had. I knew realistically that there’d be willing guys on campus. But would they be as hot as those ultra-masculine heterosexuals that I’d grown to love so much?

Hell no.

With so much ‘pussy’ available, how was a hot, kinky bottom like me going to satisfy his addiction to straight dick? I tried to assure myself that there’d still be some fruit in the trees, but pickings were going to be considerably slimmer.

During my days at Hanover, I was lucky. I was never bullied or harassed for being gay. Of course, it helped that I lifted weights, knew how to defend myself, was outspoken, and that my family had more money than God. I just hoped Brody King wouldn’t turn out to be a homophobe or some asshole I’d have to put in his place. But I was only 5-foot-8, and since my new roommate was a rugby player, he could probably take me in a fistfight. But in the struggle for dominance, I’d found that mere force was nothing compared to cunning and intelligence. Getting inside a foe’s head to expose their weaknesses was far more effective than a physical confrontation. Hopefully, it would all be cool with Brody, and I wouldn’t have to waste my energy with head games.

With the rest of my luggage arriving in a few days, I unpacked my travel bag within five minutes. Since Brody King still hadn’t shown, I decided to go check out campus, so I supposed meeting my new roommate would have to wait until later.

After grabbing a coffee at Starbucks inside the student union and taking a walk around campus, I made my way back to the dorm. Finding the door unlocked but closed, I entered to see that my roommate had arrived. As the heavy door closed behind me, I was suddenly awestruck, and my dick was instantly hard in my cargo shorts. Brody King wasn’t just cute or handsome—the dude was smoking hot!

I stood there like some slack-jawed fool just gaping at him. Brody was tall, maybe 6-foot-4, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a red Under Armour compression shirt that fit him like a second skin. The athletic shirt showcased herculean shoulders, a granite chest, bowling ball-sized arms, and a flat stomach. His black mesh gym shorts revealed massive thighs and calves the size of cantaloupes. On his huge feet, he wore a pair of white Nike trainers with red and blue swooshes with no socks. Clean-shaven and clean cut, the boy was a fucking rugby god.

My nostrils flared as I detected a smoky musk, a little gamey and a little spicy, floating on the air. He was the source of this masculine fragrance. Brody King had an intoxicating scent.

With an open suitcase on the right twin bed, he stopped and stared at me. With several pairs of socks in one hand and what looked like several jockstraps in the other, he was obviously unpacking.

For a few more seconds, I stood there, thinking about how I wanted to lick him from head to toe and everywhere in between.

Uh, he muttered in a deep, gravelly voice. Hey, man, are you Chad?

I snapped back to my senses. Yeah, and you must be, Brody, I replied cordially, extending my hand in his direction.

For a moment, his deep-set eyes narrowed, but after a few seconds, the slight tension on his face dissipated. After tossing his socks and jockstraps into his open drawer, Brody’s hand closed around mine, and it was like a jolt of electricity shot through me. It seemed at that moment that I noticed everything about his touch. His fingers were long and thick, and there were callouses on the palms of his hand. Just like he was, Brody’s handshake was powerful and all man. In comparison, I had girly hands, soft and small.

It’s great to meet ya, Chad, he said with a grin.

I detected a moderate southern accent. Where are you from?

Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and you?

Richmond, Virginia, primarily.

He gave me an appraising look. You don’t have much of an accent.

I went to boarding school in Connecticut, so I don’t have much of one left, but it always shows back up when I’ve had a little too much to drink.