Chapter 7

A few quick thrusts is all it takes.

He continues to massage his balls, his cock,

the tender spot between his legs that trembles at his own touch.

But each time he blinks, his eyes take longer and longer to open.

His hand fists around his cock once, twice, then his fingers

unclench and fall away. Despite the noise from the television, the

light overhead, the storm raging outside, Ned nestles into his

makeshift bed and drops back to sleep.

His dreaming mind conjures up an image of a

townhouse similar to his—cinder block walls blatant proof of campus

housing, utilitarian furniture in unattractive shades of green, an

overall worn out look that speaks to dozens of different students

throughout the years. But the living room he finds himself in is

not his own, and the little differences in such a familiar setting

disorient him. There are no dirty clothes strewn about the floor,

no leftover food containers stacked on the coffee table.