Page 23 of Double XL Mountain Men
“It said, ‘hey baby,’” Brandon answers in a dry tone. “Yeah, the life-size paper cut out was trying to pick her up. But she went ballistic,” he adds. “The woman got really scared, screamed, and started to run.”
“In retrospect, the prank was dumb,” Brent acknowledges. “Because it was dark, and the woman had no idea that it was a paper cut-out. She legit thought Batman was an actual dude, and freaked out. Anyways, the long and the short of it is that we were reported to the Title IX office at Western, and put on probation for sexual harassment. They made it clear that one more infraction during our academic career was grounds for immediate expulsion. And now, here we are,” he said in a low voice. “We were formally expelled, and will be receiving letters from the school terminating our academic careers here. Three years for nothing,” he snorts. “And all because of a Batman cut-out, and making love to our girlfriend.”
I start a bit at the word “girlfriend,” but manage to keep my cool.
“Did you tell them that I wanted to be tied up, though?” I ask. “That I’m a veterinary science major, and the leash and collar are tools that we use to manage livestock? We shouldn’thaveto tell them because it’s not their business, but still.”
Brandon nods, his expression grim.
“We disclosed everything, but they don’t give a shit. It was too much for Susan Carroll to see a young girl being violatedby two men while leashed to a bedpost. You know these DEI folks. They’re so militant and narrow-minded. They don’t acknowledge that people have kinks, and that power exchange in controlled settings can be desirable. They think everyone is a victim, and leap to conclusions so quickly that it’s fucking berserk.”
I nod, as tears form on my lashes.
“Yes,” is my despairing murmur. “Dean Carroll was like that when I spoke to her. Completely deaf to opposing viewpoints, despite seeing herself as a model of open discussion and candid exchange. My, how the atmosphere of tolerance and learning at the university-level has been perverted,” I say in a trembling voice. “Seriously, something needs to change.”
“Something does,” Brent growls, his expression dark and vengeful. But then he looks at me, and his features are regretful. “Unfortunately, it’s too late for us. We’ve been expelled, and we’re at the end of the rope, sweetheart. Brandon and I need to move out of our suite stat, and we’ve already lost all our privileges. Our key cards don’t work, we can’t swipe into the cafeteria, and we can’t even check out bikes from the communal bike racks. It’s done.”
I stare at them.
“But what about the draft?” I gasp. “Oh my god, are you still eligible? Oh my god, oh my god!” I whisper in horror as the blood drains from my face.
At this comment, the twins buck up a bit.
“We’re still eligible for the draft,” Brent begins.
“Because the NFL doesn’t give a shit about expulsion. As long as you’re three years out from high school, you’re draft eligible.”
“Thank god!” I squeal before throwing my arms around the handsome men. “Okay, so this isn’t a huge deal. You’ll still have football careers to look forward to.”
“Yes,” Brandon says in a gentle voice. “But it’s more complex than that. The expulsion will affect our draft results because teams will ask why we were expelled. They don’t want dudes who sexually harass women because it points to problems in the future, like misogyny, domestic violence, and even potential incarceration. They want players who are athletic, committed to the sport, and who conduct themselves with the utmost professionalism. Players without so-called “serious character flaws.” Obviously, this expulsion isn’t going to go down well.”
“We’ll probably be offered less money too,” Brent adds in a glum tone. “Owners take everything into account. If they can get away with nickel and diming you, then they will.”
It feels as if the roof is crashing down on my head again, and tears prick my eyes as I wipe at my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” I say in a ragged whisper. “If only you’d never met me.”
But Brandon sweeps me into his lap then, cradling my curvy form close, as Brent rubs my back, his lips at my ear.
“No, we’ll never be sorry for meeting you,” he whispers, his breath gentle and hot. “You are a dream come true, sweetheart, and life itself to us.”
Surely, that’s overstating things and I open my mouth to protest, but Brandon claims my lips in a passionate kiss before I can speak.
“We’re serious, baby,” he rasps while piercing me with that heartbreaking blue gaze. “We’re serious about our relationship with you, and still want you to come to the draft. Say you’ll be there,” he demands, eyes flaring. “We want you there, Cindy, as our girlfriend, our love, and a part of our future.”
I throw myself into my lovers’ embrace as my heart expands with joy because this is what I want. To adore these two men, and to be adored in return despite the trouble I’ve brought to their lives. Yes, we engage in kinky practices. Yes, my lovers have been expelled from Western because of a series of unfortunate incidents which were misconstrued and utterly unfair. But despite the reckoning, Brandon and Brent have stayed true. We love each other despite the turmoil, and I want to be with them.
“Yes!” I whisper while pressing my lips to theirs and savoring their possessive embrace. “Yes, I’ll be at the draft, and yes, I adore you Brandon and Brent. We’ll face this together.”
Then, the men descend on me with hungry lips and hands, and before I realize it, we’re enjoying each other wild and rough in the confines of my dorm room. Their massive forms are bronzed and passionate, and there are moments of brutal loving because this is how it’s always been with my men. But there are also moments of tender, gentle caresses coupled with sweet kisses, and my heart soars as I give myself fully to Brandon and Brent Coleman once again. After all, I met two handsome mountain men during a debauched trip to a cabin in the woods... but the ultimate result was a plethora of love, which is the way it should be.
EPILOGUE
Cindy
Igaze around with excitement at the crowd at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. The indoor arena is enormous, with a shiny court in the middle that they’ve re-purposed for the draft. The air is thick with chatter and bright lights gleam overhead, reflecting off the polished floor.
But it’s the guests that really make my day because everyone’s who’s anyone is here, chattering with anticipation. There are friends, families, and significant others talking animatedly, and we’re dressed to the nines in tuxes, suits, and elegant cocktail numbers. A few women are even in floor length gowns, and I love the contrast between the elaborate beading and feathers, versus the hard, concrete floors of the seating area and exposed steel beams of the arena.
