A Fireside Interview With My RA

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Pictured: The well furnished living-spaces of my RA

Boston, MA -- The door was covered in motivational posters, teambuilding flyers, and event advertising. Sprinkled amongst the larger posters were the scattered corpses of a thousand nametags, each tag fleshed in a different tired theme.

Some nametags featured different foods, different sites in Boston, or a thousand other concepts that spoke to the many semesters seen by the door. Between each tag, only the name stood in common: “James Thompson, RA” 

I reached to knock - and hesitated momentarily - before building the courage to knock at the door. The door silently swung open before my fist even touched the layered paper overlaying the portal. 

“Please, come inside.” The velvety voice of RA Thompson enticed me deeper. Even if I had planned to stay in the dorm hall, I had no control once I heard his dulcet tones. I did exactly as he asked - no - commanded.  

His entranceway was sparkling, freshly waxed, and smelling of rugged cedar. I heard crackling coming from deeper inside the dorm. Framed pictures of Thompson were placed tastefully around the walls. In the pictures, other figures seemed to be in the background. Obama, Joseph Auon, George Bush Senior - wait, was that Julius Cae-

“Please, Diogenes, Come into my drawing-room.” My feet led themselves, unbidden by my mind, which had completely forgotten about the pictures. I was now focused on other, more important things. The drawing-room was warm and musky, with a large leather sofa, a wooden desk with two well-filled wine glasses, a roaring fireplace, and a fur rug placed directly outside the fire. 

On the rug was my RA, whose muscular body was fully exposed to the fire’s roaring heat. He resembled Adam - except he clearly felt no shame for his current state of undress. 

The next 3 hours of unpublishable pleasure were a blur. Finally, he finished and got up to leave, my quivering body laying in the warmth of the fire’s final embers. As he walked away, a thought occurred to me.

“Wait.” He paused, his bulky frame outlined against the dark by the softly melting coals. 

“I live off-campus. I don’t have an RA. Who the fuck are you?”


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