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This story involves consensual sex between men. If this type of story is illegal where you live, not your cup of tea, or you are not legally old enough, under the laws of your place of residence, to read it, stop right here!
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Mike Paulson sat across the aisle from me and a couple of rows down in my chemistry lecture. The first time I saw him, I was intrigued. The second time, I was definitely interested. And by the time the midterm exam rolled around, I'd lost track of the number of times I'd seen him, but I sure as hell knew I wanted to see more -- because if I didn't, my prick was going to fall off from all the pulling I gave it. Four lectures a week for eight weeks added up to a whole lot of fantasy material.
Mike stood maybe two or three inches shorter than my 6-foot-1, and weighed about what I did: 185 on a good day -- except on him, it looked better. He had blond-brown hair and hazel eyes to my dark brown in both instances. What I could see of him around and through his clothes looked OK, and he was definitely no dog.
What really primed my prong, though, were his legs. I've always been a leg man, but his were special. From the way they were sculpted (but not gross) I guessed he'd played soccer in high school, or maybe did a lot of bike riding. Tanned to a tawny gold at the start of the semester, they showed only a light frosting of fine hair: something else that made my dick rise. I've always liked men with just enough hair to prove they can grow it, without having so much they could go without a coat in the winter.
We nodded to each other when we passed in the hallway, and sometimes he'd ask "How's it goin'?" when he saw me, though he never seemed too interested in my response. So I was surprised to hear his voice behind me, a couple of days before the midterm, as I was leaving the library late one night.
"Hey, Ryan," he said, "wait up." I didn't even think he knew my name.
"Hey, Mike, what's up?" I asked as he joined me.
"Dude, could you figure out number 17 on the review sheet? My group was all over the place -- we couldn't make it come out anywhere near what the book said it should be. Ed Stevens said you'd know it for sure."
I made up my mind then and there to be extra nice to Ed the next time we got together. We'd roomed across the hall from each other freshman year, and had been occasional fuck-buddies since then. He knew I had the hots for Mike big time -- and that I'd taken honors chemistry all through high school.
"Which one was number 17 again?" I asked.
"The hellacious gas-law problem," he responded.
"Oh, yeah -- I got that one. You have to watch the units really carefully, and pick the right value for the gas constant..."
"Look, Ryan, I know it's late, but can you write it down for me? Otherwise I'll never be able to explain it to anyone else, much less keep it straight on the exam."
"Sure. C'mon over to my room and I'll walk you through it."
"Great. Thanks a lot, buddy -- I owe you one for this."
"Man, would I like to take him up on that," I thought, but all I said was "No problem."
Being the subtle type, I didn't rip Mike's clothes off the minute the door closed behind us in my studio apartment. Business first: I coached him through the problem and showed him where he'd gone wrong, and only then let the conversation turn to other matters.
"So, what do you think of Dr. Glass?"
"She's pretty tough, no doubt about that -- but fair. I wasn't too happy with the C I got on the last exam, but I guess I deserved it. I was a lot more interested in the Homecoming parties than in studying. That's why I want to do well on the midterm. Oh, man, look at the time -- it's almost 1, and I've got an 8:00 lab tomorrow! Thanks for all your help, Ryan."
"Anytime, Mike. Give me a call or drop by if there's anything else you need help with."
I wondered if he'd catch the innuendo in that, but all he said was "Cool. Thanks again."
I gave him five minutes after he'd gone before I peeled down and masturbated like mad, imagining what it would be like to lick my way up those calves and nuzzle at what hung between them. I couldn't tell much about his dong from the indistinct lump it had made in his sweat pants, but I knew I wanted to find out all I could about it, and as much of that from direct experience as possible. I shot off all over my chest thinking about it, and then went to bed after I'd cleaned myself up.
Mike barely missed an A on the midterm -- "Because of your help," he told me -- and so we started studying together more frequently. Ed would join us sometimes, and so did some of Mike's other buddies in the class, but usually it was just the two of us -- not that I minded, of course.
As the semester wound down, I found out Mike had played soccer in high school, that he was working at the campus bookstore to help pay the bills, and that he was hung big. That last came as something of a non sequitur as we were working through some homework problems just before Thanksgiving.
"What about number eight?" I'd asked.
"That's me," he said, smiling.
"You've got it worked out already?"
"Nope -- that's what I've got. Eight."
"Eight what?" I demanded, puzzled.
"Eight inches, dude." He smiled again, waiting for my reaction.
Though I sprang an instant stiffer, I managed to keep from drooling, and from ripping down his jeans for an up-close-and-personal inspection -- but only just barely. I smiled back at him and decided to play coy. "Must be nice: you can suck yourself off when you can't get anyone to do it for you. Since I only pack a bit under seven, I have to get someone else to do mine. Now can we please get through these problems some time before they're due tomorrow morning?"
When I shot off after Mike had gone home that evening, it hit the wall.
I eventually did get to glimpse his goods, a couple of weeks later at a party he threw to celebrate the end of final exams -- and, he hoped, his A in chemistry: again, thanks to help from me. It was late, and the party was practically over. Mike's roommate and all the other remaining guests were in the kitchen; I was sitting alone on the couch in the living room, where Mike and I had been talking before he'd gotten up to use the bathroom. Coming back, he stopped at the door from the living room into the hall, leaned against one of the walls, and just looked at me.
Puzzled, I raised my eyebrows in a questioning look and started to get up, but he waved me back to the couch. Then he locked eyes with me, winked, and pulled down the front of his shorts to reveal a delightful dick about five inches long, soft (or mostly so), and nestled in a neat sandy brown bush.
I'm not sure what might have happened next if one of the other guests hadn't chosen that moment to head for the bathroom herself. When Mike heard her coming, he casually turned away from her line of sight, winked at me again, and settled himself back into his running shorts. It took me two orgasms that night before I was calm enough to sleep.
I resigned myself to not seeing Mike over Christmas break, though he continued to play the lead role in my jack-off fantasies and my dreams. Ed and I did manage a very pleasant weekend together over New Year's, though, as his parents had gone to Florida for two weeks. Some of my frustrations must have shown because Ed commented, as we were both enjoying a post-orgasmic cuddle, "Man, I don't know whether to hope you and Mike do hook up and that you'll tell me all the good parts, or that you'll keep right on being fixated and frustrated so I can enjoy sex like that a lot more often!"
A couple of weeks later, about a week before classes were due to start for the spring semester, I was kicking back in my apartment around 9 at night, watching a movie (for once not a porno flick), when the phone rang.
"Ryan! Dude, am I glad to hear your voice!"
"Mike! What's up?"
"Not a damn thing -- that's the problem. I came up to work my shift today, and was planning to go back home tonight, then pick up a load of stuff and bring it back with me when I came in to work tomorrow. But that was before this fucking blizzard started."
Surprised, I pulled back my drapes to see two inches of new snow on the ground that hadn't been there two hours earlier, and more coming down by the minute.
"Looks like it might be sleeting, too," I said.
"Exactly. No way am I gonna drive home in this shit. So I'm stuck up here with next to no food, nothing to do, not even a VCR so I can watch a movie. Wanna come over and keep me company?"
"Sure thing. Give me 20 minutes to get dressed for outside and trudge over."
"Great. See you in a bit."
By the time I got to his place, I was caked with snow and ice, and cold all the way through. Fortunately, Mike always kept the thermostat cranked to about 80, and I was pleased to smell hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps when I walked in the door.
"Dude, you're a lifesaver," I sighed, wrapping my hands around a steaming mug once I'd struggled out of my snow-covered outer clothes and left them to drip in the bathtub. The sight of Mike clad only in shorts and a T-shirt didn't cool me down any, either.
We played cards and talked for an hour or so, and the snow kept falling outside. Every so often I noticed that Mike was rolling his shoulders and his head, as though trying to find a comfortable position.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
"Just muscle aches. We got about 200 boxes in today, and I got to check them all through practically by myself."
"Want a back rub?" I asked.
"Oh, man, would you? Ed says you're a world-class back-rubber."
"Sure," I said. "Got any body lotion?" All the while I was wondering what Mike would say if Ed told him just where one of those back rubs I'd given him last year had led.
"Some in the bathroom."
"Great. Lie down and I'll be right back."
While I was getting the lotion, the power went off. "Good thing you like candles," I said, coming back into the living room.
"You got that right," he replied, pulling the Enya mix tape we'd been listening to from his dead stereo and popping it into his boom box. "The way it's been coming down out there, who knows how long it'll be before it comes back on."
"Anywhere in particular that it hurts?" I wanted to know.
"Right between the shoulder blades and about halfway down my lower back," he responded, "and my calves are killing me." He pulled off his T-shirt to reveal a softly sculptured chest with virtually no hair on it, apart from the treasure trail that led from his navel into his pubes.
Spreading lotion on my hands, I started working on his shoulders, kneading and rolling his warm flesh between my fingers. I got hard in no time, and by the time I had worked my way down Mike's spine, I could feel the wet spot in my boxers: and he was practically purring.
Moving to his legs, I worked my way up from his heels toward his ass, my hands lingering on those sculpted calves, lightly dusted with hair. Feeling a bit more daring, I even allowed my fingers to roam under his shorts now and then, brushing the white cotton of his jockeys.
"Roll over, and I'll do the front side."
"Dude, I don't want to move, that felt so good," he said, softly.
"This will feel good, too," I said, "I promise. But hold still, then, and I'll roll you over myself."
I leaned over and grabbed his left shoulder and hip with my hands, rolled him up against my knees and upper thighs, then gently laid him on his back. I continued the massage, working downward from his collarbones to his pecs. When his nipples got erect, I moved lightly lower, over his abs and his stomach. I skipped over the band of flesh hidden inside his shorts -- not without regret, of course -- and started working my way up the front of his legs from his ankles.
I had only just started kneading the quads of his left thigh, after gently manipulating his knee joint for about five minutes, when he spoke again, still more softly than before.
"Want me to take off my shorts?" he asked, surprising the hell out of me.
"The moment of truth!" I thought. "If you like," I said, only a slight tremor in my voice, "but I can work around 'em."
"I don't mind," he said. "You've seen my dick before. But will it bother you if I'm naked while you're massaging me?"
"Not at all -- but there's something you might want to know first. I'm gay."
"Yeah? So? Dude, I've been doing it with guys since before I could come. And besides, you don't think I didn't feel your boner jabbing into my shoulder blade awhile back? Still want me to take 'em off?"
"I'd like that -- but let me get them. You just stay relaxed."
"Ryan," he said, laughing gently as he raised himself off the floor just enough to allow me to pull down his running shorts and underwear, "if I get any more relaxed, I'll be in a coma."
I laughed with him, then went back to massaging his left leg -- and glancing now and then at his cock, which was so close to me that my fingers occasionally brushed against it as I moved my hands on his thighs. He wasn't hard, but he wasn't fully soft, either: he looked to be hanging about six and a half at the time.
As I was kneading the sole of his right foot I said, "Do me a favor, Mike?"
"Let me see you with an erection? You keep bragging about your eight inches, but I've never seen 'em all."
He thought about it for a couple of minutes -- and I thought for sure I'd pushed too far. For all I knew, he was fucking his roommate silly every morning, or madly in love with someone back home, or thought I was the ugliest thing that ever walked the planet, and here I was practically asking him to let me do him on his own floor.
"I don't mind showing you a hard-on," he said at last, "but you've got to earn the privilege."
"How's that?" I asked. Once more, I wasn't sure what he was talking about.
"By making me pop a rod, of course. Any way you want."
"OK, how's this?" I asked, letting go of his foot and bending over his crotch. Breathing warmly on his balls, I began to lick them first, and then slowly ran the tip of my tongue upward along the shaft of his lengthening penis. By the time I had reached the head of his cut cock, he was sporting a full eight-inch hard-on.
"That was nice," he said, "but I bet you can do better than that. Like what you see, by the way?" he added.
"How's this for an answer?" I retorted, taking his right hand in mine and shoving it inside my sweats until his fingers touched the hard, wet tip of my own prick. "And yes," I added, locking eyes with him again, "I'm a much better cocksucker than that little demonstration I just gave might suggest. You interested in finding out just how good I really am?"
"Ryan," he said, returning my gaze without a care in the world (for all that he was buck naked and erect in front of me), "I sure as hell hope you haven't come already, because I want to be the one who makes you. I love getting my dick sucked, especially by an expert. Ed did me twice after a concert we went to last week, and he swore up and down you were much better at it than he is -- and he's no amateur, let me tell you! But what would you like to do?"
Pulling down my sweats and boxers so my stiff, uncut dong snapped back against my belly, I said, "First, I want to suck you raw and watch you blow your wad in my face. We'll see what happens after that, but I'd love you to fuck me later, if you're game."
"Go for it, dude -- but let me suck you while you do me."
Mike's mouth felt heavenly on my steely prick: he was no novice in the cocksucking department either, and he really knew what to do with a foreskin. His tongue was driving me wild, burrowing in underneath my overhang to tickle the corona and the frenum, and every so often he'd pull my skin all the way over the head of my dick with his lips and nibble at it gently.
But I had other things on my mind, like that eight-inch cock of his waving in my face. I picked its hard thickness up from his belly with my left hand, slobbered all over his knob, and did my damnedest to swallow it, whole. I wanted to taste that thing all the way down to my tonsils -- or what was left of them, anyway. It took some doing, since his dick was thicker toward the head than it was at the base, but in a few minutes my mouth had risen to the challenge of his fully risen tool and the head of that long dong was snugly buried in the back of my throat.
I couldn't keep him there for long -- not if I wanted to breathe, anyway -- but he never complained about my technique. Whenever I let his length slip from my throat, I'd lap the ridge of his glans four or five times, poke my tongue into his come-slit, and then dive back down the full length of the shaft and let my throat muscles work their magic on the way.
It seemed to me that Mike's dick was getting bigger and harder, so I started to back off of it, not wanting to miss the show when he shot his wad. No sooner had I started to let his equipment slide from the depths of my throat than I felt my cock released from his mouth and heard him say, "Get ready, Ryan -- I'm gonna blow!"
I wrapped a hand loosely around the base of his shaft, pointing it just right so his jizz would bathe my face and neck. I could already feel the first blast traveling up his come tube from those now not-so-low-hanging balls -- and in less than the time it took for that feeling to register in my brain, I felt his warm, creamy juices smacking my cheek and running down my neck to drip back onto his body. He shot a bucketful, or so it seemed -- and so did I, not long after he had started.
"Wow!" I panted. "That was excellent: thanks, Mike."
"Thank you, Ryan," he said. "I had fun, too. Now c'mere and let me taste my load!"
"You got it," I told him, squirming around so he could reach my come-spattered upper body. I expected him to scoop up his semen with his fingers, but he chose the direct route and licked it off my skin himself, except for those bits he couldn't reach, which I scooped up for him and let him suck off my fingers. I liked what he was doing, so I bent my head a little and cleaned up all of my own honey from his hairless pecs.
We rested awhile, snuggled together on his bed, and I asked some of the questions I'd never dared bring up before. His roommate was, as he put it, "Straight but not narrow," knew about Mike's being gay, and didn't raise a fuss about it. Mike, like me, had a couple of occasional fuck-buddies on campus and back home, but no long-term romance in his life -- "Though I might be willing to make a change there," he said, smiling over at me.
"Depends on your performance evaluation," I teased back. "So far very good indeed, but you still haven't fucked me," I added, as he mock-threatened to hold a pillow over my face.
"I could say the same about you," he retorted. "Should we flip a coin?"
"Later," I said. "Right now, I want to glove that love muscle of yours and have you tickle my guts with it. OK, if I promise to return the favour eventually?"
"Dude, if your ass feels as good around my cock as your throat did, that's an invitation I'm not likely to pass up anytime you make it! You'll find all the rubbers and lube you want in the nightstand to your left."
"Great! Got a preference?"
"I wonder if a candle would be bright enough to light up one of those glow-in-the-dark ones," he mused. "That ought to be a trip, with the power out."
"I like the way your mind works, man," I told him, and pulled a green-glowing rubber from its foil packet. I held it to the light of the nearest candle for the 30 seconds the package recommended, careful not to get it close enough to the flame to melt the latex. We were delighted to discover, as I rolled the glowing condom down his thick dick, that a candle was bright enough to do the trick.
Mike then leaned over me and grabbed a bottle of lube. He first slathered it all over my hole and worked more in with a couple of gentle fingers as I obligingly held my ass cheeks apart to allow him access. Then he stroked what was left on his hand up and down his green-glowing probe.
"Brace yourself," he said, pressing his glans gently but firmly against my hole and beginning to work the head of his cock inside me.
I was no novice when it came to having a man's dick up my butt, but his did take a bit of getting used to. To distract me, Mike pinched my foreskin between his left thumb and forefinger and rolled it lightly around the head of my cock. It worked, too -- before I realized it, I felt his pubes tickling my ass cheeks and his balls bumping my backbone.
"How do you like it?" he asked, once he was all the way in.
"I like it just fine, and I hope to like it even more, before long. Warm me up slowly if you would, and then bang away as you please."
"You got it," he grunted, easing himself slowly in and out of my loosening chute several times. Surprisingly, after only a couple of minutes, he stopped, burying his dick in me to the hilt and leaving it there. Then he grabbed my right foot with one hand and my cock with the other.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Looks like your dick, Ryan -- are you usually this dense?" he teased. "Relax, dude, it's just a bit of foreplay. Enjoy it."
"Like I could do anything else with that pole of yours lodged so wonderfully up my ass!" I retorted. "Go ahead and surprise me -- just be ready for me, next time."
"Sounds like a plan to me," he said, beginning to milk my meat slowly, gently, and matching the rhythm of his hand on my shaft to the strokes of his tongue up and down the sole of my foot. About every 15 or 20 strokes, he'd shift his grip to pull my foreskin all the way down over the head of my cock and start sucking on my toes for a minute or two, then go back to the stroking and licking routine. His dick stayed totally hard, wedged in my ass, the whole time.
Just when I thought I was about to go over the edge, Mike stopped. He let my toes slide from his mouth and my prick snap back to my stomach, and started swiveling his hips and banging away at my ass.
"Don't touch your dick," he told me as I started to reach for it. He was grunting as he tried to crawl even farther up my hole with his prostate-pounding pud. The green glow from the rubber which clung to it like a second skin gave the experience a touch of the surreal in the candlelit room.
"Dude," I panted back between thrusts, "if you keep that up for much longer, I won't need to -- I'll paint the wall all by myself!"
"Hold it off, Ryan," he cried. "I'm almost there myself, and I want to pop my load under your skin. Think there's room in there for my cockhead as well as yours?"
"It'll be tight, but I think so -- and hurry, Mike -- just the idea of feeling you squirt your scum in there is getting me to the point of no return!"
"Hang on," he grunted, thrusting himself once more mightily into the depths of my ass. Then, in a heartbeat, my hole was empty and Mike was hurriedly stripping the slimy green rubber from his steel-hard penis. He helped me to rise to my knees on the bed before him, and aimed his cockhead directly at mine.
Gripping my own rock-hard shaft tightly in my right hand, I shucked my overhang forward and touched the tip of my dong to his. I barely had the time to slip the lip of my prepuce over his glans before I started to gush. Most of my load oozed out to fall on Mike's sheets, since the head of his cock took up virtually all the spare room I had under my hood.
That must have been just the trigger he was waiting for, because his cannon started to fire and I felt the head of my cock awash in his seed, which likewise dripped onto the sheets to puddle there with mine. The last of his wad blown, I still held the tip of his cock captive in my tight skin as I leaned forward to kiss the man I had dreamed about for so many weeks -- on this, the first time I hadn't had to jack off alone after spending the night with Mike.
Copyright © 1995 by Michael J. Spires. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to download this document only if this copyright statement is retained. Any other use constitutes a violation of Title XVII of the United States Code.