This story is fiction. The city of Clifton, and the University of Clifton, exist only in my imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. These stories have as their main character a sexually active gay college student. If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.
This story involves a search for personal acceptance, worth, and meaning. There is a religious element in these stories. If you don't like that, maybe now is a good time to leave.
My stories develop slowly. If you're in a hurry, this is probably not for you.
Thanks to Colin for editing.
Constructive comments are welcome on my e-mail at email@example.com.
Bryce, Chapter 43 - The Return
At the airport and on the return flight Damon tried to convince Bryce that he should not be so hard on his entire family. True, Chip was offensive, but Martha, Nan, and even Sterling were not, and that did not even take into consideration Phil and Anne Bryce, who had been so welcoming, and who had walked out on Father Flannigan with them. Bryce was silent, incommunicative, stony faced. He said almost nothing during the almost two hour wait at the airport, during the flights, during the layover, during the drive back to the dorm. They landed in Clifton at 9:12, and were back at the dorm before ten.
After dumping their luggage, Bryce looked at Damon with eyes so sad it made his heart ache. "Pat's?" he asked. How could Damon refuse, even if he wished? They walked down to Pat's and took a booth. But the silence was not broken. Bryce sat and drank, and drank, and drank. It was apparent to Damon that he was trying to get drunk, trying to forget the whole day. Unsure what to do, Damon restrained his own intake, and restricted his comments to mild warnings each time Bryce ordered another.
Shortly after eleven, Bryce made one of his few comments of the evening. "I've got enough in my bank account to cover the rest of the school year, so screw them." It came out a bit slurred, but very bitter.
It was well past midnight when Bryce was refused another beer, and finally agreed to go home. Damon had to help him the entire way, as he seemed to have lost all sense of direction and the command of his legs. At the dorm, Damon called the elevator. He was not about to try to get Bryce to ascend two flights of stairs on rubbery legs. In their rooms, he thought about putting Bryce under a cold shower, and about forcing him to ingest a couple of aspirin, but decided against it. If he had a hangover the next morning, which he most assuredly would, it might bring him out of his present funk by giving him something more immediate to concentrate on. Damon stripped Bryce and tumbled him into his bed. He then carried out his own nighttime preparations, intending to sleep in his own bed. When he came out of the bathroom to check on Bryce once again, however, he found his boyfriend weeping - quietly and disconsolately, but definitely. Consequently, he crawled into the narrow bed with him, and held Bryce until they both fell asleep.
In the morning, there was no alarm, and Bryce did not wake up on his own. Damon actually awoke first, finding it was after eight o'clock. He poked and prodded Bryce awake, then marched him into the shower, where, this time, he did resort to a cold one. Damon went to his own room to dress, but when he returned he found Bryce back in bed. Shaking his head, he left him, and went off to his own first class. When he returned after that class, Bryce was still asleep, but Damon decided he had been lenient enough, so he forced him up, back into the shower, and to get dressed. Then he escorted Bryce to his Psychology class, and left him there.
Bryce's head felt like it was twice the normal size, and every square millimeter of it throbbed. He sat in class, only dimly aware of where he was, paying no attention whatsoever to Dr. Greeley. He took not a single note, with or without quotation marks. At the end of class, he was in such a fog that he just sat there while everyone else left. He was forced to concentrate when a voice next to him asked, "Are you all right?"
Looking up through bloodshot eyes, he saw Dr. Greeley. His instructor actually looked concerned. It was really the only time that semester he felt positive towards this professor. He managed to respond, "No, not really. But I'll manage."
"This is not like you," Dr. Greeley said.
"Bad day yesterday," Bryce partly explained.
"Bad night, too, from the looks of you."
Bryce tried to smile at that, but his face did not seem to want to cooperate. He heaved himself out of his desk, and gathered his jacket and other paraphernalia. "Thank you, Dr. Greeley." He made his way out of the classroom, and, with some difficulty, to the cafeteria. He was not sure whether he was supposed to meet Damon there or downstairs at the food court, but he did not feel like searching. He plopped down at an empty table and vegetated. Damon found him, provided some food and drink, and sat with him until it was time to depart for Biology. Bryce ate almost nothing.
They started across the campus toward Audubon Hall, but Damon noticed that Bryce was weeping again. He immediately changed directions, and steered his boyfriend back to Clay Hall. Relieving Bryce of his jacket and boots, he allowed him to collapse on his bed. Bryce fell immediately into a troubled sleep. Damon then went off to Biology, thinking it was Bryce's influence which had led him to attend classes regularly, so he would do that now. Bryce would be safe in his room. He checked back after Biology, but Bryce was sound asleep. It was, therefore, after his Math class, a little after four o'clock on that Monday, when Damon returned to find Bryce awake.
Damon entered through his own room. As he did, he heard the shower, and knew Bryce was up. He put aside his winter jacket and his books, then entered the bathroom.
"Glad to know you're back among the living," he called.
From the shower came only a muffled sound, something like "mmmufff."
But then Damon noticed clothing on the bathroom floor. Clothing which reeked. Clothing which had been soiled by Bryce's vomit. He kicked them into a smaller pile, then went into Bryce's room. Sure enough, the bedclothes were similarly soiled, as was the floor next to the bed. He stripped the bed, tossing the linens into the bathroom. He then gathered a small plastic bucket that had once contained popcorn, filled it with soapy water, got a washcloth, and cleaned up his lover's mess. After flushing the evidence, he opened the shower door and turned off the water. Bryce was just slumped against one wall, not actually washing himself, although he looked like he had succeeded in ridding himself of any undesirable residue of his recent stomach rebellion. Damon pulled him out, dried him off, and led him back to his room. He selected clothes for Bryce, and told him to get dressed. Damon then returned to the bathroom, gingerly removed everything from the pockets of Bryce's jeans and shirt, gathered everything into the soiled sheets, and took the whole down to the basement level, where there were washers and dryers. Starting the laundry, he then returned to Bryce's room, where he was pleased to find his boyfriend engaged in getting dressed.
When Damon entered, Bryce had on his underwear, socks, and shirt. Well, his head was encased inside the shirt, which was halfway on.
"That you?" came the muffled question.
"Yeah," Damon replied. "Glad to see you awake."
"What time is it?"
"Four forty-eight," Damon said, glancing at the digital clock next to Bryce's bed.
"No shit?" came a surprised response as Bryce's head emerged from his shirt.
"No shit, Asshole. Are you going to make it now?" Damon enquired.
"Yeah, I think."
"I'm surprised you got so completely plastered. I mean, you did down quite a few, but still ...." Damon commented.
"It was the mood I was in more than the amount I drank, I think," Bryce admitted. "What happened to my other pair of jeans? The ones I was wearing?"
"They're in the laundry. You up-chucked all over them. And, unless my nose is deceiving me, you also pissed yourself," Damon reported.
Bryce paused in his effort to don his pants, and looked at Damon. "You really do love me, don't you?"
Damon took a few steps, placing himself directly in front of Bryce. He put his hands on Bryce's shoulders, and looked him directly in the eyes. "Yes, I do," he said, and then kissed Bryce on the lips. It was tender, loving, in its way more meaningful than a more passionate kiss. It said volumes. Bryce's knees gave out, and both men sank to the bed, sitting on the edge.
"You need to talk," Damon said.
For nearly forty-five minutes, Bryce talked, with minimal contributions by Damon. It was a jumble, unlike Bryce's usual orderly arguments. He talked about how he had hoped everything would be so wonderful at the Winslow home, how he had depended on his mother and sister to clear the way to acceptance, acceptance of him as a gay man, and acceptance of Damon as his partner. He described his disappointment on first encountering Chip, but decided that would not really matter if everyone else were on board. He talked about his elation when he found his father in a good mood on that first evening, being encouraged to think all would develop as he hoped. Despite his shock at being outed by his Grandfather Bryce, that, too, was a positive sign, and, despite the stiff correctness of his Winslow grandparents towards Damon, he was still optimistic that all would turn out well as they went to Mass on Sunday morning. Bryce was not surprised at Father Flannigan's sermon. He had heard that kind of nonsense coming from him before. He was embarrassed for Damon having to hear it, though. He was actually feeling extremely positive when not only Damon, but Nan, Martha, and his Bryce grandparents walked out on that sermon. This was an emotional high point. All the more fatal, then, when his father and brother became angry at them, refusing to even try to understand. It was worse, he said, when neither his mother nor his sister stood up for them. From the heights of hope he fell abruptly into the slough of despond. It seemed that everyone was lined up against him. He wanted nothing so much as to get away. He did not want to see or hear any of them again. He felt ill. He did not really remember the trip back to Clifton, and only dimly sitting in Pat's last night. He remembered nothing about that morning or afternoon. He did not remember his Psychology class at all, and was surprised when Damon mentioned it. He still felt absolutely lousy, but did not think he would be ill again.
By the time Bryce had finished his assessment of the previous day and a half, Damon said it was time to get his things from the washer into the dryer. Bryce started to get up, but Damon told him to sit and make sure he was okay, he would be back shortly. It took only a few minutes to descend to the basement, move Bryce's laundry from a washer to a dryer, and get back upstairs. Damon did not want to leave Bryce alone too long when he was awake. Sleeping was no problem, but awake he might be brooding some more.
When Damon re-entered Bryce's room, he found his boyfriend sitting at his computer. Looking over his shoulder, he noted that on the screen was what was evidently the tail end of a lengthy message from either Martha or Nan Winslow. At the bottom, Bryce had typed in capitals, "WHEN I AM ACCEPTED AS A GAY MAN, & WHEN DAMON IS ACCEPTED AS MY PARTNER, & WHEN CHIP APOLOGIZES TO DAMON, THEN I WILL CONSIDER IT." A glance at the previous message indicate that "it" referred to a return to Lincoln at Christmas. Damon began to caution Bryce against a hasty decision, but Bryce clicked the "Send" button, and off it went.
Damon noticed Bryce's cell laying on his desk. He picked it up, and, as he expected, there were missed calls - three of them - from the 402 area code. Bryce took the phone from him, and pressed the "delete' button three times. Damon sighed.
"Let's go to dinner. You haven't really eaten anything since yesterday morning. All you've done is redistribute food around your plate," Damon said.
"Okay. But I don't feel like talking about this any more right now, okay?"
They left campus, returning to one of those small family run eateries which seemed to provide good and plentiful food at a reasonable price. Such places are not fast, which was probably why they were not favorites with most students, but they provided the right atmosphere for Bryce and Damon on this occasion. As they consumed their evening meal, Damon was pleased to see that Bryce's appetite had returned. Maybe that was the first sign of a return to normalcy.
"How can I possibly thank you enough for all you've done for me, Damon?" Bryce asked.
"You can thank me by being yourself again," he replied.
Bryce looked at him in awe. "You are so wonderful. I love you," he said, beginning to tear up.
"And I love you. But I wish you wouldn't cry. The waitress is looking at us," Damon chided him.
Bryce chuckled, "Asshole."
"Damon, you are my strength, my true love and only friend. You're all I've got."
"What about your friend Jesus?" Damon asked.
Bryce was thunderstruck. Damon had asked the obvious question, which had eluded him for the past two days. With all his talk about his belief, his commitment, where was it when he most needed it? In a moment of truth, Bryce admitted, "Jesus has been here, just as you have. I guess I ignored him, like I did you last night and earlier today. I was too wrapped up in myself. Thank you for making me realize this."
"I'm sure. He was there waiting for me. All I had to do was become aware of him, and it was you who did that for me. One more thing for which I'm grateful, Boyfriend. You are so right for me. You know, you and Jesus make a good team. Between the two of you, I just might survive."
"If you don't I'll kill you," Damon illogically threatened.
"Is that an oxymoron?"
"Who are you calling a moron?" Damon joked.
"About time I saw that smile again," Damon asserted, and leaned over to kiss his boyfriend.
"Now, now. No hanky panky in the restaurant," the waitress said, bringing them their bill.
The two shot apart as though prodded with an electric current. The waitress chuckled as she asked, "Who gets the bill?"
"Me," Bryce answered.
Damon started to protest, then, seeing determination in Bryce's eyes, he acquiesced.
Bryce was clearly feeling much better after having eaten. As they started back to campus, he even warned Damon about slipping on the ice, then surreptitiously gathered some snow from a parked auto, and, letting Damon get a little ahead of him, caught him right on the nape of the neck, where it would drip down under his jacket.
"Oh, you are so going to regret that," Damon threatened, as he began to gather snow himself.
The two used each other for target practice for the rest of the way back to campus. A good half their missiles missed their target entirely. The most important thing, as far as Damon was concerned, was that Bryce was laughing again.
As they reached the edge of campus, they found themselves in an open space covered in snow about four or five inches deep. Light snow continued to fall. Bryce paused to admire the scene before him, the campus trees heavy with their white winter garments. As he did, suddenly he found himself face down in the whiteness. Damon had tackled him from behind, and was now sitting on his back, pinning him to the ground. Bryce began to yell, but found his mouth stuffed with a handful of snow.
"You see what happens to honkies who lob snowballs at warriors from the projects," Damon trumpeted. "Surrender or freeze to death, White Boy."
"I surrender! I surrender, O Mighty One," Bryce gave in, laughing as he did.
Damon released his captive, and both men got to their feet.
"Hey, O Mighty Warrior, how about stopping by the SAT house?" Bryce suggested.
"Okay. Us mighty ones can be generous in victory. Any special reason?"
"Well, since I slept through my history class this afternoon, I kind of want to see whether Jack is there and get his notes," Bryce sheepishly admitted.
Damon laughed. "Who you going to ask for French and Psychology? I assume you're planning to mooch off me for Biology."
"I don't know, and yes," Bryce answered.
As the two entered the foyer of the fraternity house, they happened to encounter DuBois Kennedy. "Hey, you two, you can't bring all that snow inside. Don't move." DuBois then proceeded to brush tons of snow off both pledges. "You look like you were rolling in it," he commented.
"Your pledge attacked me, entirely unprovoked," Bryce lied.
"Yeah, right! Who was it that lobbed a snowball right down my neck?" Damon shot back.
"Who, me?" Bryce put on a totally unconvincing air of innocence.
"You two are impossible. You should form a comedy team. Call it Jekyll and Hyde," DuBois suggested.
"Who's Jekyll and who's Hyde?" Damon asked.
"I leave that to you to work out. Actually, I can imagine quite a skit about you working on that question." DuBois laughed.
"And just where are you going?" Damon asked his mentor.
"I," he responded triumphantly, "am taking Sheila to a showing of the new romantic comedy at the Strand."
"Oh, ho! And afterwards?"
"Afterwards is none of your business," DuBois asserted.
He departed, and the two men went in search of Jack Datillo. They found him in the basement rec room watching an action movie with some of the other brothers. Bryce made his request for notes from the day's class, finding that Dr. Dickinson had lectured on the Duke of Marlborough and his great victories at Blenheim, Ramillies, and Oudenarde, and the drawn battle of Malplaquet. Jack was not willing to abandon his seat while the movie was getting interesting, but he said he had transcribed his notes onto his computer, and would send them to Bryce later that evening. With that, Bryce had to be satisfied.
Bryce and Damon returned to their rooms in Clay Hall. As they were hanging up their jackets, Damon asked, "What do you want to do now?"
For answer, Bryce put his arms around his boyfriend, nibbled at his ear, and whispered, "I want to show you how much I appreciate you."
Damon grinned. He walked over and locked the door.
Bryce approached, and began by kissing Damon. As their tongues became entwined, he also began depriving his neighbor of his clothing, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders. Damon joined in the fun, returning Bryce's kisses and lifting his sweater over his head, quickly re-establishing lip contact after the cashmere passed. Well before they had given up searching for each other's tonsils, they were both stripped to the waist. Bryce's left hand ventured down to between Damon's legs, where he caressed the package encased in denim. Damon responded by unbuckling Bryce's belt, and unsnapping his jeans, then grasping the little lip of the zipper and tugging it down, allowing the flaps to spread out on either side. Bryce's jeans began to slide down his hips as Damon's hand probed his briefs. As Damon's fingers closed around the warm male tool located in there, Bryce broke their lip contact.
"You're getting ahead of me," he said, shoving Damon gently towards his bed.
Damon sat on the side of his bed. Bryce loosened his boyfriend's shoes and removed them. As he did, he noted, "You need some boots for this winter weather." He then unzipped Damon's jeans, and, grasping the legs, ordered, "Lift." Damon rose on his hands, lifting his butt off the bed. Bryce pulled his jeans down and off his legs. As he turned to toss them aside, however, Bryce became embrangled in his own jeans, which were gathered at his ankles, and toppled over, landing on his butt. Damon could not restrain his laughter.
Bryce looked chagrined, then joined in the laughter. One thing he had learned from Damon was the combination of laughter and sex. Back when he was trying to prove he was not gay, not only he, but the others with whom he associated, treated sex as something completely solemn. It was worse than laughing at the sermon in church to laugh while having sex. This, he knew, was much healthier.
With a crooked grin plastered across his face, Bryce righted himself, pulled off his own boots, socks, and jeans, and returned to the task of denuding his lover. Damon leaned back on his elbows and observed the process. Having removed Damon's jeans, Bryce reached up and again caressed the package between his legs, which was now stretching the cotton fabric which still encased one of his most interesting attributes. Bryce inserted his fingers beneath the elastic band on either side of Damon's hips, and pulled down, making sure that as he lowered Damon's briefs he avoided catching his generous endowment in the fabric. "Lift," Bryce ordered again, and Damon complied. In a second, Damon wore only his white athletic socks, which Bryce decided to leave on ... "for contrast."
Kneeling between Damon's legs, Bryce leaned in and began exploring. His tongue darted out, almost like that of a dangerous snake, although it was Damon's snake which was being attacked. Damon's cock stood erect, standing out from his body, giving Bryce plenty of room to encircle it with fingers and lips. After teasing for a few licks, Bryce engulfed his boyfriend's prick in his warm and wet mouth. His tongue continued active, stimulating nerve endings so that Damon began to breathe more heavily. Meanwhile, Bryce's fingers sought out Damon's testes, nudging and caressing them as they seemed to grow in size under his ministrations. Bryce ran his tongue over the head of Damon's penis, probing the slit as he did. Damon drew in his breath sharply. Drawing back a bit, Bryce ran his tongue down the underside of Damon's cock, then over his balls, taking first one, then the other, into his mouth and treating them to a tongue bath. He then retreated the way he had come until he again had Damon's fleshy arrow of Eros between his lips. Bryce slipped his finger into his mouth, which it shared briefly with Damon's love muscle. Then, his finger wet, he ran it under Damon's ass until he reached his rosebud, exposed only because Damon was now more or less on his back, his legs over Bryce's shoulders, and panting heavily. Bryce encircled that nether orifice, then began a slow penetration past the guardian sphincter muscle. As Damon's breathing became more labored, Bryce increased the stimulation of his cock, even as he explored his anal cavity with his middle finger. When he found what he was looking for, and rubbed the tip of his finger against Damon's prostate, his lover exploded. With only a second's warning, Damon spewed his vital juices into his lover's mouth. Bryce swallowed quickly as Damon pumped squirt after squirt of semen into him. Finally, Damon lapsed into euphoric lethargy, as Bryce cleaned up the remnants of his orgasm.
Drawing back, Bryce licked his lips. "I wish I could make you feel like that all the time. I love you so much, Damon."
"If you did, I'd die of ecstasy," Damon panted.
Bryce sat back on his haunches and just looked at the man he loved. There was nothing more beautiful in his opinion. "I want to just look at you all the rest of my life."
"Oh no you don't. I expect more action like that sometime in the future, the near future, not just lascivious looks," Damon protested with a grin. He then reached out, pulling his lover up. "Come here. I want to return the favor."
Bryce rose to his feet, and positioned himself between Damon's legs, as his partner sat up on the side of the bed. Damon proved to be even more expert than Bryce in pleasuring his partner orally. Bryce was soon panting just as Damon had earlier, as Damon sucked and licked, caressed and probed. Bryce was already turned on by what he had been doing to Damon, so he did not last nearly as long. After experiencing delights seemingly greater than ever before, Bryce reached the point of no return. Hands on hips, he threw his head back, arched his body, and began to cum in torrents. Damon took the first few blasts in his mouth, but moved back slightly, and took the remaining ones on his face. As Bryce began to slow down to a dribble, Damon again took his cock into his mouth and prevented the last drops from going to waste.
Bryce sank to his knees between Damon's legs. He panted, searching for breath. His lover put his hands on his head, entwining his fingers in the blond locks. Bryce leaned his head against his lover's shoulder. When he had recovered sufficiently to notice his environs once again, Bryce found streaks of his cum splattered across his lover's face.
"As usual, you manage to be much more artistic than I am," he teased.
"As usual, you manage to be greatly weirder than I am," Damon returned.
They kissed, Bryce tasting himself on his lover's lips. Then, Bryce crawled up onto Damon's bed, where they lay holding each other for a good half hour.
After cleaning up a bit, Bryce checked his e-mail. There was the set of notes from Jack as promised, which he printed out for future study. There was another message from his mother, which he read, but did not answer. It did not meet his criteria, but merely pled for a response.
Still nude, Bryce walked back into Damon's room. "What are we going to do next?" he enquired.
"You're wide awake because you slept most of the day. Usually, I'm the one awake at night, while you're ready for the Land of Nod," Damon noted.
"No argument, but what are we going to do next?" Bryce reiterated.
"Well, I'm thinking there's a tube of KY jelly which is just panting to be put to some good use," Damon responded.
"You know, I think you're right. I knew there was something calling to me while I was at my computer," Bryce replied with a grin.
"Me first," Damon insisted. Bryce lay on his back in Damon's bed and raised his legs into the air. He grasped his ankles, exposing himself to his lover. Damon used the lubricant to prepare both Bryce's ass and his own dick. Then, he carefully and lovingly entered his partner. There was always a twinge of pain, but it quickly passed. Damon had a knack of finding Bryce's prostate and massaging it over and over.
"You're built just right to give me the maximum pleasure," Bryce panted.
"No, you were built for me, not me for you. Remember, I'm four months older than you," Damon gloated.
"As long as you keep that up, I won't argue," Bryce sighed.
Having cum not too long ago, Damon kept it up for some time. At last, however, he reached the point where he could no longer restrain himself. "Here I cum," he yelled, as he poured his second emission of the evening into Bryce's bowels. Bryce grabbed Damon and pulled him close, kissing him as he ejaculated.
When Damon at last shot his last spurt into his lover, they lay side my side. Bryce held Damon close, kissing him as he recovered his breath after his orgasm. Over and over, he repeated, "I love you, I love you."
Then, Damon reached down and encircled Bryce's stiff prong in his fingers. "This needs attention. You can't fall asleep with a raging hard-on like this," he stated. "Here, your turn." He handed the tube of KY jelly to Bryce.
Bryce prepared to please his partner, slathering the lubricant into Damon's anal orifice in generous dollops. He then gave minute attention to his own cock, making certain he was glistening with jelly. "How do you want this?' he asked.
"Lie back," Damon instructed.
With a grin, Bryce lay on his back again, his hard cock in the air. He held it between his thumb and forefinger as Damon moved to position himself over his lover. Then Damon slowly lowered himself on Bryce's hard prick.
"Uuuuhhh," he moaned. "This is more like it. I like this kind of being in the saddle lots better than what we did in Nebraska," Damon commented.
"That reminds me," Bryce remembered, "I need to apologize for that. I was just showing off, and put you through a lot of grief. Can you forgive me?"
"Don't mention it," Damon said. He chuckled. It was an odd chuckle, coming as it did between heavy breaths. "Actually, I'm kind of glad you forced me to ride. It was an interesting experience. And I'll never forget the sight of you racing across the plains. That was sexy and studly," he said.
"Thanks, Lover," Bryce said as he pumped energetically into his boyfriend's anus. After a while, Bryce's breath was coming in labored pants. "I'm almost there," he announced.
"Do it! Fuck me!" Damon encouraged him.
"Here I cum!" Bryce shouted, as he began spewing his semen into his lover's intestines.
Damon lay beside Bryce. They kissed gently. "You're what I need," Bryce declared.