When I was a freshman at State, I lived in the dorms. One day at lunch in the caf, I saw this really good-looking guy. I didn't think much about it since I had this kind of vain habit of comparing myself to guys I saw, imagining who would win in a "who's better looking?" contest. This guy had me beat. He had dark wavy hair, slightly arched dark black eyebrows (not bushy, not too thin), really long eyelashes and killer blue eyes. He also had thick, sensuous lips, which I noticed immediately, and this was before I even knew that I found thick sensuous lips sexy on a man. I was 18 and straight, in love with my girlfriend out east.
A few days later, I saw the guy again. Again I thought, `wow, that guy is really good-looking.' It still hadn't registered on me that I was going through some kind of change. It still hadn't dawned on me over the next couple of weeks as I started to look for the guy every time I was in the caf, and would leave disappointed if I didn't see him. At that point, if you would have told me I had a crush on the guy, I would have laughed in your face.
I wasn't laughing a few weeks later when I woke up from a dream about the stranger, me with a raging hard-on and a not-unpleasant ache in my stomach. It was those goddamned lips, those thick sensuous lips. I had to kiss them. I sat upright in my bed. Jesus Christ, did I just think that? Did I just think about kissing another man? I was honestly freaked out. I had never had any homosexual fantasies; not with men, anyway.
I remember in high school fantasizing about being with this one really ugly girl and this really hot cheerleader. The ugly girl had a killer body, and I used to imagine forcing the prissy cheerleader to do some really nasty stuff with her. The cheerleader would be really hesitant at first, practically begging me not to make her eat pussy and lick the other girl's ass, but the more I made her do, the more into it she got. By the time I was ready to come from my fantasy, I would be fucking the cheerleader in the ass while she and the ugly chick were engaged in a furious sixty-nine, moaning and slobbering all over each other's steamy turgid lips.
As I lay in bed that night, thinking about another man's mouth, I tried to call that fantasy back. But the cheerleader kept disappearing, and my fantasy man kept taking her place. And we kept pushing the ugly girl out of the way, sort of laughing at her attempts to get between us. `Why am I doing this?' I thought. Because, a little voice inside my head said, you want to have sex with a man. I sat up in bed again. Jesus, can that be true?
I lay back down. Fuck it, I thought. I started thinking about his lips. Those thick, beautiful, sexy lips. And I started to kiss them. They felt warm and soft. And they were big. I had never been kissed before. Oh, I had done plenty of kissing, but I had never been on the receiving, submissive end of a kiss. I tried to imagine it, being forced back slightly while he pressed his mouth to mine, covering my lips and invading my mouth with his tongue. I liked it. I liked the thought of it; I liked the way I imagined it would make me feel.
I took my cock into my hand as my fantasy lover and I continued to kiss. It seemed we couldn't pull apart, not even for an instant, so we had to struggle to undress. Pulling each other's shirt over the other's head meant we had to break contact for a second, and that brief second was too long. We slammed out mouths back together, pushing tongues deeper, hands on the back of each other's head pressing our faces even closer. Deep, wet, probing kisses left our chins dripping, and me wanting more. I felt my orgasm build, so I had my fantasy lover pull me away from him by the back of my hair. He looked at me wordlessly, smiled slightly, and shoved my head to his lap. The second his smooth cock-head parted my lips in my mind's eye, I was done. I felt my cock swell in my hand and as I licked and sucked his shaft. It tasted salty and sweet at the same time, and he started to buck wildly, actually fucking my mouth with his cock. In my bed, I burst all over my stomach and chest just as my dream lover came in my mouth.
I lay in my bed, in the dark, my hot spunk thinning from my body heat, starting to run off my stomach and chest to my sides. I was miserable. Goddamn. Why did that have to be so fucking fantastic? I don't want to be a faggot, a cocksucker. I want to be a man. I have a girlfriend, goddamnit. I'm in love. Now what? I fell asleep with tears spilling from the corners of my eyes.
I woke in the morning feeling ashamed, but slightly relieved. Big deal, so I had jacked off thinking about a man. I hadn't actually done anything, for god's sake. And didn't my psych prof just say how it was perfectly normal to think anything? How no one can control their own thoughts completely? So I woke up from a dream and finished it off...I was still half-asleep when it happened; it didn't mean anything.
I got in the shower feeling a lot better. I even laughed a little at how paranoid my thoughts were. So I found a man attractive, so what? Didn't I also see about five woman every day that turned me on? I was probably just turned on by the forbidden-ness of the thing, by the exotic difference of sex with a man. But, jeez that guy is hot, I thought. I wonder what it would really be like to try that? I bet he really is a good kisser. I kind of wish he was in the shower with me right now. We could kiss with our chests rubbing together, and I could run my hands down to his ass, sort of rubbing and massaging as we started to moan and really get into it. I knew he worked out; his ass was tight and rounded. I really would like to feel it, rub it, maybe even kiss it. I could just...
Suddenly, I popped my eyes open. Holy shit. I looked down: full diamond-cutter action. What the hell am I doing? This is no half-awake dream. This is no middle-of-the-night secret shame. This is fully awake, totally aware, fag fantasy. So how come I don't feel so ashamed now?
I closed my eyes and started stroking my cock. My dream lover came into the shower, and we did kiss, deeply and passionately. His cock was so hard pressed against me that it made me shudder. I knew what he wanted even before his hands were on my shoulders, gently but insistently turning me around. I spun willingly. I wanted him to use me, I wanted to turn him on until he lost control. Yes, I thought, arching my back slightly and spreading my legs, fuck me.
I moaned as he spread my cheeks, and shuddered again as I felt the head of his thick, pulsing cock pressed against my tight hole. "I don't think..." I started to say.
"Good, don't think," he said, clamping one hand over my mouth. He pushed once, twice, and I braced myself for the third. His lubricated cock pushed through my cheeks into my ass, and he hesitated a moment, no more than an inch inside of me.
"Have you ever been fucked before?" he asked, still holding one hand over my mouth.
I shook my head.
"How bad do you want this?" he asked.
I responded with a whimper and pushed back into him. I groaned as I forced him in another inch or so, but he moved back slightly so I couldn't get more of that delicious cock.
He laughed lightly and with his free hand slapped my ass, three or four sharp smacks. "I was going to be gentle, but now I'm going to teach you a hard lesson on how to fuck like a faggot."
With that, he buried his cock deep inside me. I flinched with the shock, my eyes opening wide, my high-pitch groan muffled by his hand. He pulled almost all the way out, slowly, then plunged deeply in again. Slowly out, deeply in. Slowly out, deeply in. He kept his rhythm steady for a long few minutes, then began moving faster on both strokes. He was pounding my ass now, as if he was beating me into submission with his powerful manhood. I was groaning, choking, and biting his hand over my mouth. I was in ecstasy.
I realized with a start that the water from the shower was now starting to run cold. My cock was so hard in my hand that it was actually slightly painful, that beautiful pre-orgasmic ache that indicates an intense orgasm building. I turned the hot water up and squeezed my cock tightly as I pumped even harder. I slammed against the back wall of the shower as the first spurt exploded from me. My knees buckled as I continued to come, and I had to slide to the shower floor to keep from falling.
I sat there for ten minutes, thinking about what it all meant. Was I gay? How could I be fantasizing about that kind of sex if I wasn't? And how could it seem so enjoyable if I wasn't gay? Goddamnit, I don't want to be a fag.
I thought about my girlfriend. How could I even face her if I was gay? That would mean our three years together was a lie. And what about our sex life? How the hell could I enjoy sex with her so much if I wasn't straight? It didn't make any sense. I didn't consider the possibility of bisexuality, either because I wasn't really aware of it, or because I was at that stage of a young man's life where things are all still black and white.
I got dressed and went off to class, feeling confused and unhappy.
. . .
This was all happening toward the end of fall term. I stumbled through the last couple of weeks of classes and finals, eating every meal at odd hours to lessen the chance of seeing the man who was causing me so much misery. I talked to my girlfriend every week, and I really missed her. I was also nervous about seeing her.
Break came, and I headed home feeling a little better. I hadn't seen my crush (it was a crush, I admitted to myself) for two weeks, and I had been able to control my fantasies, at least during the day.
My girlfriend called me the day after I got home. She hadn't even unpacked yet. "Get over here right now," she said on the phone.
I was nervous on the drive over. `What-ifs' kept playing through my head. And then the damnedest thing happened.
I pulled into her driveway and she came bounding out the front door and into my arms, practically before I was all the way out of the car. All of my doubts, all of my questions, vanished in that instant. As we kissed there in front of her house, I felt the familiar stirring between my legs, and I knew I was back.
In the house, she smiled at me shyly and told me she had bought me something. Let's see it, I said. I'm wearing it, she told me. I looked her up and down, then shook my head. I don't see anything new, I said. Not yet, you don't, she told me, taking me by the hand and leading me upstairs.
"What about your parents?" I whispered at the top of the stairs.
"Christmas shopping," she told me, and giggled.
We went to her bedroom and she did a slow striptease for me. By the time she got down to her white lace bra and matching thong, I had an ache in my throat to match the one in my pants.
Any lingering doubts I may have had about my sexuality were erased in a flurry of tangled arms and legs. Once I slipped inside of her and felt the intensity of her heat engulf me I was a whole man again. She moaned and cried out as we rocked together, and I tried to push not just into her but through her.
I rolled off of her and lay on my back, blowing at the ceiling.
"Wow," she said, "maybe we should go without fucking for three months more often."
"No way," I said, rolling back into her arms.
. . .
The rest of the break was just as nice. We went to lots of parties together, saw friends we hadn't seen since graduation (including the hot cheerleader!) and fucked every chance we got, which wasn't enough for either of us, no matter how much it was.
New Year's came and went, and it was time for us to say good-bye all over again. It was hard for both of us.
I could tell something was on her mind, though, so it was even more difficult for her. After waiting patiently for a day or two, I pushed the issue on the day she was leaving.
"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you before you leave?" I suggested.
She looked slightly surprised, but also relieved. "Why do you think..." she started.
I held up my hand. "Please," I said, "let's not play that game. Just tell me what's on your mind."
She looked away for a second, then looked back at me unhappily. 'Oh my god,' I thought, 'she's going to break up with me.'
"I want to tell you something," she said, "but I don't want you to take it the wrong way."
Relief. That wasn't how you broke up with someone. What, then?
"Don't worry, I'm a big boy. Are you in love with one of your professors?"
She punched my arm. "Don't be a jerk." Smiling now. "It's just..."
"Okay, here goes," she said. "We've been together for three years, and I think there's a good chance we'll end up getting married. If that was the case, and we stayed together all through college...well, I wouldn't want you to look back and think you missed out on anything."
She stared intently into my eyes, looking for something. I tried to remain unreadable.
"Meaning...?" I said, raising an eyebrow.
"Meaning, well, if you met some girl, at a party say, or if you thought you might be interested in someone..." she trailed off.
"Are you telling me to cheat on you?" I asked, incredulous, but smiling.
"No, I'm not telling you to go look for it, I'm just saying if something happens and I don't know about it and never find out about it, then as far as I'm concerned it never happened."
"You are in love with one of your profs, aren't you?" I teased. "Do I have to give you the same get-out-of-jail-free card?"
"Listen, you bastard, I'm trying to be serious here," she said, starting to laugh.
"I happen to think the same way you do," I told her. "What I don't know and never find out about can't hurt me."
"Okay, then." She looked at me seriously. "But if I ever did find out you were cheating on me, I'd have to cut your balls off."
"Me, too." I looked at her crotch. "Looks like you already got caught cheating on your last boyfriend, though."
We both laughed and the subject passed. Later that day I took her to the airport, and we had one of those cheesy, romantic movie tearful parting scenes.
Later that night, as I lay awake in bed, I thought about our conversation from that day. I wondered what she would have thought if she had known I had thought about cheating on her, but with another guy. Then I started to wonder what my crush was up to. I hadn't seen him in a long time, probably over a month. What the hell, I thought, I proved to myself that I wasn't gay...why not have a little fun tonight?
I closed my eyes and called my fantasy lover to my bed.
. . .
Back at school, I was happy and secure again. Things might never have developed the way they did if not for the most bizarre coincidence. It's the kind of thing that if you read it in a book or saw it in a movie, you'd say `No way.' This is how it really happened...you'll just have to take my word for it.
The first day in one of my humanities classes, I looked around the room to see how many people were there. We were in a fairly large amphitheater-type class, which meant this would probably be a class with lots of slides and art presentations. That was fine with me; slide shows gave me a chance to nap in class.
I looked around and counted around fifty or so students. I did a double-take when I saw my crush sitting towards the front of the class, near the lectern. I was in the last, or uppermost, of the descending, curved rows which led down to the floor of the theater, so I had a view of the whole room. I couldn't believe it. My heart started pounding. How was I going to get closer to him? I couldn't just get up and casually go sit next to him. Wait a minute! This was perfect! One day in the caf, as he walked by, I'd catch his eye and say something like, "Hey, aren't you in that Hums class in Ag Hall?" Then we could just talk about class...maybe even plan to study together. This was almost too good to be true! I was so excited I was ready to burst. I couldn't have guessed how much more interesting things were about to get.
The prof walked in, a tall man with a closely cropped white beard and thinning hair. He had an air of approachable forgetfulness about him, and I liked him immediately. He stood in front of the class, absently patted down his pockets and smiled without saying anything. He reached into his inside coat-pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held the paper aloft and said in a booming voice, "I hold in my hand here a list. A list of 57 known communists who are taking this class."
He looked at us expectantly. "Anyone...?" he asked quietly.
Uncomfortable silence. Some shuffling of papers and books.
"WHO AM I, GODDAMNIT?" he roared, still holding the paper aloft.
A few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, then, almost in the prof's shadow, my crush cleared his throat.
"Professor McCarthy, is that you?"
The prof roared again, this time with laughter. "Good!" he yelled. "You get an automatic four point! Anyone have anything to add to that?"
I shouted out from the back of the class, "I knew I should have signed up for Professor Welch's class. He said you have no sense of decency."
A few heads turned my way as the professor stared at me.
He nodded his head slowly, then smiled broadly. "Perhaps my bleak view of American youths' lack of culture has been tendered a bit prematurely. Two of you, at least, seem to be aware of the Army-McCarthy hearings. I bet there may even be more of you who knew, but were embarrassed to speak out in class. Am I right? How many of you knew I was pretending to be Sen. Joe McCarthy?"
More uncomfortable silence.
"RAISE YOUR HANDS, GODDAMNIT!"
Christ, I thought, humor him.
A scattering of hands went up across the room.
The prof nodded his head again, slowly. "Good. You're probably all lying bastards, but I know you're lying to lighten an old man's heart, and for that I thank you."
He got louder laughs than he deserved for that, but to his credit he didn't even smile. He held his paper aloft again. "What this actually is, of course, is a class roster. I am going to use it to prove to you that I am not too senile to still be teaching. I am going to call your name, and I want you to stand up and walk to an assigned seat. The first person I call will sit here," he said, pointing to the first seat in the third row. "The next person sits next to him or her, and so on, until we're all sitting together in the first few rows, side by each. Tomorrow you can go back to sitting wherever you want in this cavernous classroom, and I will know by heart all of your names, first and last. Anyone care to bet me I can't do it? No? Good. Let's begin: James Anderson."
A young man stood and walked over to his new seat.
The professor spoke with him as he walked, eyeing him closely. "Hello, James. How are you? What do you go by, James or Jim? Jimmy? Okay, Jimmy it is then. Next we have Ms. Amanda Archer, how alliterative. Hello, Ms. Archer, how do you do? How do you prefer to be addressed? Ms. Archer would be fine? Well, that's a little formal, but as one who has criticized our overly-casual society, I applaud your choice. Nice to have you in you in my class, Ms. Archer," he said, as she took her seat next to Jimmy.
He proceeded through the alphabetical list of students, greeting each by name and seeming to mentally process each person as he or she took the seat next to the person previous in the alphabet.
He came to the letter `r' and I prepared to walk down to my temporary new seat. My crush hadn't stood yet, so I still didn't know his name.
The professor looked over the handful of students still sitting freely about the room. "And who among you remaining students is Mr. Jeff Richards?" he asked. I stood.
And so did my crush.
"Which one of you is Mr. Richards?" the prof asked.
"I am," my crush and I said simultaneously.
"Oh, my," said the prof, consulting his list. "Apparently there are two Mr. Richards, both with the given name Jeffrey. I see one of you spells it `e-r-y' and the other `r-e-y' but that isn't much help. What are your middle names?"
I had reached the bottom row, where my crush was standing. We looked at each other for a heartbeat, then spoke again simultaneously. "John," we both said. We burst into laughter, as did most of the class.
The prof scratched his head. "Hmm, this may present some difficulties." He eyed us both carefully, then shrugged. "You're both about the same height, so I can't go with `Richards the Long' and `Richards the Short.' Besides which, if I chose either of those unfortunate sobriquets some wag in the class would start to refer to you as `Long Dick' and `Short Dick' which would please one and insult the other. You're both ridiculously handsome young men, so I can't go with `Richards the Fair' and `Richards the Plain.' Can either of you help me out here?"
I looked at Jeff. "When were you born?"
"March 25, 1969."
I nodded. "February 27, 1969." I looked at the prof. "How about `Richards the Elder' and `Richards the Younger'?" I suggested.
"Perfect," he said. "And interestingly enough, `Richards the Elder' or `RE' is the one whose given name is spelled in that order, `r-e-y' while `Richards the Younger' or `RY' is the one whose given name ends that way, `e-r-y.' I'm not sure what that signifies, but there you have it.
"Won't you both please be seated? I suppose chronologically, as opposed to alphabetically, in this case."
Jeff smiled at me, and gestured to the seat next to him. "Age before beauty," he said.
"And pearls before swine," I rejoined.
After class was over (and our prof had said goodbye to each of us, individually, first and last names without looking at his list) Jeff and I walked out together.
"So what do your friends call you?" I asked.
"Either `Jeff' or `Rich.' How about you?"
"Everyone calls me `J.R.'" I told him.
"Cool," he said, "I like `J.R.' but for some reason it never stuck with me. I must not look like a `J.R.'"
"You do to me. I'll call you `J.R.' And it won't be confusing, since I rarely address myself."
"Well, all right," he laughed. "You live in Wonders, don't you?"
"Yeah, so do you, right? I thought I recognized you from the caf," I said, sounding casual.
"Uh-huh, I live on six north. How about you?"
"Three south," I told him.
As it turned out, we were both heading back for lunch. We walked back together, joking and laughing, and we sat and had lunch together, too. By the time we were done eating, we were fast friends.
Not only was he hot, but he was laid back and not the least bit conceited. He was a really nice guy, and I knew I would have liked him even if I didn't have a crush on him.
Our class met three times a week, and soon we were meeting before class to walk over together, sitting together in class (the prof thought we were doing it on purpose to screw with him, but he never got us confused) walking back together and having lunch.
After the first week, we discovered a mutual interest in working out and playing racquetball. What else could we do but start up a weekly racquetball game? On top of that, we started studying together once a week, too.
Within three weeks, I was in agony. Instead of going away, my sexual attraction to him grew stronger. I had stopped worrying about the `gay/straight' thing, since my girlfriend had basically absolved me of all guilt for even considering cheating on her, and besides I still hadn't done anything sexual with another man (yet), so why worry about self-definitions?
No, I had a completely different concern now. Jeff and I were becoming more than just good friends, we were getting very close, becoming best friends. How the hell was I going to make a move on him if and when the time came? If he was just some guy, then who cares if you approach him and he tells you to fuck off? But if he becomes my best friend, then I risk losing a great friendship if he thinks I'm just some faggot interested in his cock. And if I never approach him and tell him how I feel, then I have to live tortured by his proximity, wanting what I can never have. Man, this was starting to suck. I almost wished we hadn't met.
The weekly racquetball games were the worst. We were both good, competitive athletes, so the games were close and intense. He always beat me for the last game, because that's when he would take off his goddamn t-shirt, and there would go my concentration. I would spend all my time trying to `accidentally' run into him, just so I could run my hands over his sweaty body. I swear he knew what he was doing.
Then, to make matters worse, I had to walk all the way back to the dorm to take a shower. I had to get back as fast as I could to jack off. When he asked me why I never just took a shower at the courts, I made up a lame excuse about how gross public showers were, and how I got a really bad foot fungus one time in high school and my doctor told me if was from the showers. He just shrugged and didn't say anything. Should I have told him the truth? "Well, you see, Jeff, by the time we're done playing racquetball I am so hot for your awesome body that I'm just about ready to crawl out of my skin. One look at you naked and I would probably not be able to prevent myself from falling to my knees and begging you to let me suck you. So I think it's just best to head back to my own shower where I can snap one off while thinking about you."
Just when I thought my misery was complete, he decided to compound it. It was after a particularly grueling racquetball match and we were sitting by the lockers, cooling down before heading out in the cold January air.
He gave me a funny look. "Let's go work out," he said, surprising me.
"What, here?" I squeaked, high-pitched and panicky. I immediately started trying to think of an excuse for why I couldn't work out in the student gym.
"Uh-uh," he shook his head. "Not here. Over at my uncle's house. The one I told you about with the really cool house on Lake Lansing, remember? He's got a great gym in his heated garage, plus a hot-tub and a sauna."
I was wavering. Jesus, that sounded awesome. I figured I could just say I had to use the bathroom when we got there; I knew I would be able to take care of business in about 30 seconds flat, without even arousing slight suspicion. Still...
"You'd be doing me a really huge favor," he continued. "My uncle's out of town and he asked me to stop by every couple of days to bring in the mail and run the hot-tub so the pipes don't freeze. My payment is I get to raid the refrigerator and the liquor cabinet. How does a grilled steak and a bottle of red wine sound? Or would you rather go back to the dorm? I think tonight is `tuna-melt' night."
"Shit," I said, "we ain't waitin' on me. Let's go get my car."
Half an hour later we were at his uncle's house. It was a very cool split level number, with the hot-tub off the deck which extended out from the upper lever. The lower level was set closer to the lake, giving his uncle a great view from his bedroom.
"Cool pad," I said.
"Yeah, check this out," he said, leading me through the kitchen, then a small utility room, out into what should have been a garage, except that it was carpeted, insulated and dominated by a seven-station weight machine and a rack of dumbbells and barbells.
"Who the fuck is your uncle?" I laughed. "Joe Weider?"
"Pretty close," he said, smiling. He crossed to the back of the garage, where a small wooden door was centered on the wall. It opened into a sauna, built for one, but that could probably accommodate three pretty comfortably.
"Your uncle sure knows how to live," I said.
"Yeah he does," Jeff said, crossing to the bench press. "Spot me," he said, laying down with his hands under the bar.
"Hold on, I gotta..."
But it was too late; he had the goddamn bar off its support and in the air. I hurried over to where he lay, and lightly cupped the bar under my fingers.
He did a set of twenty, then pushed me onto the bench, over my objections.
"Wait," I said, "I really have to take a piss."
He shook his head. "Your work-out is more urgent when you have to piss. Plus it feels that much better when you finally do. Trust me," he said, pushing me back.
Fuck it, I thought. If he notices my hard-on and says anything, I'll tell him I always get hard when I work out. It's a blood-flow thing, I'll say. Then I'll tell him to quit staring at my cock, unless he wants to do something about it. I'd even be able to say that in a joking, macho way, so he could either give me a male-bonding `fuck you' or respond with a pregnant pause and say, `really?' I was thinking about how cool that would be, when I realized he was talking to me.
"What?" I asked.
"I said, `that's twenty-five.' How many reps are you going to do?"
"Oh, shit, I lost count, that's enough."
We made our way to a few different stations, and if he noticed the tent in my shorts he didn't say anything.
We finished a light work-out, by which time we were both sweating again. We hadn't showered after racquetball, and the fresh sweat actually made me feel cleaner, somehow. We went back to the kitchen and Jeff grabbed us a couple of bottled waters and beers. We both chugged the water and then sipped the beers.
We hadn't said anything for a few minutes, but it wasn't the least bit uncomfortable. I wanted to lean across the counter and kiss him, but it was more of a pleasant urge than an overwhelming one. It was at that exact moment that I came to a decision, and I felt a kind of peace come over me.
He and I would remain friends forever, I decided. I knew I had to explore this other side of my sexuality, but I would do it with a stranger. I would go to a gay bar and pick someone up (or get picked up) and experience sex with a man, all the while pretending it was Jeff. I could have my cake and eat it, too. This friendship was too good to risk ruining; I had already caught him giving me odd looks here and there, like he suspected something about me. Once I took care of my urges, I was certain I would be able to get rid of this distraction between us. I felt completely relaxed with him for the first time I could remember.
He smiled at me. "It's pretty weird how we have the exact same names, isn't it?"
I smiled back. "Yep, it is."
He continued smiling, and wanted to say something else. He started to say one thing, changed his mind and said, "I kicked your ass in that third game today."
"Yep, you did," I agreed again, still smiling.
"How come you almost always win the first game, but always lose the third?" he asked.
"I'm older than you. I get tired."
"Patterns fascinate me," he said, ignoring my joke.
"You should probably take up sewing, then," I told him.
"So, do you get high?"
I laughed. Man, his thoughts were bouncing all over the place. I shook my head slightly, thinking, that's all I need: sit here with a hard-on, lusting after this guy and then smoke some horny-dope. Herb always took my normally stratospheric horniness and added an nth degree edge to it. Talk about a recipe for torture, in this setting with this man. I couldn't wait.
He took my rueful smile and head shake to mean `no.'
"Do you mind if I do?" he asked.
"I wasn't shaking my head, `no, I don't get high,' I was shaking my head, `man, could this get any better?'"
His face lit up. "Cool," he said, walking back towards his uncle's bedroom. He returned in a minute with a huge white fatty.
"That was fast," I laughed.
He shrugged. "My uncle keeps `em rolled like a pack of cigarettes."
"I have to meet this guy," I said, as we took our beers and walked two steps down into the comfortable small den off the kitchen.
"He's a great guy," he said, as we sat down next to each other on a massive black leather sectional that covered one wall and half of two others. "He's gay," he added, as he lit up the joint.
When I didn't respond to that, he took a hit, passed me the joint, and said, in the practiced dope-smoker breath-held voice, "Does that bother you?"
I took a huge hit, sat back on the couch and closed my eyes. I shook my head, blew out a cloud of smoke and said, "Not in the least."
We smoked in silence for a while. I was just starting to feel the effects, and could see from his slightly-lidded eyes and small liquid smile that he was stoned, too.
"You ever kiss another guy?" he asked me.
If I hadn't been high, I probably would have fallen off the couch. I was so relaxed though, that I responded as if he had asked me if I thought it was going to rain. "Uh-uh," I said, taking the joint and another hit. "You?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as I felt my throat tighten.
"Yeah," he said, taking the joint back. He was still sitting on the edge of the couch, occasionally flicking ashes into the ashtray on the table. I was next to him, but leaning back, a pillow supporting my arms on either side. My right knee was almost touching his left. He seemed slightly agitated.
He looked at me and held my gaze. "Does that bother you?" he asked.
My heart was pounding then, but I tried to stay cool. "Not...in...the...least." I smiled at him.
He didn't smile back. His eyes never left mine. "Would it bother you if I said that I wanted to kiss you?" he asked.
I sat up, my heart ready to explode. I tried to smile. "Not...in..." I started to say, but then his lips were on mine. I tasted smoke, beer and salt. It tasted like the essence of horniness to me. The butterflies in my stomach made me feel like I was on a roller-coaster. I was in heaven.
We broke our kiss and stared at each other, eyes glazed and filled with lust.
"What did you think of that?" he breathed, leaning his forehead against mine.
"Oh, I liked that. I liked that a whole lot."
"Is this because of me?" he asked, placing his hand on the huge bulge in my lap.
"Yes, it is," I told him, "and it's been that way ever since I saw you in the caf."
He laughed. "Me, too. I can't tell you how many times I've jacked off thinking about you."
"Seriously?" I asked. This had to be a dream. I was actually afraid I was going to wake up back in my dorm room.
"C'mon," he said, taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom.
We stood next to the bed and kissed deeply. He lifted my shirt over my head, and I did the same for him. Our chests were sticky with dried sweat. The smell was intoxicating.
We tumbled onto the bed together, lips locked as we fell. He stripped my shorts off, and I returned the favor. Legs entwined, our cocks pressed together, we rolled on the bed, kissing and moaning.
When he took first one nipple, and then the other, in his mouth my body made little spastic jerks. I had never been so turned on in my life. The butterflies in my stomach swarmed up my chest, filling my throat as well.
As he kissed his way down my stomach, I made little whimpering noises. "Please, Jeff...oh, please," I whispered. I may have been crying. He lifted my cock gently, pressed his tongue against the base and slowly drew his warm, wet tongue up the entire length. My knees locked and a strange gurgling sound escaped from my throat. I slammed my head back into the mattress when he took my cock into his mouth, licking around the corona then plunging his entire mouth down to the base. He licked and sucked my cock until I nearly begged him to stop. I didn't want this to ever end.
He brought his mouth back to mine, and I kissed him in a frenzy of lust. I could taste my sex in his mouth. The taste drove me wilder. I wanted him on me, in me, all at once.
He pushed my head down to his chest, and I kissed and licked his nipples as he had done mine. I moved down his stomach, and felt my heart racing as I approached his engorged pole with my mouth. Before I could even kiss it, though, he pulled my face back to his. I wanted to scream. I had to have it in my mouth.
"Once you do this, you can't ever go back," he breathed, as he kissed me.
"I know it. I want it. Please let me," I begged.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"I want your cock in my mouth. I want to lick and suck your cock like a faggot. I want to make love to you with my mouth."
"Good," he whispered. "And what happens once you take me into your mouth?"
"I'm yours," I said. "I belong to you. I'm your cock-slave."
"Get between my legs," he ordered.
I knelt down on the floor next to the bed, my arms resting on his thighs, his cock inches from my face. I flared my nostrils to take in as much of the scent as I could. I no longer felt human; it was as if I was made completely of desire, of lust.
"Look at me. I want to see your face the first time you taste cock in your mouth."
I nodded and held his eyes. I reached with one hand and lifted his pulsing cock off his belly. I brought it to my face. I kissed the underside of the head, staring into his eyes.
"Lick it," he commanded.
I stuck my tongue out and drew it the length of his shaft, flicking at the sensitive rim. He was leaning up on his elbows, watching me, his face so beautiful I would have killed for him.
"Put your lips on my cum-hole, but don't open your mouth. Good. Now I'm going to slowly push my cock into your mouth. You're going to want to close your eyes. Don't. I want you looking at me the entire time. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head anxiously. "Please..." I started to say, but then he had me by my hair and his full mushroom-head was in my mouth. I blinked once, but continued to look into his eyes. I pressed my tongue against the underside of his head, and he rewarded me with a slight moan.
I could taste his pre-cum and I started to shudder. He tasted so good. He felt so good in my mouth. He pushed in a little further, and I whimpered. I wanted it all. I begged him with my eyes to give my more.
"Oh, yeah, you love that cock. I can see it in your eyes." He held me for another minute, his cock half in my mouth now, my spit running down his shaft, covering his balls.
He took his hand from my head. "Now show me how you worship my cock with your mouth."
I plunged up and down on his shaft, weeping in grateful ecstasy as he filled my mouth again and again. I licked and sucked and kissed, begging for his orgasm. I wanted his cum to fill my mouth.
He pulled me back to his mouth and kissed me hard. "Keep that up and I'm going to explode."
"Oh, yes, please, do it. Cum in my mouth. Please, I'll do anything for it."
"If you make me cum now that means I'll last even longer when I'm fucking your ass. If you go back down on me right now it's the same as begging me to fuck your ass hard."
I took his cock back into my mouth without hesitation, which turned him on even more. He held his cock by the base and began jerking in rhythm to my sucking. My mouth was smashing into his hand on the downstroke, making me moan and suck even more frantically.
I felt his orgasm build, as choked noises came from his mouth. "Yeah, oh yeah, here it comes, take it all, take it, suck that cock, oh yeah, here it comes baby, here it comes!"
And he burst into my mouth, one wave, two, three, as I sucked and slurped and swallowed it all.
He lay back on the bed with a mighty groan as I continued to gently lick and suck him clean. When I finished, I kissed up his belly to his chest.
"Wow," he said, "are you sure that was your first time?"
"I'm pretty sure I would've remembered doing anything like that," I murmured, as I nestled against his neck.
We lay quietly for a few moments when he leaned over and kissed my cheek. Then he kissed me lightly on the mouth. Then again. Then more insistently. I opened my mouth wider as his lips pressed against mine, his tongue now deep in my mouth.
"I taste my cum in you," he whispered. He leaned up on one elbow and pushed me fully onto my back. He reached between my legs and began lazily stroking my cock. Then he bent down and took me into his mouth. I was ready to cum, but he was only teasing me. He came back and kissed me hard again after only a minute or two of sucking. Then back down on me, then more kissing. Back and forth he went, between my cock and my mouth. Each time he left my cock wetter than before, until saliva was running between my legs and my ass was drenched.
He kissed me hard and pushed my legs apart. He gently rubbed my hole with his finger, then slowly pushed into it all the way. I was bucking and shaking as he worked my hole, until I couldn't take anymore.
"Fuck me," I begged. "Please, I want your cock in my ass. Give it to me."
He moved up so his knees were next to my head. Leaning over he said, "Get me as wet as you can."
I sucked and slobbered all over his cock. I soon had him rock hard and soaking wet. He moved back down between my legs, roughly shoving my thighs apart with his knees.
He lifted my legs, one hand behind each knee, and pressed his cock against my ass.
"Beg for it," he said.
"Please fuck my ass. Fuck me hard. I want to be your bitch who spreads his legs day or night for you. Punish my ass so I know I'm yours." I was practically crying, I wanted it so bad.
He had loosened my ass with his fingers, so his cock slid into me easily. It was still a shock as his thick cock-head pushed into me the first time, but the initial slight pain turned into intense pleasure as he began to move back and forth.
He pounded my ass with my legs resting on his shoulders. I grunted and groaned in time to his thrusts. After ten more minutes, I had to have release.
I reached down to take my cock into my hand, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned my arm above my head. He took my other wrist and pinned that arm, too. Then he jerked my legs off his shoulders and slammed himself on top of me. He kissed me hard and pressed his belly down on my cock. Now as he thrust into me, his stomach rubbed my cock. I felt the most intense orgasm of my life building.
I wanted to say that I was coming, but I could only make animal noises, whimpers and cries. I spread my legs as wide as I could and let out a loud, `ahhhhh.' My noises spurred my lover on even more intensely, and just as I shot volcanic juices all over our chests, I saw the veins in his neck surge and bulge. His face contorted as if in agony, he let out a yell and buried himself deep into me. Then he collapsed onto me as if struck from behind.
We lay like that for a long time.