Date: Fri, 11 Feb 2011 20:05:36 +0000 From: Cody Samuels Subject: Something about Steve (College) Something about Steve Cody Samuels Literally.naked@gmail.com Introduction: Hey all! After a long hiatus I think I can say I'll be back in the swing of writing for you guys. I've had a change in life recently and to commemorate this change I thought I'd write something new. About myself: So if you've read some of my old Stories you'll find that I was a post graduate student in English and now I've taken on a new major in Multimedia design. And as a project I was told to have a "non-major" based hobby. So why not continue writing about romances and hot sex? I'm 23 now, and a lot has changed for me. I guess you can say life makes you harder when you grow older. WARNING: May Contain Scenes of a sexual nature. But you already knew that didn't you? Stay safe- really... Use a condom ------------------------------------------------------------------- Something about Steve When I started University in September, a lot of things were new to me. Having been born and raised in the quiet suburban end of London made me realise just how different life was in the big city compared to Life outside. It was much noisier, more crowded, and a bit violent watching people look away from you as if you were a social pariah, or a leper. My name is Jacob Hawes, 18 years old (turning 19 in May), 6ft tall, brown hair that kept doing weird things whenever I slept like go wavy or stick up straight on one side because I'd slept on it too long. I had what most of the girls called "the Abercrombie body" but I think they're really trying to fuck me over with that because I didn't. I didn't have a six pack and I didn't have a big chest. I didn't really have anything. I had my wits, the fact that I found most things funny and I had my love for writing, which is why I went to some prestigious University somewhere in the centre of London for getting good grades (which I think is wrong because someone must have been on dope marking my papers). I have a scar on the bottom of my right jaw from my first bike accident and I like to feel it a lot. It reminded me that life is sweet when you're riding until you fall. I grew up in Essex, which is essentially farmland for most people. You had to drive to where you wanted to get to or at least walk to the nearest overhead train station, and even then that was a walk. I worked at the nearby warehouses, earning extra cash over the summer holidays lifting crates and being a literal "mule" for them. It paid good money and the gloves where awesome. I was into reading comic books, and a lot of the manga which a lot of my generation did, and I often cried to certain Japanese animation that some people just looked at me weirdly for. There wasn't much else to me really. I was a bit of a sociopath though, following certain personalities around that were strong like my best-friend Lily who seemed to enjoy the fact that I was her lapdog. And I always conformed to whatever was the trend, just to fit into the crowds and feel accepted. Otherwise they would find out that I was gay and then shun me like they did in those T.V. programmes that I watched as a kid. Beat me up brutally and send me to Accident and Emergency with hanging limps and a hole where my balls used to be. And growing up in Essex, beatings were regular, or "assaults" as the local lingo would say. Being gay just made it legitimate. So I had a big fear for being gay in one of Europe's most openly gay countries. It still happens though. But it was worse being gay in America than being gay in London as I found that out when I went over to Washington to study for a year there. It was part of my course to go to an American University or College and study American literature from the Yanks themselves. And life with them was so much more different. Shared dorms, Fraternities, groups and cliques, independent studies- just everything was a completely different ball game. I wasn't sure how to handle myself to say the least, and it looked like it. I had two suitcases that contained my life from the past two years (most of the bigger things I owned simply went home to my Mum and Dad) and being in American, I thought I'd play it safe and be Spartan with my belongings- only the essentials. But I must have looked like such a sad loser basket case when I arrived at the main house reception looking for the dorms. The receptionist took so much pity on me that she even got me a guide. The guide was some random bloke who just "happened" to be heading in that direction. She handed me a welcome pack, gave me a small lecture about the rules and regulations and got me to sign over the keys and other things I wasn't sure of, and then got me to look into a Camera and smile (which was weird because I was used to looking grim in those photos) and then handed me my god-awful looking card. And when I mean awful I mean awful- I looked like a Prisoner. Dorms where nice, but I had heard its notoriety from others in the third year that had come back, tanned and slightly more open to offering sex. October was the beginning of the semester for people so majority of the dorms were unmarked and had no personalisation on them to indicate a person or persons inhabited them. But I knew from what others had told me that- in America, sharing is caring. And I had to share my life with my next door neighbour. Whom I'd probably see everything of. The guy who helped me out was Tom Bassinger. I smiled and wondered how people pronounced his last name, was it "Bay singer" or "Bassinger" and to which he pronounced it like the latter, which was weird. I thanked him and hoped to see him in the lecture and he gave me a nice farewell and hoped I took care of myself- something weird as well. London never did that if you were a stranger. So I jammed my keys into my dorms, not expecting anyone else to be in the room and the moment I opened the door, I tripped on the small hidden step that raised the entire floor 3 inches off the ground. I fell flat on my face, and what was worse was: my roommate saw everything and was howling with laughter. That's when I met him, Steve Callahan. American-Irish decent with beautiful Blonde short hair, extremely clear blue eyes and a grin that made you eat shit again and again and again. He laughed loud and hard and I wanted to crumple on the floor, curl up and die of embarrassment. I hadn't seen his face because I was too busy sniffing dust off the floor and didn't see he'd offered a hand up. But when I turned and saw he had, I could feel the heat strike across my face at the sight of him. Broad shoulders and an infections grin on that blue-eyed hot something. My mouth dropped, and it felt like I had gone into slo-mo reaching for his hand to help myself out. The moment I touched him, I felt a spark in me, and my eyes bugged out, as if something had stung me. What the shit was I feeling? My gut twisted and roiled at his touched, and the more he touched it the more my body from the gut down started to stir. Please! Not now! No boner! "Steve Callahan" he said heaving my body up. The fact he did that made me self-conscious about my size, which made me tug my shirt down. I realised I stood slightly taller than him as he had to look up slightly. But it gave me a brilliant view of his shoulders and his chest. I think I was sharing a room with a sports god or something because he- was something else. "You have a name right?" he poked at me, which snapped me out of my daydreaming (or chest-ogling)"Ugh... oh Jacob Hawes" I instinctively went out to reach for his hand and shake it when I realised something, I was still holding onto the bugger. So I shook It feverishly, smiled and withdrew from it like his hand suddenly got hot (either that or I realised his hand was really hot) and backed off, not wanting to appear gay, camp, or gamp... "Cool! Jakey boy" I cringed the moment he said that. I used to get called that a lot whenever my Dad wanted to play a sick prank like shake my hand and leave a dead mouse in my palm, or see him only to have toilet water dumped on me. "Ugh please... don't call me that" I protested feeling my stomach knot up. Steve smiled and understood "Ok dude, I won't. Lemme help you out and get you adjusted before we go through some house rules" Shit. House rules- never good at abiding by them. I was what the American's would have probably called a "Sloppy Joe". I left things in organised messes, I rarely cleaned dishes, laundry stayed out for month (I got lazy often) shoes would be all over the place and I didn't know how to vacuum. So Steve helped me with my luggage, and then it took me 10 minutes, to unpack my clothes (which someone by the name of Lily had already folded neatly ready for quick deployment) and left my shoes under the bed, laptop out, and my books on the window sill. The room was a standard all in one unit stilled room, with a Shower and Toilet with sink, and a 10x10 space with two beds rammed to each wall, cupboards, drawers and a desk with a chair. We only had one window and I thought since one side had been used to show off some of Steve's "football" trophies, I might as well stack Byron, Shelley, Rhys and Tennessee on the shelf too. "Bookworm! Dude this is great! Somebody to help me out when I can't be asked to read!" I felt a drag on him already. The hot guy had a draw back- he was also lazy. It was a good drawback though; at least I could be lazy with him. That idea of being with him. It was weird, and oddly satisfying. Then I shook my head and then ignored that possibility straight out of my head. And when I looked at my suitcases, both were emptied except for one thing. And when I looked at them, I must have dropped my balls and my heart at the same time in horror. Lily packed gay porn magazines in my bag. And looking at the hot naked guy at the front made me instantly hard. I shut my eyes and grabbed the magazines as fast as I could and rammed them under my bed. Hoping, just hoping that Steve didn't spot that. "Whatcha got there dude?" He said peering over my shoulder with a cheerful tone to his curiosity. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading this folks! Hopefully I'll have written more about Steve and Jacob next week! Any comments feel free to email me at literally.naked@gmail.com! I'm also looking for a proof reader again, so let me know if you're ok with reading the new material before anyone else!