22.  Home Games

When I reached the campus, I walked around for awhile, trying to get my head right. I needed not to get back to my dorm room right away. I needed not to think about what I'd just done with Dean. 

In the night air, you could feel autumn standing just behind the summer. As I strolled aimlessly across the quad, coherent thought was replaced by sensations and tone: The breeze playing on my skin and making the trees whisper. Sounds of laughter in the distance. The stillness of the evening. Not-thoughts about what had just happened. Not-feelings about what it meant. A vague wistfulness, unfocused and bittersweet.

I watched as I walked: A couple strolling past me, headed in the opposite direction, her hand in his, talking quietly, smiling, stopping to kiss; a tall blond guy leaving the library and headed toward the next moment of his life.

As for
my story...

For the moment, that book, and its new chapter, lay closed as I soaked up the night and vibrated in sympathy with the nameless feelings that the evening's events had churned up.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I got back to my dorm room, Trey was there, sitting at his desk, studying. As I walked in, he looked up. A hesitant, ambivalent smile tried to gauge me. "Hey, Andy."

Part of me took note of his caution, but I was still opaque to the noise of my own thinking, still gripped by wordless, thoughtless tone. I stared ahead at nothing much. My eyes were aimed in his direction but weren't really taking anything in. After a too-long-to-be-comfortable silence, I responded, still glazed over, "Oh. Hey, Trey."

This didn't do much to ease his tension. "I just wanted to ask if...well, you know...we're good, aren't we?"

I was looking at him, but not really seeing him. I'd heard him, but wasn't really listening. I was still on the descending side of a half-hour of trying-not-to-think. Silence crackled in the air between us. 

As his question finally began to sink in, though, I became aware of the immediate need; the immediate demands of the conversation, of the friendship.

"Oh. Well, yeah. I mean...hey, I'm sorry, dude, my head's somewhere else. Of course we're good! I sucked out there. If he hadn't subbed you in we'd have lost worse. You were kickin' some ass; it was just too late. But hell, yeah, we're good. You and me? Don't even need to ask."

He smiled. His face--his whole body--relaxed. "Good," he grinned, "Because you just lost your starting spot to somebody with better skills. You can keep the bench warm for a while."

"We'll see about that," I said. I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. I mean it, it said.

The moment passed. I walked back to my side of the room, intending to study, but the odd, wordless curtain of mood began to fall over me again. I gave in to it, but not before I told myself that sometime soon I'd have to think about what happened tonight.

To put off opening the books, I sat down at my desk to check my email; I was expecting a response from my English prof concerning a term paper topic. I typed in the URL of the webmail site and logged in. 

There was an email waiting for me, but it wasn't about English.

I stared, frozen, at the subject line and the sender's name for a good two minutes, until I heard the door to the room across the hall slam hard. That brought me back. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on the sender's name and began to read.


I got your college email from your mom. Your old one don't work anymore I see. Your cell either. What's up with that.

It's cold up here now. You're plenty lucky you're not freezin your ass off already. Classes are boring but I'm passing everything. On the team I mostly ride the bench but when I get playing time I try to show my stuff. They got me playing fullback though. If you can believe that. My arm's better than the QB but he's a senior and he got some game.

Anyway. I'm okay I guess. You helped get me here so you have a right to know.


From across the years I'd fallen back into, I heard Trey's voice. "I got a statistics problem I want you to look at, okay?"

I shut down the webmail page and turned toward him, reeling inside. He grabbed his notebook and took a step toward me, but when he looked into my face, he stopped for a beat. "Hey...what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, struggling to hide signs of the inner storm. "Email from someone I used to know."

"Bad news?"

Bad news...I turned the phrase over in my head for a moment. 

No. No bad news. Just Matt's equivalent of a thank-you note. Something he felt he owed me for past service rendered. A final nod in the direction of what used to be. Throw the fistful of dirt into the grave, wipe the soiled hand on a pants-leg, and move on.

Memories of the previous year, sharp-edged and bitter and looking to draw blood, began to rip and slash their way up from where I'd buried them. I clamped down hard, choking them, coldly determined to squeeze the life out of them again before they had a chance to cut me.

"No news," I replied, my face and my voice masked, unreadable. My mind battled to keep me from being pulled back. "Okay, lemme see it," I heard myself say as I reached for Trey's notebook. 

Before long I'd soaked my head in numbers, equations, and formulae. Concentrating on statistics problems gave me the shoes to walk across the broken glass of the past I'd just stumbled onto. And so I walked. Back onto safer ground. 

Again and again I'd discover during the first part of my college years that the cure for the aches and bumps of the substantial world was the pure, perfect, detached, contemplative joy of the ideal world. The world of bodiless, formless numbers and concepts.

That or a hard-fought game of soccer, or maybe some mindless, loveless, emotionless sex.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I dated a lot of women during that freshman fall and winter. Actually, "dated" was putting it too strongly. I "made friends." And I saw to it that these were almost always "friends with benefits." We didn't call it that back then, but we definitely knew how to embody the concept. It was perfect: No commitments, no promises...just attractive people who liked each other, taking care of the primal needs as they arose. That was my situation. 

With about seven women.

The weekend after my encounter with Dean, one of those friends was lying naked next to me in my cramped twin bed, running her fingers lazily through my pubes in a contented post-coital snuggle, kissing me on the neck from time to time. I was semi-dozing when she asked the question I'd been avoiding asking myself.

"So, Chelsey says you told the guys on the team you like guys too. What's that mean?"

Startled, I sat up. My mind raced for a minute, wary of traps I couldn't see down this path. This could be the beginning of a whole new thing if I get this wrong, I thought. And not a good thing. 

Striving for "nonchalant," I asked, "Whadda you mean, 'what's that mean?'?"

She pulled herself up into a sitting position beside me and grabbed one of my hands as she turned to look at me. Studying my face for a minute, she asked, "Well, like, are you gay?"

I rolled my eyes. "Alicia," I said, exasperation escaping into my delivery. "Think.  How long we been doing this?"

"Coupla months," she said, frowning as she added, "Don't get all bent outta shape. I just wanted to know."

I made a show of wrapping my other hand around my dick. "What could I say that this guy hasn't already told you?" I smiled, tugging on it a few times, and let go when it responded appreciatively.

Her face relaxed into a grin. She laughed and let go of my hand, moving her own hand down to my crotch. "Yeah, it always seems real interested." She bent down and kissed it. Almost instantly it came to full attention. "Wow," she exclaimed, chuckling. "Never fails, does it?"

"Nope." I took a deep breath. "So if 'gay' means women don't excite me, I'm not gay," I said.

"But you told the guys you liked guys," she said, reflecting. "Does it get all excited like that when guys do that?"

"Guys don't do that," I responded.


My throat got tight. "Once," I said quietly.

It was a lie, of course. But the previous weekend was entirely too fresh. I'd deliberately avoided thinking about it. As much as I'd told myself I was ready to explore my attraction to guys in college, I wasn't sure I'd ever do anything like that again. I liked being with Dean, but after the night with him, I'd been haunted. I began thinking that maybe I'd never be able to separate my attraction to men from the guy who'd been its first object.

Alicia looked at me, her face a question mark. "
Once. When?"

"Summer before last." I focused hard on the discussion at hand, but the sound of the surf pounding the shore, the smell of the salt air--the look in his eyes--grabbed at me.

I forced a smile and said, "That's all."

"Can I ask..."

"He was my best friend," I answered, anticipating her question. "It was..." 

I struggled for a moment to find something intelligible to say. I couldn't. "It's not like it sounds," I started. "We..."


I sighed, defeated. "He was my friend." It wasn't much more than a whisper when it came out; I couldn't look at her.

Oblivious to the fact that her questions were doing a number on my head, and heedless of the import of my last reply, she went on. "Once doesn't mean anything. Because of once, you're telling your buds you like guys?"

"Not because of once. Because of what it told me about myself," I said wearily. "Look, I don't know how to put it. I just know what I know." I pulled her into me. We sat on the bed, her back up against my chest with my arms around her. I began to kiss her shoulders and the back of her neck, my legs bent at the knees and resting on either side of her. In between kisses, I said, "Can we leave it at that? What does it matter, anyway?"

She turned to face me and kissed me on the lips. "I'm sorry I upset you. I was just curious. Your best friend, though: It's kind of sweet, really. And in a weird way, it kinda turns me on."

"I can do something about that," I said, kissing her breasts and pushing her gently onto her back.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Over the next couple of weeks I had a chance to process the encounter I'd had with Dean. To my surprise, he actually helped me. A couple of times after practice, he slapped my bare ass on our way to or from the shower. The first time, I turned around in shock to look at him. He smiled and winked. I shook my head and laughed, relieved that he could be casual about the two of us and what had happened.

One time, though, he got me as I was headed into the showers and he was on his way out. I stopped to make a smart-ass remark, and as I did, we both noticed Shane watching us. He'd already showered and was completely dressed except for his shoes. He stood up from the bench in front of his locker and walked toward us, his face a mask of barely-concealed rage. The three of us froze, and things got very quiet in the locker room as our teammates took notice.

Shane glared at Dean. "What the fuck? I thought you were one of the guys who had his head screwed on straight."

"Fuck you," Dean brayed. "You thought wrong. Anyway...I slapped him on the ass. Big fuckin' deal."

"Look," Shane said, "You wanna get this confused bastard to suck your dick, it's none of my fuckin' business." He looked around, eyes steel-hard and angry, at the rest of the team
. "But any of you homos or homo-lovers wanna hit that shit, you take it the fuck somewhere else. I don't wanna have to look at your perverted shit in the locker room."

Defiant, Dean said, "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about and you keep making yourself into a bigger asshole every time you open your mouth about this. Give it a rest, asshole." He pushed Shane back and downward onto the bench next to his sports bag.

Shane looked ready to retaliate, and hard, but about that time Brad Dennison walked into our general space. "I think everybody needs to chill here," he said, directing a hard look at Shane. Shane's face flushed red and he looked down at his feet.

Dean took advantage of the lull to grab center stage. "Anyway..."

He sat down on the bench, pausing for effect. As soon as he'd gotten the attention of the room back from Brad, he continued. "I already done got him to suck my dick. And it's no big deal; he's not that good at it." 

A couple of mouths dropped open, and the room grew tomb-silent. But as soon as the guys saw his facial expression, the shocked silence was followed by howls of laughter, from just about everybody. 

Not from Shane, though.

And not from me. 

Shane made a display of ignoring us and began putting on his shoes. I looked wide-eyed at Dean, but before my deer-in-the-headlights look had a chance to register with the team, he grinned and said, "Oh, get over yourself, Andy. Just 'cause I sucked yours better than you sucked mine, you gotta get all competitive about it?" That set the boys off again, and after they'd recovered a little, he leered at me and said, "Jocks, man; always into who's best. Okay, studboy, if you want, we can put it to a vote over the next month. So any you assholes wanna get your rocks off, it's beer-and-blowjobs the next four Tuesday nights at my apartment. Try us once each and vote on who gives the best head, me or Andy. Phillips, if you lose, the next three cases of Negra Modelo are on you."

I smiled at him, relieved to have had all this converted into a comedy routine for the crowd. I raised my eyebrows and asked, "What if
you lose?"

"Well, if I lose, your next three blowjobs are on me.
From me, even." He grinned and winked at me.

"Fuck, Dean, if you lose, that means I prolly shouldn't even
want your sorry-ass blowjobs," I quipped.

"Hey," he deadpanned without missing a beat, "haven't you heard there's no such thing as a bad blowjob?"

Everyone was so caught up in laughing their asses off, they didn't notice when Shane slammed his locker shut, muttered "Faggots," and stormed out. A few others hadn't stayed around, either, but for the rest, Dean's Improv-at-the-locker-room was a hit that afternoon.

And somewhere in all that, I felt myself relax a little. In spite of the recent turmoil churning around inside, I decided it wouldn't be such a bad thing to walk a little farther down that path if the opportunity came.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Greg Lansing, our first-string freshman backfielder, was a towheaded beauty. I'd never seen a guy with skin as smooth as his. His pale blue eyes sparkled with the joy of being young and alive, and he was always smiling. His build was tight and lean. Listening to his voice was like hearing music.

He was from Mobile, Alabama, and the accent, served up with his coffee-rich baritone and combined with the whole visual impact, caused me to think of him more than once in contexts that didn't have a lot to do with soccer. He had a girlfriend back home, Marina Esquivel, whose looks were the inverse of his--dark and mysterious. She came up to visit a couple of weekends that fall, and during her visits the only time we ever saw Greg was at game time. I admired the way he'd remained faithful to her in the months we'd been there; I wasn't sure I'd have the inner strength to keep a long-distance relationship together.

The Monday evening after her weekend visit in October, he and I were in my dorm room on a study break, comparing notes on our home towns, talking about girls from our pasts, our plans after college, other assorted bullshit. I was sitting on the chair by my desk and he was sitting on the one next to Trey's. At one point in the conversation he got up and flopped onto Trey's bed, stretched out on his back, put his hands behind his head, and sighed contentedly. I walked over to my bed and did the same. After a while, we ran out of things to say, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Greg was my friend, and we were both enjoying relaxing in each other's company. I was staring at the ceiling, just letting my thoughts drift a little. 

A couple of minutes went by, and then he sat up, cocked his head to one side, and said, "Hey, I been meaning to ask you something."

I looked over at him. "A'ight; ask away."

"All that talk about liking guys and being bisexual, is that real or are you just yankin' Flaherty's chain?"

I sat up on the edge of the bed. "It's real," I said, smiling. "Why?"

"I dunno," he said. He paused for a moment, looked down at the floor. Then he brought his eyes back up and stared into mine. "I was just curious, I guess. I'm cool with it, though; I mean, I don't care."

My dick lurched. 

I raised an eyebrow and said, "'Curious' is a pretty fuckin' curious word, don't you think?"

"Guess it might be," he said casually. 

He stretched back out on his back, put his hands behind his head and smiled a lazy, nothing-wrong-here smile.


"I thought you were keeping yourself pure for Marina," I ventured.

His laconic smile widened into a grin. "You're quick."

"You're obvious."

He laughed. God, it was like bells. 

"It doesn't count...I just wanna know firsthand. I've always wondered what it's like. Not like we're gonna set a wedding date, you and me."

"Right here, right now, just like that?"


"Damn, you're easy," I said.

"Damn, you're a cocksucker," he shot back, laughing.

"If you want this to happen, you're gonna be one too," I said.

He shrugged. "Bring it," he said, stripping off his shirt.

So I did.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Greg came back for seconds a few weeks later. It was basically a repeat of the first encounter. There was an incredible sexual chemistry between us, and unlike the encounter with Dean, there was no ambivalence, no second-guessing, no hesitation. It was the first time I'd been able to relax during a sexual encounter with a guy, the first time I'd managed to stay in the moment. It helped that there wasn't anything that had caused him to vacillate. He was fine with kissing, didn't flinch in the slightest when he took my dick in his mouth, and unlike Dean, he swallowed without so much as a grimace. He even got into it when I pushed the envelope--for myself and him--and gave him a rim-job.

I was totally captivated by his white-blond pubes and the matching hair on his legs. For days afterwards, just seeing him--in the locker room, on the quad--caused my dick to respond appreciatively. But we never got together again after that second time. I noticed, though--as I'd noticed with Dean--that having been together sexually seemed to intensify our friendship. I liked that a whole lot.

* * * * * * * * * * *

There was a five-on-five tournament sponsored by Pepsi one weekend in November, open to high school and college students. I got my roomie Trey, Kyle, Greg, and Dean to field a team with me. Brad, our college team captain, got four other upperclassmen teammates to field another. We ended up slated to play each other late that afternoon in a semifinal match.

After the lunch break, I was riding to the field with Brad in his pickup. We were talking some smack and laughing, and he said, "Let's make this interesting and put some bet behind it."

"Sure, why not," I said. "Your old decrepit asses're goin'
down, O Captain My Captain."

"I don't think so, little boy," he laughed. "But let's make it worth playing for."

"You mean the joy of winning isn't its own reward?" I turned to him. "Okay, what're we playin for?"

"Your ass," he said.

"We're gonna whup yours," I said.

He took his eyes off the road momentarily and drilled me with a look that was more serious than I was prepared for. "I'm not kidding," he said, easing into a half smile.

"What do you mean?"

He turned his attention back to his driving. "Exactly what I said. You guys lose, you gotta give it up for me."

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure he wasn't kidding; I wasn't sure he wasn't being cruel; I wasn't sure of
anything. He'd been understanding and supportive in group settings, but now I felt disrespected, and I began to get uncomfortable.

I sat quietly for a while. Finally, I managed, "You're straight."

He turned to look at me again. "So?"

I was tongue-tied. I didn't know shit about anybody else's sexuality, but I knew most guys claimed that the idea of sex with guys repulsed them. I didn't think I believed that--not completely, anyway--but what the hell did I know?  

And what was the deal with these teammates looking to hook up lately? Maybe I was on my way to becoming a bunch of straight guys' walk-on-the-wild-side slumming-fuck. Something they could brag about to each other, make fun of me about behind my back.

I looked hard at him. "I don't like being fucked with about this."

"I'm not fuckin' with you," he replied. "I've always wondered what it's like. You know, with a guy. You're cool with shit, and you got a set on you to come out like you did for Kyle. I admired you for that. And I thought I could, you know, trust you and maybe try something we'd both get something out of."

I stared straight ahead. I'd heard that before; I wondered if Greg had told him anything. As much as I was beginning to be ready to try more with guys, I didn't know if I wanted to be known as the "curiosity fuck" for the straight guys on the team. The air grew thick and the silence started to get oppressive.

Finally he spoke up. "Hey," he said. "It's cool; we don't have to. I just...well, I know you like it okay, and it would be a first for me and I'll tell you, man, a lot of us, I bet, wonder what it would be like. It's like I said: You're a guy I could, you know, trust. You're normal, too...I mean, shit, that sounds bad; I'm sorry. I just mean you're like all the rest of us with girls and everything, and I figured...I don't know, the bet thing just gave me an excuse to suggest it. I thought maybe even you'd be up for it."

I took a deep breath. I wasn't sure. Sucking dick was one thing; I didn't know if I could do the other.

"See, I've never...I mean...I've never done that before."

"Oh," he said. He was silent for a minute, then said, "Ever think about it?"

yeah," I admitted. "I used to, anyway, long time ago. I just never thought..." I paused, searching for the words. "I don't know if I could do it with just anybody. I didn't think my first time..."

"Oh, I get it, I'm too ugly," he said, grinning at me and punching my shoulder.

"No way," I said, maybe a little too quickly. "I just..."

I shut that feeling down fast. No point going down dead-end roads. I shook it off and turned my thoughts to what Brad was saying.

As I let the idea sink in, it became intriguing. Why the hell not?

And anyway, we might actually
win. And then...

"Okay," I said. "I'd make that bet. With
you, anyway." He blushed and smiled nervously. "But you better seriously consider this bet."


I laughed and said, "Y'all are gonna lose. And I want the same deal."

His mouth dropped open. 

"Oh, please," I said, dismissing his look of surprise. "You didn't envision that as something I'd ask for?"

He wrinkled his nose and said, "I wasn't even sure whether I was kidding or not about the whole thing until I was saying it, so I hadn't thought it through."

"I getcha," I said. "Well, you better think it through now, 'cause those are my conditions."

I watched the gears turn in his head as he drove. Finally he smiled and said, "What the fuck?  Y'all are gonna lose anyway, so you got a deal."

* * * * * * * * * * *

We lost.

As we went through the ritual of congratulating the victors, Brad leaned in and said in a near-whisper, "You don't have to pay up."

I looked at him and said, "Fuck that. I
may wanna bring that same bet some time in the future when I know I can win."

He laughed, then his expression grew serious and he pulled me off to the side by the shoulders.

"You free later tonight? If you're serious about this I think I want to just go ahead and do it; it's kinda freakin' me out."

It was my turn to offer an out. "Look, man, we don't have to do this at all; it started halfway as a joke, right?"

"Trying to back out and make it look like me, huh?" He slapped me on the ass. I was starting to get familiar with that move. "Forget that, buddy."

"K, I was just offering you the opportunity to save some face. You're gonna get pretty embarrassed when you can't even get that tiny thing hard."

"Lookin' at that pretty, girly ass of yours? Oh, I'll be up for that, guaranteed. And I'll tell you what: I'll shower up beforehand and get extra clean, in case you wanna put your mouth in places no man has gone before."

The look on my face must have been hilarious; he roared with laughter.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Brad's team ended up winning the tournament. I showed up at his apartment around ten; he met me at the door with a Negra Modelo and a nervous grin.

He handed me the beer and motioned me in; we sat down on his couch.

The tension in the air was palpable; neither of us could think of anything to say.

Finally, he said, "Well...here we are."

I had to grin. "So lame, Brad."

He blushed and said, "Yeah."

I looked at him and said, "Still wanna do it?"

He said, "Do you?"

I smiled, moved closer to him, and put an arm over his shoulders.  "Sure." I
leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

He pulled back quickly, with an expression of surprise.

I asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "The kiss...I...you know, when I think about...I don't know, I wasn't expecting..."

"Brad," I said. "I done lots of sex, and I've used more girls than I'm gonna think about. And I guess it is all about the sex. But even so, I never just fuck, man. I...I guess I talk like it's all fun and games, but truth is I can't really do sex without getting my heart into it, even when I'm bein' a player, you know?" I looked at the wall opposite us. "That's weird, isn't it?"

"No," he said. "Just unexpected." He grew silent for a moment. "I wanna say this. I won the bet, and it's something, well, I don't know, I guess I've always wondered about, you know, wanted to try. But I don't want it to feel like you're being raped."

I looked quietly at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, we had the bet, but I don't want you to feel forced. If we do this, I want you to want it, otherwise it could get real bad between us, don't you think?"

I nodded, then stood up and started pacing. "I
do want it. I'm a little scared about it. But I want it."

He stood up and walked over to where I was standing. Facing me, he said, "What I'm trying to say is I wanna make sure you don't feel used. And if kissing is what it takes..." He reached out, put his hands on my shoulders, and pulled me toward him. Moving in even closer he brought his face toward mine, and gently--tenderly--our lips touched lightly.

He pulled back for a second, smiling and looking at me for reassurance. I smiled back and nodded. He motioned me toward his bedroom, and we walked in together.

Standing at the foot of his bed, he brought his lips to mine again, more firmly this time. Confident. Willing.

I opened my mouth and sealed my lips against his. He took in a deep, quick breath, then opened his mouth against mine.

His tongue began to search mine out. When they made contact, an electric surge of lust ripped through me, stiffening my dick almost instantly.

Brad knew how to kiss, and I was pretty experienced myself. Our initial kiss turned quickly into a full-fledged makeout session.

After about ten minutes of kissing, and being kissed, on the mouth, the face, the neck, he came up for breath. "Shit; that was nice," he said. "Not that different from making out with a girl.  It was good. And damn, you know how to kiss."

"You too, man. You're totally hot." I reached down to Brad's midsection and began pulling his t-shirt up. He smiled and raised his arms; I lifted the shirt over his shoulders and off his head, and threw it on the floor. Then I pulled mine off and threw it on top of his.

I stood about ten paces away, facing him, staring at his torso. Brad's chest was nicely-sculpted, and smooth except for a little hair around his nipples. "Get over here," he said quietly. As he took me in his arms and pulled our chests together, he took a deep breath, grinned nervously, and said, "Okay, here we go." He kissed me on the neck a few times; his right hand slipped from my shoulder down to my crotch. Through the fabric of my jeans, he explored the contours of my hard cock. "Damn," he said. "You're ready, ain'tcha?"

"You have no idea," I told him.

He stepped back. "Show it to me."

I unbuckled my belt, zipped down the fly, and pushed the jeans to my knees and then to my ankles, and stepped out of them. My dick was tenting my boxers; he was staring. Slowly, I eased them down and let them fall to the floor. I stepped out of them and stood before him, grinning.

"Jesus," he said. "I...you're fuckin' huge." His eyes moved from my dick to my face. He blushed, and asked, "Can I...uhh, can I touch it?"

"You can do whatever you want with it," I said, as I sat down on his bed.

He sat down next to me, reached out a hand, and grasped my dick lightly. I was dripping precum; he rubbed his thumb over it and smeared it around a little. "Mine does that too. Wonder if everybody's does?"

"I don't think so," I said, closing my eyes in response to the sensation of having my dick rubbed. He began jacking me off a little.

I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a couple of gentle slaps. "Man. That feels really good. But let's stop and get you undressed."

He stood up, turned to face me, and started to loosen his belt. "No," I said, taking his hands and moving them down to his sides. "Let me do that."

Keeling down in front of him, I took his belt off and let it drop to the floor. Then I undid the button at the waistband and zipped down the fly. I slid his jeans down around his knees, and began kissing the insides of his thighs. He moaned appreciatively. I put a hand on the bulge in his boxer briefs and caressed it firmly. "Oh, yeah," he whispered.

I pushed his jeans down to his ankles. Lifting one leg, then the other, he stepped out of them. The shape of his hard dick was apparent through his boxer briefs. I gave it an appreciative squeeze. "Looks like
I'm ready too," he grinned.

I had to laugh. "Lie down on your stomach and let me give you a back rub," I said.

I straddled him and began working his shoulders with my hands. He sighed deeply, and I felt his torso relax.

As I worked his upper back, the power and beauty of the muscles under his skin began to amp me up even more. I was becoming dizzy with desire for him. My dick was throbbing and my head was on fire. At one point I leaned over and kissed him on the back of the neck. His shoulders stiffened momentarily, then relaxed again. I realized that in spite of the earlier kisses, I ought to check that move out with him.

"Hey," I said, "is it okay for me to do that?"

He lifted his head and turned it back toward me. Puckering his lips, he said, "Bring 'em over here." I brought my lips to his, and we kissed passionately. He laughed and said, "Does that answer your question?"

"No," I said, laughing. "Could you say it in English?"

He put his head back down on the bed and said, "Sure. You can put your lips anywhere you want. You can put your tongue anywhere you want. Make it sweet, make it dirty, I'm good with all of it. Now get back to work, dude, you got great hands."

My dick was leaking its clear goo all over the place, dripping onto his back. I began kissing him again on the back of his neck, occasionally licking and sucking. I moved up to his head and put my tongue in his ear. He gasped, and his breathing got heavy.

I kissed my way down his back, and when I got to his ass, I tugged at the waistband of his boxer briefs. He lifted his hips so that I could slide the shorts off.

God, his bare ass was so beautiful. I'd seen it a hundred times in the locker room already, but here it was, up close and personal. Slim and taut, perfectly shaped and perfectly beautiful.

I began planting kisses all over his asscheeks. I heard him sigh in response.

I spent some time kissing him at the split. Pushing my luck, I spread his cheeks apart a little and said, "Just how clean did you get?"

"Check it out and see for yourself," he said, groaning appreciatively. "I even soaped out the insides, dude. I want you up there."

"I thought you were fucking
me," I said.

"No, man, I don't want your monster cock in me," he said. "I meant I want your
tongue up there. Can't ever get a girl to do that and I heard that guys who are into guys like it."

I shuddered. Damn right I liked it.

The only hair Brad had on his ass was here in the middle of things, and it drove me crazy. I spread his cheeks apart a little wider until his pink pucker was exposed. My dick tightened appreciatively.

Nervously, I put my mouth to his ass and began licking around his opening with my tongue.

His breaths became deep and faster. "You crazy bastard," he moaned.

I pulled away. "I thought you wanted it. Should I stop?"

"Fuck, no! Jesus, Andy. Stick it in me."

I brought my face down to him again, spread him wide, and, bringing my tongue to his asshole, stiffened it and thrust it past the ring of muscle and inside him.

He smelled musky but not dirty. He tasted clean. As the soft, velvety insides of him gripped my tongue, I began to work him over seriously. He got up on his hands and knees, giving me better access to his hole. As my tongue fucked his ass, he began jacking himself, panting and moaning. Over and over I thrust my tongue as deep into him as I could. His obvious pleasure drove my desire to a fever pitch.

I rolled him onto his back, and put his legs into the air. Lying down on the bed, my face at his asshole, I continued to fuck him with my tongue. We were both in a frenzy and headed rapidly toward a point past which there'd be no stopping.

"We gotta quit," he gasped, "Or I'll never get to the main course."

I moved my tongue from his asshole to his scrotum. Licking his balls, I'd occasionally put one in my mouth and suck gently. His moaning continued to bump up the intensity inside me. 

I moved to his dick. It was beautiful. About six inches or so in length, it was incredibly thick, and I loved the big mushroom head. I licked my way from the base of his shaft to the slit at the top of his dick, lapping up his precum with my tongue. "Don't suck me off," he said raggedly. "That wasn't the deal, and I'm too close."

"Hey, I know what I'm doing, and I'm having that beauty in my mouth, bud." I squeezed him at the base of his dick. He gasped, and I swallowed him whole, mashing my nose into his lightly-trimmed pubes.

"I'm not kidding, Andy, I'm gonna lose it," he warned me. I pulled off and began licking the underside of his cockhead, but slowly, so as not to push him past the edge.

I'd been trying to delay the inevitable moment, but I knew it was time to pay up. I wanted it, but I wasn't sure what it would do to me. It was clear, though, that Brad wasn't going to hold out much longer.

He pulled away from me and sat up. "Enough, man. You ready?" He got up from the bed, and grabbed a wrapped condom and some lube from the drawer in his nightstand.

I rolled over onto my back. "Yeah, I think so," I said.

think so?" He hesitated, staring at me.

"No, it's...it's okay. It's good."

Tearing open the condom's packaging, he said, "I promise I'll
make it good."

He leaned over and kissed me on the lips, then stood up and began to roll the condom down his hard cock.

"Gimme the lube," I said. He handed the bottle to me and I squeezed some onto my fingers and stuck the stuff up my ass. I squeezed out a little more and lubricated the opening. 

For a moment I felt as though I was watching myself from a distance. Damn, was this really about to happen? I fought past the ambivalence.

He watched me quietly as I lubed up my asshole, then said, "How do you...how do you want it?"

"I want it on my back," I said. "I want to put my legs over your shoulders. I wanna see your face while you fuck me."

"Uhh, okay," he replied. "But you...you may have to help me out here some," he said. "I wanna do it right. Is it gonna hurt?"

"Ever done it with a girl?"

"Yeah," he said sheepishly.

"Well, then, you know what to do. So I expect it's not gonna hurt. Just treat me right." I put my legs up and spread to give him access.

"I'd never hurt you, Andy," he answered. "I told you before." He felt around and found where he needed to be, and slid a finger inside me. It went in easily, with no pain. He pulled out and added a second finger. I tightened against his fingers this time, and that hurt a little. "Leave it still for a minute," I groaned.

"Sorry," he said.

"No, it's good," I replied. I
had relaxed some and it was better. "Now work it a little."

He pushed in and out a few times with his fingers. So far, so good. I was ready for the third. "Okay, one more," I said.

He looked at me warily. "You sure?"

"Yep," I responded.

Three fingers was considerably more difficult than two. I couldn't keep from tightening up at first, and inevitably, when I did, I'd get a searing pain up my gut. I kept having him work me, though, until finally things felt right and I got the hang of it. The pain was replaced with an enjoyable, erotic pressure, and a sense of heat. He saw me smile and felt me relax, and that caused him to smile.

"You're ready," he said.

"Yeah, I am," I told him. "Fuck me, dude."

He took the bottle of lube and squeezed some onto his latex-covered dick. Then he put a hand on my ass and felt again for my asshole. Once he'd found his target, he guided his dick to the spot and placed the head at my opening.

"Okay," he said, smiling.

Now that it was here, I wasn't ready for the feelings of the moment. I felt vulnerable in a way I hadn't expected. In response, I looked into his eyes and half-whispered, "Kiss me, okay? I mean, while you're takin' me."

In response, he put his mouth on mine, and as his tongue entered me, I relaxed my lower torso and felt the head of his dick invade me.

He kissed me the entire time his dick was pushing into me. Finally, when he was in all the way to the hilt, he eased his head back and smiled. "Fuck, Andy," he whispered, kissing my cheek, "you feel awesome. Are you okay?"

"I'm great, dude," I told him. And I was. "Let's do it," I laughed.

Brad was an incredible lover; probably the best choice I could have made for my first time. His thrusts were alternately gentle and commanding, loving and insistent. From time to time he caressed my dick with his hand while he fucked my mouth with his tongue and my ass with his cock.

The experience was almost too much for me to handle. I was unprepared for the emotional intensity of giving up my ass to this beautiful, loving guy. He seemed to have an instinctual sense for where I was, both emotionally and physically, and he rode me for all he was worth, using all his skill to make sure it was as good for me as it was for him. 

We fucked for a good twenty minutes. Sweat poured from our bodies. His moans, his gasps of ecstasy, were an aphrodisiac. The longer he fucked me, the harder I got. His kisses on my lips, my neck, my ears, had me miles past coherent thought. As we came to the final stretch, his rhythmic assault on my prostate grew more rapid, and I felt my dick straining to cum, which surprised me, because I wasn't even touching myself.

Finally, he said, practically yelling, "God, Andy, you're fuckin' amazing."

"You're pretty good yourself," I gasped.

He thrust a dozen more times and said, "I'm there, man...can't hold back."

"Do it, then," I said, and as I replied I put my hands on his ass, pulling him into me. I wet a finger in my mouth, and stuck it up his ass. His eyes grew wide and he growled in surprise and ecstasy, and slammed into me one final time.

He moaned with each spasm of his dick as he emptied his balls into the condom. I was flooded with feelings of happiness and desire over having brought him to that intense a level of pleasure. My balls were aching, too, with the need for release.

He collapsed on top of me and lay there for half a minute, inert. Then he pulled out of me, pulled the condom off his dick, tied it up, and threw it on the nightstand.

I started to sit up, but he pushed me back down. "We're not finished," he said, and immediately he swallowed my dick whole.

That was all I could take; I gasped, grabbed his head with my hands, and thrust hard into him. The dam burst and I began pumping spurt after spurt of my spunk into his mouth.

After the last spasm, it was my turn to collapse. I let go of his head. He looked up, grinned, and swallowed. The astonishment on my face caused him to break out laughing.

"I can't believe you did that," I said.

"Just returning the favor," he smiled. "Really, it was okay. I like giving people pleasure."

"Even after you got yours," I said, awed.

"Even after I got mine."

He lay down next to me and we fell asleep nestled against each other for twenty minutes or so. Finally I crawled quietly out of his bed; I needed to get back to my dorm.

My movements woke him, and he got up with me. I felt a little awkward; didn't know exactly what to say or do. "I gotta go," I said.

"I know," he answered. "I just wanted to say--that was...well, it was pretty fuckin' incredible. I hope...I hope it was okay for you, being your first time." 

"It was," I said quietly.

He took me in his arms. Naked, we embraced for thirty seconds or so.

I walked over to my clothes, picked them up off the floor, and began dressing. He asked, "Wanna use my shower?"

"Nah, I think I oughta just go," I said. "I'll shower at the dorm."

"Okay," he replied, grabbing a towel from his closet. "I want to say, I'm not sorry I did this, and as far as I'm concerned, this won't make things weird between us."

"I'm good with it too, Brad," I said, as I headed out. "You're one hell of a lover."

He blushed, and grinned at me.

"See you at practice Monday."


* * * * * * * * * * *

It had been incredibly good. And while I was in the middle of it, I had given myself over to it completely. Well, almost completely.

But as I'd gone back to my dorm and showered up, the emotional resonances began to take me in different places. Began to take me back.

Brad was a great guy. But the feelings I'd had...

The Voice completed the sentence for me:

They weren't really about Brad, were they?

Copyright 2008 by Adam Phillips. Thanks for continuing to hang with me, Constant Readers. I know I've taken forever to tell this story.  I like hearing from readers; email me at aaptx28@yahoo.com and I'll do my best to get back to you.

It's my hope that this year I'll be able to get you a new chapter per month, until this story has come to its conclusion. If you'd like to keep posted concerning when new chapters are coming out, you're welcome to join my Yahoo group (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Adamstories/).

'Til next time, then.