Date: Wed, 29 Dec 2004 15:58:26 -0800 (PST)
From: Rio Mack <badprose@yahoo.com>
Subject: Alien Culture (gay/college)

The Alien Culture Project

By Rio Mack

Professor David Baxter couldn't help getting a little hard as he made out
the pairings for the upcoming project in his intro to cultural anthropology
class.  It was the "alien cultures project," in which groups of two would
have to investigate each other's cultures.  To make it interesting for the
students, he'd always take very unlike people - a plain, mousy girl and a
vivacious sorority sister or a white country boy and a hip black urban kid
- and put them in pairs.  It was a sure-fire assignment: one student would
introduce the other to a culture they probably had no idea about, certainly
no direct experience with; observations and photos were recorded in the
field notebook; the experience would be discussed between the two of them;
and then, the situation would be reversed - so the skater, having been to
evangelical church service would now take the religious girl to a
thrash-metal concert.  An analytical paper would be turned in along with
the field notes.

As he filled out the pairings sheet for this semester's class, Professor
Baxter was savoring the feeling of an intense hard-on because of one
pairing in particular: he put Reed Larson together with Chance Taylor.  The
thought of throwing these two together evoked an incredible fantasy of lust
for David, a closeted, middle-aged professor who savored each and every one
of the handsome males in his class.  And Reed and Chance were two he could
not get enough of.  Reed was a senior, clearly taking an intro course to
get left-over area requirements out of the way.  He was an absolutely
gorgeous, male-model-quality blonde: tan, with a very sexy, powerful build,
always clothed in the coolest outfits.  He had a face that dared you to
look away, perfectly formed.  His smile was radiant.  And there was a
vivaciousness to him that made David think sex with him was probably
electrifying.  He wore his hair in a kind of butch crew-cut that was a real
turn-on.  A real heart-breaker, all right.  David had him pegged early on
in the semester as being gay, and so wasn't surprised when Reed wrote
matter-of-factly about the gay male dating scene for his "courtship ritual"
paper.

Chance was also gorgeous.  A freshman on the wrestling squad, he had the
clean good looks of an all-American jock: short, choppy hair, mesmerizing
blue eyes, and a body to die for.  David had to catch himself from staring
the first few weeks of the course, when the weather was still warm enough
for Chance to show up in T-shirts.  He favored tight white ones, which
achingly set off his amazing biceps: they were probably a couple inches
bigger than what would have been the proper proportion for his body, and
their big, curvy mounds just begged to be stroked and licked.  In his white
T, and wearing old jeans, David thought Chance looked like he was about to
go work in the field with his dad.  Those tight shirts showed off his hard
pecs and abs off perfectly.  He'd lost track of his lecture a couple times
when he'd gotten mesmerized by the boy's hard nipples.  "Oh, come into my
office and let me just rub my hands and face all over you!" David's libido
kept aching to cry out.  But Reed was a very shy, ostensibly straight young
man from upstate farm country, refreshingly naive in all the answers he
gave in class, often quoting what his parents had taught him, and weighing
that lore against the theory they were reading.  As his mind brought
Chance's picture into view, David dwelled on one of the boy's best
features: those full, bee-stung lips of his.  Imagine them tracing over
your chest or caressing your cock.  Ooh la.

Throwing these two together for an intense week-long assignment had David
stroking himself in dreamy bliss.  What would their two cultural sites be?
Baseball game and leather bar?  Dirt bike rally and runway show?  State
fair and drag act?  How would Reed be able to keep his hands off Chance,
David wondered?  Oh, to be young again, he mused.  He put down his pencil,
locked his office door, and, with visions of those two licking and sucking
and kissing each other, he jacked himself to an incredibly satisfying
climax.


When they got their pairings that day in class, Reed was pleased.  He'd
noticed the young freshman he'd be teamed with - hard not to, the kid had a
great build.  He couldn't say much more, though, just that the kid was a
sweet, simple, good-looking freshman.  The answers he gave when called on
were almost embarrassingly innocent, often referencing "my momma" and "my
daddy" (a couple students would laugh, which Reed thought pretty crappy).

Chance was sort of hoping to be teamed up with the gorgeous sophomore,
Sarah Smithson, but this Reed guy seemed awfully nice and very smart.
Plus, he was clearly not a freshman, so it probably wouldn't hurt to have
an experienced upper-classman helping him on the project, which was worth
thirty percent of their grade.

Professor Baxter had the pairs get together the last ten minutes of class
to work out the initial details - brainstorm a list of cultural sites you
were pretty expert on, then exchange sheets, and figure out a time and
place for your first planning meeting.  Chance's list was "1. Wrestling
practice; 2. Wrestling meet; 3. Any sort of farm-related activity
(planting, harvest, etc.); 4. Football game (or other sporting event);
5. [blank]."  Reed's list: "Dance Clubs, Men's clothing, Salon/Spa, Men's
Wear Buyers' Planning Meeting, My Gym, Viewing Designer Collections,
Downtown Restaurants."  The two read each other's over.

	"You must like clothes, fashion stuff, huh?"

	"Wow, how could you tell?"

	"Well, it's obvious from your list, and the way you dress every
. . . Oh, I get it," Chance laughed, embarrassed, "you're pulling me leg."

	"Just a little.  Sorry.  Yeah, I did a double major: marketing and
fashion design.  It was a lot of course work; that's why I still have a few
required courses like this one to finish up.  And you, 'wrestling' and
'farming' seems to be the operative terms here.  Well," and here Reed tried
to sound cool because, really, whose fantasy wouldn't be observing
wrestlers, "wrestling practice sounds interesting.  It's definitely 'alien'
to me.  And I've always wondered how you guys learn to do that."

	"Great!" Chance said.  "I'll ask the coach and the team if it's
cool with them to be observed, and if so, figure out the best time for you
to come watch."

	"Cool," Reed said, already starting to fantasize vaguely about some
home-grown version of a "Dieux de Stade" calendar shoot.  "And what about
you?  Anything on my list appeal to you?"

	"Well, you probably noticed I ain't too much into clothes or
anything."

	"Don't be modest, Chance.  I've seen you this term.  You've got a
great look, jeans and T's or flannels.  It's classic 'All-American.'  Plus
you're a handsome guy, so simple clothes set off your good looks."

	Chance was blushing.  "Thanks, man.  Thanks for the compliment.
But you're the handsome one.  Shit, I can see why you're interested in
fashion.  You look like a movie star or a celebrity or something.  I feel
like a hick from hicksville next to someone like you.  You're the kind of
guy us guys are jealous of cause you get all the ladies!"

	Reed laughed; this kid was too much.

	"OK, so no clothes stuff.  What else on the list appeals to you?"

	"Well, 'dance clubs' sound cool to me.  That's a scene we don't
have back home, unless you count karaoke night at the VFW."

	"Great, we'll go clubbing!"

	They agreed to meet later that evening at Reed's dorm, which was a
single, to plan out their observations.



At wrestling practice that afternoon, Chance had no problem getting an OK
from the squad.  They were kind of excited to show off to an outsider.
They agreed on tomorrow morning's practice, which included weights and
scrimmages, as best.  Great, thought Chance, that's taken care of.  All I
have to do is practice wrestling, then go to a dance club or two with a
handsome dude, who's probably a babe magnet.  Hell, we might even score a
couple chicks!  That would be OK with him, as he was sure having woman
problems.  He'd been dating a girl, Andrea, off and on since freshman
orientation.  More off than on, really, as she always seemed to cancel
dates at the last minute.  And when they did date, winding up back at one
of their dorm rooms, she always seemed either to have her period or claim
she was "too dry" down there.  She'd jerk him off every now and then, sure,
but hell, he was a red-blooded American boy!  He needed some
honest-to-goodness love-makin'!  So goin' bar-hoppin' with a suave older
dude sounded like a fine way to meet some classy women who might be up for
some fun.  Maybe they'd get a couple girls and all wind up back at Reed's
dorm.  Whoa, that'd be wild.  Some of the guys on the wrestling squad
described their 'orgy nights,' as they called him.  Chance never dreamed he
might be a part of one; he was gettin' hard just thinkin' about it.



He got from practice a little after 6:30, hit the dining hall, then went
back to his dorm to change clothes before he met Reed at his dorm room.  He
stripped his clothes off, luxuriating in his nakedness a bit before he
looked around for some clean clothes to wear.  He stretched muscles still
sore from wrestling practice as he stood in front of the mirror.  As he
stretched, he studied his body.  Chance was a regular scholar of his own
body.  So Reed had said he was handsome, huh?  He looked at himself: his
hair was short and nicely-groomed, giving him a rugged sort of jock look,
he thought; his eyes were nice, too (so many of his mom's friends back home
told him over and over how lovely his eyes were, jeesh did it embarrass
him); but his nose was kinda crooked, wasn't it?  And his lips were so
full.  Sometimes he thought they looked sexy as hell, but often times he
wondered if they made him look a little too cute.  Anyway, it was his body
he was proudest of: not a trace of fat and extremely well muscled.  You had
to have massive, coiled power in your muscles to do well in wrestling, and
Chance did very well in wrestling.  Placing first in state one year in high
school helped get him the scholarship here, and he was determined to do
well.  So he worked his body hard and often, and it showed.  Chance loved
to look at guys' bodies, guys who really put time into gettin' firm and
cut.  He had become a connoisseur of a great body, from all the hours he'd
logged in gyms, in sport, and reading his fitness magazines.  He knew his
was easily a top ten percent body, maybe even top 5.  Great pecs, very
ripped eight packs (he did the 100's workout: 100 crunches for upper abs,
then 5 sets of 20 reps in the Roman chair, then 100 twisties, then 100
reverse crunches - which were by far the toughest - for his lower abs), and
as a wrestler, he couldn't neglect his lower body.  His thighs and calves
were awesome.  He was very proud of his calves, especially: most gym guys
ignored them, but not Chance.  Calf raises up the yin yang.  As a result,
he had gorgeous ripped muscles on his lower legs the size of big
grapefruits.  He thought they looked really cool.  They went with the great
set of guns he'd worked so hard on.  Yep, dude, body-wise you're a stud.



And right in the middle, Chance started stroking it sensuously, was what he
thought was a nice-lookin' piece of meat.  It was thick and veiny, which
Chance thought looked hot, and his was always one of the longest ones in
any locker room.  If only he could put it to better use, he sighed,
stroking himself hard.  He continued to gaze at himself in the mirror,
watching his tool rise hard in his big hand, loving to see those big balls
jostle underneath as he stroked himself up and down.  He was glad mom and
dad hadn't circumcised him, as he loved to work his finger under the hood
that partially covered his cockhead for a while, playing with the piss-slit
a little, and then, as he grew harder, jack that sheathe of skin up and
down his pole.  He stared at his body and tweaked his nipple hard - god, he
loved that feeling.  He rubbed his pec all around and kept pinching his
nubby little tit.  And then, another thrill for him, he moved from his
chest to his ass-crack, letting one hand wander down there as he jacked
himself with the other.  Mmmmm, damn, did that feel good.  He clenched his
ass-muscles hard against his fingers a couple times, which always got his
cock harder.  He spit a huge gob on his fingers and then started another
favorite of his, fingerin' his hole.  Oooohhh yeah, was that ever nice.
First he'd just trace his spit-slick fingers around his little hole,
teasin' a little, then as he got more moist, he'd work 'em in further.  It
felt so good.  'Ass-play' is what he heard one of the guys on his high
school squad call it (and what he did on his chest was 'tit play' - he
guessed all guys must like this, and why the fuck not, it felt so damn
fine).  Shit, he wished he could get some chick to do it to him, but the
few he'd asked had all declined with varying degrees of disgust.



He had a good rhythm goin' - clenchin' as he poked around his hole, and
strokin' his hard cock.  Harder and faster he worked the fingers in his
ass, using his powerful leg muscles to flex his ass up and down on his one
hand, while his other hand worked his cock.  Mmmmm, he could feel it
buildin'; it was comin' any second . . . OH YEAH!  Gobs and gobs and gobs
of thick white cream shot out.  Damn, he liked gettin' off.  He loved his
hard, male body; there were so many pleasure spots, it seemed.  His cock,
his balls, his ass, his nipples, his lips, probably more, but he hadn't
gotten around to exploring them yet.  Damn, it didn't seem fair!  He had
such a powerful interest in sex, and no girl to share it with.  He saw one
little last drop of cream on his dick-tip, reached down, swiped it with his
finger, and brought it to his full red lips.  He watched himself in the
mirror as he savored it, licking it off slowly with his tongue, playing
with his finger, sucking on it sensually, like a girl might suck on a
popsicle . . . or a guy's dick.  Damn, Chance laughed, he really needed to
get laid.  He was gettin' kind of squirrelly.



He wiped his cum off and found a clean white T, some not-too-dirty old
jeans, and a fresh jock.  Jockstraps were the only underwear he wore, when
he wore underwear.  As a big-dicked guy, he loved the feel of his long,
thick meat encased in that tight mesh all day.  It was like gettin' a kind
of low-level dick massage.  Plus, not to brag, but he thought he looked
mighty good in 'em: the waist bands and straps seemed made for his
lean-muscled flesh, and the mesh pouch showed off his long snaky meat
perfectly.  He chose one of his new grey Bike straps to wear to Reed's;
they had that classic Bike waist that really seemed to set off his abs.
After he wriggled into it, he admired himself in the mirror for a bit: the
jock fit perfect, it seemed spray-painted on.  Dang, you are a hot-lookin'
dude!  "I'd fuck ya!" he laughed.  He couldn't resist stroking down sexily
on his jock-covered dick.  Then, he pulled on some old, faded dungarees
that were a little big on him (they were from a few years ago, way before
his new ab routine had carved a couple inches off his waist).  He thought
they way they hung low on his hips, letting about an inch of the jock's
waistband show, looked hot.  Plus, that classic Bike waistband stripe and
logo let guys know he was into fitness.  The T-shirt he grabbed was one of
his smaller-sized ones.  It revealed his muscled chest in all its glory;
plus, Chance liked how short it was: stopping right below his belly button,
it let you get a glimpse of his abs and that trace of his jock.  Yep,
lookin' good, dude; lookin' good, indeed!  Kinda like
James-Dean-as-Muscle-Stud.  He grabbed his matching dungaree jacket,
checked Reed's address, grabbed his anthropology notebook, and headed out.



Reed, meanwhile, had lost all track of time.  He'd found an incredible
amateur porn site on the net and got totally sucked in, clicking through
photo after photo of some wonderfully hot-looking college-age guys.  Naked,
in his computer chair, he was just about to cum as he stroked himself to a
picture of a beautifully muscled nude boy, huge thick dick draped across
his thigh, who lay back in a sweet splendor of lust.  The knock on the door
shook him into a panic.

	"Uh, who's there?" he said nervously, as shaking fingers flipped
his laptop closed.

	"Hey, dude.  It's me, Chance.  Ready for our plannin' meetin'?"

	"Oh, Chance.  Uh, sure man.  Actually, I just got out of the
shower, let me throw something on."  He grabbed the first thing he saw that
would make him half-way decent, a pair of army-fatigue-green boxer briefs
he'd just bought.  He placed his still-hard dick to the side, gulped, and
opened the door.  Both boys were impressed at what they saw.  Chance had no
idea Reed was so built, and Reed thought he saw one of his internet studs
come to life.  His eyes were riveted on Chance's abs and the top of his
jockstrap.

	"So?"

	"So what?" Reed asked nervously.

	"So, can I come in?" Chance laughed.

	"Oh sure, sorry, man.  I'm a little frazzled right now."  Reed
cursed himself silently cause he could feel his erection, far from
subsiding, was getting stiffer.

	"Uh, sit down, man.  Let me find some pants.  Uh, you want a beer
or somethin'?"

	"That'd be great, thanks."  Inside, Chance was giggling a little
cause the wet mark on Reed's shorts was a tell-tale sign that, like he was
earlier, Reed had been poundin' the pud before he'd arrived.  Oh well,
probably every guy on campus is strokin' it right about now, if they ain't
gettin' laid.  Chance found it very hard (no pun intended) to get through a
day without at least two orgasms.

	Reed went to the dorm fridge for a couple of beers and, his back to
Chance, pressed one on his dick, hoping to cool his erection down.

	Chance, meanwhile, looked around at Reed's dorm room.  Very nicely
furnished.  A couch, nice easy chair.  Very nice bedspread and rug.  But
the walls were what he really noticed: on two of the walls he had two huge
posters of incredibly good-looking guys.  It looked like they were film
posters or something.  One advertised a movie or video or whatever called
"Muscle Boys II: Hot Summer Nights" and another was of two
dangerous-lookin' hard-bodied hombres advertising something called "Hard
Time."  Chance had no idea there were action movies (or whatever these
were) especially for fitness fans.  He'd have to check them out: they
sounded right up his alley, as the guys in them had great bodies.

	Reed returned with the beers, but had forgot to put pants on.

	"So, dude," Chance said, after his first sip, "you're in very good
shape."

	"Oh, thanks, I work out an awful lot.  I model part-time to earn
money for school, and you have to keep in shape for that.  I, uh, like your
outfit."

	"All-American classic, huh?" Chance laughed.

	"Definitely!" Reed laughed.

	"I like your outfit, too.  It's cool, I know, just hangin' in
underwear."

Reed laughed nervously; but he was glad Chance was cool with it.  "So, we
should get started."

	"Cool."

	"OK, any luck with the wrestling practice thing?"

	"Definitely.  The squad is excited, I think, to show off.  They're
very cool with it.  We all think tomorrow is best, cause we'll be
scrimmaging and lifting.  8 to 10.  That work for you?"

	"That's fine."  Reed had nothing tomorrow till his advanced
marketing seminar at noon.  Dang, two hours watching college wrestlers.
Does it get any better than this?  He'd settle for two hours watching
Chance alone.  Fuck, when he opened the door, seeing him with that little
patch of hard abs bared, and those sexy jeans hanging down so low, showing
off that jock . . . hell, amazing his cock didn't just poke out of his
shorts and start squirting.  Was this kid really straight?  Maybe it was
some 'aw-shucks' gay cowboy-hustler routine.

	"We'll need a camera," Chance remarked.  "You got one?"

	"I've got a very cool digital camera we can use."

	"Hey, great.  I've never tried one of those.  All we got back home
is this old Polaroid my dad got for a gift about ninety years ago.  Can't
even get film for it any more, I don't think.  When it's digital, that
means you can see 'em on computer, right?"

	"Right.  OK, what should I wear tomorrow?"

	"Up to you, I guess.  We'll be in gym shorts mostly, when we lift.
Then a singlet, of course, when we scrimmage.  I guess gym-wear of some
sort would be best.  You'd probably feel less conspicuous that way."

	"OK, gym wear, no problem.  Meet me here and we walk over together?
I don't even know which gym you guys practice in."

	"Oh, right.  We're in the complex.  Yeah, probably be best if I
stop by for you about 7:40 or so.  That OK?"

	"Cool.  And I'll bring my journal for field notes.  Hey, you want
another beer?"

	"Sure."

	As Reed went to get a couple more cold ones, Chance yelled, "Can I
use your bathroom?"

	"Sure.  The best part of singles in this dorm is private bathrooms.
It's that door there."

	While Chance peed, he noticed the stack of magazines on the back of
the toilet.  The top one had another good-lookin' guy on it.  But, whoa,
this was not a fitness mag.  The cover had phrases on it like "Hot, Hung
Studs!!!" and "Cocky QB Gang-Banged by Team!!!"  and "Steamy Shower Boys
Get Hard and Wet!!!"  Chance shook off the last of his pee and grabbed the
magazine even before he put his dick away.  What the fuck was this, he
wondered.  As he leafed through the magazine, he couldn't believe it.  Page
after page was of very muscular naked dudes in all stages of sexplay:
stroking themselves, spreading ass cheeks, licking one another's arm pits,
jerking each other off.  Holy fuck, Chance thought, this is a gay porn
magazine.  Damn, Reed must be gay!  Those posters!  Fuck, what a dumbass he
was, those were posters for gay movies.  Chance flipped through a few more
pages.  He stopped on an incredibly muscular guy, all oiled up so you could
really see his definition; in a couple pictures he posed very sexy in a
jock, then you could see him pulling it off, then a few pictures of him
stroking his big thick dick.  Shit, was he good looking.  Chance realized
he had started stroking his half-hard dick as he'd been paging through the
pictures.  Well, fuck, who wouldn't be turned on by this?  Hot guys having
hot sex?  You don't have to be gay to find this hot as a fucking
firecracker.

	"You OK?" he heard Reed call.

	Damn, he'd lost track of time.  Chance put the magazine back
(noticing the next one in the stack was more of the same), stuffed his dick
back in his jock, zipped, washed up, and rejoined his classmate.

	As he sipped the beer he was offered, he chose his words carefully.

	"So, dude, I was lookin' at the reading material in your bathroom."

	Reed gave a puzzled look, then blushed and laughed sheepishly.
"Oh, you mean my stroke books."

	"Oh, so that's what they call 'em.  Makes sense," Chance laughed.
Then he nailed Reed with a squinty eye.  "So, I'm thinkin' yer gay, yes?"

	"Guilty as charged," Reed said bashfully.

	"Shit, dude," Chance laughed lustily, glad to have broken the ice,
"I ain't 'chargin'' you with anything.  Why?  Do you feel guilty?"

	"No, of course not.  But Chance, a lot of people have a lot of
problems with gays.  Hell, don't blame me for thinking you might be one of
those people.  Macho athlete, from a rural part of the state.  You kinda
fit the profile."

	"Well, don't be so prejudiced, Sterry McStereotype.  My folks
raised me to treat everyone equal.  'All God's children,' you know.  My mom
and dad despise ignorant attitudes about gays or non-whites."

	"That's great to hear.  But you know what I mean."

	"Course I do."

	Chance took another long sip, then said thoughtfully.  "Them
posters on the wall.  Are those gay posters?"

	Reed laughed.  "Yeah, they're promotional posters for a couple of
gay videos.  Pretty hot videos, by the way, if you're interested."  Reed
didn't know where this was going, but he was sure willing to nudge it
along.

	"Maybe," Chance said.  He took another long swig, having finished
his second beer in three gulps, Reed noticed.  He got up and got another
for the young boy without even asking.  Even making sure to waggle his ass
as seductively, but discretely, as possible.  A gesture, he had no way of
knowing, that was not lost on Chance.  That was one great set of glutes
wigglin' around under those boxers, he thought.

	"Thanks," the boy said, taking another long swig.  Then, as he
swallowed, he said, "Lemme ask you another question.  These dance clubs
we're goin' to?  They gay dance clubs?"

	"Only ones I know," Reed laughed.  "Is that a problem?"

	"No, no!" Chance said quickly.  "Don't get me wrong.  It sounds
kinda innarestin'.  Course, I had sort of been psyched up to be at the
other kind of dance club, y'know?  Figured you were some kind of handsome
stud who might attract the ladies, and then, who knows what mighta
happened."

	"Oh, damn.  Sorry.  But think of it this way: this will really be
alien culture for you, won't it?"

	"No shit," Chance laughed, taking another swig.  Then he sort of
sat back in his beer glow, just looking at Reed.  "Shit, dude.  You are a
damn fine-lookin' guy.  It's not like you can't pick up women, I'm sure.
You must genuinely be attracted to men."

	"Oh, 'genuinely,' I assure you."

	"What's it like?"

	"You mean the sex?"

	"Yeah. Well, no."  Chance finished his fourth beer, Reed his third.
He got up and got a couple more, more pronounced in his sexy sashaying.
Chance was really getting hard, with the beer and steamy talk, and that hot
fucking ass of Reed's.

	"What I mean," Chance asked, as he took a swig, "is what's it like
to just like men?  To just get off on men?  Cause I like guys' bodies, I
ain't ashamed to admit it.  I read fitness magazines and check out guys in
the gym and on the street all the time.  But it's not like I jerk off to
them or anything.  I mean, I'm assuming you jerk off to them."

	Reed was very hard by now.  He liked where this was going.  He
drained half his beer.

	"Well, for example," he walked over to his computer and flipped it
up; that hot young stud's picture was still there, "this is what I was
lookin' at when you came in.  I find this hot as hell.  I would LOVE to
fuck this guy, suck this guy off, get fucked by this guy, whatever.  So I
think about it and drool and get hard and, well, the rest is history.  Same
thing you do with Playboy or whatever, I guess."

	Chance was standing next to him, and Reed noticed the boy's very
pronounced package.

	"So this gets you off?  Naked guys?"

	"This most definitely gets me off."  He took another long swig of
beer to get his courage up.  "And if you don't mind a friendly observation,
by that obscenely large bulge in your trousers, I'd say it gets you off,
too."

	Chance laughed.  "Fuck, dude.  I told you I appreciate guys'
bodies.  Nothing gay about that!  I think most guys appreciate other guys'
bodies, like most girls'll look at other girls' bodies."  He took another
swig.  "But say me, for example.  Would it get you off to see me naked?"

	"Chance, are you shitting me?  Dude, get a clue.  You are like the
gay porn pin-up stud for eternity.  Get me off?  Would I ever stop cumming,
that's the real question."  He took another gulp of his beer, draining it.
Fuck, was he hard.

	Chance downed the rest of his as well.  "You got any sexy music?"

	"'Sexy music'?  Sure, why?"

	"I was thinkin' I'd do a little strip-tease, see if I could really
get you off."  Chance had no idea where this came from, but he was riding a
very sexy wave right now and fought like hell to stay on.  Fuck Andrea and
her endless period.  This was sex, right here, right now.

	"Holy fuckin' shit!  Sexy music coming right up!"  Reed clicked on
iTunes, scrolled down nervously to some of his deep-house remixes, and put
on the one he played most as background when he surfed internet porn.

	"Bring it on, dude," he laughed excitedly as he sat back on his
bed.  He sexily snaked his lower body out of his boxer briefs.  Chance drew
a breath at seeing Reed's hard uncut dick.  Just a tad smaller than his,
but much thicker all around; tan and dark, like the rest of Reed's body,
the red tip already wet and poking out.  And, he noticed, Reed was totally
hairless - no pubic hair above his dick, on his balls, or even (he couldn't
help but notice as Reed scooted his muscular ass out of his briefs) in his
crack.  Fuck, he thought, that's pretty damn hot.

	"OK, stud, Let the experiment begin!"

	He unlaced his work boots, stripped off his socks, then stood up,
ready to begin this crazy experiment in hot college guy sex.  Reed was
riveted.  All he could think of was downtown they charged a twenty dollar
cover for what he was getting here in his dorm.  First, Chance caught the
groove of the beat.  He swayed his big chest back and forth, threw back
that gorgeous jock head till only those thick full lips were visible, and
swayed those ridiculously hot jean-clad hips.  His hands played all over
his chest, rubbing those gorgeous pecs so sensually, pinching his nipples
while his face contorted into very sexy paroxysms of lust.  One hand
slithered down to his cock, rubbing it lewdly.  Reed was stroking himself
like crazy, trying to forestall what would probably be one of the wildest
orgasms he'd ever had, yet delirious at this most outrageous sex ever.
Then Chance stared at him, licked his tongue slowly around those full,
pouty lips, and peeled off his shirt.  Reed gasped aloud.  Chance had the
best upper body he'd ever seen.  Perfectly full and cut.  No fat.  Gorgeous
nipples he wanted to lunge at right now.  And his abs.  Reed could have cum
just watching those abs, so lean and cut and curvy.  Reed was a sucker for
jockstraps, so seeing the top of Chance's undulate over those beautiful
abs, knowing that soon he would see that obviously huge cock encased in it,
was overwhelming.  Chance continued his dance and nipple-play, always
remembering to stroke his cock through his jeans, all the while watching
Reed.

	As much as Reed was in ecstasy, Chance was getting off, too.  He
couldn't believe how hot Reed's gorgeous, writhing body was making him.  He
had never even seen another man's erect cock before, let alone a guy
stroking it like crazy.  Chance was riveted on that huge pole, obscenely
visible without any hair to mask it.  All Chance could think of was tasting
it, sucking it, licking it.  He'd like to lap his tongue around that big
smooth ballsac, with those sweet plum-sized nuts jiggling around in him.
Chance, sex-deprived for so long, was soaking in a wonderfully immersive
gay fantasy, the way a sore, tired guy would luxuriate in a hot, soothing
tub.  It permeated his whole body.

	He slowly unsnapped his jeans, unzipped them, let them fall, then
kicked them off.

	"OH FUCK!!" Reed yelled.  Seeing Chance, in all his naked, muscled
perfection, in that hot grey jockstrap, was too much.  He brought one hand
to his ass and began to finger himself like crazy, starting a stream of raw
sex-talk.

	"Oh fuck, dude!  You are the hottest fucking shit I have ever seen
in my life!  You are fucking perfection!  That cock, what a fucking cock!
Oh fuck, you could fuck me all night with that thing!  Jesus Fuck, man, you
are not getting out of this room until I have that sweet piece of meat in
my mouth for about an hour!"

	Chance smiled and started rubbing his thighs and ass teasingly.  He
loved watching Reed finger himself, seeing first one, then two, then three
fingers play around that smooth, delicious-looking crack.

	"Fuck, man, let me see that cock, please!  It looks so fucking
beautiful through your jock!  So hard, so fucking long!  I can't stand it,
ude!  Fuck, keep the jock on, take it off, fuck, I don't care.  Oh fuck,
Chance, fuck, fuck me, dude!  You are so fucking gorgeous!"

	Chance licked his lips again as he watched reed's fingers play in
his ass and over his cock.  Damn, this gay sex shit was hot as fucking
hell.  He had to stroke himself off, now, or he'd explode.  Slowly, he
peeled his jock down, teasingly, a little at a time, exposing the shaft a
half-inch at a time, then bringing the strap back up. He pulled both side
straps to the back and grooved them up and down his ass-crack.

	"OH fuck, man!  You sure you ain't a gay stripper? You jerkin' my
chain, man?  Fuck, I wish my dick was that jockstrap, rubbing your ass up
and down!  Aw shit, man, that's so fucking hot!"

	Finally, even Chance could take it no longer.  He ripped the jock
off, got close to Reed's bed, and the two boys watched each other jack off.
Chance was shot full of electricty as this most exciting sex of his life.
Reed had been here before, of course, but never as wildly as this.

	"Oh, damn, this is hot, Chance!  You are such a hot young stud!  I
- " the older boy started grunting in a choked kind of
half-sob/half-scream, and then Chance watched wide-eyed as Reed's cock
erupted, spewing beautiful hot cream everywhere: his face, his chest, his
bed, his dick.  How beautiful guys dicks were when they came, Chance
thought: those thick gorgeous tools oozing out such sexy stuff.  This was
just too much for Chance, who aimed his cock so he would mix his seed in
with Reed's.  He tensed his hard body and pumped load after load all over
the grateful older stud, who rubbed it all over himself, then took handfuls
to lap up in his hungry mouth.  Chance, unbelievably, kept shooting; he was
having the hardest, longest orgasm he'd ever had.

	When he was finally done, he let his body drop beside Reed's,
exhausted.

	After a few minutes, Reed couldn't help himself.  He stroked his
jack-off buddy's beautiful back and ass, then reached in to tongue and kiss
his ear, whispering, "Aw, dude, that was so fucking fine.  Ah fuck, man,
you are just so fucking hot."

	He reached underneath Chance, slimed the last bit of cum off the
boy's half-hard dick, brought it to those beautifully puffy lips, and all
but got hard as the young stud licked his finger clean.


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