Date: Tue, 17 Oct 2017 21:49:12 -0700
From: Connor Witmer <me@connorwitmer.com>
Subject: Connor's Pretty Horny - Part 7

I promise this won't turn too sappy to be enjoyable, folks! Thanks for
keeping up and as always, thanks for the kind notes to my email, comments,
and on my Tumblr page.

If you're looking to help me out in a more official capacity, I would love
an editor if anyone here has some English experience. This whole Connor
thing has developed into the first draft of a novel, so I'm looking to
actually go back and refine some of the older parts and make some changes.

Thanks so much guys. Please send me your feedback so I can keep improving
this project. me@connorwitmer.com

And as always, please donate to support Nifty.

—

I loved the library coffee joint. I'm saying "library coffee joint" because
there's no name for the place. It was completely unassuming in every way
and resembled something closer to an airport grab-and-go than anything
else. A no-frills menu and three small aluminum tables. At any number of
hip urban joints, I could easily have gotten flustered by choice. With a
guy like Alex, I might even go so far as being distracted by making a
"trendy" selection to make a good impression. In the library coffee shop
with no name, sign, or owner, it was a plain coffee, add-your-own-shit
affair – or a latte if you were feeling really inventive that day.

Not only that, but just across the way were the faculty stacks. In the same
way that The Slice appealed to me, the library basement did as well. By
7PM, the upper floors were still hopping with activity, full study rooms,
and scrambling for the best seats. Down here, some of the fluorescent
lights hadn't even been turned on yet for the day – with the day almost
over. Ghost town status. A lone cowboy might giddy-up through, a TA sent
from a far-flung office to retrieve a manuscript.

I was just really getting into my musing about the library as an old
Western, imagining the wide hallway into a dusty main street when my eyes
focused in on Alex, striding down with his bag over his shoulder. If there
was something so purely opposite a Western fantasy, it was effortlessly
fashionable Alex.

That night at Pine Drive, he had been so unassuming. Either the distracted
party atmosphere had taken away his magnitude, or the lonesomeness of the
library emphasized it. Now, he looked to have been plucked from a GQ ad. In
spite of that, though, he wasn't pretentiously `done-up.'

It was that effortless. A casual plain button-up tucked into fitted chinos,
it wasn't that he looked Hollywood, but he certainly didn't look
Tuesday-at-the-library either. It was simultaneously comforting and
alienating: he was so approachable and distantly beyond me at the same
time.

I brightened at the sight of him, sat up straight from my slump at one of
the tables, and gave a half-wave. He brightly smiled back. As he walked and
took the seat across from me wordlessly, I admired the perfect brown quiff
of his hair, clean-shaven face, and shining eyes. Can you believe that? In
a dark library basement floor, his eyes were shining. Yeah, that's the
level of corniness my life was quickly ascending to.

He graciously fell into the other seat and without missing a single beat
said, "You look good. Glad to see it. Those beer googles can fool you, you
know?"

"Oh, well thanks," I replied, realizing that I was finding it – somehow
– more difficult than usual to speak. Regaining composure, I quickly
added, "You too."

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and motioned for me to walk up to
the counter with him. "I didn't even know there was anything down
here. What's..." his eyes flicked up to the menu board, "uh, good here?"

"Well, I like the chai. If you're a chai kind of guy. Or just the regular
drip stuff is pretty good," I said authoritatively. There were few things I
felt confident in, but I had an excellent grasp of the extremely limited
menu. The chai suggestion was smart – the fact they even had a chai was
astonishing to me.

There was a sole barista, a sullen plain-looking girl, behind the counter
and she lazily nodded, tapping his order into the screen. When she
finished, she put her hand out to take his card.

"Oh, no, I've got him too." He stepped back from the counter, putting his
hands in his pocket. I am sure I blushed but may have chosen to block it
out.

I stepped up, ordered, and Alex snaked his arm around me to hand her my
card. It was so smooth that there wasn't even one second of an awkward
dance, or insistence of who might pay, or any of that.

Later, I would think about this interaction. In that situation, my
inclination was always to overthink. Should I have been quicker and paid
for us instead, as a gentleman might? I could have done it. But in that
coffee `date' – I hadn't thought of that at all. Alex had this way of
being so possessive of the atmosphere that whatever he did seemed to just
work. In more ways than one, it was a good foil to my less-positive
outlook.

I don't want to overthink that kind of stuff. Since coming to college, I've
been doing everything to swallow those feelings – that other people were
capable in a way that I wasn't at all. Everyone must just be more sociable
or more in-tune with their peers, and I was on the outside. Like watching a
movie, or observing people in their natural habitat. I'd felt that way most
of my life, like an outsider, or sometimes like I might just be a little
dumber than everyone else.

Do you know that feeling you often get as an adult, that everyone else knew
how to act and be, except for you? I felt like that, but almost all the
time.

With Alex, the last threads of that awful knot came undone. He knew what to
do, but not only did he know – he made no great effort of it. There was
never a sideways glance that said: Really, Connor? You don't know that
you're supposed to offer to pay? I hated that glance. Worse, I knew that I
was very often just imagining the glance.

So, with a dramatic internal monologue wrapped up in about 20 seconds of
waiting for my coffee, Alex and I were off to the races. He grabbed both of
our cups and took them to the table.

"So, the party last weekend. Did you have a good time?" Alex got right down
to business, apparently.

"Well, yeah. It was a nice night. That's why I thought I'd try to find
you." I said, rubbing my thumb in gentle circles against the heat of the
paper cup. Fidgeting.

"Me too! I asked around, but nobody knew your name. You must not party
much." I glanced up at him, trying to keep a straight face.

"I like that. I like that you don't party much," he added. It felt genuine.

"So, history, right? We never really got into that. Got carried away,
right?" He grinned at me, and then pressed on with a dozen questions. I was
flattered that he had remembered an off-handed comment about liking
history, but Alex continued to impress.

I didn't really feel like I had anything all that interesting to share, but
over a single cup of coffee, Alex wanted to get it all out there. We talked
about our classes, mused on family and going back home, and even two
categories I could really engage on: film and television. Alex espoused a
long list of classics, many of which I thought must have inspired his
haircut. Somewhere in that conversation, I realized that Alex was not like
anyone I had ever met before.

"Do you read much?" He asked, placing his chin against his palm, propped up
on the table. Alex always looked interested. I could tell him about putting
my socks on that morning, and he would still have that inspired curiosity.

"I try, between classes and things." I responded in half-truth, as I hadn't
really found time to read anything sine coming back to class. Still, I
considered myself a reader. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I'm really into like – this weird historical Russian literature."
He answered back. I feigned some surprise – but in reality, that seemed
so Alex. "Do you want to borrow a few favorites?"

I swear, I'm trying to limit my overthinking. I really am. But I had to
overthink that a little, because it seemed like a promise. It was an
engagement in the future, he would both have to bring me a book and see me
for the return. This library-visit-not-date wasn't a total train
wreck. Score.

"Yeah. Well, yeah. I would really like that." I chirped, smiling. I was
doting, and secretly hoped it was at least kind of adorable for him. To my
credit, he looked amused enough.

He stood up, suddenly pushing his chair back. Every move for Alex was
planned. "Let's go, I have a few in mind that you should read."

"Like right now?" I said, grabbing my cup of coffee to stand.

"Yeah. Right now." He grinned down at me and turned on his heel to lead the
way down the hall. I shoved my arms into my jacket and trotted after him
like a puppy.

—

Alex escorted me off campus in the dying light of a late September day,
chatting often but occasionally being content in silence too. I kept my
hands in my pocket and tried to play off him as well as I could. On the
walk, I wondered what I could even say if I suddenly ran into Henry like I
had on the way to David's. Henry had a way of turning up in awkward moments
like this, but I was saved this time and the classic sideways tackle never
came.

He lived a short way off campus in a house which, he explained to me, he
shared with a few other guys. It was an older, flat house – many just
like it lined the streets of campus, all rentals for college students at an
ever-increasing rate.

He led us up a small porch and, as his retro-ethics would indicate,
graciously held the door for me. Their front room was littered with signs
of college life: mostly beer cans and a forgotten upsided Psych textbook on
a very old tartan couch.

"Sorry. Messy roommates. None of this is mine." He ushered me through the
front room, kitchen, and to the back of the house and into his
room. Typically, I might have written him off as saving face over the messy
areas – but his room seemed to fit his story. It was tiny and well
decorated, with obscure art on the walls, a record player, and a dim lamp
still on. There were no beer cans or disrespected texts, not even a dirty
plate.

He sat on the edge of his small bed, kicking his shoes off and tucking them
with his feet under the bed. He had cute plaid socks, even.

"A few of the books are on that shelf," he said, gesturing to a few neatly
organized shelves that hung above his desk.

Turning to look at the titles, I saw some old classics from my own
collection mixed with obscure, very foreign literature. On one end was a
framed picture, and I mused briefly about how nobody ever got photos
printed anymore. In it, Alex posed in front of a lake and jet-skis with a
good-looking jock-ish guy, their grins practically bursting from the
frame. It was a delightfully adorable snapshot from college-boyhood.

Alex still sat on the bed, watching me. I had just selected a title of
particular interest when I felt a hand at my waist, pulling me dramatically
backwards and against his lap.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself," he breathed. I could feel his hard dick
pressing against my ass. In one of those ecstatic moments, he groaned as he
pushes his dick between us. My own cock immediately jumped to attention.

Then I did something I hadn't really done before, or at least, not in the
same way. I flipped my body over, placing my palms to each side of Alex's
head and looked down at him. He gave me a surprised grin as I dove to his
mouth, kissing him. It was tender. I realized I hadn't ever really just
kissed anyone before.

That connection of lips was a static shock, but not the jolt to my pants
I'd felt many times already before. No, this was a tiny, tingling electric
signal that seemed to dissipate somewhere in my chest where it grew warm
and melted away. The place where it settled in my chest... I'm not sure if
there's a word for what's in there.

Radiating heat passed over my face as we pushed against each other. Our
chests, crotches, even legs were rubbing together. There was simultaneously
all this cotton-ey friction mixed with liquid desire.

For only a few seconds, I narrowly opened my eyes to look at Alex. His
boyish lashes lined his eyes and his pale cheeks were flushed. If I could
have ignored the powerfully large rod pressing against my leg, I might even
have described him as cherubic. All at once, his eyes flew open and he was
flipping me around to pin me under him.

"Could I fuck you?" He asked quietly. Blood rushed to my ears
immediately. Could he? I wanted him to. But I wasn't sure what to do. Then,
that sexual confidence rose up from my gut and I was in motion, roughly
pulling my pants down and off. Alex's hand flew to my bulge, massaging my
dick through my black briefs.

Grabbing his head and bringing his ear to my lips, I breathed to him: "Fuck
me, Alex." Those words came plucked directly from somewhere else, maybe a
porno I had watched once – but definitely couldn't have come from me.

With my nod of approval, Alex went from mere man to an expert craftsman. In
a fluid motion, he drew a bottle of lube out from under his bed and whipped
my underwear down my legs and over my ankles. Still without taking his cock
out, the tension of seeing it again straining me all the while, he brought
the cold lube to my ass and gently massaged. That patient grace should have
been so calming, but he took my cock in his lubed up hand, fucking my rod
in and out of his tight grip.

He loosened his pants and let them fall to the floor. He wore no underwear,
which I – in that exact moment – discovered was a fetish of mine. We
had sat and had coffee, had he planned for us to be here all along? His
cock sprung immediately out, grazing my ass cheek. By now, he had taken my
ankles and propped them against his shoulders. My ass was his, and to
complete the harmony, I wanted his cock to be mine.

Alex, who had no sense of urgency in the least, must have felt the heat of
my lust. He pressed the head of his steely, thick cock against my
asshole. I savored that feeling. In porn, I would skip right to this
scene. In my head, I called it "the moment of first contact" – that
connection of cock and flesh made my face hot instantly.

"You want it, right, Connor?" He said, taking his hand away from my dick to
rest it gently on my chest. He brought his face closer to mine, stressing
my leg muscles to push them closer to my chest.

"Yes. Yes, I want it. Please." I begged, biting my lip and grabbing his
hand to place it back on top of my pulsing shaft.  Then, he was
there. Every inch of that slow moving cock was deliberate. Alex's eyes
never left my face, studying my reaction as he continued to push in. I had
imagined this would be so hard, the first time at least. In his careful
hands, that worry was gone.

He pushed, and in what felt like forever and yet no time at all, his dick
was completely in my ass. That filling feeling was so fucking incredible I
wanted to cum immediately. I wanted him to take my cock and jerk me until I
came the biggest load of my life – but first, I wanted to watch that
toned body fuck my ass.

"Please. Fuck me. Alex, please fuck me." I whispered to him, looking him
straight in those blue-green eyes. He needed to hold that certainty of my
seriousness in his hands, because I knew if he couldn't feel it, he'd go no
further.

He slowly extricated myself, this time looking down at his cock and only
occasionally back up to me. Alex's focus slowly shifted from me to his own
pleasure, but always stroking me gently too. As he fucked back into me, my
toes curled. It was so much more than any toy. Watching his own ecstasy
come alive as he really started to fuck me – like really started –
was so fucking intoxicating. I almost came when he let out this low,
animalistic groan, to the point of grabbing his wrist firmly to stop him
from touching me.

Then, as a dancer might do as they move into the next movement, he changed
everything. He had flipped me to my side and gotten into the bed behind me,
taking my head firmly in his strong, thin hands and kissing me. His cock
still planted inside of my ass, fucking me gently as we kissed and his
other hand returned to the tight "O" I had been slamming into.

"This is–" He panted, pulling his tongue out of my mouth, "–So
fucking hot." That last syllable was punctuated by another deep moan before
he started pistoning my ass. I bit down on the edge of his pillowcase, no
part of me even tempted to call it off.

My ass was his. His cock was mine. It was like that for these long, tired
minutes of powerful pounding before he took his cock out and began
violently jerking it. His other hand, in conjunction with my own, was
tightly wrapped around my own dick.

The impossible became reality as he shot a huge load across my ass,
stomach, and bedspread. A few more seconds, and my own dick tightened,
strained, and exploded. Our cum pooled together across my taut stomach as
he collapsed back against the pillow. Like a suddenly abandoned marionette,
I went limp too, my limbs now completely powerless.

The room froze in time. Dust particles in the single few rays of sunlight
left of the day were suspended. The slight draft under Alex's door stopped
leaking air. There was nothing now, for a few minutes, and there was a
little bit of everything too: all that dark red passion, corked and left to
age.

With David, I had been on high-alert, not even to mention being ushered out
every time we'd met up. Clearly, we were having sex, not hanging out. With
Alex, I was more than content to lazily drift in and out of a nap
afterwards. He played big spoon in a small bed, and even with deliberate
effort, I couldn't wipe a stupid grin off my face. A stupid, little boy
grin like I'd just lit a firecracker.

I heard Alex's soft voice, his breath passing right over my ear. "I'm not
kicking you out, but..." ]

"But you're kicking me out." I responded, jokingly. All good things did
have to come to an end, after all. Plus, no doubt Alex controlled a busy
social calendar.

"Let's do this again sometime, though?" He said, his tone rising in
hopefulness.

"Any time." I huffed, pulling myself to sit on the edge of his bed and
grabbing my pants from the floor. He graciously picked up my clothes and
handed them to me, even digging a stick of gum out of a drawer. As quickly
as it had all begun, I was back on his porch again, feeling unsure what to
do next as he held the screen propped open.

"Well. I'll see you around, I guess." I said, shrugging my shoulders and
making to head down the short stairs.

Alex grabbed my arm and unexpectedly gave me a light peck on the
cheek. "Don't be a stranger, Connor."  With all the attendant dizziness
that he had just smacked me with, I stumbled on down the steps.

When I reached the end of the walk, even though everything in me said not
to be "that guy," I couldn't help but steal a glance back. There was Alex,
leaning against the door frame, watching me leave. Spread across his face
was the smallest, most subtle smile I'd ever seen – the same one he had
given me at Pine Drive. The same smile that had led me back to him like
this.

—

That night, as I lay in bed, soft white moonlight poured in from the window
above my dorm bed. As I stared up at that gray orb, I remembered a quote
from a book I had read in highschool once, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
The details of it had slipped out of my head, but one line rang clearly in
my head that night. With a slight name substitution, it seemed to fit
perfectly.

"Alex—one can imagine him lasting forever."

There was something about him that was so seamlessly natural that he seemed
almost otherworldly. He was transcendent in his own way. Rand had been
musing about how we all chase permanence and to be remembered. Alex seemed
either blissfully unaware of this human pursuit, or had already so squarely
achieved it as to seem that way.

That brilliant white harvest moon was Alex. Whatever might happen, I would
look skyward and think of him.