Date: Mon, 30 Dec 2019 14:47:45 -0800
From: duclebout@gmail.com
Subject: My Ass

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My Ass

"YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by
Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he
stretched, but mainly he told the truth."

	I'll stop; God knows I'm no Huck Finn. But a few stories below this
one on Nifty, in "His Ass," my college roommate Bob told his version of his
fucking me. He didn't tell any real stretchers, but I thought you might
like to read the same experience from the other point of view, mine,
Denny's. Thus: "My Ass."

	I'd already settled into my first year at college, dual French and
Comp Lit major. No roommate yet, which was fine with me. My room was on the
second floor of the Old Union, one of the few dorm rooms left during the
building's conversion to offices. My own bathroom and shower, a brilliant
view over the lake and the early fall brown hills. Bunk-beds along one
wall.

	I had a fucked childhood. My parents were faithless drunks, and
they finally divorced when I was twelve. She went swanning around Italy,
while he went to Argentina to raise horses. What a pair. When they split
up, they dropped 12-year-old me at Le Rosey in Geneva, purportedly the
worlds most expensive boarding school. I hated it: nothing but bodyguards
and private jets and an obsequious staff that catered to every whim of the
Eurotrash kids, the brats coming up from the Riviera villas of their
deposed and corrupt African dictator dads. Rich Asian kids. More than a
handful of little Sheik-lings, there for a few years before being dragged
back behind the Sand Curtain.

	I discovered two things. The non-drunk members of the faculty were
as badly paid as the drinkers, but they still held up some sort of academic
rigor as being good for the soul. I found them out and convinced them that
I was serious, so I got a better-than-most education, even at Le Rosey.

	The other hing I learned was that the entire school moved to a set
of chalets the school owned in Gstaad, for the whole winter. I skied and
skated every day there, as I grew up into my full six-feet height.

	I'm very hairy, from my waist down. At puberty I started sprouting
pit hair, and a hairy ass and legs. The weird thing was that my chest and
abdomen stayed completely smooth, while I grew a huge black bush that
engulfed by normal-sized cock and completely furred-up my set of balls.

	I was fifteen when they put me to room with a Gulf princeling. He
walked around with a hard-on sticking out as he changed. He was hairy as
well. One day I just grabbed him and went down on his stubby pole. He came
fast in my mouth; I loved the taste. I dropped my shorts and pushed his
head down onto my hairy crotch. He finally got the idea - turnaround is
fair play - and inexpertly gave me head. I came in his mouth, but he spit
my cum out. One time only. He learned the rules: you suck, you shoot, you
swallow. Once I moved my hand to his ass, and he slapped it away with some
vigor: unclean, unclean, but no problem now with me coming in his
mouth. What a weird world.

	So I was an odd combination my first term at college: both naive
and sophisticated, and concentrating very hard in my classes. After a
couple of weeks alone, I came back after morning classes to find my new
roommate flat out on a single bed; he had separated the bunks. There was
plenty of room for two beds and the other furniture, desks, chairs,
dressers.
	He stood up. Big dude. "I"m Bob."
	"Denny.." Tight handshake from his enormous right hand. "You moved
the beds."
	"Yeah, you don't mind? I hate bunks."
	"I was wondering who'd get the upper bunk. Now I know."
	"Neither is the right answer," Bob said.

	We chatted a bit about our majors, my French, his engineering, his
football. He seemed to have a full life going. He was starting tackle on
the yet-undefeated freshman team. He had been moved in with me to help his
grades, far away from the jock dorm.
	I went to the library, not coming back until almost 11. Bob was in
bed reading. He put the book on his lap. I shaved (I have permanent
five-o-clock shadow, part of my hairiness gene.)
	"Big lights out? I'm going to try to read more for a few minutes."
	"That sounds fine," I said.
	"God, it's so quiet here. You can't imagine..." in a minute or so:
"Fuck this shit.' He tossed the book toward his desk, but it missed and
landed on my bed. I could see that he slept naked, as he pulled the covers
down a little when he thought he'd have to fetch the book.
	"Mrs. Dalloway! No chance! It's fabulous, one of my favorites." I
leafed through it, then turned back to the beginning. `"Mrs. Dalloway said
she would buy the flowers herself.'" I kept reading, and Bob listened with
what seemed like attention.
	After about 20 pages, he said, "Thank you so much. It sounds much
better than it reads, if you know what I mean. And you have a nice voice."
We turned off our reading lights and I slipped out of my shorts and under
the covers.

	We settled into a fairly calm and pleasant routine. His team stayed
undefeated. We'd usually breakfast together at the eating club. Practice
took up much of his afternoons, and I was a library rat. But we usually
spent our very quiet evenings in our room, reading, studying. I kept on
reading Bob's English One texts out-loud to him.

	Indian Summer was hot. I came in one evening and found Bob in what
I called his calculus position: wrapped just in his towel, the freshly
showered Bob lay flat-out on his stomach. his books and papers resting
shakily on a pile of shoulder pads at the head of his bed. Odd, but it
worked for him. I showered and came back into the room, drying my head and
my pits. I saw that Bob was looking at me for what seemed like the first
time. I turned to put on my shorts. "You've got a hairy ass."
	"Yeah, and a smooth chest. I'm built from two different people, one
higher up the evolutionary ladder. Oh, well." I went to my bed and picked
up Racine's Phaedra which I was prepared to hate.
	"Jesus Christ. Fuck."
	"What?"
	"I just can't do this shit."
	"What shit?"
	"Calculus."
	I went across the room to his bed. "Let me see what you got here."
	"So you know calculus too?"
	"Yeah, Le Rosey was a shit-hole, but I managed to learn some stuff
notwithstanding. Differential equations. Hate them. Here, move over; let me
see your pencil." His towel fell off as he scootched over on the bed. His
very large dick rested on a pair of enormous hairless balls that spread out
on his mattress. Did he trim his bush? It looked like it, plus shaved
balls, I guessed. I sat next to him and we traded the pencil back and forth
until we finished his problem set.
	"Finally. Thank you." He stood up and stretched his hands up over
head. Jesus. His back was magnificent, muscles piled on muscles was he
flexed. His ass was a solid big block, the crack very lightly dusted with
hair. He turned around awards his bed. I hadn't taken in how handsome he
was. Small ears that stuck out, a thick neck, bullish shoulders and big
guns. Square pair of pecs with tiny nipples. A nice abdomen set. And that
giant cock hanging down an inch lower than his big stretched-out balls.
	"You have a big dick."
	"Yeah, I'm just a big stupid jock, young, dumb, and full of cum."
	"Where did that come from?"
	"You know as well as I do. Mrs. Dalloway, now calculus...."
	"Don't be dense. I like this just fine. Go to bed." Lights out, I
heard his bed creak a few times, but I went to sleep fast.

	I got used to being naked around our room. Bob often studied after
his evening shower with his towel jest resting on his shoulders. He pretty
much stopped wearing anything. "You don't mind?" he asked once, motioning
towards his body, the entire package.
	"No. It looks comfortable."
	"I'm in a jock or a cup for about ten hours a day, so it's nice to
let things just relax on their own." After a week or two, being naked
around Bob put me in such a relaxed state I never even noticed it. I did
see him study my ass a couple of times, once when I stood on his desk,
fixing the venetian blinds. I saw him looking at me as my ass stuck out as
I stretched up. I moved one leg, and I guess he got a nice shot of my hole,
what he could see through all the hair.

	One late afternoon, I heard him clatter into our room in full
uniform, his cleats noisy and his uniform torn and filthy. "Jesus, what
happened to you?""
	"Scrimmage with the varsity is what happened. They whipped us,
especially me." He pretty much ripped off his uniform and pads and tossed
everything into one corner as he raced into the shower. He seemed to set up
residence in there, but he finally turned the water off. More fussing
around, then he came back into the room in a cloud of steam, freshly shaven
with his hair combed. He dried himself off. "I feel like creamed shit."
	"You look more human, after your shave and all. Turn out the big
lights and lie down, God, your legs are bruised. What a barbaric game."
	"Spare me the soccer shit." He lay face-down on his bed and let out
a sigh. "Come here. My shoulders are killing me. Any chance of a back rub?"
	"Sure." I was just reading the newspaper, sitting on my bed in my
shorts. I sat right on his ass, my legs on either side of his built back. I
leaned forward and grabbed his beefy shoulders hard, two hands on one side,
then the other, then one hand on each side.
	"Mmmm."
	"You feeling better?"
	"You're good at this." I could have told him that I learned at the
expert hands of our trainers in Gstaad. I just kept up the
massage. "Ow. Keep pushing hard; it feels good." I did his biceps and
triceps next.
	"I think you'll live. Do you want me to go on?"
	"Don't you dare stop". I slid down a bit and started the pressure
across and down his massive back. I could feel him beginning to relax, the
hard pressure doing the trick of shifting his muscles around. Maybe he'd be
stiff tomorrow, but he'd be better off after the massage. I moved down and
started on his legs, gently. I stood up beside his bed and gave each of his
feet a long and deep rub. "This is working. Keep going. Do my ass." I
straddled his thighs again and went to work on his solid butt, two hands
alternately on each glute. "Take your shorts off." I thought for only a
second before I hopped off the bed and added my shorts to the pile of his
equipment in the corner. Then I straddled him again, putting new pressure
where his upper thighs met his ass. "I can feel your bush."
	"OK?"
	"Better than OK."
	I pushed his ass cheeks together, then pulled them apart. He opened
his legs up as I gently rubbed my thumb over his hole. I pulled him more
open and stared deep into the pink depths of his wrinkly asshole. My face
went down, and I could feel my stubble catch on his butt hairs as I homed
in on his hole. My tongue circled his butthole, them I just dove in,
kissing and licking, as if I were trying to get deep inside his ass. He
reached down and pushed my head harder against his butt; my mouth couldn't
go deeper, but I went nuts with my tongue. "Keep going." I kept up my mouth
work on his butthole. He sighed.  "I'm going to turn over. Do my front?"
	"Sure." He rolled over onto his back. His hard dick was enormous,
the biggest I'd ever seen. "You're huge." I almost couldn't believe how
fucking big and stiff it was, sticking straight up over his navel. I
reached out with a hand to feel his smoothness contrasting with the iron
rod his soft skin slid over. He flexed his dick and a shot of precum ran
over the head into his navel. The purple-red head was fat and shiny, much
wider than his white shaft. He flexed it again. My fingers couldn't begin
to encircle it; he leaked more precum as I tried. I moved my hands up to
his pecs, my thumbs rubbing his hard tits as I massaged the muscles below.
	"I want to fuck."
	"I can tell."
	"Can I fuck you?"
	"I don't know; I've never been fucked. It's too big, maybe."
	He grabbed at my rock-hard dick and gave it a tug. "Your cock
doesn't think so."
	"OK, but take it easy." He stood up, fat erection sticking straight
up, and pushed the two beds together.
	"Get on your knees. I'm going to fuck you from behind. I don't want
to see your dick or your face. No kissing, no hugging, no lovey-dovey
shit. I want to fuck."
	"So you say. One favor: cum in my mouth. And get some lube in me,
or you'll never get it in." I felt odd on my knees, my hairy ass sticking
up. He rubbed his hands gently on each hairy cheek, and his massage action
loosened me up.
	"Yeah, I can do that." I felt the coldness of the hand cream he
splattered over my butt. He pulled my cheeks apart and started to lick hard
at the hair around my butt hole. My hole felt wet as he spit into it, then
he went kind of wild; he rubbed my ass hard, and then went to town,
suckling and kissing and licking my asshole. He stopped, probably to get
some hair out from his teeth, then went back to rimming me. I felt more
lube as his finger tickled and gently pushed at my hole. I resisted, but it
slipped in as I got a little more relaxed.  Whoa. What was that? I guessed
he must have had his finger graze my prostate. Whatever, I loved it. He
massaged my whole hairy butt and then stuck in two fingers, slowly.
	"Ow. That hurts. I don't know,man."
	"Relax some more and you'll like it. Yeah, you'll know you've been
fucked, but what the hell." He stopped his work on my ass, after squeezing
more lube up my behind. I felt the enormous pressure of that fat head,
pushing against my ring of asshole muscles. Lots of grease, but I clamped
shut as the pain started to kick in. He persisted, pushing hard, until in a
flash of pain, the pressure was relieved, or was different, as the head of
his dick popped into me.
	"Man, that really hurts."
	"Bite the pillow; you're too noisy." I made more noise as he
started to move his big prick inside of me. I felt another couple of inches
slide in, and he stopped there. I could feel him stretch out his
hardness. Then he pulled back until just his fat head was held in by my
hurting sphincter. He moved back into my hot hole gently, then started to
push in a little more dick. He pushed in maybe two more inches and started
to half-fuck me. Each of his strokes was met by a grunt from me, half pain,
half pleasure. I squeezed my ass muscles over one of his downstrokes, and I
could feel his cock flex. He grabbed my hips and sank himself hard, all the
way in, until he bottomed out. His coarse pubes rubbed against my sensitive
ass lips. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back into me; I
was making more noise, so he pushed my head down further into my pillow,
"You ready to get fucked?"
	"Mmmph."
	He pulled almost all the way out, then in a slow steady stroke,
packed his dick all the way in. He felt huge, and I think he hit my
prostate every time. Pleasure flooded past the pain. He got on his knees
and started to fuck me very fast, short strokes, maybe just the first four
inches or so. I tried to push back on every stroke, but he was too
fast. Then he stopped fucking me and drew his cock almost out. He sank back
into me and started to fuck me again with long, full strokes.Now I knew he
was hitting my prostate every time. I could feel my precum dripping out of
me. My ass felt totally open to his pushing dick. I wanted him to fuck me
like this forever, but he seemed to be getting even bigger and harder. He
tossed me onto my back, brutally pulling out, and he stuck this cock in my
mouth. I only got the head in my mouth before he came, hard. I managed,
just, to swallow all his shots. His dick was still huge as he pulled out of
my mouth. Cum dribbled down his still-hard shaft.
	"I'm still hard," he said. I rolled over up and stuck my ass back
into the air. I could feel that my asshole was wide open. He grabbed me by
the hips again and sank right back in. "You want more? I still want to fuck
more."
	"Yeah, more." I said, flat out on the bed, my legs stretched open
as far as possible. He nearly crushed me with his full weight, but then he
lightened up and started to fuck me again, deep and hard yet somehow
gentle. I could feel so much, all centered on his steely dick: sharp pain,
dull ache, fullness, sheer pleasure deep in my balls as he slid over my
prostate. He suddenly shot hard into my ass. He pulled me up onto my knees
again, and I felt his cum drip out of my hairy ass. Then he reached around
me and took my hard cock in his hand. He pulled me a few times, and I came
harder than ever before, and I always shot a big load. I felt the cum drip
down my chest and stomach into my wet pubes.
	We collapsed again onto the bed, his unstoppable dick still buried
deep inside me. "You all right, babe? Did you cum good? I fucked you, and I
loved it. Do you like my dick inside you?"
	"You jacking me off might count as lovey-dovey. Babe." We laughed.

	He fucked me every chance he could. We didn't yak much. In a week
or so, I found a small box on my shelf in the bathroom: an enema bag. So I
added a nice, hot douche to my pre-fuck routine. We never talked about
it. One evening, after pizza for dinner, I thought about how odd, yet how
perfect, our relationship was. He was reading Sports Illustrated, and his
other hand roamed over my ass, twirling my asshole hairs absentmindedly
around his long fingers. We'd be fucking again in an hour.

	We fucked almost every night. Sometimes after practice, if he was
horny, sometimes in the morning before breakfast. No, we never kissed or
made out, but he let me suck on his tight nipples once in a while. One
early day when we were deep into a fuck, he pulled out. He leaned over and
took my hard cock into his mouth. He sucked me until I came. He swallowed
like a champ. "Just wanted to try it, see what the fuss is all about. I
like it fine." So I would sometimes get a few sucks in before he fucked he,
but as I could only just get the head in my mouth, this wasn't his
favorite. He came in my ass or in my mouth. Now he either blew me or jacked
me off after he fucked me. We fucked in every position known. Often he
spread the cum over his chest and stomach. I fell asleep most nights tight
in his big arms. We both reeked of cum until we showered, often crowded in
the shower stall together. Lovey-dovey? I dunno. But I was never fucked so
well.

	He was back in the jock dorm as our sophomore year started. I was
in the dorm across the lake, with a boring roommate who had a dull, serious
girlfriend. Once in a way, Bob would call me up on the campus phone (years
before cell phones and texting) to see if I was free. I was honest enough
to tell my roommate to go see his girlfriend for a few hours. Bob would
fuck me hard, especially if we hadn't fucked for a week. We would try for
round two sometimes. I missed sleeping with him, and I missed the smell of
sex.

	Bob flamed out spectacularly in October. The varsity football team
lost a game. No big deal, right? But Bob had never been on a losing team,
not even for one game: Four years undefeated in high school, undefeated
freshman team, now the disaster of losing. He came by for a pretty vicious
fuck, pounding my asshole twice, silently, thoughtlessly. We never spoke
again. I heard that he joined the Air Force and was stationed in Alaska.

	Life went on just the same. I stayed in college through graduate
school. My dissertation (a new edition and translation of Mallarme) proved
surprisingly popular and got me on the tenure track at a new branch of the
UC system. On my first day there, I met Steve in a faculty meeting. A
handsome, surfer type, he taught French Rhetoric. With me doing half the
work, we were pretty much the French department. After the meeting, we
moved on to a downtown bar for drinks and burgers. Then as naturally as if
it were planned, we ended up in his bed. He was nicely hairy, with shiny
blond hairs on his tanned ass. He loved to fuck and he loved to get
fucked. We fit together fine, and I moved in. I still missed Bob's dick and
our cum-soaked life together, but those memories faded.

	As James Merrill said, we never really came out; the closet
collapsed around us. We were accepted as a couple, and each of us was more
than contented with our fucking, with our works and days.

	A final irritating literary quotation: "Reader, I married him."