Date: Wed, 13 May 2020 23:45:57 +0000 (UTC)
From: stroke.it@yahoo.com
Subject: My Charmed Life, Chapter 5: College 1

My Charmed Life
by Stroke.it@yahoo.com
©2020

This story is intended for adults who enjoy reading about gay male sex. If
this isn't you then you shouldn't be reading it. If it's illegal for you to
access this, or you think it's offensive, then you shouldn't be here
either. It is fiction—fantasy—even though it may have been inspired
by some actual experiences. And any similarities to real events or persons
are mere coincidences. This is the fifth installment of a multi-part saga.

These stories are free to the reader because of the wonderfulness of
Nifty. I know because I read them for lemendy-nine years before I started
writing. So, message me if you like it or have any suggestions. And send
them some bucks sometimes. Soon. If you can. Keep those nasty stories
coming! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

= = = = =

Chapter 5: College 1

For the first two years, I stayed local to conserve bucks. I had saved a
little during high school, and the folks would help as much as they could,
but they were going through lean times just then. I worked in the college
print shop to supplement my financial aid. It was a small liberal-arts
college; very picturesque. In a wealthy town, on a superb river, beautiful
campus, lots of big trees. Not as selective as their brochures
suggest. About 80 percent of the students were from Connecticut,
Westchester County, Long Island, `Bahston'; and drove Mercedes or
BMWs. Then there were us townies with our used Dodges and Chevys.

Something else, and this was serious. I learned quickly that the powers in
my department did not approve of students being openly gay. So, I would
have to remain mostly closeted. I had been looking forward to really being
OUT!

I was single during this period, but frequented the adult book stores for
relief. The bit of danger that came with visits to those stores made it
more exciting. Why do young guys think about sex all the time? I've got
news for you: If I'm any indication, old guys think about sex all the time
too. There were a couple of cruisy spots on campus but I resisted because
the school was too small to keep secrets secret.

That first fall of college, I happened upon an ABS that was miles out of
town. Of course, I stopped in. They had the usual magazines, leather, and
marital aids in the front, but the movie-booths were amazing. You could
tell they were new and built by a skilled carpenter. Really big, you could
have an orgy in a couple of them. Most had glory holes, some had openings
so large that a small guy could put his whole bottom half in the
neighboring booth. Wide hallways for lazy strolls checking out the other
fellas. Well, guess what? I became a regular. Plus, they were open late on
weekends and it got looser. The cashier(?), manager(?) or whatever you call
him would stay at the entrance to the movie area but watch the front door
(the only door). If a LEO (law enforcement officer) entered, he would flash
the lights (the switch was right there where he was standing), and
everybody knew to zip up and get legal quick. It was when I figured all
this out that I started tipping the guy every time when I left the
store. He was probably an owner or manager, and I don't think he was
actually gay, maybe a little bi-, but he kept us safe. Took good care of
the gay guys. So, on those weekend nights, he would turn the lights down at
midnight or one, even put some music on the audio system, and always look
the other way no matter what you were doing. On Fridays and Saturdays, he
kept the place open until dawn if there were still two or three guys
there. We became friendly; had some good talks. I can't recall his name but
will call him Dwayne here. I found out that he owned the place and was a
part-time hustler. There was an office behind the counter with a door that
locked, and after closing, Dwayne would have his liaisons in
there. Sometimes when he was working, he'd unbutton his shirt and he had a
really buff body, `shredded' they call it now, you really want to run your
hands up and down his abs and bury your head between his amazing muscular
pecs, even though he was a little rough looking and probably in his
fifties. It was great for the gay guys, too: no hotel room to rent, just
"Step into my office."

I happened to be in the front part of the store late one weekend night when
Dwayne and his `client' came out of the office. Once the john was out the
door, I said, softly, to Dwayne, "He looked satisfied."

"They always do," said Dwayne. "Why? You interested?"

"I'm a poor college student."

"Plus, you like younger guys, right?" I guess he was observant and had
taken note of my preferences by then. Then a new customer entered and
Dwayne figured he'd have to sell him tokens, so he said, "Talk to you
later," and went back behind the counter.

When we talked later, he told me that he has two employees in the
store. The first was Florence, who could be a sister or even his wife
(Dwayne didn't provide that information). She'd come in for an hour or two
to relieve him or free him up in case he had a `client' so she could watch
the store. The second was Wes, who came in to clean the place in the wee
hours, sometimes with a friend to help him. Then Dwayne pointedly said,
"You'll like Wes. Stay late one night and meet him. He comes in shortly
after I close up."

You know I was intrigued. "Okay," I said. "I will."

= = = = =

A week or so later, I planned to stay late to meet Wes. I guess Dwayne, who
was turning out to be very insightful, noticed something about me that
night and, at a slow moment, said, privately, "Wes is a little slow. You
know. Sweet kid, but not the sharpest. He's got a little trailer up the
road. Keeps it real neat and clean. I can tell you're the sensitive
type. You'll be a good friend to him. Don't give him more than 20 dollars."
He looked me in the eye for a sec and then went about his business.

Around one, Dwayne gave Wes a quick call to let him know he closed the
store and to come in. I hung around, and about 15 minutes after the call,
the lock turned and in walks Wes. A blond vision. Probably six-four or
-five, mid-twenties, beautiful face, the storied brick shithouse. He wore
an undershirt (`wifebeater' they call it now), jeans that were obviously
worn just for cleaning, and a pair of dirty work boots. Dwayne must have
mentioned to Wes that he'd be meeting me that night, because he came in
looking around for someone and Dwayne wasn't it. I gave Dwayne a look that
said "yes, yes, Yes!" and he went over to Wes and motioned me to come over
too. Speaking quietly, Dwayne looked at me, then at Wes and said, "Wes,
this is Jay." We shook hands. Dwayne turned to me. "Jay, Wes has to work
now. Why don't you go see him at the trailer tomorrow night? I'll tell you
how to find it. Wes, is tomorrow night okay for you? About 11?" Wes nodded
at Dwayne and smiled at me, and then proceeded to start his cleaning.

Lots of feelings driving home. A little embarrassed because I had agreed to
pay a mentally disabled man for sex. Charged up because he was so gorgeous
and I couldn't wait to jump on that body. A little unease because I
wondered if he knew what was expected of him. I was sporting a healthy
boner but did not want to jerk off tonight. Save it for tomorrow.

= = = = =

The little trailer was as Dwayne described. Just down the street from the
store. I parked beside it; Wes opened the door when I knocked. It had good
a/c, was neat and clean and so was Wes, dressed in an undershirt and light
blue boxers. He invited me to look around the 10-foot wide: the front was a
sitting room, the middle was a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and at the end
was a very small bedroom with a full-size bed and a tiny end-table with
lamp. Wes was a big guy; he needed a large bed.

We went back to the front room and Wes told me to be comfortable. We both
navigated around the coffee table and sat on the short couch. He broke the
tension by touching my shoulder, then leaned over and kissed me on the
lips. Softly. Very nice. I told him how impressed I was with his fitness
and asked him how he managed to stay in such good shape. He explained that
he had a special membership at the Y, which wasn't far away. He swam laps
there a couple of times a week. Then every morning he did sit-ups and
push-ups. Sometimes he ran, but not when it was very hot. He didn't like
hot weather. He said he had a nice three-speed bike which he rode to get
around. I said something really smart like, "Wow!" and then mentioned that
I also enjoyed riding a bike.

Wes stood up and suggested we strip in this room and go to bed, since the
bedroom is too small to stand in let alone change clothes. I agreed and we
did just that. Wes was incredible naked. I'm afraid I stared, thinking I
could spend all night touching and kissing him all over. He was muscular,
but not like Mr. Universe; more like the Renaissance statues in Florence,
Italy. His dick was cut, big, and beautiful. His eggs were hanging low in
their sac. Feeling woozy, I was afraid I would wake up from this dream.

What followed was the most erotic and memorable session of sex in my young
life. Wes had set the lights down low and let me take the lead. I wanted to
go slow and stroke and explore. He picked up on that and showed off his
physique to me, flexing and responding to my ministrations. I was amazed
and turned on big-time by his arms, shoulders, and belly, but his pecs were
my favorite part. (Well, of course, my second favorite part.) They were so
perfect and hard. Wes' upper body was almost hairless. Just a few blond
hairs between his tits and around his navel. I nuzzled in between the
monstrous pecs and licked and sucked the quarter-sized nipples gently. He
popped a boner right away, as did I. Both on our sides so we could face
each other, we kissed and nuzzled and frotted and touched for a long
time. To this point, I had not lowered my face to his groin. But I couldn't
wait any longer.

I licked and kissed down his body, and stopped to just look at the gorgeous
penis, then looked up at Wes, then back down at his member. Now long,
thick, and hard, his dick would be a challenge to any cocksucker. I started
by licking and kissing the oversized head, especially the underside below
the piss-hole. Wes began making sounds which told me what he really liked,
so I repeated those things. Then I really got busy. I found that once the
head was in well, his seven-incher went down my throat smoothly. If I
breathed through my ample nose and kept my head (the other kind) and neck
lined up, I didn't gag and made my guy very happy.

After my second interlude on his balls, I went back to the head of his
wonderful prick. I was in dicksucker heaven. After a minute or two of that,
he said, "Better stop now, or it'll be over too soon." We took a pause.

Never knowing how to ask this question, I sheepishly said, "Who fucks who?"

I like to think of myself as versatile, but I'm probably mostly a
bottom. It really depends on the guy. Here's the thing: I like all kinds of
sex, except when implements are brought in. My feeling is that all it takes
for great lovemaking is two people. Period. I guess I'm
old-fashioned. Plastic, rubber, metal, or other material is unnecessary
and, to me, a turn-off. Pain too. Nix on that. In this case, I was afraid
that if I fucked Wes, I would jizz on the second thrust.

His response to my uneasy question was excellent: "Whatever you want."

I kissed his face, eyes, and one ear, then whispered in the other, "Turn
over."  I had mostly overlooked Wes' back and butt. I made up for it and
did the grand tour. I can't accurately describe his butt. `Hard and
fabulous and delicious' doesn't quite do it justice. After finishing the
tour on his legs and feet (Ohmigod!), I tapped the insides of both legs,
asking him to rise up on his knees. He did so.

I love this part. The region below a man's behind and under his balls
usually gets too little attention (in my experience). For giver and
receiver, the skilled mouth on that area is a real treat. He's a big guy,
so I was able to turn on my back, shove my head between his legs, and slurp
my way up from ballsac to dick. I loved the noisy reactions my kissing,
licking, and almost-biting elicited from Wes. After we both were panting, I
said, softly, "May I sit on your lap?"

Looking a little doubtful, he responded, "Okay, sure."

He sat up and I put a pillow behind his back for comfort. I gave his
amazing cock a little more oral attention. I wanted it wet and hard. I took
a gob of spit and lubed my asshole, then jumped aboard. It was the stuff of
my best fantasies. Crotch-to-hole, eye to eye, a little athletic with him
pumping and me bouncing. We came together.

= = = = =

We put our clothes back on. I kissed Wes goodbye; I hugged him and, because
of his height, I was able to lay my head on his chest. He hugged me back
warmly. I said, "I hope we can do this again."

"Me too," he said. I put a 20 on the coffee table, slipped back into my
Birks, and left. I knew I had to remember the details of this encounter.

More to come.