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.
Hey
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.
--M
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.
"Never?"
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..."
We
what?
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.
Fuck.
"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?"
"Yep."
"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?"
"Well,
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."
"Why?"
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.
"You
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."
"Yep."
* * * * * * * * * * *
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.