Reply-To: an259064@anon.penet.fi
College Cocksucker
The mail today brought an invitation to my twentieth college reunion. The alumni office has faithfully kept up with me over the years, never forgetting to send me an alumni magazine and never missing a chance to request donations. Moved by sudden memories of the lush campus, with its Mediterranean architecture, long arcades, magnolia trees, azalea bushes, and hordes of young people, I sometimes send them money. But this is the first year I have seriously thought about attending a reunion.
The invitation triggers a rich flood of images--not of close friends or favorite profs or particular classes or social or academic or athletic triumphs or defeats, the kind of memories my fellow alumni are probably entertaining right now--but of sex, and of the peculiar person I was many years ago. "College cocksucker" is the term that comes to mind to describe me then, a term that pays tribute to my single-minded passion for cocksucking in those years.
From my current perspective, I know that the person I was could be seen as a pathetic creature, lonely and overworked and socially deprived, and probably even seriously disturbed in his masochistic devotion to the sexual needs of others. Yet I certainly did not think of myself that way then, nor is that the stuff of my memories. In those rather bleak years, cocksucking brought me bright moments of joy. Maybe it's because I had few social skills and was terribly introverted, but cocksucking was by far my most significant means of communion with straight men. Or maybe I was just horny. Anyway, that's what I remember most-- those moments of joy and the obsession that sustained me throughout the entire four years of college. I probably would never have graduated without them.
Twenty-four years ago, when I first stepped foot on the large state university campus, I was a fresh-faced country kid, six foot tall, a little skinny, good-looking with a tight, supple, naturally muscular body, dark hair, pale complexion, big innocent-looking eyes, and raging hormones. Pictures of me from those years show a bright, intelligent face, with regular features and just a hint of complexity in the eyes. No one could have guessed my secret passion from these photographs, yet if you look closely you can see a certain hunger in the eyes. Brought up in a small farming community in a family of desperately poor sharecroppers, I was naive and unsophisticated in many ways, and I felt a great deal of pressure as the first member of my family to have the opportunity to attend college. But I had already had far more sexual experience than most 18-year-olds. I was already secretly addicted to dick.
When I was 14, a neighbor who hired me to help around his horse farm initiated me into sexual service. He was about 30, ruggedly handsome, married, with a child. I idolized him and his wife, and would hang around them all the time. I flirted with Robert pretty outrageously, desperate to have him notice me, and one day while we were in the haybarn, he flat out raped me. He came up from behind me and slipped a rope around my hands, slid down my trousers, rotated a fat thumb in my ass, spit on his large cock, and then rammed it up my unlubricated hole. It hurt like hell and I ran home crying.
But the very next day, I went back. Robert said he was surprised to see me so soon, but he expected I'd be back asking for more dick. He said I'd been begging for it all summer; he could tell I needed a cock up my asshole. He said he had an unfailing eye for queers, and there was something in my mannerisms that tipped him off. He told me that I was a little faggot, but that was all right with him; he liked faggots as long as they were good ones and treated his dick right and knew their place in the scheme of things.
He said a faggot was someone who needed to suck and be fucked, so I had better be planning to spend a lot of time on my knees and on my back with my legs in the air. He taught me how to suck cock that afternoon. At first I was pretty lousy, but within a month or so I had been well trained to give a first-class blowjob and, within a year or so, I came to really enjoy getting fucked as well. Robert taught me to be grateful to him and any other man who would let me suck his dick. He impressed upon me that my destiny was serving the needs of others and thereby fulfilling myself.
I serviced Robert all through high school, until I left for college. I occasionally serviced a couple of his friends when we went to horseshows and he would introduce me as his personal cocksucker. He was friendly with me and I idolized him, but he was always very explicit that I was the queer and he wasn't. He sincerely believed that the whole purpose of queers and women were to satisfy men like him. It just seemed natural that he would call the shots sexually and that I should be ready to service him whenever he needed it. So I think this established a pattern wherein I really came to enjoy pleasing straight men. It seemed to justify my being. By the time I enrolled in college, I had no interest at all in reciprocal sex. I derived my pleasure from pleasing real men.
I discovered two of the campus' most notorious t-rooms the first week of freshman orientation. Looking back, I am surprised that I was such a good student, winning several major science awards and ultimately a fellowship to graduate school, since I spent hours and hours each week cruising the johns. I majored in biology, but I spent more hours in the campus men's rooms sucking dick than in the labs running experiments. (It's also amazing that I never got an STD of any kind.) Over the four years at college, I sucked off hundreds of guys. A few were extraordinarily beautiful, others were positively unattractive, most were somewhere in the middle, just ordinary men. I discovered a capacity for responding to men of different types and ages and races. Attitude more than anything else turned me on. I was especially interested in married men, and I was only interested in guys I thought were straight. I couldn't get a hard on for fellow queers. In fact, I spent a lot of time fending off the overtures of gays who wanted mutual sex and friendship. But in those years, before gay liberation had penetrated to the South, I just could not respond. I did become friends with a couple of other compulsive cocksuckers, but I had no desire for them. I got my own orgasms by masturbating as I sucked off straight guys or when I fell asleep at night, reviewing the cocks I had blown during the day.
During those years, I sucked off most of the men I serviced in the johns of the buildings in the main quadrangle. After establishing contact by signalling with feet or peeking through holes or passing notes under the wall separating the stalls, they would stick their cocks under the partition or we would arrange to meet in a quieter john on campus where we could get into the same stall. In these johns, I would sit on the toilet and the guy would stand before me as I sucked his dick. Or he would bend me over the toilet and screw me in my ass. Occasionally, I would suck off a guy in his dorm, or go for a ride and do him in his car. In my senior year, I shared an apartment off campus, and I could occasionally bring guys home.
I cruised all hours of the day and night. It's amazing how many guys wanted blow jobs first thing in the morning or between classes. The campus was a hotbed of horniness and I was always hungry. I wasted hour after hour sitting on toilets hoping that some guy would shove a dick down my throat. And then suddenly, one of those moments of joy would materialize in the form of a man with a boner for me. The following are some incidents that I remember particularly well. Why these? I'm not sure. The guys who haunt my memory are not necessarily the handomest or hottest or nicest guys I serviced, but for some reason they impressed themselves indelibly on me. These are the guys I think about when I look back on my career as college cocksucker.
THE FOOTBALL PLAYER
The very first dick I sucked during the week of freshman orientation belonged to a guy who stuck it under the partition in the john in the basement of the business adminstration building, the most popular john on campus. We exchanged notes on toilet paper. In response to my standard queries--"Age? Size? What do you like?"--he wrote, "20, 7 1/2", Eat Me!" and I answered, "Stick it under." He did so and I knelt on the floor and stroked his brown and sleek lower body with my hands and worshipped it with my eyes. His dick mesmerized me. Uncircumcized with a lot of skin pulled tightly over the head, it gave off an aura of power as it grew from a 4-inch semi-soft penis to a 7-inch whopper that throbbed before my eyes. The dick was very pale--almost white--with prominent bluish veins. It was like a piece of marble, hard and white and smooth, with an angry red head just peeking out of the white skin. His legs were hairy, and so was his scrotum, which hung heavy with big balls. I remember making the effort to memorize the beautiful image before me, knowing somehow that this was very special, something I did not want to forget. I noticed that the guy had powerful thighs; and his legs were darker than his dick. He had a red surgical scar around his knee-cap.
Intoxicated by the sight and smell of the body before me, I bent my head and took the powerful dick in my mouth. It had a wonderful musky taste. I deepthroated him and then licked his balls and then returned to nurse the beautiful head. I gently slipped my tongue under his foreskin. I could have sucked for an hour, but he was horny and began bucking into my mouth, establishing a rhythm that I sustained. He shot a big load. I can remember savoring its spicy sweetness and feeling a kind of transcendence. I was literally faint with desire. That dick was so beautiful, and I felt so happy being able to help the horny guy out.
When he left I saw him through the crack in the door. He was a solid, rawboned, rough, rather short, powerfully built guy dressed in a western shirt and stiff bluejeans. His face was plain, but he exuded masculinity. I recognized him as a varsity football player, a tackle or guard, and he was in my (very large) freshman American history class. All semester I tried to sit next to him in class and to engage him in conversation, but he ignored me. I don't know whether he knew that I was the one who had blown him, but in any event I never got to suck him again, and I never again saw him in the johns. Yet, as my first dick on campus, he occupied a prominent place in my fantasy life all through college.
THE ELEGANT CUBAN
Another guy I remember very distinctly was a classically handsome Cuban--really beautiful in every respect, elegant and aristocratic and thoroughly manly. Wonderful brown skin, perfect facial features, jet black hair, dazzling white teeth, trim body. He had a perfectly straight, cigar-shaped uncut dick of about 7 inches. I sucked him fairly often during my first two years, at least once a week during the regular terms, though sometimes several times a week. Then he graduated.
I met him in the same john I met the football player, and we also connected through an exchange of notes, in which he indicated that he wanted "To fuck or get sucked"; but we agreed to meet in another, quieter john, which established a pattern we observed for the next two years. We would see each other in the cruisy john and go to a quieter one. When he recognized me he would just move his head in a certain way, and I would trot off to our safe john and await his arrival.
I remember how he fed me his dick that first time as I sat on the toilet. I wanted to be on my knees, as a gesture of gratitude and humility, but there was no room in the cramped cubicle. I looked up into his dark brown chocolate eyes as my mouth was stuffed with his tasty prick and thought how beautiful he was and how grateful I was to have the opportunity of sucking him, and silently vowed to do my best to please him. He put his hand behind my head and established a back-and-forth rhythm. Meanwhile, my hands were rubbing his balls and his butt and feeling his smooth, flat belly. Afraid that he would come too soon, I moved my mouth from his brown dick to his balls, which were draped with fine, black pubic hair. He did not know what I wanted when I asked him to turn around. I think he was afraid that I wanted to fuck him. I finally whispered, "Can I lick your ass?" With some reluctance, he turned around and bent over.
This was something new to him, I think. I must have been the first cocksucker to really worship his ass. It was beautifully shaped, as elegant as the rest of him. It was very hairy, with just a hint of sweat and musk. I slowly licked out his crack, circling around the anus itself, and then lapped hungrily at the hole. He could take my tongue in his ass for only a few minutes, it excited him so. He quickly turned around and fed me his thick, copious cum.
"You can suck me tomorrow," he said, in a very slight Cuban accent, as he buttoned up, "Meet me in Himes at 11:30." I had to cut a class, but I was in Himes at 11:30 the next day. So was he.
He may have been initially surprised by my wanting to suck his ass, but that is what he came to love most, and he came to expect it as a matter of course, sometimes before I had even mouthed his prick. He would bend over and thrust his buns in my face. I would spread his cheeks with my hands and root around with my tongue and nose in his ass, eating out the hole and licking the thick hair that surrounded it, trying to lose myself in his warm funkiness. He would sometimes reach around and clasp my head with his hand, jamming my head as deeply into his ass as it would go, trying to smother me in his butt. I never felt so content as when I was frantically licking and sucking his hole, stuffing my tongue up his velvet-skinned butt. Although he had indicated on his initial note to me that he wanted to fuck, he never asked to fuck me. He always wanted his dick and ass eaten.
Like most of the guys I sucked, I had no relationship with him outside the johns, which was another world for most of these guys, rigidly separated from their real worlds. I would see him occasionally walking with his friends on campus. He would resolutely ignore me, and I knew better than to speak to him.
MACHO MAN
There was another Cuban that I sucked a lot in my last two years. A very macho guy, big but not muscular. He was one of the horniest people I ever knew. He always had a hard on. He seemed perpetually in need of a blowjob. One semester he and I both had a class in the same building (not together) at 8:30 in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We fell into a routine of meeting in a john in a neighboring building every morning before class that semester and I would suck him off first thing in the morning, then go to class with dickbreath and with the satisfaction of having helped him out. It was a fine way to begin the day for both of us.
But I sucked this guy many other times as well, sometimes even two or three times a day. He seldom went into the stalls, he would flop his big dick out as he stood at the urinal and wait for a cocksucker to bite. He was as obsessed with getting his dick sucked as I was with sucking dick. So we made a great duo, fitting together like lock and key.
Unlike the other Cuban, he was not very good looking and there was nothing elegant about him. In fact, he was gross in some ways. He had a very heavy beard, and he did not shave every day, so he also seemed a little sinister. His body, including his back, was covered with thick hair. He was something of a slob and sweated too much, and his underwear was usually stained, front and rear. I sometimes got tired of sucking him, especially if he had already come twice that day. Even his cut dick was almost too big. It was a fleshy sausage of a thing. It must have been about six inches when soft and it swelled to 8 or 9 inches when hard. His cum was thin and also notably bitter, almost like acid.
Yet I found him very magnetic. I loved the perversity of getting on my knees to him. He would rub his big dick all over my face, muttering "suck, suck, suck" and then spout a litany in Spanish. He liked to fuck my face, holding on to my ears to steady my head. He expressed no desire to fuck me, and, unlike the other Cuban, he had no interest in having his ass licked. He didn't even like me playing with his ass while I sucked him. Considering that personal hygiene was not his strong suit, that was probably just as well. But had he wanted my tongue up his ass, I wouldn't have hesitated, so obsessed was I with providing good service.
The GEEK AND THE GOODLOOKER
I had a fixation on another guy who by any rational standard was quite unattractive. This guy was pudgy, wore glasses, was losing his hair prematurely, his body was a little "soft," he looked like a geek, had a distinct body odor, sported a plastic pencil holder in his shirt, and dressed atrociously. Yet somehow he excited me greatly.
Perhaps it was because I knew he was married to a girl from my area of the state. One morning in the student union, as I was taking a break from my job as busboy, I saw their picture in the society page of the local newspaper. I was painfully conscious of the fact that my family was terribly poor and the girl he married was from one of the wealthiest families in the state, and the knowledge that I was sucking her husband may have contributed to my fixation on him. I wondered a lot about his marriage, especially since his wife was not only rich but also a great beauty. I sucked him off so often, I wondered how much he had left for her.
But my excitement for him was also due to the fact that he had an air of sexual confidence that counteracted his unattractive appearance. He just knew that a cocksucker would be entranced by his big, floppy sausage. It was one of those dicks that never seem to get completely hard, but that are wonderfully pleasant to nurse on, and then suddenly turns to steel as it shoots out an unexpected load. Whenever this guy saw me sitting on a toilet in Allen Hall, the English department building whose marble palace of a john featured a long row of urinals in front of a long row of stalls whose doors had been removed, he knew I was there for only one purpose, to eat dick. He would just walk up and stick his prick in my mouth. He knew that I would never say no to it.
He was friends with another married guy that I also sucked fairly often and on a couple of occasions I sucked them together. The other guy was tall and goodlooking, with a dark complexion and a military bearing. He was usually very well dressed, wearing at least a white shirt and tie. In some ways, he was the antithesis of the geek, yet the two of them seemed to be close friends.
On one occasion, I remember them coming into the Allen Hall john together. They were in the midst of a conversation as they went to the urinal and took a leak. I was sitting on the toilet in a doorless stall. After pissing, the tall, dark-complexioned guy walked over to me, holding out his prick. I dutifully fell to my knees and began mouthing his dark, mushroom-headed dick. The other guy went to one of the mirrors and combed his hair. As I was sucking, the two of them continued talking about going out to a movie with their wives on Saturday night.
When the dark complexioned guy shot his slightly bitter load, I swallowed it down, and looked up to see the other guy with his dick out. After I took his cock into my mouth and it had swelled to full erection, the nerdy guy turned around, telling me to "Eat my ass." As they casually continued their conversation, I sucked and licked as directed. I remember the geeky guy telling the goodlooking guy that I was a very talented asslicker and he ought to make sure I sucked out his asshole. (The goodlooking guy was in a hurry to get to a class then, but during a later encounter he had me clean out his ass good and subsequently came to expect asslicking automatically.) The geeky guy finally shot his load in my mouth. He patted my head after he came, a regular practice of his that I liked, but could never figure out whether it was intended as a gesture of affection or of dismissal. I kissed the hand that patted my head.
THE CAJUN
I also remember a goodlooking Cajun who saw me peeping at him as I sat on the toilet and he stood at the urinal in the same john. I don't think he was actually cruising himself, but he noticed my interest. He came over to me and asked, "Do you suck cock?" I nodded, and he said "Meet me in the next building and I'll feed you. But don't follow too closely. I don't want to be seen with a fruit." Turned out he was really terrific. He knew how to make a cocksucker work for his supper. I sucked him fairly often. He never cruised the johns himself, but occasionally we would run into each other on campus, then one time he asked for my telephone number and for the rest of his senior (my junior) year he would call me when he was horny and arrange to meet at a particular time in a quiet, second floor men's room in an out-of-the way building.
There was an edge to him. He once said, "I think you're pretty sick to want to suck dick, and even sicker to eat assholes. I can't for the life of me see what the fuck you could get out of it. But if you're sick enough to do it, I'll be happy to take advantage of your depravity." On another occasion, he asked why I liked to lick his ass. I acknowledged that part of the impulse was masochistic, but also tried to compare it with what he might enjoy, so I suggested that it was similar to cunnilingus, that it fulfilled the same need. He found the suggestion deeply offensive. "Only a sick motherfucking faggot would compare pussy eating and asslicking," he roared. "Eating a clean pussy is healthy. Only a sick-o fruit like you would eat out an asshole," he said, not altogether facetiously.
His dick was not terribly long, but it was dark and thick and hard and cut. It oozed a lot of pre-cum from its large head. He liked to use his dick as a kind of weapon, stabbing me with it. He also liked his balls and dark, hairy ass sucked and he delighted in giving orders and in trashtalking. He would occasionally ram his dick up my ass, but that was rare since I usually serviced him in cramped johns. Once, however, he took me to his dorm room. He really put me through my paces then, calling me "cocksucker" and "asslicker" and "faggot." He lay on his bed and I knelt by the side with his dick in my mouth. While I sucked him, he swatted my ass and then started fingering my "pussy," as he referred to my asshole. He finally fucked me with great brutality. Then he held me closely, expressing some unexpected but welcome tenderness. He even kissed my forehead. I responded intensely to his unpretentious and natural assumption of superiority.
I once saw him at a formal party that I worked in the Union. He was handsome as hell, dressed in a tux, and he had a beautiful young woman on his arm. As I went around with a tray of hors d'ouevres, he winked at me, perhaps enjoying the absurdity of the situation and acknowledging our secret relationship.
THE HAPPY FELLA
I also remember a very relaxed, goodnatured, completely laid back married guy that I sucked fairly often. He was very different from the Cajun. He was stocky and dark-haired and genial, with a very shiny wedding band. He smelled of Old Spice after shave lotion. His dick was about 6 inches. It had been cut, but there was some skin left. It got very hard, and he liked to thrust it down my throat, but he was gentle and polite. After he came, he would always say, "Thanks. You do a great job!" He was nice-looking without being truly handsome. There was something pleasant and happy go lucky about him that was very appealing. I was always happy to suck him.
He was someone I thought I probably could get to know outside the johns, but it never developed. When I saw him around campus, he would--unlike most of the guys I serviced--speak and smile, and sometimes he would ask, "Are you hungry? I'm kinda horny," and off we would go in search of a quiet john where I could take the starch out of his dick. I'm not sure of this, but I somehow got the impression that his wife remained in their hometown in the northern part of the state and that he only saw her on alternate weekends. If so, that probably explains his perpetual horniness. In my junior year, I probably got more cum from him than his wife did. He was a genuinely nice guy.
THE BODY BUILDER
There was also a really handsome guy with an incredibly muscular physique and a big rock-hard dick that I sucked several times at night outdoors in a Greek Theatre that was built into a hillside. I met him one night as I was walking through the theatre on a shortcut to a diner where I was working at the time. I almost stumbled over him as he lay on the ground. I noticed that he had a big lump in his pants, so, glancing meaningfully at his crotch, I asked if he needed any help? He said, almost under his breath, "Are you offering me a blow job?" When I answered yes, he pulled his big prick out of his pants and said, "Hop to it."
His name was Doug and he came from a suburb of New Orleans. He did not cruise the johns, but we rendezvoused several times in the Greek Theatre. He smelled wonderful, the odor of sandalwood, and it was a pleasure to revel in his gorgeous, almost hairless, silky- smooth body. His dick was straight and over-sized, with a large head and a big piss-hole. He was proud of his extraordinary body, and he enjoyed the body worship. But I had the feeling that he was deeply unhappy about something. As we lay together under the stars on warm nights, he would talk about his father as I licked his entire body. I could never understand enough of the rap about his father to know exactly what the problem was. Finally, after I had tongued and nosed all around, he would pull me between his legs and place my mouth on his dick and rhythmically rock my head up and down until he came, at which point he would jam his long cock down my throat. His cum had a distinctive walnutty taste.
MIDNIGHT CALLER
During my senior year, when I shared an apartment off-campus, I met a tall, skinny blond guy named Jerry. He was very pale, with smooth and creamy skin and bright blue eyes. I met him in a john and I would often do him on campus, but he also would sometimes call up at midnight wanting to know if he could come by for a blow job. I never told him no. Although I was poor as a mouse, and could not afford to drink myself, I began buying six-packs of his favorite beer so there would be something for him to drink when he came over. When he entered my bedroom, he would begin unfastening his pants. When he had taken them off, he would nearly always say, "Shit, I'm as horny as an armidillo. Get to sucking, man."
Jerry had a long, thin, cut dick, and strawberry blond pubic hair. He liked to fuck me in both my mouth and my ass and to sit on my face, really grinding his skinny butt in my nose and mouth.
One time he brought a friend who was visiting him from New Orleans. One of them fucked me while I sucked the other. Then they switched. The friend was Jerry's opposite in appearance, being short, dark and hairy, with a big dick and heavy balls. They made a handsome couple, and I wondered if they might really be attracted to each other but could only have sex with each other by using me. But maybe they were just good friends.
Jerry had a kinky streak. He whipped my ass with a belt once and pissed in my mouth once. His long dick really got hard as he used his belt on my ass. He was sitting on the couch in my living room. I was kneeling between his legs, and he swung the belt with his right hand while he used his left hand to guide my head up and down on his dick. I noticed the correlation between his whipping and his erection and realized that the whipping really turned him on. He finally held my head down and spurted a big load into my mouth.
The time he pissed in my mouth was one night when he was drunk before he even called and proceeded to drink several beers as I sucked him. He said, "I gotta get rid of this beer before I can come. Watch out!" and proceeded to let go. It was weak piss, with a sweet taste, and I guzzled it down. I enjoyed these experiences because they gave Jerry pleasure, but he never repeated them and I consequently never really developed a taste for either drinking piss or getting whipped, and no one else I knew during those years was into such fetishes.
I often saw Jerry around campus with his girlfriend and with other guys; he never spoke. He was very popular and a member (maybe even president) of a fraternity. I think he was also involved in student government. He lived in a very different world from me. But he had needs that only a cocksucker like me could meet, and I was grateful for his midnight visits.
TINY DICK
There was another guy whom I remember vividly, a little older than most students. So he must have been a grad student or an administrator of some kind. He always wore a tie. He was very good looking with an open Irish face, sandy blond hair, green eyes, and gleaming white teeth. He was married, as his wedding ring attested. His dick was tiny (really tiny), and I wondered whether he could satisfy his wife. It was only about an inch soft and about two inches hard. He had a beautiful fleshy ass that I loved to suck. The buns were alabaster white, with only a few wisps of ginger hair in the crack, and the purplish hole itself was small and perfectly formed and eminently lickable, smooth as velvet and pliant to the tongue. I loved to lap his hole and to stick my tongue up it. He was always scrupulously clean, but he had a distinctive odor that I liked to take in with deep breaths as I buried my face in his buns.
I did him often my last two years and it was always great. I treated his small dick with all the respect and awe that I would accord a big one. And anyway, I loved sucking his ass so much I probably would have serviced him even if he had no dick at all. But I suspect size queens or women may have turned him down or made fun of him because of his tiny meat, so I think he was happy that I was so genuinely enthusiastic about servicing him and so respectful of his equipment. I would hold his dick in my mouth for a long time after he shot, carefully nursing out any seepings, and then blow it dry and kiss its head before returning it to his boxer shorts.
One day around noon I passed him as I hurried to a classroom building to take a three-hour exam. He stopped and asked if I could come to his place and suck him off. His wife would be away until 3:00 p.m. Inasmuch as I had previously only done him in johns, this would have been great. But, alas, I had the exam to take and told him I couldn't. I never saw him again. I regret not saying to hell with the exam!
COUNTRY BOY
I also remember a lanky kid with a country accent. He must have been a freshman when I was a senior. He was good looking in a hick kind of way, with regular features, dark eyes, brown hair, freckled face. He came up to me in the halls of a classroom building at a time when I was definitely not cruising and, out of the blue, asked, "Do you suck?" He made no effort to keep his voice down. He must have noticed me cruising the johns on another occasion, so maybe this was not as bold as it seemed at the time. But such openness violated the entire code of anonymity on which the john culture thrived. He must have been really horny. I was a little startled, but quickly gulped, "Yes." He said, "Follow me" and led me to a quiet john where I sat on the toilet and swallowed his proffered dick.
He was desperate for a blow job. His standard six-incher shot off a heavy load in about ten seconds. But when I started to pull away, he said, "Keep sucking" and proceeded to get hard again. This time he fucked my face for about five minutes before shooting another sweet and ample load.
I saw this guy a couple of times more before I graduated. He told me that he had never been sucked until he started college, but, knowing that blow jobs were so readily available, he didn't like to jack off now. That may explain why he always had such heavy loads. was gentle and polite. After he came, he would always say,
"College Cocksucker"
Part Two
During the week, I sucked cock on campus, but during the weekends I would often go into town and cruise an area near the old state capitol building, where there were two bus stations and a train station, all of which had cruisy johns, as did a couple of hotels located in the area. One street was particularly notorious as a place to make assignations. Guys looking for cocksuckers would either drive their cars slowly down the street, or would park and wait for the cocksuckers to come up to the car and make contact with them.
GOLDEN BOY
I remember one hot night during my senior year walking up to this shiny red corvette parked there. The driver was as sleek and beautiful as the car. He was a very handsome preppy type, a freshman at the university, but one whom I had never seen in the johns on campus. I said, "How's it going," and he replied, a little nervously, but with authority, "I need a blow job. Do you suck?" He made it very emphatic that "I'm not that way myself" and that he was interested in a completely one-way transaction. Dazzlingly good-looking, he had a natural, perfectly unselfconscious arrogance about him, but seemed inexperienced with the scene. I got in and as he drove away I groped him and played with his dick. "You're really asking for it, aren't you?" he said. Hanging from the rear-view mirror was a woman's garter, perhaps a trophy or a memento from a girlfriend.
He finally pulled over near a pedestrian bridge that spanned a busy highway. He said the bridge would be a good place to get blown because you could see if anyone approached. So we mounted the bridge, he leading the way. Although I was three years older and a couple of inches taller, he was clearly in charge. When he found what he thought was a safe spot, he unbuttoned his cutoffs and pulled them and his sparkling white jockey shorts down. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me to my knees. I eagerly took his pretty, rock-hard 7" dick in my mouth and started sucking. His crotch emitted a heavenly odor, musk and nervous sweat over a mildly scented soap.
He was so goodlooking, and his skin so smooth and firm, I wanted to do an excellent job for him. I deepthroated him and he bucked into my mouth for about five minutes. I captured his balls in my mouth and sucked them good. "Nice," he said. Then I asked him, "Can I lick your ass?" He seemed a little startled by the request, but turned around to present me with his perfectly shaped melon butt. There were only a few strands of brown hair surrounding his luscious hole. I licked his crack and burrowed into his deeply recessed hole with my tongue, enjoying the sweaty taste and intoxicating aroma. He almost went crazy. He bucked back in my face and reached his hands behind him to try to spread his buns even further apart, so I could stuff my tongue further into his hole. He exclaimed, "Wow! That's good. Really good." Apparently, he'd never been rimmed before.
But, luckily, in the midst of all this heavy breathing, he noticed that a police car had pulled up and two young cops were mounting the steps to the bridge. I jumped up from my knees. We quickly got ourselves together, he pulling up his cutoffs and tucking in his shirt, me trying to dust off the dirt on the knees of my pants and to wipe off the sweat and spit on my face that had been buried in the young man's buns. I almost panicked but he handled the whole thing with great aplomp. He told the cops he just wanted to see the view from the bridge. He clearly was used to dealing with people from a position of authority. He gave off a kind of imperious confidence. As the cops left, they were calling him "Yes, sir" and apologizing for any inconvenience. They just ignored me. I wonder if they suspected what was going on?
He hadn't got off and he was still horny. He lived in a frat house on campus, so we couldn't go there. And for some reason we couldn't go to my place--maybe my roommate was home. But the dazzling freshman was so turned on by the sucking, and especially the ass licking, that he decided to rent a motel room. I told him I would do anything he liked.
I loved expressing my subservience to this golden boy. I was a senior, he was a freshman; I was 21, he was probably 18; but we came from very different backgrounds. He was from a very wealthy family and knew how to give orders to servants and others. In contrast, I came from a very poor family and was struggling via scholarships and menial jobs to get through college. Somehow, I found those contrasts very erotic, and it just seemed perfectly appropriate to both of us that I should be the golden boy's slave.
In the motel room he sprawled naked on the bed and I worshipped his body. I spent about four hours sucking him in every possible position. He surrendered his tanned, well developed, athletic body to my tongue. I really ate out his gorgeous ass and licked his white buns. He sat on my face and had me tongue-fuck his ass. Then he'd lie on his stomach, and I would get between his legs and lick his buns and asshole. Then he'd turn over and I'd suck his cock. After coming twice in my mouth, he finally decided he wanted to fuck me. We had no lubricant, so he sent me out to buy a tube of k-y jelly. When I returned, he gave me a really vigorous fucking. I felt completely fulfilled, even if my tongue and asshole were sore. It was a great evening.
A couple of weeks later, just as the semester was nearly over and I was preparing to leave for good, I ran into him on campus. We were both on the way to the library. Neither of us was cruising at the time. But when he saw me, he looked around to see that no one he knew was in the vicinity, and said, "Meet me in the upstairs john in 5 minutes." I did as he told me. I was sitting on the john waiting for him as he came in sporting a hardon. I sank to my knees as he stuck his pretty dick in my mouth and placed his hands on the back of my head. After shooting one load, he turned around and stuck his ass in my face. "Lick it," he ordered, and my tongue went to work. "Clean out my ass for me," he said, as I smothered myself in his perfectly clean, preppy butt. He shot another load before we parted. I said, "Thank you" and he ruffled my hair. It was the last time I saw him.
THE MIDGET
In the same downtown cruising area, I met a midget. He must have been about 40 and about 4-feet tall with dark red hair and a bushy mustache. He was hefty and his hips were large. He drove a big car, maybe a cadillac or pontiac, and smoked a big cigar. I went up to the parked car. He said, "I'm looking for a queer. Do I have the right party?" A little startled by his use of the word "queer," which in those days spelled utter contempt, I nevertheless said, "Sure." I got into the car and reached over to his lap. His pants were unbuttoned and his big, juicy, uncut dick was exposed. I played with it as he drove back to my place. "You like big dicks, don't you?" he observed.
We went into my bedroom, where I got on my knees in front of a floor-length mirror and began to worship his big piece of meat. It was cut and about 7 inches long. It would have been large on anyone, but on him it looked enormous, it was so out of proportion to the rest of his body. He was so short that even on my knees I was taller than he was and I had to bend over to take his dick in my mouth. He really loved it. He especially enjoyed watching himself in the mirror as he dominated me with his prick.
He put me through my paces. He made me lick his feet and suck his balls. He would fuck me for a while, then take it out of my ass, and make me go down on it again, all the while puffing away on his cigar. He talked about his having wanted to find a queer for a long time. He said "Yeah, my buddy was right. He told me that faggots are better cocksuckers than broads any day." But I suspect what he liked even more than the cocksucking itself was my submissiveness to him. He wound up shooting a big load on my face. I remember spreading the cum all around my face with my hands before I rose to my feet and went to the bathroom to wash it off. I brought back a wet soapy washcloth and lovingly cleaned up the midget's private parts.
I really enjoyed it. I don't know why I never saw him again. But I suspect that the whole encounter may have been a kind of aberration for him. I think he may have been a little embarrassed by his own dominant streak and by the perversity of the situation. I would have sucked him whenever he wanted it.
THE ALOOF MAN
Another guy I met in that area I sucked off pretty regularly, perhaps once a month. He was a man in his thirties, with thick, slicked back dirty blond hair. He resembled James Dean in his build and coloration. Although he was slightly built, he exuded a sense of danger somehow. He seemed like a tightly coiled spring. I had the impression that he lived in a small town about 50 or more miles away and would drive in on the weekend for a blow job. He wore a wedding band.
I originally met him in the bus station john, where he stood at the urinal and exposed his skinny 7-inch cut dick. But most often I would meet him in his parked car. As soon as he saw me approaching, he would unlock the car door and unzip his pants. After I got in the car and he had muttered a greeting, he would drive off in search of a secluded place. I would sometimes attempt a conversation, but he would have none of it. I guess he didn't want to waste time hearing a cocksucker talk.
After a minute or so, he would grab my head and pull it down to his dick and I would nurse on it as he drove. I remember loving the whiff I got of his body odor and the fleshy smoothness of his prick as it slowly hardened in my mouth. He would finally park, push back the carseat, and then get down to some serious face fucking. He would say things like, "Eat it, dicklover. That's it, take it all the way down your motherfucking throat, you bitch." When he shot, he'd say "Don't waste a drop. Swallow it all." Then, with great deliberation, he would remove my mouth from his dick, carefully wipe off his dick with a white handkerchief, button up his pants, return the carseat to its original position, put the car in gear, and drive back to where he had picked me up, saying not a word. When we had gotten back to where we had met, he would reach over and open the door on my side of the car and say, "Get out."
He was downright unfriendly, but somehow his aloofness and taciturnity turned me on, and whenever I saw his car parked on the street, I would eagerly head right on over to it.
DIVORCED MAN
Another guy I saw several times was one I nicknamed "Divorced man." I'm not sure why, but I had the impression that he had just left his wife. He lived in a small apartment in a big house near the bus station. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with thinning dark hair, but very handsome in a hyper-masculine way. He gave off the aura of an injured man, which may be why he always seemed potentially dangerous and violent to me, which paradoxically only increased his attraction in my eyes.
I met him in a hotel john, where he was sporting a big hard-on as he stood close to the urinal. When I licked my lips, he gave me a clearer view of his fat dick. It must have been about 7 inches long, and very thick and dark. "I'm not interested in any fag romancing, just in cornholing," he said bluntly. "Can you take this up your ass?" When I assured him that I could, we left for his place.
He discouraged conversation as we walked along, answering my questions with grunts. When we got to his place, we immediately went into the tiny bedroom. I fell to my knees and took his dick out of his pants and went down on him. But he pulled me up, saying, "I don't want to get sucked, I want to fuck." We took off our clothes and got into his single bed. He had me oil up my ass and sit on his dick. It was quite a struggle getting the thick dick up my ass. But as soon as I was comfortable with it, he decided that he did not like looking at my dick, so he made me get off and remount him with my back facing him. After readjusting to the beercan-sized dick in my ass, I bounced up and down, really enjoying myself. After he shot off up my ass, he made me dismount and clean his dick with my mouth. "Don't you think you should lick my cock clean?" he asked, as I felt his spent prick ooze out of my hole, but the edge to his voice indicated that it was not a question.
On subsequent meetings, once after picking him up in the bus station john and once in a hotel john, I got in some more extensive dick sucking, but he always wound up having me fuck myself on his big dick. He called me "bitch" and "girlie" and liked to redden my ass with open-handed slaps. Since I am not effeminate, these terms surprised me. But compared to him almost anyone appeared effeminate, and maybe it was necessary for him to think of queers as girlish, or maybe it was just a way to humiliate me. In any case, he really turned me on, but I was a little frightened of him. He is someone whom I knew it would be dangerous to cross in any way. I also felt that he was badly hurt and saddened by something, probably a divorce or some other traumatic experience.
THE THAI GUY
Another memorable encounter was with a Thai man, probably in his early or mid-twenties. He was actually quite unattractive. He was a short, thin, dark brown (almost black) young man, with a kind of squashed-up monkey face. I probably would not have been at all interested except that when I encountered him in the hotel john, he made it perfectly clear that he expected me to bend over for him. "I fuck, you suck," he said in broken but pointed English.
We went to his room in the hotel. He had a six-inch dick, uncut, with a big head. Although his face was unattractive, his smooth brown body was hard and compact, with satin skin that was wonderful to run my hands over. It turned out that he was absolutely magic in bed, self-assured and naturally dominant. His cock was wonderful to suck, silky and potent. As he lay on the bed with his arms behind his head, he said, "Suck." I began giving him head. I slipped my tongue under his foreskin and savored the spicy juices there. Then I felt his hands on my head, demanding that I deepthroat him. He really knew how to jam the cock down my throat.
He then sat on my face, rubbing his boyishly skinny ass all over my face, leaving a trail of spit on my face, but returning to place his dark, hairless hole right over my tongue. "Suck," he barked. I forced several inches of tongue up his ass.
He then climbed off my face and raised my legs over my shoulders and proceeded to fuck me better than I have ever been fucked before or since. I think it must have been something in his rhythm and in the relentlessness of his strokes. He fucked for a very long time, in several different positions, side to side, the missionary position, his riding my back, etc., and my ass responded more fully to a fucking than it ever had before or since. I bucked back, meeting his thrusts with my own. We both emitted loud sighs and "ahs" as we thrust at each other. I wound up shooting a load simply from being fucked, something that has never happened to me any other time. When he pulled out of me, I eagerly sucked his shriveling dick clean, wanting to pay him homage for having made me respond so fully. "Good suck, good fuck," he said.
I started out very unenthusiastic about this encounter, but ended it absolutely enthralled. I felt well and truly fucked. Unfortunately, I never saw him again. I think he must have been in town on business.
THE PROFESSOR
Another guy I only saw once, but whom I still remember was "The Professor." He was a professor from Kansas (I think) in town for a conference. I met him downtown, in a hotel john, where he showed a big dick as he stood next to me at a trough urinal. When he saw me eyeing it, he asked "Are you a cocksucker?" When I nodded, he said, "Then I guess you'll like this," as he gave me a more complete view. "Do you like to suck a long time?" he wanted to know. "I mean several hours," he added. When I said yes, he said "Let's see how good you are." I knelt by the urinal and went down on him. Apparently I passed his test, for he pulled me up from my knees, and said, "Let's go to my room."
We took a cab to the campus, where he was staying in a conference center dorm. He was a tall, lanky guy, probably in his mid to late 40s. He had a salt-and-pepper beard and was balding on top and had thick bushy eyebrows. His body was tough and wiry and he was very virile. His dick was both thick and long. And he had remarkable staying power. I sucked him for over 2 hours.
He was married, and normally did not fuck around with men, he said, but on trips he liked to find a longwinded cocksucker to really do a good job on his peter. He told me about a cocksucker he met in New York at Rockefeller Center who could suck for hours. The New York cocksucker was apparently the best he had ever had and he implied that my performance would be measured against his.
He lay down on his bed, and I got between his legs. As I started to suck him, I began to masturbate myself. When he noticed that I was playing with my cock, he sat up and forcefully knocked my hands away. He said, "You're here to suck, not to jerk off. Pay attention to my cock not yours."
He had no interest in fucking or in getting rimmed, emphatically discouraging my attempts to lick his balls or to nose beneath them. "Stay on the dick," he said. He just wanted his dick sucked for a long time. He would occasionally say something like "Ah, that feels good. That's the way. Suck it!" but mostly he was silent, wrapped up in the pleasure of receiving a blow job just the way he wanted it. By the time he shot, my jaw was aching, but I was happy to oblige him. As I was leaving, he said, "Here's a tip," and slipped a $5.00 bill in my hand. I was unsure whether he intended the tip as a compliment or an insult. Now I think he meant it as a token of appreciation for a job well done, though clearly he thought of cocksuckers as simply a cheaper kind of whore.
I doubt that these are memories that the Alumni magazine would be interested in publishing, but the secret society of the johns was an important part of the college experience for a lot of us, either as "college cocksuckers" or as the larger group of horny guys who needed blow jobs. Admittedly, my career as college cocksucker was extreme. I had almost no social life, between my jobs, my studying, and my compulsive cocksucking. Yet I was not unhappy, and I regret nothing.
Interestingly, my obsession with cocksucking subsided almost immediately upon graduation, only to periodically resurface since then. I developed better social skills, made friends, succeeded in my career, even found a lover, yet I remember the guys I serviced in college with great fondness. I like to think that I helped make them happy. I am grateful to them for providing me bright moments of joy. I wonder if any of them will be attending the reunion this year.