Dorm Shower Lover

Hello All,

After a long delay, here is the fifth part of my story.

As always, please send me any comments you may have. I love to hear from guys who have read my stuff. My e-mail address is eckhardt@injersey.com.

Please note that this story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental. It is intended for adults who are not offended by descriptions of male/male sexuality. Do not read it if you are under legal age in your area or if you are offended by such material.

You are free to copy this story for your own use, but please do not modify it in any way or republish it in any forum. Thank you.

Dorm Shower Lover By Greg Eckhardt

Chapter 5

Life was looking good. My classes were going well. My social life was going well. I had even succeeded in putting Jeff behind me (for the most part). If I didn't exactly have a boyfriend in his place, then at least I had a more realistic prospect of one. Yes, it was definitely a happy time.

I should have realized that it couldn't last. As always, Murphy bided his time with watchful patience, preparing to wreak his havoc at just the right, or wrong, moment. Duped into unwarranted confidence by the seemingly auspicious nature of my circumstances, I carried on in blissful ignorance. How was I to know of the dark plans that my old nemesis had in store for me?

After the assignation with Mitch, I had returned to the dorm in the early morning hours to find John still plugging away at his research project. He barely mumbled a greeting to me when I came in the door. Despite his preoccupation, I was tempted to make a dramatic announcement of my nascent romance. Thrilled by this unexpected development in my heretofore wretched existence, I simply had to tell someone, and he was the only person handy.

Since John did not know that I was gay, however, making such a proclamation did not seem like a wise course of action. The news would have been a double surprise to him, and probably not a pleasant one. Deciding that it was by no means the appropriate moment for an impromptu coming out scene, I bottled up my excitement and slipped quietly into bed. Naturally, I didn't sleep very well that night.

The next couple of days were delicious torture. I stayed in my room as much as possible, waiting for the phone to ring. Every bleat of the electronic tone set my heart beating with nervous anticipation. I pounced on the inflammatory appliance, like a famished feline snaring the last remaining rodent on earth. To my chagrin, three of four calls that came in were for John. The other was some anonymous woman hawking magazine subscriptions. I slammed the receiver down on that perky bitch.

Of course, much as it irked me, I had to leave the room occasionally,. I would gladly forgo food, but I couldn't, in good conscience, miss any of my classes. That was my principal reason for being here, after all.

Upon returning from any unavoidable trip into the outside world, I would immediately badger John, "Are there any messages for me?"

His usual reply was a phlegmatic, "No."

That changed Tuesday evening while I was out at my Spanish literature class. When I came back, John offhandedly informed me that Karen had called. I phoned her back right away. After the pleasantries, she started in on a detailed dissertation about the dinner with her family.

Essentially, it had been a disaster. What began in brittle politeness quickly deteriorated into outright hostility. Her father had been overbearing and her mother, manipulative. Joe had been defensive and obstinate. Karen herself had ended up shrieking at everyone in frustration. I never did learn precisely what had triggered the whole ugly incident.

Stifling the urge to blurt out my news, I tried to listen sympathetically. Karen had been mediating between her parents and her boyfriend for almost two years, but the warring factions just didn't have any common ground. I couldn't offer any constructive advice, so I murmured soothing platitudes.

Eventually, Karen ranted herself out. By now, I felt somewhat abashed to bear good tidings while she was so distraught. I hesitated to say anything, but she could sense my agitation. She pumped me persistently until at last I relented.

Rationalizing that she might derive some vicarious pleasure from my joyful news, I told her all about Mitch. There was no way I could hide my exhilaration as I described him and recounted some of our lengthy conversation. Of course, I left out the seamier details of our encounter, but I nonchalantly mentioned that we had made out in the car, without elaborating.

Karen was sincerely glad for me. Even if she didn't know the entire Jeff saga, she was certainly aware that I had been feeling depressed and lonely for a long while. She was pleased that my dating life had finally taken a turn for the better. My account seemed to boost her morale, so I felt a little less guilty. After exchanging some other trivia and reaffirming our study-date on Thursday night, we said goodbye and hung up.

Chatting with Karen put me more at ease. It was a wonderful relief simply to talk about Mitch and my burgeoning feelings for him. Thereafter, while I remained somewhat anxious, I was no longer a candidate for psychiatric intervention.

He called the next evening, when I happened to be in residence. Unfortunately, John was also present, so I had to be circumspect.

"Hello," I said, having grabbed the phone on its first ring.

"Hi, Craig?" came his mellow drawl.

"Yeah, Mitch. How are you?" My voice quavered a little, but I didn't think that it was audible enough for him to notice.

"Great. How 'bout yourself?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Glad to hear it. Listen, I had a really nice time Saturday night."

"Yeah, me too," I said softly.

"You have company?" he asked, picking up on my subdued tone.

"Yeah."

"Roommate?"

"Bingo!" I said.

"Okay, I won't keep you then. But do you want to get together again?"

"Definitely."

"Cool. How's Friday night?"

"That's fine." I'd clear my calendar for you. If I had major surgery scheduled, I'd postpone it.

"Do you want to do dinner and maybe a movie?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." We could sit around and count grains of sand, as long as I get to be with you.

"Okay, how about you meet me here at my place, and we take it from there?"

"Sounds good." I'd do anything that you said.

"Let me give you directions, then."

Mitch rattled off his address and directions to get there. His apartment was off of College Avenue in a large house that had been converted into two smaller dwellings. It was easy to find. I scratched the information down on a piece of scrap paper. When I was finished, I folded up the paper and tucked it into my wallet for safekeeping.

"What time?" I asked.

"Seven o'clock?"

"Okay."

"Well, then," Mitch said briskly. "I'll see you here on Friday at seven."

"That you will."

"Take it easy."

"You too. Bye."

"B'bye."

I set down the phone gently, fighting an impulse to pirouette around the room. John gave me an odd look but didn't say anything. I ignored him. Now that Mitch and I had a definite date set, I was less nervous and more excited. Friday couldn't get here fast enough.

I floated buoyantly through the remainder of the week. So chipper and animated was I that my companions threatened to have me institutionalized. Even I had to admit that my excessively cheerful mood was downright nauseating, but I honestly didn't care. Far too many times had I endured other people's sickening giddiness when they were in the throes of infatuation. Now it was my turn.

In my Romantic Poetry class, I spoke up more in one day than I had in all the rest of the semester combined. As a rule, I was very quiet, speaking only when queried directly. For once, I felt I could truly relate to the subject matter, so I let myself be heard many times. Gesturing theatrically, I descanted with an air of sophisticated familiarity. You would have thought that Shakespeare had composed his sonnets solely for me and that Elizabeth Barrett Browning was my most intimate confidante.

I was so exceptionally ebullient that the professor called me aside at the end of the session. Dr. Persin beckoned me up to her desk as the other students filed out noisily. Studying me closely, she asked how I was getting along in the class and how comfortable I felt with the material. Despite my usual taciturnity, I did very much enjoy the lectures, which I told her, and she knew that I had done well on the first hourly exam. There didn't seem to be any point to the private causerie, but I humored her with cordial pleasantries.

Actually, I liked Dr. Persin very much. Besides being a gifted instructor and brilliant literary critic, she was also a kindly and maternal woman who took a genuine interest in her students. It was nice to spend some time talking with her outside the context of the class.

After a few minutes she let me go, shaking her head with amused bewilderment. As I walked out of the classroom, it occurred to me that Dr. Persin had probably inferred that my aberrant behavior was the effect of some mind-altering substance. How was she to know that I was fluttering around on a natural high? I snickered to myself as I traipsed down the hallway, drawing several curious stares.

When I returned to the dorm that night, following the study session with Karen, I got a call from Brian. With little preamble, he plunged right into recounting the merry threesome's exploits in the big city. Exactly as planned, they had shopped the day away and then partied until dawn. All in all, they had enjoyed a most festive time.

Brian was particularly proud of his conquests. Throughout the course of the evening, he had flirted with scores of men at the various clubs that the troupe had visited. Two Latino boys were his ultimate prizes. On separate occasions, he had skulked off with each of them to sample their wares, a fact which he dwelled on at great length. His activities were no surprise. In my experiences with him, Brian had shown himself to be quite the libertine, which was phrasing it very politely.

Alan and Chris had spent most of the night talking and dancing together. Brian thought that there was something brewing between them, but I wasn't convinced. Although neither of them was as reserved as I was, they weren't nearly as effusively extroverted as Brian either. In all likelihood, they had simply been disinclined to pursue any of the local guys for very practical reasons of geography.

After all the fun and frolic, the three of them had crashed and recuperated at the overnight hostel. The next day, they had relaxed over a late and leisurely brunch before returning, with some reluctance, to the vast wasteland of suburban New Jersey. They'd been exhausted, but thoroughly pleased by their adventure. If it hadn't been for my own propitious happenstance, I would have been oozing envy at having missed out.

Feeling smug, I interrupted Brian's breathless narrative to give my report. Fully aware that I was playing a game of sexual one-upmanship with him, I nevertheless related every last pornographic detail of my automotive tryst with Mitch. Brian squealed gleefully. He adored gossip, the more salacious the better.

I almost regretted telling him, because I knew that it would be broadcast into the ear of every queen he could get hold of, but I just couldn't keep the news to myself any longer. No doubt taking notes for the press release he would issue later, Brian listened raptly, tossing out the occasional question to keep me gushing. I jabbered on obligingly until he must surely have felt as if he had been there in the car with us.

I wrapped up my erotic memoir by saying that Mitch and I would be getting together on Friday. That announcement elicited a "You go, girl!" cheer of encouragement from Brian. He made me promise to give him a full recap when the four of us met for our regular Saturday gathering at the Den. Only after I had sworn to do so did he allow me to hang up.

The conversation with Brian had the virtue of satisfying my compulsion to tell all, but it had only further stoked my excitement. Now I was even more impatient. If Friday didn't arrive soon, I felt sure that I would burst apart from the emotions that I held so precariously in check.

As I drove over to College Avenue, my mind eddied with random, fragmentary thoughts. The radio blared with the jarringly discordant beat of some dance mix, but my preoccupation relegated it to background noise. If anything, the music merely served to magnify my manic mood, but I was not consciously aware of it.

All week long, Friday had seemed to be several aeons away. Now here it was. Like a lioness stalking prey on the veldt, it had hidden stealthily until I strayed nearby then ambushed me with startling suddenness. As if I had not had days to plan ahead, I'd found myself at the last minute rushing around frantically to get ready. Disregarding my desperate imprecations, the clock had refused to stand still, but the final moments had telescoped just enough that I was able to make it out the door by 6:30 PM. Absently pondering this apparent contradiction, I marveled that the perception of time could be so fluid. If nothing else, the idle reverie helped the ride go more quickly.

As I had anticipated, I found Mitch's place with no difficulty. Conveniently, there was an open parking space a short distance up the block from his house. Since I was distracted, it took me several tries to complete the parallel parking maneuver. (Even under ideal circumstances, I'd never been very good at it.) Once I had the car situated, I hurried back down the street.

Mitch's apartment was on the second floor of a an aged, but well-maintained townhouse. Despite the minor delay, I still managed to present myself at his doorstep with a few minutes to spare. I let myself in the outer door, as he had instructed, and made my way up the narrow staircase to his front door. Standing there for a moment, I took a deep breath to gain a measure of composure. When I knocked, Mitch answered almost immediately.

"Hey, Craig," he welcomed me, with a show of that perfect dentition. "C'mon in."

It didn't seem possible, but he looked even better than I remembered. With that flawless complexion and those high cheekbones, Mitch definitely belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Casually but neatly dressed, he wore black jeans, a white button-down shirt and loafers. It was an outfit that suited him gorgeously, of course. Then again, he would appear princely in anything from animal skins to a burlap sack.

His attire was little different from my own jeans, rugby shirt and docksiders, but somehow I felt underdressed. Next to him, I felt downright homely. As my insecurity threatened to rear up and consume me, I had to remind myself that it was he who'd come on to me. That thought didn't much alleviate my anxiety, but it was no less a joy to see him again.

"Hi, Mitch," I replied with forcibly imposed placidity, as he ushered me inside.

A cursory inspection revealed that the modest-sized living room was lavishly furnished. Arrayed with elegant antique furniture, ornately framed photographs and sumptuous window treatments, the place looked as if it had been professionally decorated. That was unusual, to say the least. The other graduate students that I knew subsisted at the poverty line, occupying living quarters that resembled monastic cells in their austere minimalism. With an effort to keep myself from gaping, I refrained from commenting on the incongruously opulent splendor of the apartment, but it certainly was impressive.

"How're you doing?" Mitch asked affably, wrenching my attention back to him.

"Fine, thanks. And you?"

"Great. I'm glad you could make it."

"Me too."

There was a fleeting pause as his emerald eyes held mine entranced. It seemed as if he might kiss me, but to my regret the moment passed without consummation. Consoling myself, I thought of what was likely to come in the night ahead of us.

"So what are you hungry for?" he asked, broaching the heavily laden silence.

"I don't know. Whatever you want."

In truth, I was quite a finicky eater, but for Mitch I was inclined to be flexible. For him I would compel myself to feast on just about any culinary obscenity that he might see fit to inflict on me, except maybe escargot. I couldn't abide that for anyone.

"How about Italian?" he suggested.

"I love Italian," I said sincerely.

That was a relief. I was afraid he might suggest Chinese, which I categorically detested. Italian cuisine was actually my favorite.

"Great. There's a restaurant around the corner."

"Oh, yeah. That pizza place behind the student center, right?"

"Yeah, but they have other things too," he said, a touch defensively.

"No, that's fine. I like that place." On the assumption that we were going Dutch, it was also in my price range: dirt cheap.

"Good, 'cause it's also in walking distance."

"Okay, let's go."

Mitch grabbed his jacket and we shuffled out the door. The eatery, which really was little more than a glorified pizzeria, was only a few blocks over. Adopting a leisurely pace and chitchatting along the way, we made it there in a few minutes.

As we entered, Mitch informed the fellow behind the counter that we would be eating in. We were directed to seat ourselves in the adjacent dining room. Aside from the staff, the establishment was deserted, so we had our choice. I pointed to a table in the back corner, which we promptly claimed. Perusing the menus, which had been perched behind the condiments, we quickly made our selections. A few minutes later, the server came over and we gave our orders.

We scarcely had time to settle ourselves before the food arrived. Although they were hardly gourmet in presentation, the entrees did boast extremely generous portions. Based on the pizza, which I'd had a few times in the past, I expected the fare to be tasty if not palate-stirring. This preconception was borne out as I sampled my dish.

I proceeded to gorge myself on the heaping stack of lasagna, while Mitch picked lightly at his plate of pasta primavera. It made me self-conscious that I ate so much so fast, but I couldn't help it. I always had a tendency to gobble my food when I was on edge.

First dates were especially stressful for me. Because I was so very shy, the classic fear of having nothing to say became amplified a hundred-fold. Being with such an extraordinarily attractive guy made the situation even worse. It was only more pressure to try and impress him somehow.

Traitorously, my wit and charm had fled to parts unknown, abandoning me to my own devices. They had probably decided to stay home and rest up after an exhausting week. Dazzling Mitch with my engaging personality therefore seemed highly improbable. I wanted to be captivating and personable, but instead all I felt was inept and tongue-tied.

Mitch resolved my dilemma with a repeat of the performance that he had given when we met. Actually, it was more like a continuation. Starting with the events of the past week, he rambled on about various aspects of his life, with long digressions on the incidental topics that came up. Interspersed with amusing anecdotes and colorful characters, his meandering oratory was fairly entertaining, if sometimes repetitive. At least it spared me from having to manufacture clever dialogue in my anxious state. It was also far preferable to awkward silence, so I was content to listen and insert the appropriate response here and there.

At times through his discursion, Mitch touched on a subject that inspired me to interject my own more lengthy commentary. Courteously, he allowed me to express my opinion then stepped in when I began to falter. While I did not contribute anything monumental to the conversation, I wasn't completely passive either. He still did most of the talking, but I felt somewhat better.

During one of Mitch's protracted monologues, I mesmerized myself staring at his handsome visage. I began to daydream, remembering the interlude in the car. A semi-erection swelled painfully against the inside of my jeans. My awareness of the present snapped back when he asked me a question. To my embarrassment, I had no idea what he had just said. Fortunately, the waiter appeared at precisely that moment to inquire how we were doing, thus rescuing me from a terrible faux pas.

We had long since finished eating, and I for one was ready to leave. I made a show of looking at my watch, which prompted Mitch to do the same. Realizing how late it had gotten, he requested the check.

Without hesitation, he paid the entire bill when it came. He also left a generous tip. I thanked him graciously, but it made me a tad uncomfortable. Knowing that Mitch was so well-off intensified the feeling. I had no desire to be anyone's kept boy. Still, my wallet appreciated the break. Now I would have extra spending money left over for the coming week.

We strolled back to his house. It was almost nine-thirty so we elected to skip the movie. There was nothing playing at the local multiplex that either of us really wanted to see anyway.

When we returned to his apartment, we ensconced ourselves on the sofa, leaving a respectable distance between us. I sat up stiffly, trying to touch the rich upholstery as little as possible. Settled in comfortably, Mitch did not notice my discomfiture as he continued the story of a skiing expedition from last season. As he wended the tale to its mildly amusing conclusion, I laughed raggedly, all out of proportion to the humor of the anecdote. Why couldn't I relax?

After that, Mitch fell quiet for a few minutes, staring downward pensively. Observing him out of the corner of my eye, I willed myself not to move restlessly. Then his gaze slid up to me, and he smiled enigmatically. Only his eyes betrayed his smoldering ardor.

"Come closer," he said, patting the cushion beside him. "You're too far away over there."

Grinning shyly, I slid over until I was right next to him. Mitch put his arm over my shoulders and leaned in to kiss me. I trembled slightly, but this was what I'd been waiting for. As we drew near to one another, his now-familiar cologne, which had been a subtle leitmotif throughout the course of the evening, intruded on my consciousness.

Putting my mouth to his, I kissed him eagerly. Mitch responded with barely restrained passion. His lips were incredibly soft, in stark contrast to the bristly roughness of his day's growth of beard. We nuzzled each other gently at first but with gradually increasing urgency. Our heads tilted back and forth in opposition as our mouths began to chew hungrily at one another. The room was utterly still save for the rush of our labored breathing and the wet smacking sounds of our lips meeting and parting, over and over again.

I pressed more closely against him, my hands snaking behind his torso to hold him tightly. In turn, Mitch wrapped his arms all around me, in a crushing embrace. With surprising strength, he pulled my body partially over onto his, until I was sprawled halfway across his lap. His hands roamed over my back and down to my butt, firmly gripping my flesh.

Mitch pushed his tongue into my mouth and I greeted it warmly. My own tongue swirled around it for some time, studying its texture, then reversed roles and nudged into his mouth. He accepted it enthusiastically, returning the treatment that I had dispensed. Our lips mated with wild abandon, as our tongues continued to spar back and forth.

We made out like that for a long while. The erotic tension continued to mount, until my cock strained for release from its painfully restrictive confines. Feeling his crotch thrust up against me, I knew that Mitch shared my hyper- aroused state.

We were both ready to take it further, but we broke apart for a moment to catch our breath. I sat up and watched Mitch expectantly. He grinned naughtily.

Rising from the sofa, he took my hand and lifted me up with him. Pulling me along, he strode towards the open doorway that stood next to the front entry. Through the portal, a shadowy hallway led towards the front of the house. When he released my hand, I trailed behind him docilely.

Moving down the darkened hall, we bypassed several sealed doorways. Another closed door stood at the end. Mitch opened it and pushed inside.

He flipped on the light switch, illuminating a spacious bedroom. Not surprisingly, the chamber was as elegantly appointed as the other parts of the dwelling. Exquisite antiques stood on all sides. Draped with a lovely floral spread, a magnificent Victorian four-poster bed dominated the tableau. The whole conspired to set a scene out of a romance novel.

I walked over by the bed and waited for a moment, unsure what to do. Mitch circled around behind me to close the door then came over to stand face to face with me. Lightly stroking his hands up my arms, he looked into my eyes with passionate intensity. His hot breath steamed against my throat. My heart fluttered with excitement and joy.

Mitch leaned in to kiss me, just once, before reaching down to my waist to tug my shirt free of my jeans. His hands crawled back up my chest to undo the buttons below my chin. Then, as I raised my arms cooperatively, he pulled the shirt up and off my torso, casting it aside to the floor. He seemed a trifle vexed that I wore a T-shirt underneath, but he repeated the motion until it too was gone.

The air was chilly on my exposed skin, causing the blond fleece on my chest and arms to spring up defensively. Mitch's hands seemed fiery hot as they made contact with my flesh. They roved over my body, delicately studying every contour.

"Very nice," he murmured, combing his fingers through the hair on my chest.

After an extended interval of visual and tactile adoration, he reached back down to my waist. His fingers deftly undid the catch of my jeans and lowered the zipper. With a slight nudge, the pants dropped around my knees. My erection poked out obscenely, tenting the white cotton briefs. A small dark spot showed where pre-cum had soaked through.

"Well, I guess somebody's happy," said Mitch with a husky laugh, as he teased my crotch with a light caress.

I chortled tautly.

He withdrew a few steps to undress himself. I watched his fingers work as they unbuttoned the front of his shirt then the cuffs of his sleeves. Loosening the garment from his jeans, he pulled it back and shrugged his shoulders. The shirt slid down his arms and to the floor, unveiling his smooth, sculpted chest.

I was spellbound by his breathtaking male beauty. His body was a Greek statue incarnate. Tapering down from broad shoulders to a slim waist, his torso exhibited the ideal shape of the classical masculine form. Against his pale skin, the small roseate nipples stood out on the firm mounds of his well- developed pectorals. His belly was flat, the abdominal muscles possessed of a pleasingly understated definition. It was obvious that Mitch worked out to keep his body toned, but he hadn't overdone it to the point of grossly bulging musculature. He was truly flawless.

Knowing that I observed him closely, he mimed an exaggerated performance of self-worship. His hands played over his ribcage, pausing to tweak his nipples. He sighed at the pleasure that the manipulations produced. His palms hovered downward over the plane of his stomach and then up his sides, scarcely making contact with the skin. Languorously, he repeated the motion several times, his arms crossing and uncrossing as his hands skimmed around in uneven circles.

Unable to shift my gaze, I stared at Mitch in hypnotic fascination. My pulse drummed rapidly and my breathing became a shallow pant. Overcome by lust, I began to paw at my fully engorged cock through the elastic fabric of my underpants.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smirk. He was clearly pleased with himself for having provoked such a reaction from me. His arrogant conceit was faintly irksome, but it could not diminish my desire for him. I was utterly in thrall, unable to free myself from the carnal torture.

Continuing the impromptu striptease, Mitch pushed his hands down his belly. His fingers glided over the narrow trail of pale hairs that disappeared into his jeans. They came to rest on the catch, lingering there for a time to deliberately prolong my tormented anticipation.

At last, just as the cruel suspense threatened to derange me, he unhooked the fastening and unhurriedly pulled down the fly. Parting denim revealed the protuberance of his own stiff dick as it jutted out through pale blue boxer- briefs. Although Mitch had pretended to toy with me indifferently, it was plain to see that he was as powerfully aroused as I.

All out of patience, I pressed towards him roughly. My hands grasped the waist of his jeans and shoved them downward. He didn't resist my sudden initiative when I yanked down his underpants as well. Pushing my own briefs down around my knees, I grabbed him and pulled our bodies together. Adding his strength to mine, Mitch clasped his arms around me and crushed us even more tightly against each other. Our mouths conjoined as our flesh united.

Reflexively, I began to hump my crotch against his. Driven by the same instinct, Mitch ground his hips against mine in return. Sheathed between our bellies, two crossed swords fenced for supremacy. Skin stuck moistly to skin, until the cohesion of perspiration was offset by the lubrication of overflowing pre-cum. Our cocks began to coast smoothly beside and around, over and against one another. With his mouth clamped to mine I could not moan aloud, so I hummed deep in my throat as our bodies writhed together in frottage.

Coupled with the palpable excitement of the moment, the exquisite intimacy was nearly enough to finish me, but I wasn't yet ready to surrender my load. I backed away abruptly, with a sharp intake of breath. From the flushed look on Mitch's face, I could see that he matched my precarious state.

"Whoa, that was hot," he muttered. "I was getting really close."

I said nothing but nodded curt agreement.

A flash of good-natured spite inspired me to recompense him for the way he had so fiendishly goaded me earlier. Before he could react, I collapsed to my knees and imbibed the tip of his enflamed organ. Mitch could only clutch at my shoulders and moan helplessly as I worked my tongue all around his cock-head. Almost immediately, his body began to shudder as he verged upon letting loose. Loathe to end this prematurely, I withdrew as hastily as I had begun. He scowled at me in frustration.

Looking back up at him, I smiled impudently and whispered, "Paybacks are a bitch."

He grinned and motioned as if to swat the side of my head, but I only felt a slight breeze as his hand swept past my ear.

I had every intention of continuing to service his manhood, but I didn't want to rush. This was a moment to be savored. Devotedly, I confronted his cock again.

It still stood solidly at attention, inviting my inspection. I admired the graceful lines of the long slender shaft, which bounced rhythmically with his pulse-beat. Only a single vein running straight along the dorsal ridge transcended the even surface. A narrow ring of darkened skin was all that marked where he had been circumcised. Arising unobtrusively from its emplacement, the rosy head did not flare out measurably, but retained the circumference of the shaft.

Expanding the scope of my appraisal, I realized how extraordinarily smooth Mitch was over all his body. I knew that his chest was completely sleek, and his arms nearly so, but the trend continued from the waist down. His thighs and calves were delicately brushed with colorless fuzz. If not for my tight perspective, the scattered hairs would have been all but invisible. Fanning out from the faint trail that originated at his navel, his pubic bush was likewise pale and sparse. His scrotum appeared completely hairless, but I knew that was not his natural state. He must have shaved recently to have it so perfectly depilated.

By now Mitch had edged back from the danger zone, but I remained cautious. Reaching up between his legs, I cupped his balls and fondled them gently. With one hand, I held his cock aside, stroking it languidly. He sighed softly as I leaned forward and licked his scrotum. My tongue swirled wetly over the wrinkled sac, jostling the precious contents.

"Yeah, that's it," he cooed. "Lick my balls."

With some difficulty, I sucked one of his sizable nuts into my mouth and washed it with saliva. I tried to engulf the other as well, but it was not possible to accommodate both at once. (Mitch had been generously blessed in that regard.) Releasing the first, I nibbled at its mate until it too was sodden with spit.

Although I enjoyed this diversion, I was eager to resume my primary mission. Rising up slightly on my knees, I brought my face level with his crotch and guided his cock to my mouth. My lips pressed up against the cap, spreading open to surround it. Inside my oral cavity, the tip of my tongue flicked over the piss-slit. Torrents of pre-cum had seeped from the tiny orifice, lending the fleshy knob a slick feel and a subtly salty flavor.

His respiration had again grown labored, but otherwise Mitch made little sound. He was too subdued. It was time to raise the pace a notch. Still feeling impish, I wanted him to pant and beg for relief.

Resting my hands on his hips, I pushed my head gradually forward. My mouth slowly enveloped the entire length of the 7-inch member. Mitch's cock was just the right size that I felt no urge to gag as it slid into my gullet. When my lips reached the base of the pillar, my nostrils filled with a clean scent that hinted of soap and his ubiquitous cologne.

I backed away with equal restraint. Inch by inch, I eased off his cock, my tongue gently abrading its ventral surface, until at last the turgid organ was fully liberated. A strand of saliva clung to my lower lip, bridging the narrow gap to his dick-head. Suspended in air, his whole shaft glistened moistly.

After a beat, I went down on it again. Faster this time, I moved forward until my nose pressed into his pubic hair then reversed until only the head remained between my lips. Driving forward and drawing back, I repeated the motion over and over in constant acceleration.

"Oh, yeah!" Mitch cried, his hands gripping the back of my head.

My avid attentions soon propelled him back to the brink. He whimpered helplessly, but I did not let up. His noises only egged me on, until I rocketed back and forth on his dick.

"Easy, dude!" he barked suddenly, pushing me away with a firm touch. "I'm gonna shoot real soon if you keep that up. But I don't want to yet."

Grabbing me beneath the shoulders, he hoisted me to my feet. After a brief delay to remove the rest of his clothes, he squatted down in front of me. Tapping my legs so that I would raise them one at a time, he tugged off my shoes, socks and jeans. When I stood naked before him, he lowered himself onto his knees.

He peered up at my cock fervently, as a zealot gazes upon the idol of his god. There was no processional march prior to this worship; the service commenced immediately. With consummate piety, Mitch placed his lips upon my straining organ. Receiving it as a sacrament, he mouthed hymns to my flesh that would appease any divine being. He made as though to drink from my phallus were as to sip from a holy vessel.

My legs grew weak as my cock was so devoutly venerated. The incident in the car had been but a taste of Mitch's talent. He fellated my instrument with heavenly skill. Its exceptional girth proved no hindrance to him. His tongue caressed the most sensitive areas with an instinctive finesse that was surely a gift from the Almighty.

In bondage to the pleasure that Mitch gave me, I was utterly at his mercy. I could do little more than gasp and moan uncontrollably. With one hand crushed into the blond fuzz on his head, I clenched my other fist spasmodically.

Such was Mitch's expertise that he knew precisely when to slacken his efforts, lest I ejaculate before he wanted me to. For some time, he held me in perfect equilibrium. When I grew too close, he lessened the tempo of his ministrations. When I drifted too far, he raised the intensity again. It was the most exquisite agony.

At last, I pleaded for a respite, "Hey, ease up a minute. I need a breather."

Mitch looked up at me with that arrogant smirk: He was well aware of what he had been subjecting me to. "Okay," he said, rising to his feet. "My knees were starting to give out anyway. How 'bout we get on the bed?"

"Sounds good," I agreed.

He vaulted energetically onto the bed, sprawling out on the far side. More sedately, I sat down on the edge of the mattress and stretched out beside him. The thick down comforter felt soft and cool against my bare skin.

Rolling over onto his side, Mitch contemplated me again. His eyes scanned me from head to foot. I quailed a little under the close scrutiny. To cover my self-consciousness, I leaned in to kiss him. He met me with enthusiasm for a scant moment, but quickly broke the contact. His mind was on other things.

Crawling over me towards the foot of the bed, Mitch stationed himself between my legs and bent over my crotch. Mercifully, he did not set upon my dick, which still smarted from its recent abuse. Instead, he moved his mouth down by my balls. His tongue darted out over my scrotum, delicately laving the tender package.

It was not unpleasant, but Mitch seemed to sense that I did not really enjoy being touched there. He lingered only briefly, before venturing downward. His tongue coasted over my perineum, swirling around that highly sensitive area between the testicles and anus. I sighed at the novel delight.

Mitch did not stop there. His lingual muscle snaked even lower, driving its way between my buttocks. As the tip brushed up against my asshole, I gasped in sudden pleasure. No one had ever done that to me before.

Mitch was not satisfied with the limited access afforded by our present arrangement. Putting his hands behind my knees, he lifted my legs into the air and pushed them up and back over my torso. Aimed towards the ceiling, my bunghole was now completely exposed, awaiting his indulgence.

Holding me propped up in that position, Mitch dove at the wrinkled sphincter. His tongue caressed it without restraint. His breath blew over my flushed skin, hot and cool at the same time. The unusual sensory input caused me to shiver slightly.

He licked up and down in the channel between my butt cheeks, leaving a river of saliva. Then he returned to the primary target, concentrating his efforts on the puckered hole. Lubricated with spit, his fleshy probe spiraled in, exerting greater and greater force, until at last it pierced the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh, yeah," I hissed, squirming involuntarily.

The lingual muscle wormed its way further into my bowels, gyrating wildly in the narrow tunnel. It felt as if Mitch were fucking me with his tongue, but there was none of the initial pain that comes with penile penetration. The sensation was pure pleasure.

Mitch continued to drill into my butthole for several glorious minutes. Once again his captive, I could only express my satisfaction with bestial moans, as I shuddered under the ambrosial assault. He could have kept on like that forever, and I would have endured it gladly.

To my infinite regret, he eventually grew tired, and the splendid invasion ceased. Unfolding me from that contorted posture, he laid my legs back on the mattress. Sticky with sweat, they clung to the coverlet. I exhaled noisily.

Grinning smugly, Mitch said, "I guess you liked that." He did have a knack for stating the obvious.

"Uh huh," I murmured softly, too befuddled to form words.

He rested only a few moments, before trying to resume his worship of my cock. Unable to remain passive any longer, I forestalled his advance. Grabbing his arms, I pulled him back up onto the bed beside me, then inverted my body to his. Verbal communication was not necessary; Mitch knew instantly what I intended.

We twisted towards one another, angling over each other's groins. His mouth closed over my dick, as mine engulfed his. With vital cogs aligned perfectly together, he and I merged into a precision mechanism.

Having past the point of lazy sensuality, we did not idle but sprang immediately into motion. My mouth pistoned rapidly up and down on his rigid shaft, while he revved up to maximum throttle on my steely rod. The engine formed by our linked bodies was operating at full power.

In no time I began to overheat. Pleasure and excitement achieved critical mass. I didn't fight the inevitable meltdown, which had been too long in coming. Instead, I embraced it, thrusting my hips in synchrony with Mitch's momentum. My cock drove in and out of his mouth, faster and faster. When I attained terminal velocity, I could only emit muffled groans around the muzzle of his pole. My semen pumped furiously into his throat, as ecstasy vibrated through my frame.

Seconds later, sparked by my ignition, Mitch generated his own spontaneous combustion. His dick rammed into my oral cavity at breakneck speed. He grunted as one final lunge drove his shaft deep into my gullet, where it discharged its load in several rapid-fire explosions.

I scarcely tasted his jism as it shot down the back of my throat. There was only a faintly bitter flavor and a gummy feel in my mouth. Likewise, Mitch had swallowed all of my seed. He still suckled at my cock greedily as if he were afraid to miss a drop.

Our fuel spent, we ground slowly to a halt. It was some moments before we disengaged from one another. When my dick began to soften, Mitch let it slip from his mouth. After a short time his grew flaccid as well, and I did the same.

Drained but happy, I toppled onto my back. With what little energy I had remaining, I flipped myself on the bed so that I was again oriented right-side- up next to Mitch. His eyes were closed and he was very still. I reached out to pull him to me, but he resisted with a nonverbal sound of negation. My arms dropped to the mattress, and I rolled away from him, once again confused.

Some time had passed while we laid there drowsily. I didn't fall asleep, but Mitch dozed lightly. His breathing had become very regular, a gentle susurration that was the only sound in the room. With my head propped up on a pillow, I watched his bare chest rise and fall.

I longed to touch him again, but I wasn't sure if I should. Afraid to seem clingy, I had restrained myself from snuggling up to him, although I sorely wanted to. After bonding with me so intimately, he had pulled away, both physically and emotionally, leaving me bewildered and slightly hurt. His demeanor had undergone such a disconcertingly abrupt shift from torrid passion to cool detachment that I was left wondering if I had done something wrong.

I struggled to reconcile my budding fondness for Mitch with this subtle rejection. Perhaps he simply didn't reciprocate my feelings for him, and all the elated histrionics had been for naught. Perhaps our liaison had been purely sexual for him, utterly lacking the emotional component that I desired to make the experience complete. Ironically, it seemed as if I had involved myself in another meaningless sexual entanglement like the ill-considered association with Jeff.

Then again, perhaps Mitch did indeed return my affections but hesitated to express himself openly. Perhaps he wasn't yet ready to show how he felt about me. Unable to set aside my feelings for him so easily, I latched on to that pale hope.

It occurred to me that maybe I should just slip out quietly while he slept. That might spare us both a great deal of awkwardness later on. My mind saw this as a reasonable solution, but my heart stubbornly refused to admit defeat. Sated for the moment, my libido had little input, but it generally favored staying on the possibility of further gratification. As they all debated with one another, I remained paralyzed with indecision.

Absorbed in my thoughts, I almost didn't notice the faint sounds that carried up from directly below the bedroom. Someone had come in the outside front door. There was no perceptible noise for the next few moments. I imagined that the stranger was climbing up the stairs. Then the inside door opened and closed.

It was probably Mitch's roommate, returning from the library. Mitch had mentioned that his fellow graduate student had gone out to study this evening. The arrival should have been an insignificant development, but for some reason it put me on guard.

There was another stretch of silence. The newcomer was probably setting down his belongings and taking off his coat. A few moments later, footsteps came down the hallway. For no discernible cause, I felt a premonitory chill, and my heart began to race. The footsteps drew up to the door. I sat up as the knob slowly rotated.

The door cracked open and a deep, masculine voice called out tentatively, "Mitch?"

Up until that instant, Mitch had been peacefully recumbent. At the utterance of his name, he bolted upright on the bed. "Michael!" he shrieked in a horrified falsetto.

The door burst open the rest of the way, revealing a rather short and very muscular guy. He looked to be several years older than Mitch, perhaps in his early 30's. Having a Latin or Italian aspect, he was well-dressed, in a jacket and tie, and quite good-looking, with a swarthy complexion, close-cropped dark hair and light brown eyes.

He stood frozen for only the barest fraction of a second, taking in the scene. Given our post-coital disposition, there could be no doubt as to what activity Mitch and I had lately been engaged in. The expression on Michael's handsome face progressed rapidly from puzzlement to incredulity to rage. In a flash I realized that he was more than simply a roommate to Mitch.

"What the fuck is going on?" he shouted furiously.

Mitch only stared at him, his mouth working dumbly.

"You slut! I can't believe you did this again! Who is this guy?" His wrathful glare transferred itself briefly to me, and I recoiled in shock, embarrassment and fear.

Mitch began babbling incoherently, as Michael continued his tirade. With their attention drawn away from me, I seized the opportunity to scuttle off the bed and snatch my clothes from the floor. Naked, I dashed out the door and down the hallway. Pausing by the inner door only long enough to tug on my jeans and shoes, I pulled on my shirt as I flew down the stairs. The front door slammed behind me as I bounded off the veranda.

Even outside, Michael's shouting was clearly audible, punctuated by Mitch's hysterical pleas. I glanced back once, but no one followed. Not at all reassured, I ran to my car.

My chest heaving for breath, I fumbled with the door handle. The keys jingled loudly as I handled them ineffectually. At last the proper one slid home, and I yanked open the door. As I jumped in, I tossed my underwear and socks onto the passenger seat then hastily cranked the engine to life. Grinding it into gear, I took off. The little Toyota roared down the otherwise quiet street.

Caught somewhere between anger and tears, I struggled to keep my mind completely blank during the interminable ride back to the dorm.

The following evening I was supposed to meet up with Brian, Alan and Chris for our regular get-together at the Den, but I had absolutely no desire to leave my room. I didn't want to go anywhere, least of all to the place where I had made the acquaintance of that duplicitous rogue. All I wanted to do was stay at home and repine over the back-to-back fiascoes that had recently comprised my love life. If Murphy had sought to make my already wretched existence yet more pathetic, he had succeeded admirably. It was only fitting that I paid him his due.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed in the early afternoon, I phoned Brian to let him know that I wouldn't be coming to the bar. Salivating for more gossip, he immediately asked how the date with Mitch had gone. I tried to deflect his curiosity, but he wheedled me into explaining why I was suddenly so dejected. His crow of delight as I described the exhilarating climax of the rendezvous was quickly replaced by a gasp of astonishment as I related the scandalous denouement. He christened Mitch with several choice epithets that I hadn't thought of.

Despite my dreadful state of mind, Brian insisted that I come out. Hiding under a rock served no purpose, he argued. I had to get out and have a good time. That would take my mind off my troubles. I protested feebly, but he wouldn't hear it. Too weary to put up much resistance, I finally acquiesced to joining the trio as originally planned.

When I arrived at the Den later that night, I found them all clustered around a table in the back of the bar. Evidently, the three of them had been there for some time. Brian had already apprised the others, of course, but in the interest of truth I repeated my ignominious tale. As I reiterated the appalling finale, I sank even lower into the chasm of despair.

"Men are pigs," remarked Brian, when I finished. It was his only additional comment on the matter. As if to illustrate the point, he turned his attention to a cute blond boy across the room. Thereafter, he ignored the rest of us while he lasciviously eyed his prey.

Alan and Chris were somewhat more sensitive. They listened sympathetically while I vented my humiliation and disappointment. Frowning at Brian's callousness, they offered reassurances to bolster my deflated ego.

It gave me some small solace to see that they consoled me as a couple. Apparently, I had misconstrued the direction of their relationship, but I was happy that at least someone had found romance. My dark mood somewhat abated, I chatted with them of other things, even smiling when they kissed and petted one another affectionately.

As the evening progressed, Alan and Chris grew increasingly limerant with one another, until I began to feel like a terrible voyeur. Brian disappeared into the crowd, in hot pursuit of the blond boy. Feeling hopelessly alone, I found myself yearning for Jeff. What had become of him?