The library was quiet. Most students had already completed their finals, so only a few of us unlucky stragglers were here still finishing up our semester's work. My European History notes were open on the table. I checked my phone to realize it was only three minutes since the last time I had checked it. 9:27.
I got to the library later than I had wanted. Some guys went to the gym after dinner to do one last hard workout before calling it quits for the term. While we were showering after, they all talked about some off-campus party they were going to. We were all single--rowing crew severely limited our ability have a regular social life--and now that we were done, the guys were eager to try to get off with something other than their right hands for the first time since spring break. Me, I had a fucking European History final the next day.
I had checked my phone no fewer than 3 more times when the large door to the small study room swung open and he walked in. I immediately recognized him. I thought he was an athlete of some sort. A runner, maybe? Pole vaulter? One of the weird sports, I was sure. I honestly didn't know anything about him. I just recognized him as one of the various and sundry "hot jocks" who clustered together in the massive lecture hall. only one of whom--Daniel something--I knew because he lived on my floor. My guess was this one was there for the same reason I was.
He was there when I walked in. Thom (with the h) Barnet. Shit, I thought, I can't study with him here. I had jerked off thinking about him off and on all year, ever since I met him on the first day of school at freshman orientation, doing some God-awful "icebreaker." I'd immediately done a deep Facebook stalk to learn as much as I could, and see as many photos as his Insta would allow. Then he had been my sole focus for much of the semester of European History--one reason I desperately needed to do well on the final. Tall, pale, bright blue eyes surrounded by long, almost doll-like eyelashes that fit perfectly with his chiseled, almost aristocratic face. Sharp cheekbones, an angular nose, and red, full lips that seemed begging for a kiss. Topped off with a wild mop of dark brown hair that was either naturally perfectly mussed or styled within an inch of its life--I had never been able to decide which. All this on top of a lean frame that had just enough definition to avoid being skeletal. Tonight, he wore a faded black tank top, revealing his dark and bushy underarm hair, and cut off jean shorts. I noticed his shoes were underneath his chair, and he was wearing black half socks on his feet. He was like a cartoon image of a "beatnik poet," but hot. So, so incredibly hot. I paused awkwardly in the doorway after I saw him. He seemed irritated by my presence.
He was still there. Just standing. So, trying not to sound irritated--though I was--I finally broke the ice. "Hey, come on in. I wasn't really studying anyway, I'll just give you the room." I started to pack up my things.
No! He was going to leave! He could go, and I could study, but then, I would also hate myself for not trying. So, with more urgency than I wanted, I said, "No, hey, stay. I see you're studying for Miller's final tomorrow. That's why I'm here, too. Maybe we can quiz each other." Damnit, I'd sounded too eager. He probably wanted to run away screaming.
He wanted me to stay. He sounded freaked. I assumed he needed me to tell him everything he missed while he was busy texting one of the many chicks who always seemed to be hanging from every jock cock. Still, he was someone to keep me focused. And he was handsome enough, the way so many straight jocks were: tall, broad shoulders, full chest, short, wavy jet black hair, olive-ish skin that hinted at maybe some Hispanic or Mediterranean blood. Jock type. I knew how to worked. So, after pausing a moment, I responded, trying to make it sound less gruding than it was. "Sure, sounds good. I'm Thom, by the way."
"Oh I know." I said it before I even realized what had happened. Fuck fuck fuck. There's no way he would have remembered my name from orientation. Gotta think of this fast. Seeing his face go slack with confusion, I quickly added, "We met at orientation. And...I just have a memory for names and faces, y'know?" I think I just about covered it and tried to seem calm as I walked into the small space and put my messenger bag on the table.
Orientation? He remembered me from orientation? I didn't buy a word of it. And then an idea occurred to me. His nervousness. The flush I can still see on his deeply bronzed cheeks (an outdoor sport, then). I came up with a plan. As it happened, I had become very good friends with a girl in that orientation group--overly dramatic poetess type, but she was a lot of fun when she wasn't sobbing--and while I definitely now remembered him from having been in our group, I still didn't remember his name. And I made an educated guess that he wouldn't remember hers. I checked my phone--9:49. "Yeah, I remember meeting you, but I don't remember your name. Sorry."
He bought it! "Blake Reardon," I said, reaching my hand across the table to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you. Again." I forced an awkward laugh. He stretched out his long, graceful arm, his delicate hand--surely he must play piano!--gripped mine and I honestly lost my breath for a moment.
Another piece of evidence gathered. He couldn't touch me, it seems, without shivering. Time for the final test. "Yeah, great to meet you again. Hey, do you remember that girl in our orientation group? The pretty one who had a sort of drama club vibe?"
I did. I secretly enjoyed her but generally guys like me don't get attention from girls like her until after we come out, something I hadn't done yet. At least not on the first day. "Yeah...she was hot," I added, mentally remembering to apologize to her for using her as a pseudo-beard if I ever met her.
"Do you remember her name? I kinda want to get back in touch with her. It would be interesting to see if she even made it through freshman year!" I laughed, but my eyes were fixed on Blake's face. I could see the wheels turning--not the memory wheels, the "fuck, what do I say now?!" wheels. I had him.
Fuuuuuuck. "Kelly," I said, attempting to sound confident. Good with faces and names...fuuuuuck.
The last piece clicked into place and I couldn't suppress a smile. Hell, I didn't try to. "Her name is actually Jennyfer--with a "y"--and she and I became very good friends that day."
What was going on? Was he fucking with my head for some reason? Was this some sort of anti-jock thing?
"But, most people wouldn't remember the name of a rando they met once nine months ago. And yet you remembered mine--and not the girl's you said was hot. That, a lot with some close observation in the past," I checked my phone again, "3 minutes leads me to believe that Jennyfer wasn't the one you thought was hot. I was." As I said this last part, I leaned back, partly in triumph as his face fell as he realized I knew. But also partly because that made it easier to slip my foot--my shoes under my chair where I had placed them as soon as I sat down--into his crotch...
I was mortified that this beautiful man had clearly decided I was some idiot...and then I felt his foot. He was actually coming on to me! I wanted to change the power balance quickly, though, since I had been so stupid and transparent--I hadn't even realized he was gay. So, I grabbed his foot with both hands and began rubbing it.
I let out a small moan. "Do you have someplace we can go?"
He wasn't wasting time. Whoever Thom was, he wasn't who I had assumed he was. "No," I responded, quietly. Sadly. Since he was asking, it meant that he didn't either.
His answer was timid. Figures. These jocks always flake out. Well, almost always. "No worries, I know a place," I said. I almost added that this wasn't my first rodeo, but since it might be his, I didn't want to raise the issue. I stood up and simply said, "The basement. There's a bathroom at the far end of the hallway that goes left at the bottom of the stairs. Single occupant. Follow me in three minutes. It's now," I checked my phone again, "9:52." And with that, I left. Yeah, we could have gone together, but that might have gotten awkward--all that awful small talk--and this way I would know if he was really down or not.
He wanted to have sex. In a fucking bathroom. My pride and inner romantic almost convinced me to leave. I had loved--well, lusted after--this boy from afar from almost a year, and here we were, on the brink of consummation, and he just wanted to hook up in a bathroom. Like it was the fucking 1950s. Yes, I was slow to come out to strangers, but all my friends knew. I just kinda--I dunno--defaulted to acting straight. Still afraid of getting kicked out again, as if that were even a thing that could happen again. Regardless, I didn't go cruising for cheap bathroom sex.. I checked my phone: 9:56. I made a yelping noise that I was desperately happy no-one was around to hear and raced downstairs.
9:58. He was late. He'd probably flaked. Oh well. I was about to get off my knees when there was an extremely quiet knock at the door. In my regular voice--there was no-one around, for fuck's sake--I told whoever it was to come in. If it wasn't him--Jake?, whatever--I would just claim to have dropped something. Unless they were attractive...
He was on his fucking knees when I walked in. I almost walked out This was not what I wanted. But, half a loaf, I suppose. I started to lower my shorts...
I had my hands on his on his growing cock through the slit in his boxer briefs before his shorts even hit the floor. I was about to wrestle it out when he gently pushed my head away and lowered his underwear. Fine.
I had barely gotten my underwear down when his mouth enveloped my still growing cock. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through his hair--natural, I decided.
He had a decent cock--freshly showered, cut, probably about 7" when fully hard. He wasn't ramming my head down on his dick, which was nice. His fingers were going to mess up my hair, but I was going to get his cum, so I figured we were even.
Thom meant business. This wasn't a slow, romantic blow-job. This wasn't even the intense and efficient blowjob of a man who had to leave for class in 5 minutes. This was...I don't even know what. It was like he was renting my dick by the second and had a limited budget. It was amazing, but utterly impersonal. One hand had gripped my right ass cheek--I tensed to try to impress him with my taut ass, hoping he might decide to fuck it--and the other hand he swirled along the length of my now very hard cock. He was trying to get me to cum, and I didn't have any way of stopping him...
I picked up my pace even more. I thought about sliding a finger or two onto or even into his asshole, but these "straight" jocks sometimes get a bit freaked with any ass stuff, so instead I focused on getting him to cum. It was a shame. His cock was nice--good thickness with a nice vein on one side--and looking at him now, his head tilted back, his lean stomach just visible--he was actually a very sexy guy. He also had a nice full bush, which I preferred, and healthy balls which were rapidly contracting. He was getting close, so I went for broke.
I started moaning as my orgasm approached. His hands and mouth were making every part of my cock feel tingly and alive. He was only taking about half my cock in his mouth, but he knew exactly what he was doing. I tilted my head down and opened my eyes to watch him. I wanted to see what this boy looked like when he made me cum.
My eyes drifted up and--briefly--met his.
I could fall in love with this boy, I thought. And the thought of being with him--9 months of pent up desire, all those nights jerking into a sock think about him kissing me, him feeding me his cock, him fucking me--sent me over the edge. I choked out, "I'm about to cum."
He said the magic words. Within seconds, he was flooding my mouth with his jock cum. It was bitter--probably a lot of protein in his diet--but not unpleasant. I kept up my jerking until he had finished, the last drops oozing out of his fat cockead onto my tongue.
He swallowed! That was surprising. Did that mean he liked me? Or trusted me? Or did he just always swallow. As if he read my mind, he stood up and said...
"I always swallow. Hope that's okay. It turns me on."
Well, that answered that. "Do you want me to suck you?" I asked, realizing that I hoped he would say no.
"No, I've got to run, actually. But this was fun." I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek--he was still in a bit of a daze, it seemed, with his shorts and boxer briefs around his ankles. I took one last look at him--he really was very hot now that I really noticed him, even if he did look ridiculous--and told him to wait a few minutes to follow me. I checked my phone: 10:06. Standard. Then I opened the door, poked my head out, checked both ways, turned my head back towards him and winked. And then I quickly left the bathroom and made my way back upstairs.
And he was gone. I was still dazed. I waddled over to the sink and ran my dick under the water to clean it off some. Then I dried it and pulled up my shorts and underwear. I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. I looked like such a stereotype: athletic t-shirt for some fake school I got at the Gap, workout shorts, and flip-flops. Maybe that's what he didn't like. He was...different. Artistic. Cultured. At least I assumed he was artistic and cultured. And also an amazing cocksucker.
I had my books in my bag and was out the door within moments of leaving the basement. I hate the awkward aftermath.
When I made it back to our study room, Thom was gone. Of course he was. Fuck. I'd blown it. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened Instagram. I had lightly stalked Thom but I hadn't followed him. Now, why not? I searched for his screen name--I had it memorized, of course--and clicked "Follow." I wasn't going to give up--not just yet.
I made it back to my room and tossed my bag on the floor. My roommate--a sweet, chubby guy from Pennsylvania--was at some party or other, like the rest of campus. I took out my phone and saw I had a notification from Instagram. "BlakeReardon2000 started following you." From 1 minute previously. Interesting. I clicked "Follow Back" and closed the app and opened Grindr. It was 10:22.
[Gay Male Story. Suggested Categories: Beginnings, College, Relationships]