NOTE: This story, involving two college freshmen, is set in 1990, before most people had ever heard of (let alone seen) a cell phone, and the primary underwear options for guys were boxers and briefs. Truly, the Dark Ages.
The plan, to my mind, was simple: to attend this fraternity Rush Week event, shake a few hands, snag some free food, and then tell my classmate Alan, "Thank you very much, but I don't think this is my kind of thing." I had no intention of actually joining; I only wanted to get this guy off my back.
However, nothing went according to plan.
Trudging up the sidewalk to the three-story brick fraternity house, I saw into what appeared to be the dining room, where guys in jackets and ties talked and laughed between bites of shrimp cocktail. It immediately occurred to me that 1.) with my light sweater and blue jeans, I was underdressed; and 2.) it was too late to abort, because Alan was standing at the door, a triumphant smile plastered across his goofy face.
"You came!" he shouted as he bounded down the steps to greet me with an eager handshake. "I can't wait for you to meet everybody."
Tall and boisterous with a laugh that could silence any conversation within earshot, Alan was a senior who befriended me -- a mere freshman! -- the previous semester when we ended up in the same 300-level class (I'd registered late, and had few other options). Persistent, bordering on annoying, he regaled me with stories about the benefits of fraternity until, months later, I finally relented and, well, here I was, being steered from one smartly attired member to the next, forgetting each name as soon as I heard it.
But then, standing beside the baby grand piano in the parlor, I saw HIM. Wearing a green polo shirt and a pair of khakis that hugged his thighs, he had light brown hair, mischievous green eyes and an easy smile. Although he wasn't what you might describe as "drop-dead gorgeous," he was undeniably cute, and possessed a magnetism that made it virtually impossible to turn away. Not that I wanted to, mind you. A fraternity member I'd met only moments earlier clapped me on the shoulder and yelled over the noise of the crowd, "Keith! This is Travis -- he's rushing, too!"
Introductions made, I sidled up to Travis, and we attempted small talk. I managed to hear that he was a freshman who lived with his parents in a neighboring county, and that he was majoring in education (or maybe he said engineering, it was difficult to know). Giving up much hope for conversation in this setting, I contented myself with simply standing beside him, sipping Coke from a plastic cup and occasionally brushing my arm against his. After several minutes of glad-handing more fraternity members as they filed past, I felt Travis tug at my arm. "Want to go outside?" he mouthed, even as he pulled me into the hallway, where we acknowledged several smiling faces as we made our way onto the porch.
The evening was cold, and only a smattering of die-hard smokers stood huddled, hurriedly puffing cigarettes so they could return to the warmth of the house. "Aren't you freezing?" I asked Travis, still in his short sleeves. "Nah, I'm tough," he replied, striking an exaggerated strongman pose. "Actually, I wore a jacket, but someone hung it in a closet ... somewhere. I'll be fine."
We were a study in contrasts, with Travis a few inches shorter than my 6 feet. I was broad-shouldered, and what my mother always called "husky"; it was her polite way of saying "chunky," I think. Travis, on the other hand, appeared toned, with bulging thighs (and firm ass) that were the results of frequent mountain biking. As we continued to chat -- about music, about movies, about where we were from -- I glanced repeatedly at his crotch, which I knew was a risk. I was closeted, and had no indication that Travis was anything other than an easy-going straight guy, yet I couldn't help but steal glimpses, and try to picture what was packed so tightly into the front of those khakis.
That's when I realized Travis was asking a question, for all I knew could've been where I went to high school or the atomic number of chlorine. At that moment, I wouldn't have been able to correctly answer either one. Even in the night air I could feel my face redden, certain Travis had caught me boring holes with my eyes through the front of his pants. Even as my mind raced in search of a plausible excuse, I couldn't stop myself from taking just one last look. I was a mess, obviously.
"I said, do you want to go back inside?" Travis said with a chuckle. "We've been out here for a half-hour, and I'm starting to freeze my balls off."
I quickly studied his face, trying to decipher whether the reference to "my balls" meant he'd caught me staring, or just a figure of speech. "I didn't realize we'd been talking so long," I mumbled, trying to collect myself. "Come on," Travis said, playfully punching my arm, "they'll all think we're antisocial or something."
I laughed, satisfied my secret hadn't been discovered, and followed Travis back inside, where we made the rounds together, and received a tour of the house. When we returned to the foyer, Travis leaned in and asked, "Want a ride back to the dorms?" Not looking forward to the cold march back across campus, and eager to spend more time in Travis' company, I eagerly accepted his offer. A cheery fraternity member retrieved Travis' jacket from a hallway closet, and we made our way out the door. As we reached the sidewalk, Travis patted down his jacket, as if in search of something.
"You smoke?" he asked in a conspiratorial tone that let me know he wasn't talking about cigarettes. I nodded, eliciting a broad grin. "Cool, cool," he replied. "I'm parked down the street, but let's take the alley. We can light up there." As soon as we were out of sight of the fraternity house, a wooden pipe and a plastic bag containing weed materialized from within Travis' jacket. "I was nervous about handing over my jacket, but I figure most of those guys spark up, too," he said with a laugh. "Here," he instructed, handing me the goods, "pack the bowl. I've gotta piss like a race horse."
We were mostly hidden by the shadows of a row of buildings, making me comfortable enough to do as I was told with little fear of being spotted by a passing police car. Travis was apparently comfortable, too, because he didn't turn his back, as you often do when taking a leak outdoors, but instead remained perpendicular to me, unzipped his pants and fished out his dick. As the piss hit the pavement, Travis let out exaggerated, contented sigh. "Goddamn, I've been holding this all night." As he answered nature's call, I did what any healthy gay boy would do when presented with an unobstructed view of a cute guy with his dick hanging out: I looked. I'm not going to pretend this was some porno and say his cock was a nine-inch monster; this isn't, and it wasn't. He was maybe three inches, soft and cut. And while I had seen several dicks over my 18 years, some larger, some smaller, I was certain none was as perfect as his.
"You gonna pack that, man?" Travis said with another grin as he glanced in my direction. "This'll probably take a while, so you might as well enjoy yourself." He punctuated that sentence by pointing up his dick and sending a still-steady stream of piss arcing through the air. Again, I scanned for deeper significance to Travis' words, before deciding he probably -- hopefully! -- only meant for me to get high while he finished his business. My dick was so hard and my brain so foggy that the last thing I needed was a smoke, but I figured I should at least pretend I was doing something other than watching my new friend pee.
I filled the bowl and held it to my lips as Travis reached over with a lighter in his free hand to ignite it. As I inhaled, I could hear the last spurts of piss hit the ground. He shook his dick a few times, but left if hanging out of his pants when I passed him the bowl. My eyes darted between Travis' lips, puckered at the end of the wooden pipe, and his cock, still dangling from his zipper. It had noticeably shrunk in the chilly air, and all I could think about is how I wanted to warm it up. With my mouth, in case you didn't catch my meaning. Travis coughed, passed the bowl and lighter, and then reached down to tuck himself back into his khakis. "If I leave him out any longer, he'll get frostbite," he said with a chuckle. I burst out laughing, even though it wasn't that funny, then lapsed into a cough.
"You good?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "I know it's cold as a witch's tit out here, but Mom will freak out if she smells pot in the car, so ... We have to freeze our dicks off if we wanna get high."
"Dude, don't worry about it," I replied, immediately regretting I had said "dude." "I really appreciate the weed, and the ride. It's very cool of you."
"No problem ... dude," he said, playfully elbowing me as we continued our stroll down the alley. I was ridiculously high, even though I hadn't smoked that much, and watched Travis as he walked just ahead of me. Between images of his dick and that khaki-covered ass, I was going to have plenty of jerk-off material.
"Ta-da!" Travis proclaimed as we arrived at an older maroon-colored car, which had been passed from his parents to his older brother and then finally to him. We got in, Travis cranked up the stereo and we took off on what would amount to no more than a five-minute drive to my dorm. As Travis crooned along with whatever song was playing, I silently wished we'd hit every red light, to prolong the ride. When we arrived outside the residence hall, I reluctantly got out of the car, and thanked Travis for the lift.
As I was about to shut the door, Travis shouted, "Hey, K!" I blushed and grinned as I turned back around. "Did you just call me K?" I asked, bending down to look in the car. "Yeah. That OK?" Travis responded, tilting his head like a quizzical puppy. "Yeah," I beamed. "That's OK."
"So, should I pick you up tomorrow night, around 6? There's that thing at the fraternity house."
I wouldn't have thought it possible, but my grin grew wider, and my dick harder. "That'd be awesome ... dude." We both laughed as I closed the car door, and Travis pulled away. I hurried into the dorm, my prick throbbing, and took the elevator to my floor, praying my roommate wasn't in the room. Unlocking the door, I was greeted by darkness and silence, signaling that I might have at least a few minutes alone. That's all I needed. I locked the door behind me, and swiftly stripped down to my boxers, leaving my clothes crumpled on the floor. I'd pick them up later, or else suffer through my roommate's complaints. At that moment, there was a far more pressing matte: the stiff, leaking five-inch dick sticking out of the fly of my underwear. Yes, five inches. As I said, this isn't some porno; that's what I possessed between my legs, and it was as hard as any 18-year-old's dick had ever been.
I flopped onto my bed, and tugged the boxers down to my bent knees -- far enough to access everything I needed to, but not so far that I couldn't yank them back up if I heard my roommate at the door. I closed my eyes, envisioning Travis' cock as he peed in the alley. I avoided my own pulsing spike, and instead fondled my balls with one hand as I ran a finger from the other over my asshole. I had jerked off with a cousin and a few friends during elementary school and junior high, but that's where my sexual experience ended. Still, I was an expert masturbator, having put in countless hours of intense study. Any number of cylindrical objects, from felt markers to hairbrush handles to carrots, had made themselves at home in my asshole, but at that moment my middle finger was doing the job, admirably. I worked it in and out, imagining of course that it was Travis' dick, as I tugged at my balls and raised my ass off the bed. The box springs squeaked with my movements, undoubtedly betraying my activities to the guys next door. I didn't care, though. Lord knows, I'd heard similar sounds emerging from the other side of that wall.
Driving in my finger as far as I could, I panted, "Fuck me, Travis. Fuck me." Although I'm not typically a big leaker, that night I so worked up that a trail of precum drizzled over the head of my prick. I risked setting off my hair trigger by scooping up some of goo and reinserting that lubricated finger into my winking butthole. Pressing my luck, I attempted to ease in a second, but could only force the tip past the entrance. It would do. I alternated with the other hand between assaulting my balls and pinching my nipples. I desperately wished I owned a dildo or, hell, that I'd swiped a carrot from the cafeteria. I wanted something more in my ass. I wanted Travis.
Suddenly reminded that my roommate could return at any moment, I finally gripped my rock-hard dick as I worked a little more of that second finger deeper into my hole. It only took a half-dozen strokes for my five-inch spike to erupt, cum hitting first my face, and then my chest and stomach. I pushed two fingers as far up my ass as I could manage, and coaxed another spurt off jizz onto my pubes. My tongue flicked out of my mouth, searching for the sperm on my upper lip and cheek. I released my sticky, softening dick, brought that hand to my mouth and licked it clean,
I slipped my fingers out of my hole, but only long enough to coat them with the cum from my chest and stomach. Once more lubricated, they found their way back to my ass, where I wished they could remain all night. My dick shrinking dick twitched at the sensation. I briefly considered forcing it back to hardness, but thought better of it, as I knew I could be interrupted at any minute. Instead, I used my boxers to mop up, and then changed into fresh underwear; a shower would wait until morning. I gathered up my discarded clothes, and the cum-coated boxers, tossed them into the closet hamper, and then crawled back into bed.
I'd no sooner gotten comfortable than I heard the familiar jingle of keys. My roommate stepped into the room, and eased the door shut behind him. He sniffed once, and then again. "Dude," he said in a disgusted whisper. "It smells like cum in here."
"Dude," I quietly chuckled to myself, and drifted off to sleep.