I Am Too

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This story is fictional; any resemblance to real people, places or events is utterly coincidental. If you are not 18 or if it is illegal for any reason for you to read such material, shame on you; go read a real book.

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Jim

--- I Am, Too ---

Sometimes I think I'm the dumbest person I know.

My name is Chris. I'm in my freshman year at University, attending what might just be the most jock-centered college in the entire Midwestern United States, and I'm gay. It's not as bad a combination as it might sound; this college town is remarkably tolerant compared to my hometown in BF Nowhere, Nebraska; I don't have to deal with my parents' religious disapproval and continuous attempts to persuade me back to "normality"; and oh my lord the SHOWERS. I could kiss the architect or construction company or whoever was too lazy to put stalls on the showers in this dorm.

I've been here for three months so far. We're coming up on the end of the first quarter, and it's been a pretty fun experience. Today is the first time anyone's even remotely picked on me, and it was just a meathead fratboy deciding I looked a little too "fruity" for his tastes. I'm still not sure exactly what he means; I'm six-one, with straight (ha!) brown hair that I part down the middle each morning but which usually winds up frayed by midday, with no facial hair to speak of unless I go without shaving for a week and a half. I have eyes that are either blue or green depending on what I wear, and which have been described as "mesmerizing", "soulful" and "bewitching" by various girls who have declared themselves experts on the subject. I am consistently tanned for the first time in my life—I spent the summer before coming to university working as a lifeguard at an outdoor pool—but I usually wear pretty conservative clothing, and today is no different. Fitted, but not form-hugging, jeans, a black t-shirt with the word "GEEK" emblazoned on the front in white letters and the dictionary definition scrawled on the back, white tennis shoes and ankle-length socks. I don't have any piercings. The only thing remotely effeminate about my apparel is my necklace, a small silver snowflake with a sapphire set in its center on a thin silver chain, a gift from my supportive aunt, but it's currently under my shirt. Most people don't think to ask just from looking at me whether I'm gay. Which now that I think about it probably isn't a great thing, but... it's not like I'm trying to hide it anymore; it's just reflex.

So anyway, I'm on my way back to my dorm room from an introductory dance class, and I'm sort of waltzing down a little-used side path, my arms held out to encircle an imaginary partner, twirling around and around to a beat only I can hear, when a couple of frat brothers in battered high school lettered jackets round a blind corner and I waltz right into one of them. I'm fit and all—I was on my high school's swim team and I did pretty well—but I weigh all of 160 pounds soaking wet, and these guys are built like linebackers. He sets his stance and puts a shoulder into my spine and I go down like a particularly uncoordinated sack of potatoes. I apologize profusely before I even look up, because hey, it's the polite thing to do when you full-on dance your way into someone's personal space. By the time I look up at him, he's just sneering at me in disgust; his only reply is a brief "Watch where your fag-ass is going next time," before he strides on. So, maybe he wasn't actually calling me out, maybe he was just swearing at me and that was the worst thing that came to mind. Whatever. If the worst heat that anyone's going to bring on me for being gay in this town is misuse of the word "fag", I can deal with it.

I pick myself up and assess the damage. My elbows are skinned and bleeding a bit. My hair, which I had managed to keep perfect through the dance class, is an absolute mess; it even has some grass in it. The knees of my jeans are grass-stained, and somehow my shoe has come untied. Thankfully that seems to be the extent of it. My dorm is all of twenty meters away at this point, so I re-tie my shoe and just run the rest of the way to the dorm; I want to get a disinfectant on my elbows, and probably a shower just for good measure. Thankfully the dance class was my last for the day, so I don't have anywhere pressing to be.

Up three flights of steps to the top floor of the dorm, then down to the middle of the ever-so-blandly painted hall. My door is open, and some of my roommate's favorite music floats out to echo down the hall as I close the distance. I hadn't thought he would be back from the library yet, but I'm certainly not going to argue with my good fortune. My roommate and I are on excellent terms; we've been hanging out, going to parties and studying together since the first week here, and we get along quite well. Seeing him smile always brightens my day, and watching him dry off after a shower wakes me right up in the morning.

Kyle (for that is his name) looks around as I enter the room. He's standing by his bedside table, reaching down to pick up a plate of what look to be pancakes, when he registers my footfalls and turns. He's a little taller than me, probably about 6'2", muscular, lithe and delicious. His hair hangs in tawny waves down past his ears, framing intense ice-blue eyes and perfect, strawberry-red lips. He's wearing a tight-fitting tanktop and athletic shorts. The elastic band of his boxers is just visible between the two, though I can't read the brand label. At the moment he looks somewhere between shocked and amused. "Good lord, Chris," he laughs, "What happened to you?"

I give a little laugh and nod. "Nothing major. I ran into someone coming back from class and got knocked off the path. Took a nosedive into the grass." I move to my closet and begin rooting through the bag full of medical supplies my parents sent with me. It only takes a moment to find some cotton swabs and a small bottle of isopropyl.

Kyle raises an eyebrow at me. "You ran into someone and they sent you flying off the path?" Apparently he doesn't quite believe me. "Who'd you run into, a wall?" He grabs a fork and carves a bite out of his pancakes, then shovels it into his mouth.

I roll my eyes as I pop the cap on the alcohol and pour some onto the cotton. "Ha, ha," I mock-laugh sarcastically. "I dunno, some frat guy. Big. Probably a linebacker. Definitely a bodybuilder." I hiss as I swipe the cotton over my elbows, then reach back into the bag for a band-aid. "I don't think he would have noticed me bouncing off him if I hadn't offended his sensibilities by being... uh... dancing when I hit him."

Kyles laughs at that, takes another bite. " 'aip, you damfed impo...?"

"Chew your food, Kyle," I sigh as I pull out a band-aid, then set it on my desk. He does so, swallows it, and then resumes laughing at me. "I just got out of dance class, OK? I was practicing. He came around a blind corner and I couldn't stop. He dug in his heels and I went flying like a badly-made paper airplane." I shake my head. "Still not sure what he meant by the `fag' bit..."

Kyle stops laughing and peers at me curiously. "'Fag' bit?" he asks.

I sigh. "The only thing this guy said to me was something like `Watch where your fag-ass is going next time'. I'm not sure if he was just swearing, or trying to say he thought I was gay for dancing, or trying to say he figured I was gay for some other reason, or what." I'm collecting my towel and my basket of toiletries as I explain all this. Kyle appears to be rooted to the spot.

"Did that bother you?" he asks. He seems to be taking this conversation very seriously all of a sudden. Seriously enough to set down his pancakes. I don't think I've ever seen him put down unfinished food.

I shrug and toe off my shoes, then begin tugging down my jeans. "What, being called gay? No, not in the least. I just wonder where he got the idea. I don't think anything about my appearance screams `queer!', and it's not like I kissed him or anything. Dancing's not really that gay, is it? I mean, most of the time you're partnered with women..."

By this point I'm down to my boxers. I carefully unlatch my necklace and set it on my desk next to my keys, coiling the chain carefully. Kyle appears to be listening attentively, but still has not moved. He's just standing there looking at me. Or maybe through me?

I raise my eyebrow at him, wave slowly. "Kyle? Earth to Kyle..."

He shakes himself a moment, then looks up at my eyes. It's only then I realize he was looking down at something else. "Uh, sorry," he stammers. He looks away for a moment, then, without looking back, says, "Hey, um, question for you. I don't want to offend you, but I really want to know... are you gay?"

I stare at Kyle for a second. He's still facing half-away from me, not looking at my face. His body language says he's afraid of my reaction: hunched shoulders, a toes turned in, legs bent, prepared to move at a moment's notice. I can't see much of his face, but what I can see looks like he's wincing.

I'm confused. I could have sworn I told him this. "You didn't know?" I ask him in return. "I thought I told you ages ago!"

He looks back at me, equally confused. "Um... no. At least, not that I remember. Sorry."

I can't help but laugh. Sadly, this is not the first time I've done this. And by "this" I mean communicated in a roundabout or subtle way that I'm gay, and expected someone to pick up on it who totally missed my obscure reference. I try to be all suave and leave hints to my sexuality in polite conversation where people can find them if they're looking, but where they won't offend those who are easily affronted by such abnormality... but apparently either I'm too subtle or no one cares. Have I mentioned I'm kind of dumb sometimes?

Unfortunately, Kyle takes my laugh to mean something else. He turns away, blushing furiously. His voice cracks once as he speaks, and wavers. "If you're n-not, that's fine. I didn't mean to imply anything. Just curious."

I grab his arm and spin him around. He looks up at me, surprised. I smile at him and shake my head. "Sorry, the laughing was at something else entirely, not you. You're right. I'm completely, totally, 100% gay." My smile turns into a grin. "Well, ok, maybe like 98%... I got hard making out with a girl back home, but aside from that... yeah. Gay as a West Hollywood nightclub." I drop his hands, hold mine out to the sides, and do a little pirouette to emphasize my point. Then finally my brain catches up. He might not be comfortable with this. He is sort of just staring at me blankly, like he doesn't know me. Maybe he's less understanding than I thought? "That's OK with you, right?" I ask tentatively. "You're not gonna freak out on me, are you? `Cause if you are, I should really wait to shower until after—"

I never actually finish that sentence. Kyle lunges at me, grabbing my waist with one arm and my shoulders with the other and pressing his body up against mine from head to foot. His face hovers an inch from mine for just a moment, our noses brushing together and eyes locked, his blond bangs tickling my eyelashes. I can feel the warm sturdiness of him all down my front: his soft shirt pressed between our chests, his polyester shorts sliding against the soft material of my boxers, his right leg planted firmly between both of mine, balancing his weight as he leans into me. He whispers, his lips brushing tantalizingly against my own, "It's fine. I am too." Then he lights up the entire hallway with a petawatt grin and leans in that last inch, pressing his lips to mine.

There is a moment of crystal clarity right before our lips meet, where so many things start to make more sense to me. The fact that neither of us has brought a girl back to the room, or even talked about girls, despite the fact that we set up a clear signaling system for "I'm with someone, stay out" on our third day as roommates. The fact that he joins me singing show tunes some mornings while we're getting ready for classes. The fact that we can shower directly adjacent to each other in our wonderfully privacy-free dorm bathroom and feel no discomfort. The fact that we—

Then his lips hit mine, and all rational thought goes right out the window. He is tentative at first, soft, keeping his lips sealed as he pushes them against me, waiting to see how I'll react. It takes my brain a second to remember that I have three choices: push him away, stand here like a disinterested statue, or kiss him back. After a long moment in which I take no action, he pauses and pulls back slightly, staring intently at me, searching my eyes for some sign of my reaction to all this.

As soon as my brain kicks into gear, I vigorously select option three. I grin in what I hope is a sultry manner, wrap my arms over his shoulders and slide my hands along his spine, one down his back to keep him firmly against me, one up to cradle the back of his head and slide into his downy mop of hair. I press my lips back against his, telling him without words that I am totally OK with this. So very, utterly, fantastically OK with this.

Kyle gets the message. His eyes gleam brilliantly as he leans back into me; his arms crush me possessively to his chest, his pelvis grinds hard against my boxers, his tongue plays seductively across my lips, and his hands reach down to squeeze my cheeks through the silky fabric of my boxers and push our crotches even closer together.

I have never felt so... desired. Kyle seems to be trying to touch and hold every inch of me simultaneously, like he can't get enough, and the feeling of being wanted is heady beyond description. I have never had this much fun just kissing before. Between his ease on the eyes, the intensity of his kiss, and the roaming his hands are doing, I am rapidly approaching full hardness. Another first for me: I don't care if he knows it. The other couple of times I've kissed anyone, I was terrified of them finding out if I got hard. Now, though, I want Kyle to know that he's making me hard. I want him to feel me against him and know that he is responsible... that he got me so worked up so quickly with just this kiss.

I part my lips for him; a brief moan flutters free of my throat as his tongue dives into my mouth, tracing my lips, grappling with my own tongue. After a moment his tongue retreats, drawing my lower lip into his mouth. He smiles at me as he nibbles on my lip, then releases it and dives back into the kiss.

I'm fully hard now. My dick is trapped in my boxers, forced up and across my hip by his grinding. Another minute of this and it'll be poking out the top of my boxers. I can feel his hardness when he presses against me, tenting his shorts and straining to reach me. I want it—I want all of him!—I just want this to never end...

Eventually, though, Kyle runs out of air. Or maybe he just wants to look at me. He breaks the kiss and pulls back to just grin like a child on his first Christmas. I run a hand up his torso, trailing little circles around his bellybutton, his right nipple, his chin, and finally brushing back to lay my palm on his cheek. He nuzzles into it, still smiling.

"So," I ask him, afraid to jump right back in but still wanting to continue, "What now?"

Kyle's eyes sparkle. He steps back and presses both hands to his own crotch, outlining his hard-on through the thin fabric of his shorts. He looks to be about seven or eight inches long, and there's a wet spot in the fabric at his tip. "I'm hard," he says, rather unnecessarily, "And you're hard..." With that he steps back to me and places a cupped hand along the underside of my shaft; my cock jumps at his touch, and I shudder with the pleasure his hand sends racing through me. "...and I've wanted you pretty much since I met you," he continues. "It seems like the next step is pretty easy."

I smile wryly at him. "Well, yeah," I agree, "but what's this mean for us as roommates? Are we exclusive here, is this a one-time deal, what's the plan?" I finally think to reach over and shut the door to our room. The hall-mates don't need to see or hear any more.

He laughs. "Exclusive? No. Well, unless you want to be, I suppose. One-time deal? It better not be. I want you every night and every morning and sometimes just after lunch." He mock-punches my arm. "I'm not good with plans; I just go with what feels good. And that's all this is. Two people having fun and feeling good. The details can work themselves out later."

I consider that for a moment. It honestly sounds fantastic; lots of sex with my hot roommate, who might be willing to go exclusive with me if it works out well, and who is willing to go with the flow. And who is all kinds of hot for me. And who I know is clean; we went and got tested together during our second week on campus, since the health center was offering free exams. We both came up clean across the board, and neither of us has seen anyone in the intervening weeks.

"All right, hot stuff," I say with a grin. "First things first—you're overdressed." And I grab the hem of his shirt and start lifting it away from his chest, revealing his smooth abs, his chiseled pecs with dark nipples standing out stiff enough to cut glass, and his muscle-corded shoulders. His waist tapers in a most delectable fashion, hip bones guiding the eyes inward toward that wondrous V that leads down into his boxers. He smiles as I toss the shirt aside and hastily reaches down to shuck his shorts. Now we're both in nothing but underwear: me in soft, blue-and-white plaid boxers and he in tight-fitting gray-and-red briefs. I have a tent in my boxers that's just starting to get damp at the apex. His outfit leaves very little to the imagination; his well-tanned and muscled thighs are on perfect display, his hard-on strains at the fabric, and his balls are just visible as a suggestion of bulge down below. He has a wet spot the size of a half-dollar coin near the tip of the delicious bulge he's sporting. "Much better," I purr.

Kyle skewers me with a smoldering grin, grabs me by the waist, and steers me to his bed. He pushes me down gently but forcefully, laying me out across his sheets. As he climbs onto the bed next to me, I am surrounded by the scent of his body; a strong, musky scent with traces of sweat and Old Spice. It is intoxicating. He slides up onto me, pressing his chest to mine, grinding his iron rod into my crotch, and twining his legs with mine.

I hum with pleasure as he leans in to kiss me again, pressing myself back up to meet him. The feeling of his hard dick against mine is driving me to distraction, but it's not good enough; I need to feel him, all of him, in his full glory. Without breaking the kiss I reach down, hook my fingers into the elastic band of his briefs, and tug. He pauses for a moment, reaches down one hand and helps me yank his briefs off his torso. His erection, a glorious seven or more inches of rigid masculinity, bounces slightly as we free it from its cage. He holds his waist away from mine as he reaches down to help me slide my boxers off, and his cock is so hard it doesn't fall to meet me; it hangs in the air between us, slick and shining with pre-cum that almost trails down into the blond bush at his base.

I lift my hips just enough to slide my boxers down and expose my ass. Kyle slides the front down over my cock, which springs up eagerly to meet him. A moment of twitchy kicking later, we drop our pre-cum-stained underwear over the side of his bed and return to our frenzied grinding. Kyle reaches up with both hands to cup my face as we smear pre-cum all over each others' bellies and shafts. I feel his balls, heavy with promise, resting against mine and occasionally falling down toward my taint. My hands, seemingly on their own initiative, reach up to grab his ass solidly and pull it, grinding him hard against me, dragging his slick hardness up and up toward my chest and face.

I get my first really good luck at Kyle's equipment as it slides up my belly and chest toward my face. His dick is easily seven inches long, with a nice heft and a slight upward curve to it. He's cut; his head throbs, purple and glistening in the afternoon light, as it trails pre-cum across my pecs. His balls are still drooping, dragging well behind his stiff rod, not yet pulled in tight for the climactic shot. Both his shaft and his sack almost vanish into a tightly-trimmed garden of blond pubic hair.

I relinquish his right cheek but keep my left hand in place, holding him. With my right hand I grip his shaft and slide his glans side to side across my chest, brushing it over each of my nipples and across my sternum. He lets out a sharp sigh and glances down at me with a smile. Smiling back, I lock eyes with him, then grab his shaft with both hands and pull him up to my mouth. He scoots forward along my body until his knees are about level with my shoulders, then plants himself, forcing me to raise my head and shoulders to bring my mouth to his cock. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly raise myself up, kiss his head, then lick it (oh, his juice is DIVINE; I want—no, need!—more), then part my lips and slip his tip into my mouth.

Kyle buckles forward over me, eyes drooping closed and mouth forming the perfect "O" of pleasure as I suckle at his cock. I run my tongue over his head, tasting his delicious, tangy pre-cum, then push his head against first one cheek, then the other. He laughs as my face distorts as his cock presses into it, and I grin up at him.

Keeping one hand on his shaft to direct it, I move the other around, running fingertips delicately over his thighs, belly and eventually his sack. I've given a few blowjobs before, but they were never this... fun! Tasting him, hearing his sharp gasps when I stroke him just right, feeling his hand running through my hair and pressing me ever further onto him...

I've never actually tried deep throating before, but I have a sudden urge to see how much of Kyle I can take. Recalling what I have read and heard, I try to relax my throat and let my jaw go slack, then press him forward into my mouth with the hand that's still gripping his ass. His glans slides slowly forward until it slips snugly into my throat. I have to remember to breathe through my nose, but once I establish an air flow, I find it easy to swallow between breaths. The first clench of my throat makes Kyle moan above me. I feel his hand come to rest in my hair, not pushing or insistent, but appreciative and encouraging. I manage a few more swallows and work my tongue across his shaft before I have to draw back a bit and get some air.

"Holy shit, Chris," he says as I slide his inches out of my mouth. He is rock hard, veins and ridges standing out like a bas-relief along the length of him. His head shines and drips with a combination of my saliva and his pre-cum. "That was incredible." He scoots his body a few inches from my head and props my chin up so I'm looking at his face, not his equipment. For just a moment, I feel disappointed, but then he smiles in appreciation. His eyes are radiant as the sun; I figure if Sol were to go out today, I could live by the illumination provided by Kyle's happy expressions and nothing more.

I smile back up at him. "You, sir," I tell him, "are delicious." I stick my tongue out at him playfully, then grin.

"Oh, really?" he asks coyly. Then he leans down to plant his lips on mine and delve his tongue deep into my mouth. After a moment he straightens and smiles triumphantly. "Mmm, yes, I am."

"Can I have some more?" I ask him with a wicked grin.

"You can have all you want, whenever you want." He grabs the base of his cock and thrusts it forward, pressing it into my lips. I part them for him, and his warm, slippery shaft fills my mouth once more with its satisfying girth and tangy, delicious flavor. I gladly return to my licking, swallowing and stroking of his hardness.

"So good," I tell Kyle when I surface for a breath. "I'm so hard right now..."

Suddenly, Kyle withdraws from my mouth and changes position. He hops off the bed, then back onto it, placing one knee to either side of my head and facing down my body. He leans down, resting his elbows on my belly, then grabs my achingly erect cock and starts jerking me off. His hand glides softly, slowly down my shaft, lubed up with my excess of pre-cum. "Your cock is beautiful," he tells me, pulling my foreskin back to expose the head and then running his hands over it with a mercilessly tight grip.

I moan and buck my hips as he runs his hands repeatedly over my exposed cockhead. "Oh, god, don't stop..." I can barely manage to whisper the words. "That feels so good..." His hands are stroking, gripping, squeezing, twisting, sliding, rubbing at the underside of my head, tugging at my balls, sliding down to tease my ass... the pleasure is sudden and intense and wonderful.

He starts pushing down with his hips, fucking into my face, which is probably good because I no longer have the available brainpower to actually think about what I'm doing to his cock. It's all on reflex now: take him deep, swallow, slide him out, stroke, repeat.. "Gonna cum soon," he grunts. "Are you close?"

I push him back just enough to say, "Yes! Keep going," then tug him back into my mouth again. I can feel my own climax building, but I try to suppress it as I realize that Kyle is seconds from blowing his load. I pull him down onto me, grab his ass tight, and flick my tongue across the underside of his head. He shudders; his balls bunch up tight; he growls something that simply devolves into "Yes, yes, yes!"; his hands clamp down, one on my shaft, one on my thigh; his ass clenches once, twice, and on the third clench he fires a thick, hot, creamy streamer of cum into my mouth. The taste of him is delectable, sweet juice with a hint of spice; the sensation as he coats my tongue in his spunk is arousing beyond belief. He unloads a total of five spurts of his heavenly jizz, and I drink them all down, wishing the entire time for more.

I moan in delight as the hand he still has on my cock grips it like a vise. Involuntarily I pump my hips up, fucking my cock into his hand. It feels too good to stop, so I just keep doing it until I can't take any more. My entire body locks rigid with the last thrust, and then suddenly everything releases at once; my cock erupts in a furious orgasm, spraying cum across Kyle's chest and mine in pearly ropes. My entire body sags into warm bliss as my balls empty themselves onto my chest and belly.

It's only when Kyle rolls off me to one side, tugging his cock free of my mouth in the process, that I can begin to laugh. Mostly at myself. I mean, really, how dumb of me was it to try and play it cool this whole time? I wasted an entire quarter that I could have spent locked in passionate embraces like this one. Damn shame. I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time.