This story is fiction, depicting a grown man's encounter with a young but legal college student. Do not read this story if graphic descriptions of sex between males offend you or if it is illegal for you to do so.
JAMIE - Part 1
I was in a foul mood as I drove to Detroit. Interstate driving may be faster than other highways but it is also mind numbing even when you can find a decent radio station. What a hell of a way to spend New Year's Day. But I had to make the trip. A customer, who meant a lot to my company, wanted a demonstration of our new software and wanted it on January 3rd. That meant traveling on New Year's day with the PC and its peripherals in the back of my van. A successful demo and sale could put me in the big leagues. I guessed it was worth the effort. Still, I found the driving to be a pain in the ass. The return trip would be even worse if I didn't convince the customer to buy my software.
Nearing Indianapolis, the weather started to turn foul: snow and wind. It did nothing to improve my mood. It looked like I was in for a few more hours of tedium, made worse by the predicted snowstorm. I decided I needed a break from the long and lonely drive. I had to piss and needed some coffee to keep me alert. At the next exit, I pulled the van into a McDonald's. It felt good to stretch my aching muscles even though the cold wind bit into my face as I walked inside. I hit the head first. The men's room was empty and I had fleeting thoughts of sitting down to do a quick jerk. But instead, I used the urinal and promised myself more satisfying relief after I got to the hotel in Detroit.
I ordered a large black coffee and found a table in a far corner. The place was surprisingly crowded; I guessed that everyone else was, like me, hoping that the storm would fizzle out. As I sat watching the snowstorm close in, I noticed a young man, possibly about 21, sitting at a table near the door. A handsome lad, I thought to myself, and I had to concentrate to avoid visualizing him nude. That was my constant curse whenever I saw an attractive guy. But usually, I could divert my thoughts enough to avoid getting completely aroused. This time was different. Maybe it was my mood, maybe it was the lonely drive, and maybe it was because this young man personified everything I admired.
My normally disciplined concentration failed me. Over the years, I had learned the hazards of getting aroused. It showed. And was sometimes impossible to hide. It had given me some very embarrassing moments in the past. In fact, I had become quite skilled at diverting my mind when not to do so would bring on an erection that, for me, would linger too long. But my customary and almost unconscious habit of avoiding arousal was failing me. Even when I looked away from this handsome young man, tried to read the all too familiar menu, mentally reviewed the demo I was to give to my customer, my mind's eye was riveted on that young man. And my imagination was slowly removing his clothes. I felt my cock begin to swell. When it became painful, I discretely repositioned my swollen member to gain some relief.
As I sipped my coffee, I found myself watching him more and more. I unable to keep from admiring his youthful face gazing out the window at the gathering storm. Since he was not looking my way, I could stare at him, visually taking in his tall, well-developed body. He had thick black hair under his ball cap and enough stubble on his chin to tell me he probably had a good coating of hair on his body that, unfortunately, was concealed beneath his clothes. Just the sort of guy, I thought to myself, that I frequently fantasized about. And wished I was. It was just the sort of image that brought me to a full erection. I was grateful that I could hide it under my parka if necessary. The tingling in my crotch was pleasantly stimulating and I avoided thoughts of having to get up, walk out, and not relieve the pressure that had been building between my legs.
I was so thoroughly enjoying myself and so taken by this stunning young man that it was several minutes before I noticed a crude sign at his feet: "Ann Arbor." Apparently he was hitchhiking back to school. He wasn't dressed for the blustery winds and cold; he was wearing only a short coat, chino pants, and sneakers. His coffee cup was empty; I imagined that he had been there for some time, trying to get warm and work up the courage to face the highway again. As customers left, he would look at them--hoping, perhaps, that they would make eye contact, see his sign, or even offer him a ride. None did. A slight smile broke out as he tried to catch someone's eye. But it faded as people passed by him without taking notice. He would then return to watching the wind blow more and more snow through the frigid air outside.
I gulped down the rest of my now luke warm coffee. I got up, being careful that my parka covered the sizable tent in my trousers. I walked over to him. "I'm going to Detroit, do you need a ride?" I asked.
His eyes--dark, bright, and penetrating--turned to me. His expression suddenly turned from dismal to bright as he said, "I'd be more than grateful, sir." I cringed at the "sir" but realized that I was nearly twice his age. "I'm going to Ann Arbor," he explained, "and if you could get me even close, it would be a great help." His manner was polite, his gratitude genuine. He obviously had social skills on a par with his stunning good looks.
"Let's be going," I said, "before the storm gets any worse." Without hesitation, he stood and easily hefted his bulging duffel bag over his shoulder. I felt good being able to help someone in need and I welcomed a little company on the long drive even though I knew I would be aroused and frustrated with a desirable guy next to me for so long.
I walked behind him to the door and took note of his graceful movement even under the weight of the duffel bag. His loose chino pants revealed little of his ass. That was probably a good thing because I was still having a difficult time suppressing images of him in the nude. I reminded myself that he was no doubt straight, had a girlfriend (or two or more) and that he was as untouchable as he was attractive.
We got in the van and I navigated back to the freeway. It turns out that, yes, he was a college student whose money ran out and he couldn't afford a bus ticket to get back to school after Christmas break. He was extremely amiable, an interesting conversationalist, and a welcome addition to a long and unpleasant trip. I learned his name (Jamie) and found out about his studies (Human Resources Management), his family (farm parents, no siblings), and sports (a Packers fan). Without thinking, I asked if he had a girlfriend. Fortunately, he took my question as just a part of normal conversation and said, "No, I spend too much time on studies and my part-time job for much social life." Then, without pausing, he asked, "What about you? Do you have a family?"
"Yes," I replied and told him I have a wife and three children. What I didn't say, nor would have dared to say, is that I've been a closet gay since high school. Growing up in the rural Bible belt when I did, there was no choice but to conform to rigid expectations. That meant marriage and family. Queers were despised more than rapists and almost as much as murderers. Anyone even suspected of being queer became the victim of rumors and vicious verbal abuse. One learned very quickly to conceal one's real feelings and behave in "socially acceptable" ways. Throughout high school, college, a career, and a marriage, I had diligently kept my secret. I became very proficient in disguising my real feelings: making lewd comments about girls, boasting (not always truthfully) about my success in "feeling up" my occasional dates, even joining in the bashing of those suspected of being queer. But the longing, while suppressed, was constant and powerful.
Phys Ed in High School was torture--I was a decent athlete but the shower and locker room was difficult. I wanted to look, to feel, to enjoy other guys. But, of course, I had to suppress those yearnings. The Frat House in college was tough. My raging hormones could find no outlet lest I be punished unmercifully for my "sins." I had confined myself to fantasies and masturbation. I dated, of course, to maintain the pretense. I even did some finger fucking of one or two of my dates but only because I knew it was expected of me . . . and that my date might tell her friends which would help establish my image as an "all-american- boy.
Even my marriage was a pretense that concealed from everyone but me what I knew I was. On a few business trips, I was able to secure some gay magazines and I allowed myself to get what satisfaction I could from them. But I denied myself any sexual contact with another guy. While the risk of being caught was minimal, the consequences would be devistating.
Now, seated in my van, was the embodiment of all my fantasies: an extremely attractive, amiable, and desirable young man. Jamie was the person I had created in most of my fantasies but never expected to meet.
Although I knew that I was attracted to him and that giving him a ride would be frustrating, I was surprised at how my unfulfilled yearnings were taking over my thoughts. While I managed to pay attention to the treacherous highway and to the conversation with Jamie, more and more of my mind was coming under control of my basic instincts so that my cock couldn't fully relax for quite some time.
Eventually, however, I was able to resume control of my thoughts. Jamie was very pleasant company. Our conversation flowed easily--as though we were old friends, not strangers whose paths crossed at a McDonalds in the middle of Indiana. I was so comfortable with the conversation that I began to forget how stunningly attractive he was. As the van warmed up, however, he removed his short coat revealing a U of M tee shirt that did nothing to conceal his amply developed chest and arms. My quick glances in his direction increased in order to admire his exquisite chest and torso. The tight-fitting shirt revealed a muscular chest with the clear outline of his nipples. His arms were, as I predicted, covered with light fuzz. The sight of him not two feet away made me shudder. Calling on my many years of discipline, I repressed the thoughts and concentrated on driving in the snowstorm.
Approaching Ft. Wayne on I-69, the snow was getting deeper on the freeway and it demanded all my concentration to drive. He sensed my concern and grew quiet. "I think I can get a weather forecast on the radio," I said as I flipped it on. He offered to scan the stations while I watched the road. He found a news broadcast, the lead story of which was a gay man who had been beaten and killed outside a bar. He burst out with a scathing condemnation of gay-bashers but, suddenly realizing the intensity of his reaction, fell silent. Unlike his former silence that allowed me to concentrate on the road, this was an awkward one. Wanting to put him at ease, I asked, in my amateur counselor tone, "That really upsets you?" He resumed his tirade but just as quickly cut himself off.
After several more minutes of awkward silence, I said, "I can understand your anger. There's too many loonies in the world."
"Damn right," he said emphatically, "and I've had more than my share of their bigotry."
"You're share?" I echoed, hoping he would keep talking. But he was silent. And obviously upset. I thought it would help to get him talking. "Bigotry seems to upset you," I probed.
"Yeah," he muttered, obviously taking pains to control his emotions.
It was clear that he was upset. And clear that he was holding back something. Since we had exhausted all the casual chit chat during the last hour or so traveling, I wanted to keep the conversation going. So I probed again. "You've experienced bigotry?"
He looked my direction with an expression that mixed suspicion with pent-up anger. Then he exploded with surprising vehemence, "You're damn right I have. Nothing like that poor guy on the news but I've had plenty of insults from self-righteous, gay-bashing straights." He stopped short, perhaps realizing what had slipped out in his anger--that he had been the target of virulent homophobia. He cast a sideward glance in my direction.
My expression no doubt revealed my surprise. But I recovered quickly and asked, as non-confrontationally as I could, "I gather you're gay." I glanced his direction to gauge his response.
He looked at me suspiciously--defensively--for a moment, perhaps trying to assess my possible reaction to what he was about to say. "Yes," he said curtly. "I'm gay. And if you want to drop me off at the next exit, I'll understand."
"No way. Not in this weather," I assured him. Then, drawing on my own experiences and feelings, I said, "Gay is a normal condition. Not common, but as natural as being straight."
He looked at me as though trying to decide if I was serious or just being tactful. He must have decided I was not a homophobe because he asked, "You really mean that, don't you?"
"Yes," I replied. "I decided long ago that gay is not a sickness, not a sin. Unfortunately, there's not enough people that recognize that." Jamie was listening intently but, I felt, not yet convinced that I fully accepted his being gay; he still seemed uncomfortable over admitting to me that he was gay. So I continued, "No, I don't condemn your life style. I admire your courage in being what you are. Not many of us have that courage."
I grew weak at the realization of what I had just said: "not many of us." I stopped talking, trying desperately to think of ways to cover it up if he caught the unintended meaning and questioned me. I had never admitted or even implied to anyone that I was gay. I had, on a few occasions, emphatically denied it when confronted about my careless glance or comment. But now, I had virtually told someone, a stranger, that I was gay. It just slipped out. Why? Maybe because it was so easy to talk to this intelligent, sensitive young man. Maybe it was to make him feel better. Whatever the reason, it was said and I didn't know how to cover it up. Would he pick up on it? Or would he let it pass? I didn't have to wait long to find out.
Jamie studied me intently for a moment before saying, "How would you know? You're married. Straight. You just can't understand."
"Maybe I do," I responded. I paused, hoping that he would keep talking and give me a clue about whether he had picked up on my unintended confession.
"You could really understand only if you were . . ." His tone was confrontational but he stopped in mid-sentence and stared at me.
"Gay?" I said, finishing his sentence.
Looking back to that moment, I think I was trying to make Jamie feel less isolated, perhaps more normal than the narrow-minded bigots made him out to be. Certainly, a part of me wanted desperately to know that I was not alone, either. "Would that be so surprising?" I continued, "A lot of gays live a straight life."
"But your family, your wife, your children . . ."
Now I had a real dilemma. Do I come out? Make an explicit admission that I'm gay? Or do I try to wiggle out of the trap I had set for myself? I didn't respond, pretending to concentrate on my driving while my mind raced to decide how to handle the situation. My urge to reveal myself to someone whom I knew would be understanding and not scornful fought with my unconscious denial of what I really was. There was a fearful risk of openly admitting I was gay. But there was what I felt was the impossibility of backing away from what I had said, from what Jamie already knew about me.
In the end, I realized I would have to explain the contradiction that was my life. I didn't know how. I hadn't even arrived at a satisfactory explanation in my own mind. But if anyone would understand, it would be Jamie. Almost choking on the words, I muttered quietly, "Yes, I'm gay."
I had just made explicit something that had been my terrible secret for 20 years. "But nobody in the world knows," I continued. I was fighting to make the words come out. "I don't have the courage to do anything about it. I'm very deep in the closet. I'm being a hypocrite in my public life." The enormity of my admission both terrified me and brought relief. I had said something--to a total stranger, no less--that I had fought hard to keep from being discovered.
"I'll be a sonofabitch," he exclaimed, uncharacteristically.
I started, haltingly, to excuse my hypocrisy, "You see, I grew up in the Bible belt . . ."
"Say no more," Jamie interrupted, "I understand perfectly." Somehow, I knew he did. After a pause, he continued, "I faced some of the same problems but nowhere near as big as yours. I guess my generation has it a lot easier."
We were both quiet for several more miles. I was grateful for that. I needed time to think. To come to terms with what I had revealed. I was grappling with my feelings, regretting my disclosure, and wondering if there would be any consequences to suffer. I was also reconciling my earlier feelings about Jamie--an attractive but untouchable straight--with what I now knew. The knowledge that he was gay ignited my passions and clouded my thinking. I fought to maintain my habitual defenses, to suppress thoughts, to stay in my straight role.
My thoughts were further complicated by an increasing concern over the snow on the highway. I was wondering where the plows were, and hoping the storm would subside.
Jamie sensed my concern about the weather but I was sure that he didn't fully grasp how chaotic were my thoughts about my confession. He said, matter-of-factly as if to deny the enormity of my revelation, "I'll see if I can find a weather report on the radio."
After only a little searching on the radio, he found a weather report. There were several accidents near the Michigan border and the Highway Patrol was advising everyone to stay off the road. Several secondary roads were already impassible. "We're not going to get there from here," I grumbled, "at least not today." I turned to Jamie, "You have to be on campus today? I don't think it's smart to try to go much further in this storm."
"I should. But if I call my parents so they don't worry, I guess I can wait out the storm."
It was three in the afternoon. I'd planned to use the following day setting up the software and checking everything out. But I could finish the drive in the morning and, with luck, I could get there by noon and set up in the afternoon. I could still do the customer demo the following day. "I'll have to make a call, too. To my company. But it's better than getting stuck in the middle of nowhere."
I was grateful that the conversation had turned to something other than my being gay. I was grateful that Jamie did not bring it up again. Maybe it could be forgotten. Maybe I could restore some sort of balance in my mind--which was always precarious but which I had learned was the way to suppress my sexual orientation and avoid the inevitable problems.
I took the next exit ramp. "We're in luck," I said, trying to be cheerful, "there's a Motel 6 and a Day's Inn. We can give them all night to clear the highway."
Jamie looked at me nervously and stammered, "I can't afford a motel. I'll sleep in the van." Then he quickly added, "If you don't mind."
"Nonsense," I replied, "I'll spring for the room. It's a small price for the pleasant company on the trip." It was only mid-afternoon but the Motel 6 was full. The Day's Inn, however, had a room . . . just one room . . . with one large bed. I took it. Returning to the van, I realized that I would be spending the night in the same bed with an openly gay young man. My mind was reeling with the various implications. When I got back in the van, my mind was still confused.
"What's the deal?" Jamie asked.
I wondered what his reaction would be when I told him. I couldn't predict how he would react. I looked him in the eyes and said, "Good news and bad. They've got space; we can wait out the storm in comfort."
"Terrific," he said. "So what's the bad news?"
"Bad news." I said, trying not to sound apologetic. "They have only one room available. With just one bed." I watched for his reaction, which was not long in coming.
"That's great news, man." he said enthusiastically, "Saves you some money."
He seemed genuinely delighted. He showed no suspicion about me, a closet gay, getting into bed with him. I was relieved at his reaction and drove the van around to the room at the back of the motel. I carried in my suitcase; he carried in his duffel bag, and we made our phone calls. We watched CNN for a while. At least Jamie watched CNN. I was dreading what was to come: getting in bed and resisting the overwhelming desire to share more than a night's sleep.
"I'm uncomfortable," Jamie said, "because I can't share the cost of the room." I put his mind at ease explaining that I'd have stopped anyway and it was all on the expense account. That seemed to dispel his anxiety.
"I'm uncomfortable, too," I said, after a pause. Naturally, he asked what was bothering me. "I've spent 20 years suppressing my desires. Twenty years deep in the closet," I explained, not knowing quite how to put it. "But talking to you I've opened the door. Just a little. I've admitted to you that I'm gay. Something I've never told anyone else."
I was groping for words. No, I was groping for thoughts. I didn't know what to say, much less how to say it. Jamie said, "I think I understand. You've revealed something from very deep inside. That can be upsetting. But if it's any consolation, I can assure you that what you've said will never go any farther. There's no way I would screw up your life."
"Thanks for that," I replied. "But there's more to it. To be honest, I'm scared. I knew I was not being coherent. "The present situation, I mean."
"What situation?" he asked, innocently. Perhaps he did not grasp the reason for my distress, a closet gay with years of pent-up desire sharing a bed with a man. Perhaps, though, he did understand and was just trying to get me to talk about it. In any case, he seemed genuinely concerned.
I found myself pouring out my inner tensions--the struggle with my outward life and my inward yearnings. He was a remarkably good listener (Is that a core requirement for a Human Resources major?). When I found myself rambling, and maybe making no sense, I fell silent, staring at the floor.
"I understand what you've gone through," he said softly, "You're no different than countless others--facing demands from everyone that won't let you be what you really are. It isn't easy. I know." After a pause, he asked, "Does my being here...does your being with a gay...is that what's bothering you?"
I looked at him. His expression told me he was troubled by my predicament. He seemed genuinely interested in helping me. "Your being here is just part of it," I said. I felt so at ease talking to him I finally said, "The real trouble is me. All my years of self control may not be enough." He gave me a quizzical look, prompting me to try to explain myself. "You see, I was sexually attracted to you when I first saw you at McDonald's. I mentally undressed you several times as we were traveling. I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life." His compassionate expression did not change. He was about to say something when I added, "But I can't have you. And that hurts."
"Why?" he asked simply, "Why can't you have me?"
I was stunned. He hadn't rejected my unintended advance. "Because I'm who I am. I'm a model citizen. With a family. And you're...well...you're..." I was groping for words to express what wasn't even clear in my mind. "Oh hell," I blurted out, "I don't know what to think."
He leaned forward, put his hand on my knee, and said, "First of all, you are who you are and can find your own comfort with that. As for your reputation and your family, there's no way they'll ever find out. As for me, I'm more than willing to give you the experience you've craved all your life."
I stared at him in total disbelief. His offer nearly took my breath away. Why would a young, intelligent, physically stunning man want to give a middle-aged, inexperienced, closet gay this kind of opportunity? "No," I said, "it wouldn't be right. You don't have to. Not because you feel sorry for me. I'm not asking for sympathy. And not because you think you have to repay me for the ride."
"Yes, I feel sorry for what you've been through. And I'm grateful for the ride. But that's not it at all. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, if I didn't want to have sex with you," he said softly, genuinely.
His offer left me weak and speechless. I could do no more than look at that angelic face and penetrating eyes. I was almost in a daze but heard him say, "I won't do anything you don't want me to. And I won't do anything you don't feel ready for. But I'll do anything that makes you feel good. Anything you want."
"No," I stammered, "I can't. Not because you feel sorry for me."
"Yes," he replied, "I do feel sorry. For the struggle you've gone through. And, yes, I'd like to do you a favor to repay you for the ride to school." He leaned forward as he spoke, "But I'm not offering out of pity or charity. I haven't had sex for three weeks and I'm horny as hell. And I've never been with a virgin. Frankly, that turns me on." He paused and said, "Don't you see? I want you, too. We both need each other right now. Tonight. Don't hold back. This is something for both of us to enjoy."
Before I had time to digest what he said, before my unconscious defenses could interfere, Jamie stood and pulled me to my feet. His hands gripped my shoulders and I was glad for the support because my legs were weak with anticipation. "We'll start slow. You have to tell me if you're uncomfortable at any time. You set the pace."
"I don't know how...how to start...what to do," I stammered, "I'm in completely new territory."
"Just live your fantasies," he urged. "Let it come naturally." He slid his hands from my shoulders to my elbows, pulling my arms forward, and I grasped his waist. My mind was spinning but my desire to see Jamie nude took control. I pulled him into an embrace as my heart started to race.
The warmth of his body, the sensation holding him in my arms exhilarated me. But I still had doubts and fears. "You're sure you want to do this?" I asked, still not believing my good fortune.
He stood back and looked me in the eye. "As sure as we're standing here. I really want you to live your fantasies. We both need it. Don't hold back."
Childishly, I asked if I could undress him. He said, simply, "Please." Nervously, I raised his tee shirt up and over his head to reveal his chest. There was more than a sprinkling of hair on his chest, just as I had hoped. His nipples were dark and protruding. It was a dream materialized. I gently rubbed his shoulders, biceps, and worked down across his youthful but well formed chest. He stood there, patient and smiling.
Still nervous, still frightened, but driven by lust, I undid his belt and unbuttoned the waistband. The trail of soft hair disappearing below his pants compelled me to go on. All of my disciplined defenses were fading away. Pure passion and anticipation were driving me. I slowly unzipped his fly and his chinos dropped to the floor. I saw the impressive bulge in his briefs. Knowing that I would be allowed inside to see and feel his cock made my tingling cock begin to swell. I placed my thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. Part of me wanted to pull them down swiftly, eagerly. But part of me wanted the experience to last as long as possible. I started pushing his briefs slowly down. A fading tan line appeared, followed by the first hints of pubic hair. My heart was pounding. I was trembling. My cock was swelling rapidly. As the white cotton briefs came down, a profuse clump of curly black pubic hair welcomed my eyes. Further down. The fat base of his cock showed. I pulled them down further--slowly so as to enjoy every moment. His limp cut cock dangled in front of me. I knelt down to help him step out of his pants and briefs (We had kicked off our shoes long ago.) I glanced up. His cock, hanging in front of pendulous balls, was at eye level. Hesitantly, I reached out to hold it. But before touching it, a vestige of my other life made me say, "May I?"