And dinner was just more of the same. Jack was not only funny and kind, he was smart. We discussed art, politics, athletics, academics, the environment, women (a subject we both kind of nervously danced around, I for lack of experience, Jack cause he could see I was uncomfortable), even classical music. He kept pumping me about my art, but I nervously skirted as much as I could, telling him I did figurative stuff, telling him why I couldn't do conceptual, the figurative/conceptual debate in the department here, yadda yadda. I looked for a quick way to get off the subject and back to a more neutral one. But through it all there were lots of laughs, and maybe a few too many beers. On the walk home, we had our arms around the shoulders of each other's new best friends. Then, back at the dorm room, we stripped off our clothes and got on Jack's bed and each had another beer from the six-pack he must have bought while I was asleep earlier.
"Well, we didn't get laid like I thought we would, sportin' all this prime beef like we were, but, shit, we're still lucky," he said, then finished a long swig. "We're gonna be great together, Tom. It's weird, but I feel like an instant friendship with you. Fuck," he laughed, "who else could you be so casually naked together with," and he waved his lovely flaccid penis at me, "just a few hours after you met?"
"Fuck you," I said, waving my much stuffer dick back at him, "I was naked with you right from the start. You were the fucking prude."
He reached over to slap my ass.
"Yeah, well I'll make up for lost time, don't worry. Damn," he said, grinning down at my uncontrollable stiffy, "are you just naturally hartd all the time, or do I get you off?" And he gave my cock another playful squeeze, then rolled over laughing in mellow drunkenness.
"Fuck you, limpdick," I growled, and gave his ass a sweet slap. "You want another beer?" I asked, and I bounded over to the fridge, stiff dick boingng proudly, feeling so dman comfortably excited being naked with this guy. A year of this, I thought; it seemed too good to be true. How soon before we start giving each other massages, I wondered, out of some goofy fantasy that popped into my lust-drenched mind. I looked back at the bed at that gorgeous slab of beef laid out in front of me; at this rate, tomorrow night, maybe?
"No thanks," he said, staring right at my bobbing hardon with a grin. "Six AM practice tomorrow, stud, remember? Afraid I'm gonna have to be the party pooper every night. But you go ahead. Mi cerveza, su cerveza."
That cracked me up. "You are one witty dude, Jack," I laughed. "All right. Will it bother you if I stay up working?"
"Not at all. I sleep like a log. What're you gonna work on?" he asked as he laid back to settle that majestic nakedness for sleep.
"Oh just some sketches."
"Sketch me, if you want. I guarantee I'll hold still. And I'm not using covers tonight cause it's so damn hot, so you can get some practice sketching nudes-if that interests you," he added slyly, as he stroked my rod again, this time giving it an extra-long (woozy drunk-time, no doubt) lingering caress. And was it my imagination, or did his fingertips poke into my piss-slit a little. My cock jumped, and Jack laughed, tickling my balls before he lay back again.
"Hmm," I said, not batting his hand away this time (I could sure get used to this genital horseplay!), "you can't seem to keep your mitts off my meat." I reached over and give his sweet, pouty fullness a nice bold feel, letting my fingers roam and linger a little long, too. "Does this thing ever get hard, I wonder?"
He laughed, dropped his hand from my cock, put his arm behind his head, drifted off in a purr of pleasure as I stroked him a little more. OK, Tom, he's drunk, don't blow this. I forced myself to stop, straightened up, and laughed a good night. Trying not to sound too excited, I added, "Anyway, I'll take you up on your offer to model, dude."
I pulled a chair up next to him, then went to get a light and my materials. By the time I got back, he was snoring peacefully.
Jack slept on his back, so I had that perfect front view spread out before me. His one arm remained cocked back under his head, the other draped over his thigh, an inch or so from that lovely dick I had fondled, still flopped towards me. His face, the face of a cowboy angel, was turned towards me, with a sweet dreamy look on it. I got busy sketching at once, if only to give my hands something else to do besides beating off in front of him or playing with his dick some more. I kept at it for almost 3 hours, filling up a whole sketch book. I did several full body poses, in each one I'd emphasize the beautiful planes of his thighs and biceps, and those huge flat pecs, with the nipples I kept sucking and chewing on in my mind; in each sketch, I spent time getting that cock just right, ecstatic to have this private showing of his glorious manhood. I made it a little thicker and longer, to convey the aura and power of this potent young warrior-god. After I did the full-body sketches, I did endless studies of various body parts. My book was filled with about forty pages full of Jack's thighs, face, chest (a lot of chest studies), just his lips, and dicks, of course (an awful lot of those, I never got tired poring over it; every time it shifted, I had to catch it, and when, about an hour-and-a-half into my work, he finally got beautifully hard, and I did nothing but rapid sketches of it, over and over, drooling in fevered lust as I tried to convey the power of that now probably seven-and-a-half inch fucktool; sometimes I would just do a few sketches of the whole shaft and ballsac, sometimes just that beautifully veiny shaft, sometimes just the head alone, the rim, or the tip, glistening with a full drop of precum, shading it beautifully, making the precum glint, making the whole dick come alive on page after page. As I tried to fight off my rapidly increasing tiredness, I turned to several studies of his hands and feet (they were big, strong, bony, beautiful; I subtly exaggerated and angulated them so they looked lickably lovely). Finally, I could keep awake no longer. The clock said 4:30; I moved the lamp and chair back, crawled into bed, pumped my dick slow and long and hard and luxuriously, making love to it in my hand, in a dreamy lust for this young god who was my now-best friend-hell, my muse.
The next morning, I slept in til about 8, feeling very refreshed, not hung over at all, but rather full of excited energy at this incredible turn in my life-a great new friend, and an incredible burst of work. I really felt I had had a breakthrough last night, and reached beside the bed to look through the pages I did the night before. But the book wasn't where I thought I'd left it. Trying to remember where I'd put it, I looked around the dorm-room. I spotted it over on Jack's now made-up bed. Damn, was I that out of it last night, that I just left it lying there? As I thought about it, I felt a dread rise up in me: I had definitely put it beside the bed, cause I remember thinking about reaching down to get it to leaf through as I jacked off last night, my home-made stroke-book, but deciding Jack's image was so strong in my mind, I didn't need representation. Jack must have looked through it in the morning, I realized in a panic. He was so damn interested in my art, he probably wanted to see the sketches of him I did. Oh shit, I felt sickened at the thoughts that must have gone through him as he leafed through an outrageous number of pages chronicling my obsession. All those cocks alone, which in the morning light suddenly screamed out queer lust. I shut the book and started crying. The glorious future of just a few hours ago had suddenly gone horribly dim. Jack was probably trying to get a room change now. I could hear his taunting of me as he packed his things, "Christ, you faggot, I should have known, the way you kept staring at me. Stay away from me from now on or I'll kick your ass, I'm warning you." In heavy sobs now, I wandered in pathetic, shameful nakedness to the bathroom. I recalled stroking off in the shower yesterday afternoon, after that sweet awkward meeting with my Adonis. My lust seemed so shameful now, criminal, even. I splashed cold water on my reddened eyes, over and over until I figured it was safe to go out. I sat on the bathroom floor for about fifteen minutes before I went out, consumed by guilt and self-disgust. My great dream of the painterly poet of the masculine aura now seemed like a weird perversion, seen through Jack's eyes. I decided I would go straight to my room and start ripping up drawings. Get this obsession out of my life. Then leave school, I guess. I couldn't face Jack's disgust.
As I walked down the hall, I saw my room door was open. Great, I thought, I'm so fucked I even forgot to lock the room. I turned in and, horrified, I saw Jack. More horrified, I saw he was going through my "private" portfolio. Oh Christ. For some reason, all I could think of was I was going to be either beaten or sued.
"Jack, I-" but he cut me off.
"Dude," he looked up from the big sketch he was holding. It was one of my classic torsos, with big nipples and dick. Up until that morning, I had thought it was one of the best things I'd done. "We've got to talk," he said, clearing his throat.
"Jack," I could feel the tears starting to well, "I can ex-"
He stared at me with what I thought was wild fury. I cowered before the punch I knew was coming.
"Tom, you are like a fucking genius! Do you realize that?" Time stopped.
"Dude, you are like one of the greatest renderers of your generation!" He put the large drawing gently down on my bed, picked up last night's sketchbook, and waved it at me "This is like looking at the sketchbook of the young Picasso. Jesus Christ, why did you keep dodging questions about your art last night when I asked you? Holy fuck, man, if I had talent like this, I would be bragging like crazy! Goddamn! I woke up this morning and thought I'd take a peak and see if you actually did a drawing of me. I'm sorry if I shouldn't have, but holy fuck, Tom! You made me come alive in this pages. My body, my hands, my face, even my dick! How do you do it? And this!" He pointed to the paintings and the portfolio drawings he'd unearthed as I'd been ready to commit suicide in the shower-room. "Why the fuck aren't these up on the walls? Can't we put these up? Fuck, I'll buy some, if I can afford them. You are like the genius-poet of the male body, man! Maybe it's cause I'm an athlete, and I'm more sensitive or body-conscious or something, but these are easily as good as anything in that Iowa State show. Can't we please put them up? We'll have the best art on campus, dude! This room will be a fucking gallery," he grinned, consumed in boyish energy.
It was too much. I dropped to my knees, choking on my loud sobs, dripping tears. Relief roared through me like a tidal wave. I loved Jack. I had no idea why this wonderful person had come into my life. This couldn't be happening. I was weeping uncontrollably.
He came over, bent down, and held me in his strong, bare arms, pulling me to his naked chest. He rubbed my head and purred, "Tom, what's wrong? What did I say. Oh shit, man, I'm sorry." Now he was tearing up. I reached up, held his face, and God help me I couldn't stop myself, but I kissed him. I smiled at him through teary eyes.
"Dude," I laughed, "I thought you were gonna beat the shit out of me." I hiccupped with hysterical relief. "I saw you must have looked through the sketchbook I filled last night, and I figured-"
"What? That I'd be embarrassed because an artist appreciates my body?" He pulled back and stood up. "Tom, what kind of a dumbfuck do you think I am? Good God, man, don't you know how incredibly talented you are? This is about you, man, not about me!"
"Well, yeah, Jack, sure, I like to think I-" Now I stood up, "Well for fuck's sake, Jack, I'm majoring in art, so I must think I have a flare."
"'Flare' you idiot? You're a fucking stoned genius. Look at this," he brought up drawing after drawing. "Look at the chest here. Look at the way you got the dick, God, it's beautiful, think, perfect, it throbs with eroticism. Look at this guy's thigh, and the way you got the cockhead there. Jesus, man, you sing the body! If I could do that, I'd fill up a sketchbook full of cocks, too."
"But Jack, I guess I thought you, thought people maybe, would think-"
"That it's gay? 'Homoerotic,' as my freshman English teacher said, about some of those paintings of boxers?"
"Yeah, exactly."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
He held my gaze now with the strong force of the rigid, muscled mass of his body, having pulled up, confronting me.
"Are you?"
"What?"
"Gay?"
OK, this was it. Oh fuck, forget it. Whatever.
"Yeah, I am." If I wasn't so nervous, if I was thinking clearer, I would have added, "Are you?" But Jack filled the void, with his laughing charm as usual.
"Well, big fucking deal, dude. Who's going to care, really? Half the artists we studied last year were gay. Tom, for fuck's sake," he came over and put his arms around me again, "it's the goddamn 21st century. Everyone knows about gay people. If people aren't cool, fuck 'em."
"Oh man," I said, leaning my head against his massive shoulders, "I've been so damn nervous about sharing my art, at how obviously it shows my desire."
"Jesus, dude," Jack said, still hugging me, and now stroking my arms lovingly, "what the fuck is wrong with desire? What's not normal about desire for another person, about celebrating the glory of the male body?" He was still rubbing me, and nuzzling my face. "Don't ever be ashamed," he mumbled and now ran one hand right down my side and cupped my ass. "There is nothing wrong with feeling passion and desire, Tommy," he purred, overcome with his own lust. And now it was my turn.
"Oh Jack, " I moaned, rubbing his beautiful broad shoulders and back and kissing him all over. "Oh dude, you are so fucking wonderful," and now I was rubbing those lovely pecs, still kissing him, "so fucking beautiful," and now he was kissing me back, the floodgates open, pushing me backwards, getting on top of me, our tongues swishing in each other's mouths and young, throbbing cocks gloriously pressed together.
Suddenly, Jack drew up. "Dude, I-" Again, it was my turn. I pulled him back down, and stroked that beautiful, rugged face.
"Don't be afraid of your desire, remember? Jack, I think we both felt the charge almost immediately yesterday. We couldn't keep our eyes off each other. Our hands, either. Shit, you fucker, all that dick-pulling. God, I want to kiss you, hold you, fuck you, make love to that beautiful fucking cock of yours," which I was now rubbing, both our dicks hard and leaky.
"Oh Tommy," and now he was crying, "for years I've-"
"I know, baby, I know," as I kept stroking that beautiful thick dick. "Lie back," and I moved my body down so I could take him in my mouth.
"Oh God, yes. Oh fuck, Tommy, what I'd always wanted. Oh God, this is why your art is so true, ohh shit."
"Mmmm," I held his dick with both hands at the base, just looking down at my prize, then swirled my tongue over the head, then lightly flicked his pee-slit, then ran my tongue all up and down that thick hard shaft.
"Oh God, Tommy. I've never, I don't know what to do, I-" he held my head in his hands, stroking it. "Oh, this is so beautiful, it's like a dream. Let's just have sex all the time, every day. Oh God, Tommy, I'm--" and I kept my mouth down as wave after wave of his sweet hot cum flooded me.
"Mmm, oh God, Jack," I slurped lovingly. When he stopped cumming, I raised my head up and looked longingly at my new room-mate, friend, muse, lover. I went in for a kiss, stroking those massive curves that I had by now committed to memory, and shared what cum was left in my mouth with him.
"Oh God, yes, mmm" he licked his lips, "oh Tommy, I only dreamed this, over and over. Oh, thank you, oh God, so beautiful, thank you for letting me finish becoming a man. Oh God, it's like waking from a dream." He pulled himself up and looked down at my body, my still-hard dick. He was on it like a flash.
"Oh, oh" he muffled repeatedly, like a man who's just been served the most delicious meal of his life and can't get enough. His tongue and lips were everywhere, while his hands stroked me all over, coming to rest in my ass cheeks. I bent down to play with the sexiest nipples I'd ever seen. He pulled his head off my cock for a second, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and loudly moaned, "Oh yes!!"
I smiled and went back to my titplay as he greedily got back on my dick. He went from tonguing and lapping to slurping up and down. It was raw lust, effective as hell. I loved the feel of his hard-again cock pressing against my leg. I squeezed the shit out of his nips as I came harder than ever.
Jack lie on his back, exhausted, slowly savoring my cum. He picked himself up to bend down and give my cock a good cleaning, enjoying every bit of goo he slurped away. I just purred and stroked that boyish head lovingly, looking lovingly down on his concentrated effort. He finally looked up at me, and shyly smiled, out of a drunken haze of ecstasy. "That was the best fucking sex I have EVER had in my life. Oh fuck, do you turn me on. You did from the first minute yesterday." I could see something pass across his mind, and then he looked at me shyly and quietly said, "Tom. Tom, I don't know how to say this, so I'll just say what I feel, Tom, I want you, please, for my lover." I held my arms out to him, and his scruchched his gorgeous muscular body up mine, and we kissed like mad. He was sort of softly sobbing in a kind of gratefulness that he had found both himself and love in one swoop. We were both very hard again. Then he laughed, in a kind of exhausted realization. "Damn, those paintings of yours are hot fucking stuff."
"So that dick of yours can get hard after all, huh? Oh Jack," I purred, lust overwhelming me, "I have to fuck you. Oh God," I was playing with his asshole like crazy. "Turn over," I ordered.
We were one. He flipped right over, up on his knees, ass wiggling in anticipation.
"Oh, Tommy, my ass has been itching for a fuck for a long time. I would stick my finger in all the time, wondering what it would feel like. It's like I was longing to feel it, longing for your sweet dick, man, that dick I couldn't keep my hands off last night. Oh Christ, do I want it." As my tongue lapped that hungry hole, he moaned in ecstasy. After tonguing for a while I started easing thumbs and fingers in, playing like crazy with that sweet pucker. I'd alternate lapping, digging tongue, and gently stretching fingers, getting him wet and ready for me. We were both in the mad lust zone again. I stroked those full, beautiful globes, and continued to tongue, in soppy, utter delight, thinking of what glory was to come-for both of us. As I tongued, I drew one hand in front and stroked my lover's thick, wet, twitching cock. He cried out in an almost wounded delight.
"Oh, sweetheart, could you tell yesterday, as I stared at your beautiful dick? Kept shyly stroking it? Could you tell I wanted you in me? Oh, God, Tommy, put that sweet, hard cock in me and pump, man. I gotta feel you fuck me, go off in me. Oh, I want it so bad, I'll burst. God, I wish I could have told you yesterday, so we could have spent the day fucking. Oh," he moaned, in deep bodily ecstasy at the rim job I was giving him. "Oh God, Tommy, this is sex. Oh shit, man, what have I been missing? You could tell, couldn't you, when I brushed your dick those times with my head? Felt those beautiful abs. Stroked that sweet, hard dick of yours. Oh that luscious cock of yours that was always so fucking hard all day yesterday. Oh God, Tommy, I wanted to take that beautiful hard cock of yours in my mouth so many times yesterday, but I was so ashamed. OH!" he yelled, as my finger finally hit his prostrate. "Oh Christ. So ashamed of the lust for you I had. Oh, but you're so beautiful. God, my lover is so fucking beautiful!"
I could wait no longer, he was wide open and dripping wet. My steel shaft slid in, tight but smooth. It filled him at once.
"OH YES!!" he cried. "Fuck me, dude. Oh fuck me, lover. God I love you, Tom."
By now he was grinding back hard against me; we had established our rhythm in no time. We were a perfect machine of masculine lust. With one hand, I kept jacking his sweet dick in front, with the other I rubbed, worshipped, really, that beautifully muscled back. He raised his back, reached those bulging biceps and huge forearms behind to caress my head. I raised up, too, our hips swiveling in a lewd dance of total lust, my hand in front still jacking his dripping piece of steel, and rubbing his full ballsac; it was like holding to the reins of a bucking bronco. My other hand now rubbing his chest, tweaking those rubbery tits.
We kept up our perfect rhythmic fucking, getting looser and lustier. I would hit him from different angles on each thrust in, and heid be there to meet me. At times it was his strong ass and hips that took over, like he was doing the fucking, using my pole to pleasure his gorgeous young body. Then I'd get my strength back and take over, squeezing his cock harder to show him I was in command now, slowing down to longdick him the way I liked it. It was finally too much for us both.
"Oh Tommy, oh this is so fucking beautiful. Oh, don't stop, don't ever-" I collapsed on those massive shoulders and clenched his ballsac tightly, as I thrust in harder and flooded boyjuice all up his guts. The most rapturous fuck of my young life. At the moment my hot seed hit, his dick erupted, squirting its load. The first shot flung back at his face, but the rest I managed to grab, and like a starving man, licked every drop off my fingers. We rested like that for a few moments, in utter spent bliss, and then I slowly pulled out. He turned to me, a look of utter love and filled passion on his face. We kissed immediately, his tongue searching my mouth for any seed it could find. I scooped it off my dick, and fed him my fingers. As he slowly licked them off, I kissed him, our tongues mingling, my face rubbing in the cum that had hit his. We started licked each other's faces like joyous puppies, our hands all over each other's bodies. Finally Jack pulled away, a look of delight and ecstasy on that boyish jock's face.
"Tommy, my dear dear darling beautiful stud lover. My talented genius awesome artist. Oh God, I love you. Thank you, thank you for this wonderful gift of you. God, I'm so fucking happy right now. Let's go out and hold hands and kiss and let everybody see how fucking happy we are."