Rainbow Gate

Rainbow Gate By Terry Boughner

It always began the same way for Pete. First there would be the tightening in his gut. After that, his breath would come a little more rapidly. He would lean forward, tense, expectant, as the words scrolled down his computer screen. He was impatient. He wanted the thing to hurry up. When it did, he would connect, reach out in the only way he dared. He would release his crying need into the electronic sea of desire that was the sole reason for Rainbow Gate.

Pete was 19, of medium height, slender and wildly handsome. He was a student at a prestigious university, one that had a highly ranked tennis program. Tennis was his specialty, the sport at which he excelled. In high school and the university he'd been told he had a chance to go professional. Pete looked forward to that.

As a result of over-crowding, Pete couldn't get into the dorms. No problem. Along with two other guys, he rented a room off campus. It was in an old house, an attic room, one big enough for three beds, desks and all the other things college students have. It was here, in this "garret" as Pete called it, that he found Rainbow Gate.

Rainbow Gate was his secret, his door to another world. During the day he was a student, a champion-to be tennis player, just an ordinary guy. But at night, when his roommates were out, he could let himself be free. He could log on to the net and enter Rainbow Gate. There and only there, he thought, could he be himself, his Gay self.

No one knew that Pete was Gay, not his parents, not the rest of his family, not his many friends, not anyone. Only Pete knew he was Gay. He'd known that since he was 12 or 13 and kept his secret well. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to just give up hiding and come out. But he never got beyond wondering.

That's way Rainbow Gate was so important to him. Here, in the chat room, he could talk to people like himself, Gay men, who differed from him in only one real way. They were not afraid to say what they were. In fact, they were proud!

In the Rainbow Gate's chat room no one used their real names. Instead there were "handles" like Cuteboy, Jockstrap, Gay Delight, Handsome Boy and others. Every time Pete saw those names he felt a warm shiver of delight that comes with recognition. Here, at Rainbow Gate, he didn't have to do what he did every day of his life: hide. Here, at Rainbow Gate he could be himself. He called himself "Tiger" and Tiger was as Pete was not, openly and freely Gay. No one was horrified or censorious. No one threatened to reject him because of who he was. He was free!

This freedom was what kept him sane. This freedom was what he looked forward to every minute of every day. Then came the evening. In the evening there were no girls trying to get him to go out on dates. There were no guys talking about girls. There was none of the usual heterosexual life that he was forced to lead. All the straights were far away and his roommates were gone. In the evening, he could let himself go. When the shadows came sweeping over him like warm waves in a tropic sea, Pete could be what he was afraid to be, truly himself.

In Rainbow Gate, Pete had constructed a new persona. By day, Pete was somber, a stoic. Tiger was relaxed, funny, playful and sexy. In the chat room he could talk about his muscular things, about how he was hung like a built. He was a slut, telling guys that he had sex a dozen times a week--if not more. He told how he went to bed with almost every guy with pants on. He could tell about his little black bikini brief and how hot he looked in it. It wasn't true, of course, but anyone he chatted with took him at his word. Beyond that, no one knew or cared.

More than once, Pete thought about clicking on to the personals section of Rainbow Gate. Every time, he decided against it. A personal would be great, but you had to tell too much, And what if someone answered who actually went to this school? What then?

But there was another way. In the chat room, there were no pictures. You never knew what anyone looked like, not unless you gave someone your email address and they sent you their picture. Pete wasn't about to give out his email address to anyone. Still, he wanted pictures of good looking men. As he discovered, there was a way for that to happen. In the images section of the Gate were pictures of anyone who wanted to send them in to be posted. These, the blurb said, showed "it all." Pete was sorely tempted. But then, what would it hurt, he thought, if he did it? He could click in, choose some pictures of guys who attracted him, download them and save them. That would be it. Who would know? How could anyone know?

There were hundreds of pictures in the images section, but finally Pete settled on one. Beneath it was the name Michael.

The picture showed a young, very handsome man. By the looks of him, he was of Asian background. He had thick, straight coal-black hair, soft almond-shaped eyes and golden skin. The picture showed him in a locker room. He was unsmiling, dressed in tennis whites and standing with one leg bent, his foot resting on a bench. He wore a short-sleeve shirt so Pete couldn't see his chest. Michael's shorts, however, revealed very muscular, smooth, very good-looking legs.

Pete downloaded Michael's picture, printed it out and turned off his computer. For a long time he sat staring at it, looking long and hard. Pete had lusted over a lot of guys, guys on the tennis courts with magnificent legs, thigh muscles bulging as they played. He'd seen guys on the beach clad in string bikinis, their hard muscled bodies glowing in the sun. He'd seen guys in the locker room, just as they came from the shower, their lithe, young bodies glistening with moisture. Pete had seen many more, watching them through hooded gaze. He'd developed a talent for that; watching other men, but hiding his longing at the same time, constantly afraid someone would see him taking too great an interest.

But now, as Pete stared down at Michael's picture, he had to admit that Michael was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen in his life. Michael's hair was so thick, so midnight black. What would it be like, Pete wondered, to run my fingers through that hair?

Michael's thighs were almost a force of nature in themselves. Marble-smooth, they were bulging with sexuality. In spite of himself, Pete thought about what it would be like to get down on his knees before the sultry Asian and lick his feet, suck on his toes, work his way up his calves, finally tongue-bathe his hard-muscled thighs.

After that, he suck the Asian's balls into his mouth, roll them around, get them all wet. The taste of those big, pendulous nuts of his would be ambrosia, food for the gods. Having sex with him would be Heaven, that's what, Pete thought. He could just imagine seeing Michael on the tennis court at the height of a match. His body tensed as he returned a serve, his muscles stretched, looking like cords pushing up against his velvet skin. God, how beautiful, how magnificent he would be!

Pete looked hard at the picture. He's in tennis whites, Pete thought. Have I seen him at some game? Have I played against him? He dismissed the thoughts quickly. No, no, it's impossible. I haven't seen him. If I had, I'd remember. Oh, would I remember!

It was a warm night. A gentle breeze wafted the smoky scents of Autumn through the open dormer window. Pete's two roommates wouldn't be back for hours. He got from his chair and pulled off his shirt. He had a hairy torso, a nice solid physique, but nothing special. But his legs were another matter. His legs were hard, well developed and covered with a down of dark hair.. Looking at himself in a nearby mirror, Pete wondered if Michael liked hairy men?

A shiver ran through Pete's body. He could feel the waves of passion begin to sweep over him. His thick cock began to push against the briefs that he wore underneath his shorts. He spread his legs just a little. At the same time, he put one hand on his crouch and begin to knead it. Soon, very soon, his cock would be rock hard and dripping. He would take it out, give it some air, and stroke that rod of his until his nuts exploded. That's the way it always was, sex with himself. He was always alone. Well, he sighed, being alone had its advantages. It was safer that way.

This time was different.

Pete reached for his zipper, but stopped and stared.

"What th.", he said to himself. His computer monitor glowed brightly, showing the logo of Rainbow Gate. "I swear I turned that thing off," Pete muttered. As he watched, the logo vanished. Michael's picture appeared in its place. "What's going on here?"

Pete went to his desk to turn off the monitor--or at least try to do it. He fiddled and fussed, moved the mouse around, trying to log off. Nothing happened. He tried to shut the computer down. It wouldn't shut down.

"Oh great! That's all I need. The guys to come back and there's Michael on the screen, big as life." In desperation, he yanked the plug on the machine. Nothing happened. The computer kept functioning as before. "That is not possible," Pete said to himself in disbelief. "This isn't happening. It cannot be." He slumped in his chair and stared at the glowing screen. The image of Michael stared back at him. Michael hadn't changed position, but now, as Pete looked, Michael seemed to smile.

Pete leaped from his chair, nearly sending it over backwards. "That is not possible!" he shouted and turned to walk away, to pace. That was usual with him when he had a problem.

"Why not?"

The voice came from behind him. Badly startled, Pete whirled around. To his astonishment, he saw Michael stretched out on a bed. He was dressed in tennis whites. His legs were crossed at the ankles while one hand was positioned behind his head.

"Who are you?" Pete demanded. He was frightened and hoped it didn't show.

"You know who I am," came the soft reply. "I'm Michael."

"You can't be," Pete countered. "The door's locked. How'd you get in here?" Pete demanded.

"Through the Rainbow Gate," Michael answered.

"No way." Pete sliced the air with one hand. "You can't do that! You can't just come off a website and into a room. You can't do that! You're a picture, an image, frozen in cyberspace. You're not alive."

"Do I look frozen? Do I look dead?" Michael chuckled. "I'm not either one. Come touch me, run your hands over my body, all over it. You wanta do that. You know you do." Michael spread his legs wide. The balloon in his shorts was obvious.

Pete looked back at his computer and then at Michael. "No, no." Pete shook his head. "No, it's impossible. You're an image, some electronic bits and pieces. You can't be here, not in the flesh, anyway." Pete closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, but when he looked again, Michael was still on the bed. "I gotta be losing it!"

Michael sat up and shifted position to sit on the edge of the bed. "Finding it, don't you mean?"

"Finding it," Pete retorted. "Finding what?"

Michael looked over at Pete with his hugely expressive eyes. "You."

"Me? What's that mean?"

Michael pushed himself up off the bed and stood. "Just what I said, Pete. You. I'm everything you want in a man." He glanced down at himself. "Isn't that so?"

At Michael's question, Pete swallowed hard. Michael was right. There was no denying it. This magnificently beautiful, smolderingly hot man was the guy he'd always wanted. The guy who he saw in all his fevered dreams.

With both hands, Michael yanked his shirt up over his head and let it fall to the floor. He stood, legs spread, stripped to the waist. "There, Pete, take a look at me, take a real good look. You want me." He slipped both hands down to caress his sides. "Look at your crotch. You're hard as a rock. C'mon, let that nice big cock of yours out. Give it some air. I wanta see it, touch it, suck on it, get your cock hair between my teeth."

Michael was right. Pete wanted him more than he ever had any other man. Just to kiss Michael, just to taste the moist, warm sweetness of those full luscious lips would send him off the deep end.

"I'm real sensitive on the insides of my thighs," Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you licked me there, run your tongue all over my legs, I'd come. You wanta see that, donchyu? See my ripe hot cock shoot its juice into the air--or maybe cum inside you, in your ass? You get my cock all wet and then I shove it up your butt, ram it in while you squirm."

Pete was crumbling. "My roommates," he pleaded. He wasn't used to that tone of voice. He was assertive, a highly competitive man. Anyone who played tennis against him would have said that. But now, in front of this young hunk, Pete could feel his fears begin to drain away.

Michael sat back down on the bed. "Your roommates, your mother, your father, all your friends, your roommates, the neighbors. Pete, the list goes on and on. Where does it end. When does it end? Give 'em up, Pete. Let 'em go. They can't live your life. Only you can do that. They aren't as you are. So, what's wrong with being you? What's wrong with that? Nothing, that's what, nothing at all. Quit being afraid of them, Pete. Who cares what they think? Who care's what they say? Let 'em get over it and they will. Trust me, they will. And if they don't, well, fuck em." He sliced the air with one hand.

Pete went to the bed. He knelt in front of Michael, wrapped his arms around Michael's legs and laid his head on Michael's knee. Tears came unbidden to Pete's dark eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

"I'm afraid," Pete sobbed. "I've always been afraid, so afraid."

"I know," Michael soothed and ran the fingers of one hand gently through Pete's hair. He is so beautiful, Michael thought. So much a man, so much of everything I've ever hoped for in another man.

With one hand, Michael opened his shorts. His blood-gorged cock bounded out as if eager for air. Michael took his vein-twisted shaft between a thumb and forefinger, pushed it down toward Pete. "Here, suck me," he purred. "Kiss it, kiss my balls, lick 'em, then take all of me, suck me."

Pete raised his head to see Michael's luscious, distended cock only inches from his mouth. Crystalline precum oozed from the piss slit in the mushroom shaped head. A long strand of it hung down toward his chin.

Michael leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on both elbows. "Suck it, Pete. Eat me. Forget all the others. Take me. You know you want me. Eat me."

Pete's eyes were wide at the sight of the thick rod aimed at him. "I'm a virgin," he said.

"Time to put an end to that. Suck it. Get it all nice and wet then I'm gonna ram it up your ass."

Pete raised himself on his knees, bent forward and drew Michael's cock head into his mouth. Instinctively, he clamped his lips around the shaft, just underneath the crown.

Michael groaned. "So good, so good. That's it, that's it, THAT'S IT!!"

Pete didn't even try and draw the whole shaft into his mouth. He'd read that the section of a man's cock beneath the crown was the most sensitive, not the shaft. The way Michael was reacting seemed to prove what he'd read was right.

Michael sat up. Using Pete's thick curly hair as a handle, he fucked his face, in and out, shoving his cock in and pulling it out again.

"Yeah, yeah," Michael purred. "That's it. Get that cock all nice an' wet, lubricate it, get it all wet."

As Michael spoke, his cock head got passed Pete's gag line and hit the back of his throat. Pete clamped the muscles there around it, massaging it as Michael moaned.

"A virgin, man? No way!" Michael's voice was strangled. The words came through clenched teeth. "No virgin, no virgin. Know what to do."

Pete's cock jutted hard against his briefs. Forgotten were his roommates and everyone else. He was close to meltdown and he knew it.

"Stand up, Pete, stand up and strip."

Reluctantly, Pete left off sucking Michael's cock. He stood and as rapidly as he could, got out of his clothes. Finally, he stood before Michael, naked. His cock was fully erect and dripping.

Michael looked him over. "God, you're beautiful, so hairy."

"And you're so smooth. I like that." He almost added And I like you, but he did not. This beautiful male hunk of man, this red hot dynamo that Michael was, was only some electronic imagining. That's what Pete told himself.

"Get on the bed," Michael ordered. "On your belly, flat out."

Pete did as Michael wanted. He lay flat out, legs slightly spread, his head resting on his arms. He'd never been screwed before. He'd read that it was painful, but he wanted Michael to do it. Stuff it in me, he thought. Put that cock of yours as deep inside me as it can get!

Michael shifted position and straddled Pete. The handsome young Asian was beyond thought. Beneath him, between his muscled thighs, he saw Pete's brown puckered hole winking at him from between the muscled globes of his ass.

"God, you've got a great ass, so small, a real bubble butt, so smooth, like velvet.

"Fuck me, Michael"

"I'm not just gonna screw you, I'm gonna split you apart."

Michael leaned forward. Using one hand to steady himself, he guided his throbbing cock past the tight circlet of muscle that opened to him with a sucking noise. Ready, Michael raised himself up on the tips of his toes and both hands. He pushed down, hard. His white hot dick was pulled deep inside the warm, velvety interior. This is my dream fuck, Michael thought. He pushed down. As he did, he hear Pete gasp and then cry out.

"Relax," Michael urged. "Relax, so it won't hurt so much."

In and out, in and out. Michael felt Pete beginning to relax.

Michael's body shuddered as he felt Pete rise up to meet him coming down.

"Aghhhhh!" Pete groaned. "So good. Fuck me, fuck me hard!"

Michael needed no invitation. He slammed against Pete's charged flesh, his tight nuts hammering on Pete's muscled ass. When he came, it was with a great crescendo, like a great chord of music sounding in his soul. Pete had come too, almost at the same time, shooting spurt after raging spurt of cum. In the end, Michael's cum was inside him, while Pete's was splattered out onto the bed sheet.

For long moments, Pete lay quietly. He could feel the warmth of Michael beside him. But then he couldn't feel Michael anymore. When he looked, he saw with a great sadness that he was alone.

The next day, Pete was going along a campus walk. It was a rare day, crystal clear, warm, but with a little breeze. Pete had his head down. He was thinking of Michael. He'd thought about him all night, not sleeping a wink. In the morning, after his roommates had gone, he logged onto his computer and gone to Rainbow Gate. But search though he did, Michael's picture was nowhere to be found. The gloriously handsome young Asian had vanished without a trace, it seemed.

Pete mourned the loss of the only man he'd ever met who could help him to grow, to be free; the only man he'd ever met who he could love for the rest of his life. Pete sat by his computer, lowed his head and cried.

"I'll come out, Michael. I promise I will. I'll be honest about myself and the hell with the rest."

All around him there was silence.

It was in that mood that Pete made his way to campus. Friends greeted him. He ignored them. All he could think about was Michael. He wanted Michael.

A rustle of leaves made Pete look. To his wonder and surprise, he saw Michael passing him.

"Michael."

Michael stopped and turned. There was a gentle smile on his full lips.

Pete's arms went lax. His books and papers fell to the ground. They were ignored. Pete ran to where Michael was, took him into his arms and planted a warm, moist kiss on his sweet, yielding lips.

A number of people saw and shook their heads. By noon the word would be all over campus. As far as Pete was concerned, who cared? As Michael had said, "If you can't be honest about yourself, how can you be honest with me?"