Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

By Rufus Jones

Published on Apr 1, 2023

Gay

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled 4

Mark woke early, entangled in James, and the sheets. Sun was just lightening the sky through the window and he felt like he was on another planet: naked, a bit sticky and curled up with this lovely person who smelled so good. He kissed James' exposed shoulder, who made a little sound in his sleep. It was Monday and he had to shower before his first class so he gingerly extricated himself from James, standing in the dim light, wondering where he pants were.

"You're up early, Mr Mark. Come back to bed."

"Sorry to wake you...I've got to get ready for my nine-o-clock class...Chaucer. Whoever decided that was a sadist." and James laughed into the pillow. "Thanks for last night. I really mean it. That was...amazing!"

James squinted into the half light of the room and smiled. "My absolute pleasure. We can do that again whenever you want."

Mark struggled with his pants, and shoes. His shirt was on the other side of the room. Why bother, he thought. I'm just going upstairs. He leaned down to James and kissed him on the lips, then the forehead. "I'll see you soon..."

But James was asleep, so he crept out of the room and into the silent hall, the empty stairs and to his own floor. He opened the door quietly, only to see Sam at his desk, intent on writing something. He looked up at Mark and smiled, a little wickedly.

"Well, the walk of shame, I guess! You clearly had a nice night, since your shirt is not even on. What sort of shenanigans did you get up to, I wonder..."

Mark laughed, and swatted Sam with the shirt in his hands. "Never you mind." He realized he felt exhilarated and his nerves were buzzing pleasantly. "We had a nice dinner, and a nice evening. Satisfied?"

"Oh I don't know. I have so many questions...let's see. You clearly got naked, so that's good. Can I ask who did what to whom?" again, the wicked smile.

"No you may not. Suffice it to say that fun was had by all."

"Well that calls for a celebration. Get yourself cleaned up you dirty boy and we'll go down and get some coffee before it gets too perked."

They talked about random things until it was time for Mark's class. He sat, trying to make sense of Middle English but all he could think about was the taste of James, the feeling of him, the comfort of waking in his arms. He knew, on some level, that James was not to be had. His shower activities told him that, that James was looking for adventure and pleasure. And the dawning knowledge that, as fun as it was for both, and the fact that it could happen again, James was not really for him. Part of this knowledge came from the fact that the first thing he thought of when he woke in James bed, redolent with sex, was Sam. The straight guy. Was this going to be like high school all over again? Unrequited -- even if he could have found a way to be open -- unrequited longing? That was torture he hoped would not be repeated.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Rob:

Hey Mark. Are you around this weekend? Let's hang out. What do you think?

What was that expression about raining and pouring? He felt a bit giddy. He texted back,

Sure. That would be nice. When do you get in?

Friday night, maybe around ten? But I'm going to just crash, so maybe Saturday?

Where are you crashing?

Oh, I get a motel room. Sam's bed is too small!

What a strange idea.

Cool. Text me Saturday morning.

He felt another jab of excitement and anxiety. Was this a date? Or was he just being friendly because my roommate is his brother. But Sam said...

The rest of the week was kind of blurry. They had some tests, and papers. Mark was expected to write about Dickens and he had three days to do it. They both spent most of their free time at their computers, which felt nice, he realized. Sitting together not talking about much. Trading frustration. Taking breaks for coffee. He spotted James a few time on campus and they waved, or chatted a little. But most of the time it was just the two of them. At some point mid-week, he mentioned to Sam that Rob was coming to town again.

"Yeah, I heard. I think you have a fan. Or should I say another fan!" and Sam smiled.

"You know, I'm not quite sure if this is meant to be a date. Did he mention it to you?"

"Oh he said he was coming, but he didn't say it was just for your sake -- or mine for that matter. But if he is coming all the way up here again in the space of a week, you might want to take that seriously. And if you two have plans to go out, don't let me stand in the way. Have fun." and Sam turned back to his computer, but before he did, Mark caught the faintest glimmer of a more serious, but slightly bemused expression. Or did he just imagine it?

Later that night, after hours of study and quiet, Mark shut his laptop firmly. "I've had it for tonight. Let's order a pizza." This was something he also had never done, since his father felt they were too expensive or something. "Now you're talking!" Sam said. He called the famous number and ordered. "Do we have any beer?"

"Nah. But we've got weed, so even better."

The thought of getting baked with Sam again was exciting, but he didn't want to fully admit it. Watch out for the straight guys, he told himself. But he said,

"That sounds awesome."

The pizza came and they played some mindless video game that involved vehicles racing and cheesy music, which was fun. They sat together on Sam's bed, crosslegged, the computer in front of them, the little pipe sitting in an ashtray between them. He was getting a bit more used to being stoned, but also a bit more aware of how it made him want to be very sexual, really fast. He looked at Sam for a second who was taking a big hit from the pipe. Without thinking he said,

"Hey Sam, how about we..."

Sam looked at him over the pipe, then said,

"Oh, you mean...I'm always down for that!" and he put the pipe down, unhooked the game controllers. He arranged the computer between them and they both leaned against the wall again, just like last time. Mark worried he was coercing Sam, but the enthusiasm he showed made him realize he was always down for...something. The lube appeared.

"What should we watch?" Sam asked, opening the lube. His pants were already off, and he wore just a shirt. As he talked, he pulled it off.

"Uh, aren't you the expert here? And besides, I don't want to watch anything that won't work for you as well."

"Good point. Let's see..." and he began scrolling through possibilities. "Let's try this."

On the screen were two guys again, but this time, two guys alone in a bed. But beside them, in a big armchair, was a beautiful, naked woman. As the guys in the bed began to go at it, she began to go at herself, exposing all herself in a way the Mark had to not look at. This is how I know I'm gay, he thought, focusing on the guys in the bed who were busy with their mouths, and then the asses, pounding each other, alternating top and bottom. Sam was into it, as always. "This is hot, right? Really hot."

Mark watched Sam for a minute who was pumping his cock with a steady rhythm. He looked at Mark and smiled, indicated with his head "You better catch up."

Mark caught up. The guys on the screen were getting close, the woman in the chair seemed to be having a melt down (which is how it sounded to Mark). Sam grunted a few times then began to cum in great, syrupy splashes that rocketed out of his cock and seemed to go everywhere, included onto Mark's chest, and belly, on his face again. Sam had his eyes closed, his head turned up, gasping. "Wow. That was intense." he turned and smiled at Mark again. "And I hit you real good this time. Sorry."

Mark smiled. "I kinda like it, if you don't mind me saying." and as soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. But it was true.

"Yeah, I bet you do you little demon. Now go."

Mark realized he meant cum, so he started pumping harder, watching the guys on the screen who were kissing now that they were finished. It didn't take him long, and pot helped him further, and he came with a bit of a cry, gushing up to his neck with a gasp. Sam laughed and reached over to the mess on his chest and scooped some of it up is fingers, tasting it.

"I hope you don't mind..."

"Mind? Go for it." He couldn't believe he was saying these things, but his mind was not quite working. They both lay, breathing heavily, looking into the middle distance. Sam turned to him, almost shy it seemed. "You don't think I'm weird, do you. I mean tasting you a bit?"

Mark was startled by the vulnerability of the question. "No...you seem sort of...curious? But I kinda like it." and he hoped he wasn't being too direct. Sam smiled at him. With relief it seemed. "Good." He reached over and ruffled Mark's hair again, then stopped in mid-movement. "Shit, I think I just got spooge in your hair." as he tried to wipe it away.

"Don't worry about it. I need a shower anyway." and he got out of bed, a little unsteadily, looking around for a towel. Sam got off the bed and stretched, showing his hairy armpits, cum dribbling down his chest. "Me too."

They walked down the hall in their towels to the shower where they round themselves in stalls across, but not directly, from each other. Mark concentrated on washing himself, soaping up his chest, and cleaning away all the stickiness. He occasionally glanced at Sam, who was doing the same. They continued to be quiet and the shower stalls were empty save for them.

Back in their room, they seemed almost shy around each other. Sam was concentrating on his paper, wearing only a pair of shorts and Mark tried to imagine getting into bed with him, tried to imagine what it might be like to fall asleep with the feel of Sam's arms around him. He shook his head. This was getting to be a problem, fantasizing about a straight boy. Although Sam's interest in cum was startling for a straight guy.

He was in bed, still ploughing through Dickens. He occasionally watched Sam as he prepared for bed, which mostly involved throwing his shorts to the floor and falling into bed where he pulled his blanket up to his chin, then looked over at Mark. "Night."

"Good night, Sam."

He read for a while, mostly succeeding in focusing on Dickens, but finding his mind wandering to the feeling of Sam beside him as they sunk into pleasure. It was like nothing he had imagined, and he felt like he had imagined many things. He looked over and watched him sleep, his mouth slightly open, his breath slow and regular. What kind of guy was this?

Next: Chapter 5


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