Student no longer. A story in 10 chapters
Disclaimer: This story contains passages of explicit description of sexual activity between boys of 18+. There is also strong language. If you are likely to be offended by these, please read no further.
Chapter 4: Sex and Surprises
The first surprise I had the next morning was when I discovered that Bob had not returned that night. There were only his worn bag containing his scant belongings and the stickiness of my body as evidence of the paradise that was yesterday.
The second surprise came as I walked into college for my first class. There was Jake in deep discussion with one of the four lads who had had the verbal spat with Bob, the day before yesterday. I knew Jake well, remember.
For the first few weeks of term, we were hardly out of each other's sights; all of our friends and acquaintances were shared and I had never before seen him with this guy. When I approached, the boy withdrew guiltily, and Jake looked the other way as though he hadn't seen me. But he was a poor actor!
I couldn't find Bob anywhere. When I asked a student who was on the same course as him, he just shrugged his shoulders and said he hadn't attended a class for weeks. "It's only a matter of days before they dump him," he said caustically.
This hit me hard! I couldn't bear the thought of college without Bob. I must warn him! But where the hell was he?
I had to go for a pee. It was a small toilet I went to and there was no-one in. However, I soon heard footsteps and out of all the thousands of students in the college, it had to be bloody Jake who swanned in. I felt embarrassment at our being forced into each other's company like this. I kept my eyes fixed on the wall as I stood at the urinal. I was in mid-flow, so to speak, otherwise I might have beaten a quick retreat. Jake took the second urinal from me. I sensed him looking enquiringly in my direction, but I pretended not to have noticed him.
I still, however, had to struggle to avert my eyes as he took his cock out.
I had never yet seen it, despite his once being my best friend, because he was so adept at modestly hiding it when he had a piss. "How can I fucking fancy the bloke that I despise the most?" I thought. "Why is that? Isn't sex supposed to be with someone you love?"
He broke the silence first. "Look," he said almost pleadingly. "I know I'm not flavour of the month with you at the moment, but I tell you - I just don't want you to get hurt. Don't you understand that? You've no fucking idea what that creep you've taken in is?"
"Don't give me that," I responded roughly (while taking another hopeful, involuntary glance downwards.) "I saw you in cahoots with that kid this morning. What yarn has he been spinning to you about Bob? He's a coward and a bully. Didn't he tell you he ganged up with three others to attack him? You didn't know that, did you?" (Nor, I must confess did I, as Bob had still not taken me into his confidence about it.)
"You still haven't got it, have you?" Jake screamed at me. "He's a ...."
"Perhaps I know!" I shouted on top of him. "And perhaps I don't care! Perhaps, Miss Goody Two Shoes, I'm ...."
But just as I was about to "out" myself to my ex-best friend, a stranger came into the bogs and I shut up, embarrassed at how much I had already let out of the bag. He occupied the urinal between us and I zipped up my flies in high dudgeon and stalked out without another word.
The day crept by slowly and I prepared to go back to my flat. I no longer wanted to have a drink and a bite to eat with my old friends. I felt lonely and perplexed.
But that was only until the next surprise! The biggest of all!
As I smooched along the Embankment to the underground station, a figure leapt out of the crowd and threw himself on to my back. It was Bob, as crazy and high-spirited as he was yesterday.
"Where the fuck have you been?" I protested.
"Hey, Little John," he said, unphased by my ill-humour. "I've been working hard for you. Guess where we're going."
"Well I'm going to my flat," I said bad-temperedly. "Where you go is a matter for you."
"Ah don't be like that, my sweet, little John," he said consolingly, nuzzling his lips against my neck. "But no ...neither you nor I are going to your grotty flat. We are going to OUR de-luxe apartment in Earls Court."
As you may be able to imagine, this was a bombshell. It seemed that this pauper, this near down-and-out, had supposedly acquired for us a sensationally appointed flat which we were now going to occupy together.
I found objection after objection. What was I going to do with the old flat? Had he just presumed that I wanted to live with him without any consultation? How could I afford to pay for a luxury apartment? More to the point, how could he? Why couldn't we have looked for one together? He had been crass; he had been imbecile; he had made too many assumptions about our relationship. I was seething with anger.
He brushed off each objection with an easy charm. I could easily give up the dingy, old flat... wouldn't I be glad to see the back of it? Didn't I feel as he did that no-one could possibly have better sex than we did, because we were so much in love? (This counter-argument thrilled me to the core.) He promised that my share of the rent would be no more than I had been paying. Didn't he realise how much work he had been doing recently to cover his share?
By the time we had disussed these things, he was steering me to the right station on the District Line and we were heading for Earls Court.
His good spirits and physical presence on the train had calmed me down by the time he put the key in the lock of our new flat. We entered into a small porch and he put his hands over my eyes theatrically as he swung open the inner door. I still shiver when I recall the intimacy of that moment, the darkness of the porch, the closeness of his body, the warmth of his hands, the hotness of his breath. He lifted the blindfold and I gasped. The flat was palatial. Fit for a prince! Or a couple of them! Two newly upholstered sofas, a fitted, luxuriously piled carpet, beautifully polished dining table ..... but I don't want this to sound like an estate-agent's "sell" - suffice it to say that I had never seen anything in my admittedly rather limited life like it. I took my shoes off before going in .... it seemed only right.
There was a separate bedroom, with a king-sized double bed - just right for a married couple - with freshly laundered sheets and a duvet, one mirror on the adjacent wall and another wickedly on the ceiling above it. The sight of these set my imagination whirling. Fun times ahead!
Suddenly we both went manic. There was just too much happiness in one go. We bounced on the bed, wrestled on the deep piled, spacious carpet in the living-room, rolled on top of each other on the sofas. Bob drew me into the recesses of the room to snog me hungrily. This was our nest to make love in aristocratically, at our leisure.
"But now the piece-de resistance!" he said, opening another door. And it led to the bathroom. "No more trips down the corridor to shared facilities."
I gasped in admiration. It was fully tiled and with highly polished chrome fittings. It contained a toilet, a bidet, a semi-circular bath which one could walk into, and a double shower. Pure decadence!
"Let's try the shower," said Bob, shucking off his clothes. I still associated showers with those I tried to get out of at school - miserable communal things where boys compared their eqipment with the norm, and either gloated or felt somehow diminished as men, where the water was never an even temperature but was either scalding or freezing, and where teachers immodestly inspected you to make sure you weren't avoiding your healthy aftersport water torture. So I hesitated. Maybe, I still felt a residue of my former modesty as well, in spite of yesterday's intimacy with Bob.
"Come on!" he yelled ecstatically and I caught sight of him capering in the steam, with a flaccid cock swinging backwards and forwards between his legs.
I didn't try to resist further. I peeled off my clothes and flung them on top of Bob's in a heap on the floor. There were two shower-heads. The force of the water was exhilarating. I lunged at Bob's torso, twirling around under the pattering spray, and our bodies collided in an embrace. We kissed long and deeply while the water thundered in our ears. We had arrived and we were in love, private and secluded in this inner sanctum of a temple that had somehow been dedicated to us, and to us alone.
" Come on," Bob shouted above the noise of the water. "I'll wash your back."
He lathered his hands in soap and spread his palms over my back. My spine and shoulder blades tingled as he firmly massaged them. Then he moved to my bum. He contoured my bum cheeks while breathing softly into my ears, nibbling the lobes with his lips. I arched my back, twisted round to find his mouth and fiercely penetrated it with my tongue. Then he took the soap and slid it slowly, edgeways down the crack of my bum. It sent a shiver down my spine and I drew him to me ever more urgently.
He was excited now. Putting the soap down, he reached for some shower gel and smearing some on his hands, he yelled at me to stand with my legs braced and press my hands against the wall. I was fully erect by now and noticed he was too, with the kink of his cock almost touching his belly button. Now he explored my crack with the tip of his fingers. I felt sensation after sensation overtake me - all new, as I had never discovered the possibilities of this part of my body ... at least not as he was now expertly doing. It was delicious. Then.... " still further apart," he urged and a finger, lubricated with shower cream, slid up my arse hole. "Can't have skid-marks on your underpants, can we?" he murmured huskily.
The impudence of the remark and the outrageousness of the act itself combined with the totally new sensations set up an entirely unprecedented state of arousal for me. I shivered with delight.
He noticed and said in my ear: "Can you take another one?"
I nodded dumbly.
The middle finger corkscrewed up and they were alive inside me, picking out erogeneous areas I had never known existed.
"You're going to make a promising bottom," he purred ... and though I didn't understand the remark, I basked in his approval.
Then the third finger entered me and I could imagine it was his cock, amd to imitate his cock, he bent the tips of his fingers and watched me squirm with pleasure.
I gasped, breathless with the pressure of the water, the position I was holding myself in and most of all the extreme pleasure his fingers were creating.
He withdrew grinning cheekily.
"My turn," he winked. "I'm a dirty bugger. I need cleaning thoroughly inside and out."
I was tense with anticipation as he positioned himself against the tiles, with his legs wide apart. Excited as I was, I only gave short shrift to the upper part of his back and moved quickly to his curvaceous bum - the focus of my fantasies from the time he leant over the bar at the start of the week. He tightened his muscles in the way I loved and I soaped his cheeks with the palms of my two hands and slapped his buttocks sharply. "Lovely!" he moaned in appreciaton.
Then he reached to turn the shower off. It was eerily quiet. He knelt down on the bathroom floor and with his legs wide apart, he bent over so far that I could again see the inviting puckered neatness of his bum hole. He was just about hairless in that area, just a stray, short black hair here and there. I did what he did, lubricated my finger with the shower cream and massaged the entrance with a circular motion. He literally shuddered with delight. I crouched down intimately beside him, my face touching his so he could whisper instructions to me.
"There.... just there.... a little to your right ..... aaaahhh. Sooo nice. Now inside me ... deep inside."
And I pushed into the fleshy interior. Every millimetre my finger travelled seemed to transport him further into wonderland. You felt he was losing touch with reality or rather discovering another level of reality.
"More fingers!" he gasped and I imagined it was my cock inside there pushing backwards and forwards. He seemed to find extra muscles in the recesses of his bum to grip my fingers tightly, then release them. As we crouched there on the bathroom floor in ecstacy, I clasped his head to mine and drank in his kisses, fierce, urgent, devouring kisses and I heard his whimpers as I probed some unexpected, new, sensitive area deep inside him.
When I withdrew, we rolled out of the shower cubicle on top of each other, panting like dog and bitch.
He gazed at me, just coming round from his trip into oblivion.
"You deserve a reward for that and will have a reward," he intoned solemnly. "And it will be - the most brilliant blow-job ever."
My heart pounded as he wrapped me in a snowy white towel, picked me up bodily - my, he must have been strong - and brought me into the bedroom. He threw me on to the bed, from where I could look up and see my image in the ceiling mirror. There I lay, tucked up in the towel, with my long cock sticking out at the side, my face flushed pink with the heat of the shower and the sex and with droplets of water not yet dried off. My wet hair showed black against the towel. It was all I could do to stop myself falling in love with myself.
Bob positioned himself a the foot of the bed and between my legs. He put his tongue out and let it travel up the full length of the long, thin shaft of my cock. He watched me all the while, thrilled by my pleasure. Then he teased the tip of my tool with his tongue. He flipped it this way and that, nipped the end with his lips, played at it as a kitten with a ball of wool. Then he repeated the tongue's journey, starting at my balls this time, letting it dawdle round the wrinkles of the tight sac and straying into a few pubic hairs, until he was ready to follow a vein up my rock-hard prick, climbing, climbing, climbing to its summit - till his tousled, wet head appeared over the tip and he grinned seductively at me, as though to say "you didn't expect anything like this".
And I didn't. Each caress of his tongue seemed to sensitise my whole body, so I felt energised and tender all over. Now the slippery monster was going to travel again.... and it was ecstacy again. And again the "fun" nibbles and the teasing just below the helmet and over the helmet .... and oh I needed so desperately to release my spunk - I needed to shoot right now.
"Please..." I pleaded incoherently.
"Little John, Little John," he coaxed me. "Just a bit more patience. Hold it back; hold it back."
And he parted his lips round the tip of my tool and slowly moved down on it until the full length was in his mouth. Then tightening his grip on it with the flesh of his lips he pulled back slowly while his tongue swirled crazily round the tip of my pulsating weapon.
Try holding your tongue between your fingers sometime. Doesn't it seem to have a life of its own? It pulsates and quivers. Some animals' tongues are obscenely agile. What a tongue will do seems to go beyond what its owner dictates. Bob's tongue communed with my cock in a rich, superhuman way and my cock fell in love with it. Bob and I might as well not have existed .... for a time these two organs took over control and we just felt passively the excitement they generated.
Soon Bob started in earnest, pumping up and down, and I held his head in both hands, directing the pace. My muscles were all stiffened as he skilfully brought me nearer and nearer to a climax.
"Oh my god, Bob, oh my god, I can't hold back any longer...I'm going to cum."
Relentlessly he continued, using his hands, now to cup my balls, now to pinch my nipples, now to finger my arse.
As he brought me to a shuddering, ball-wrenching climax, I screamed unrestrainedly and let my spunk shoot deep into his mouth, down his gullet .... where, oh where I cared not. I was drained, drained to the dregs both literally and metaphorically. I lay back on the towel and sobbed in sheer joy.
Bob stood up and grinned. "Not bad, eh?"
"Nothing could have been better." I said smiling. "Now for you!"
But Bob stepped back. "That pleasure will have to come later," he said brusquely. "I have to go to work."
Surely not! I instantly felt flat again.
"So how do we pay for this pad?" he said abruptly.
Resignedly, I put a pair of pants on and strolled into the living-room, leaving him to comb his hair and finish drying himself. I switched on the TV and sulkily watched a cartoon.
He was quite a long time getting ready and when he came in, I could see why. The transformation!!! He was smart! Bob! Smart???
He was wearing a white shirt, black tie and a trendy, Italian cut suit. It looked very fashionable and very expensive. His hair was still tousled but he had put gel on it and it now had a studied unkemptness. Instead of his dirty trainers, he had highly polished shoes. He looked magnificent, transformed into some sort of Prince Charming. He gave me a wicked smile.
"Just what sort of work do you do?" I blurted out in astonishment. Was he a male model? A chauffeur for royalty? Just what?
He tapped the side of his nose and looked meaningfully at me, which translated meant: mind your own fucking business!
"So are you out for the night again?" I asked disconsolately.
Again the taps on the nose.
And, with no further explanation, he pecked me on the cheek and left.
It felt so strange being in this flat by myself. All my belongings were still at my old digs. I wandered round peering casually into cupboards and the fridge. To my surprise, the latter was stacked with enticing food. What sort of letting was this, when everything we could possibly want seemed to be supplied? There were so many enigmas, but alas, no-one to share them with. I fixed myself some bangers and mash, and a fruit pie to follow. It was delicious, but I can't say I enjoyed it, without company to share it with.
After lazily watching television "soaps" for the evening, I stripped to go to bed. No pyjamas! They were at my other place. I felt really sexy though as I slipped naked between the sheets. I thought I would always sleep like this - throw the pyjamas away - like my old life.
I was asleep when Bob returned at about 1 a.m. He slipped naked into bed beside me. I half-woke and acknowledged his presence drowsily. He put his arm around me. It occurred to me in my dazed state that he was owed a blow-job and somnolently, I stretched my arm out to touch his flaccid penis.
But he kissed me on the cheek and quietly but firmly removed my hand. I snuggled against his smooth chest and breathed in lovingly the combined scent of young, male sweat and dried spunk. He was lightly snoring now. It must have been my spunk, I thought drowsily, because he didn't cum after the shower ... but then my spunk went into his mouth ... he must have dribbled, I thought .... and, with these permutations criss-crossing through my mind, I drifted back to sleep. We were just like a married couple and I loved it.
Next chapter: "Game Boy". Thanks for your messages of encouragement. They are very much appreciated. Please continue to write: krisjon40@hotmail.com