Every man has them. A whole library of stories about `the ones that got away': the straight co-worker, the curious best friend, the college roommate, all looking to experiment, but afraid to make the first move. Looking back, the signs were all so clear, so obvious. We would kick ourselves for years afterwards for not making the first move, but of course that is much easier to do in hindsight. At the time, we were also afraid. Afraid of ruining friendships, afraid of rejection, afraid of humiliating ourselves. But oh, to have some of those chances back again, how we would do things differently. Just imagine.
The Curious Acquaintance
22 January 2001 1.14 am
There were few guys at Collins University as sexy as Tom Lombart. At 6 foot 2, he was a big guy, with a lean, muscular physique that he acquired naturally from playing a wide range of college sports. He had a thick mop of dark blonde hair, always messy, with a tangle of tight curls on top, shaved close at the sides and back. At 19, he had already become a rangy young man, with long thick arms, hanging lower than you would expect, a long lean torso, and a slack jaw. His mouth seemed to be perpetually hanging open, just slightly, accentuating his heavy full lips.
"Man, just look at him,' Elizabeth said, watching Tom slide his plastic tray across the cafeteria counter, loading up his plate up with French fries. `Imagine what he must be like in bed. With those arms, those lips, that bod. Man oh man."
Mike didn't need anyone to prompt him to fantasize as he watched Tom move across the room; he had already spent months imaging the same thing. He and Tom lived in the same dorm, and Mike had the chance to appraise Tom almost daily. Unfortunately, the shower room wasn't an open one like in Mike's high school; in the dorm, each guy had a private cubicle to himself.
Yet, lucky for him, Mike always seemed to catch Tom walking into the bathroom wearing only his towel, his pale muscular torso as smooth as china, with his two pink nipples the only marks on his gently rounded chest. Mike would try not to stare, but he couldn't help it. Tom bent over the sink, brushing his teeth. Tom shaving. Tom coming out of the shower. He would replay all of these scenes vividly while jerking off every night. He was sure Tom knew, but neither boy said anything about it. For the time being, Mike was content to stare, and Tom seemed happy enough to be stared at. The two maintained a genial, if not overly friendly relationship, with just a nod and a smile here, a quick hi' or a breezy seeya' there.
So, when there was a knock on Mike's door just after 1am, the last person in the world he expected it to be was Tom Lombart. At first he thought that he must be dreaming. Mike stood in the open doorway, staring out into the bright hall, with Tom silhouetted perfectly, looking even taller and lankier than usual. Mike squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light, still only half awake.
`What's going on?' Mike asked with a croaky voice, suddenly self-conscious in his boxer shorts and grubby t-shirt, his brown hair flattened on one side from where it had met his pillow. He slid a hand under his t-shirt and scratched drowsily at his flat stomach as he waited for Tom to answer.
`Nothin', Tom said. There was an awkward silence. Mike was unsure what to say next. The silence grew.
`Are you okay?' Mike asked, more to break the silence than out of any real concern.
Yeah,' Tom said, leaning a long arm up against the door frame to steady himself. Just drunk.'
Indeed, Mike could smell the beer on Tom's breath. His stomach tightened.
What does he want? Mike thought. Surely not . . .
`Do you want to come in for a sec?' Mike asked shyly, wondering whether the question would raise any alarm bells in Tom. Wondering whether that was what a straight guy would ask.
`Sure,' Tom slurred, and blundered past, heading straight for the bed, which was still rumpled and warm from Mike's interrupted slumber. He propped himself up, so that his back was against the wall, with his feet dangling off the side. Mike noticed that in one quick motion, he had kicked off both of his sneakers.
"I'm drunk as fuck," Tom said, his eyes half closed. Mike could tell that Tom was not exaggerating. His eyes were read and glassy, wandering around the cramped room, taking it all in. It was the first time that Tom had ever been in Mike's room.
What the fuck is he doing here? Mike thought again. This cannot be happening.
With nowhere else to sit, Mike went over and sat on the bed, too, feeling awkward, but enjoying the close proximity to Tom; it was probably the closest the two had ever been. He could smell the scent of stale beer and cigarettes, mixed with the faint smell of sweat and some sort of cologne, maybe deodorant.
`Do you have any beer?' Tom asked, to Mike's surprise.
`Ummm, sure, hold on a sec.' Mike went over to the fridge and took out two beers. Tom opened his quickly and took a long swig. Mike stared at him, nervous, not sure where this was leading, afraid even to imagine, in case he was wrong.
Can you do me a favor,' Tom slurred suddenly. Can you rub my ankle for me?' He wasn't looking at Mike as he said it, but instead seemed to look around the room, at everything but Mike. He took another long drink from the can of beer, and let out a loud burp. Only then did he look Mike right in the eye.
`Sure,' Mike said, as Tom swung his legs up onto the bed, almost into his lap. Instantly, as soon as he had hold of Tom's giant foot, even with its damp sweaty sock still on, Mike felt his cock spring to life. He prayed it wouldn't come out of the fly of his boxers.
The silence grew, until finally Tom said `I hurt my ankle today in hockey practice. It kills,' by way of an explanation for his unexpected request. Mike could feel his face flush. He suddenly felt very warm. His erection strained against the fabric of his boxers, and he was worried that Tom would see it, would sense it somehow. He could smell Tom's foot from where he sat, a mix of sweat and soap and leather that was not entirely unpleasant. The foot was surprisingly heavy, muscular, the grayish-white sock slightly damp. His cock twitched again, spreading a dark patch of pre-cum on his boxers. He adjusted the way he was sitting to ensure it was hidden from view.
Mike's heart was pounding, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head. What should I do now? Should I move up his leg? Should I take off his sock? What if I am wrong? What if this is just innocent, if he really did just hurt his ankle? Wouldn't he just rub it himself? What if he rejects my advance, and tells everyone? Or throws a punch?
As if he had read his thoughts, Tom suddenly said, `This is kinda queer I guess, isn't it?' His eyes were locked on Mike's now. He wasn't smiling. The silence hung between them.
Mike was unsure how to answer. His mouth was completely dry, as if he had eaten a fistful of crackers all at once. He swallowed hard. Nah', he managed to croak, unconvincingly, I don't mind.'
Tom hesitated for a few seconds, then pulled his leg away, and stood up with an exaggerated groan. Mike thought he could see Tom's swollen cock through his jogging pants, long and thick with excitement, but he couldn't be sure. `Listen,' Tom said, almost sadly, "I'd better go, I'm really drunk.' He stood there a moment longer. Waiting for Mike to protest? Waiting for him to make some sort of move? But Mike was paralyzed. With fear. With desire. The whole thing had happened so suddenly, Mike wasn't prepared. Damn, he thought, damn damn damn. His own erection ached in his shorts; he didn't care now if Tom saw it or not. As Tom left, Mike cursed himself silently, and wished he has been more bold.
Seeya round" Tom said, and, for the first time since he got there, gave a half smile.
`Bye,' Mike said, and slowly closed the door, frustrated that he would have to bring himself to orgasm not with Tom, but with what might have been.
22nd January 2001 1.31 am
`Do you have any beer?' Tom asked, to Mike's surprise.
`Ummm, sure, hold on a sec.' Mike went over to the fridge and took out two beers. Tom opened his quickly and took a long swig. Mike stared at him, nervous, not sure where this was leading, afraid even to imagine, in case he was wrong.
Can you do me a favor,' Tom slurred suddenly. Can you rub my ankle for me?' He wasn't looking at Mike as he said it, but instead seemed to look around the room, at everything but Mike. He took another long drink from the can of beer, and let out a loud burp. Only then did he look Mike right in the eye.
`Sure,' Mike said, as Tom swung his legs up onto the bed, almost into his lap. Instantly, as soon as he had hold of Tom's giant foot, even with its damp sweaty sock still on, Mike felt his cock spring to life. He prayed it wouldn't come out of the fly of his boxers.
The silence grew, until Tom said `I hurt my ankle today in hockey practice. It kills,' by way of an explanation for his unexpected request. Mike could feel his face flush. He suddenly felt very warm. His erection strained against the fabric of his boxers, and he was worried that Tom would see it, would sense it somehow. He could smell Tom's foot from where he sat, a mix of sweat and soap and leather that was not entirely unpleasant. The foot was surprisingly heavy, muscular, the grayish-white sock slightly damp. His cock twitched again, spreading a dark patch of pre-cum on his boxers. He adjusted the way he was sitting to ensure it was hidden from view.
Mike's heart was pounding, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head. What should I do now? Should I move up his leg? Should I take off his sock? What if I am wrong? What if this is just innocent, if he really did just hurt his ankle? Wouldn't he just rub it himself? What if he rejects my advance, and tells everyone? Or throws a punch?
As if he had read his thoughts, Tom suddenly said, `This is kinda queer I guess, isn't it?' His eyes were locked on Mike's now. He wasn't smiling. The silence hung between them.
Mike was unsure how to answer. His mouth was completely dry, as if he had eaten a fistful of crackers all at once. He swallowed hard. Nah', he managed to croak, unconvincingly, I don't mind.'
Feeling suddenly bold, Mike watched Tom's face carefully as he pulled off one of the sweaty socks, and then the other, and pulled both of the athlete's giant feet into his lap, letting them touch his aching erection. He watched carefully for even the tiniest sign of disapproval, but Tom merely closed his eyes and lolled his had back against the wall. Mike noticed that his thick lips were parted, and that he was breathing heavily through his mouth. With his head back, a few dark blonde bristles of hair were visible on his chin. His large Adam's apple rose and then fell as he swallowed hard. For a second, he wondered if Tom had fallen asleep, but as if on cue, Tom rubbed his nose roughly with the back of one giant hand, showing the broad palm, rough with calluses, before again letting it rest at his side.
Carefully, gently, and oh so slowly, Mike began rubbing Tom's calf, pressing and kneading the flesh firmly. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard Tom groan, just slightly, almost like a sigh. Mike's cock was so hard it hurt, but he didn't dare let go of Tom's leg to touch himself. He pulled up the leg of Tom's jogging pants to reveal a muscular calf, covered with a smattering of soft blonde hair, the same color as the few hairs on his enormous muscular feet and toes. Man's feet, Mike thought to himself. These are man's feet. Without the sock on, the smell of his foot was stronger, acrid, like vinegar, but sexy, unmistakably masculine.
Mike's attention returned to Tom's face, scanning it relentlessly for any sign of objection or alarm, but Tom's eyes remained closed. Perhaps there was even the start of a half-smile on his lips? Mike was unsure, but he could clearly make out the shape of Tom's erect cock now, straining through the synthetic fabric of the jogging pants. He edged closer towards it, rubbing Tom's thighs, both calves, both feet.
His hands traveled higher. This was it. He watched Tom's face as he slid his hand onto the bulge in his jogging pants. If he lets me do this, Mike thought, then I am home free. Please God, let him just lie there, just for 10 more minutes, and I will never ask for anything ever, ever again.
Mike outlined the thick shaft with one finger, rubbing the full length of it, seven inches at least, maybe eight. His eyes never left Tom's face. But now that he had come this far, he had to see more. His heart was beating so hard he wondered if Tom could hear it. The time had come. He reached up and grabbed at Tom's waistband, slowly pulling down his pants, an inch at a time, noticing for the first time that Tom was not wearing any underwear. Please, Mike prayed silently again, please let me do this.
Tom's cock sprang up as if it were on a spring, and he lifted his hips just slightly as Mike pulled the pants down to his knees. His cock was enormous, Mike could see now, at least 8 inches, with a fat mushroom head, and a long thick shaft the width of a baby's arm. Mike traced a long prominent vein with the tip of one finger, and saw Tom shudder as his cock twitched and flexed in approval. He took Tom's sack in his hand, and lolled the balls around gently. They were so heavy, they hung so low. Mike couldn't believe how soft they were, so warm and furry. He rocked them back and forth, tugging on them gently, tickling the coarse honey blonde hairs with his fingers, sliding his finger behind the sack, and in the space between his balls and his asshole, prodding gently, massaging every inch of him. Tom groaned, there was no mistaking it this time, and arched his back ever so slightly.
That was all of the prompting that Mike needed, and he leaned forward, taking Tom's fat cockhead in his mouth. It tasted of soap, yet slightly salty too, and Mike was surprised at how silky smooth the skin was, how soft and warm. He went lower and lower, stuffing the giant rod into his hot mouth, drooling on it, sucking as much in as his mouth would allow. Soon, his nose was buried in Tom's pubic hair, so soft on his nose, the smell magnificent, like almond soap. Tom made a sound like air escaping from a punctured tire, his hands turned into giant fists as he grabbed hold of the bed sheets with both hands.
Mike buried his face between Tom's muscular thighs, and lapped at his hairy balls, pulled at the coarse blonde hairs with his teeth, tickled the sack with the tip of his tongue. Tom's face was contorted into a grimace, his back arched, his t-shirt pulled up to reveal his flat stomach, as pale as moonlight. He wriggled and writhed, and Mike picked up the pace, stroking the slick eight inch shaft with one hand, while teasing his ball sack with the other, gently pulling it down, then lolling the heavy balls around again.
He could tell Tom was getting close. His breathing had turned ragged and shallow, and Mike could feel that his nipples were like hard pebbles under his t-shirt. Mike slowed suddenly while Tom caught his breath, and then resumed in earnest, stroking the hard shaft faster, gripping it firmer, while he sucked both of Tom's warm hairy nuts into his mouth. He slid one finger behind Tom's balls, and again tickled the area between his sack and his asshole, now damp with sweat, before gently teasing his hole with a finger tip, tracing the opening, entering him just barely, just with the very tip of one finger.
Tom made a gurgling sound, and grunted an anguished cry as his eyes flew open, bulging. That was it. A thick rope of white cum flew from his cock and landed on his chest, just missing his quarter-sized dark pink nipple, a second blast landed on his stomach. He whimpered and growled, his head thrown back, uttering only a single word: `fffuck'. Another blast came, which Mike caught in his mouth, not wanting to waste another drop. He gently milked Tom's cock for any remaining fluid, before giving his heavy warm balls once last gentle squeeze. A moment later, he could hear Tom snoring, with his pants around his knees, his shirt hiked up to his chin, and his cock still rock hard.
He took a moment to survey the scene, ran his hands over Tom's smooth warm chest, tight abs, and firm nipples one last time. Feeling guilty, but too aroused to help himself, Mike got up on his knees, pulled off his t-shirt and boxers, and pointed his own fat cock at Tom's alabaster chest as he jerked himself off, tickling his sack while he pumped his rock hard shaft. It took no time at all, and in seconds he had dumped his seed all over the sleeping man's smooth chest. He couldn't remember ever seeing a sexier sight: Tom lying there so exposed, so helpless, stripped bare and covered in spunk. He slowly cleaned Tom up with his own discarded boxer shorts, and gently pulled down his t-shirt. He gave Tom's dick a gentle kiss on the tip, and struggled to pull up the sleeping stud's pants, since he was dead weight now, sound asleep. Mike curled up next to him, and was asleep himself moments later.
When we awoke, Tom, of course, was gone. The only sign that he had been there was the empty beer cans. Mike smiled to himself, and knew that neither of them would ever mention what had happened, although Tom was certainly welcome back anytime.
I'd love to hear from you if this story helped you to get off. Be sure to mention the name of the story, though, since I have a few stories online now. Comments to michaelk_69@hotmail.com