This is gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else.
Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. They are all products of the author's overactive imagination.
The Interviewee
For the last couple of years, I had been active in my college alumni association interviewing high school seniors who were applying to my alma mater, one of the Ivy League universities. It was a simple duty. Once or twice a year, I would be given the names of some applicants, maybe six or eight guys and girls per year. I would call them, set a time to meet at my office, spend an hour with each of them, and write a letter back to the admissions staff detailing the plusses and minuses of admitting each candidate. Never too sure about how these letters got used, but doing this made me feel like a good and loyal alumnus-promoting the school, getting a peak at the next generation of the school, and all that.
Of course, it didn't hurt that every once in a while I would meet an extremely cute guy among my interviewees. Tight, athletic body helped, but cuteness, in my book, is a function of attitude. Carefree, cocky...hot! With these guys, it was definitely look but don't touch. But, I had fun nonetheless. I got to listen to the guy talk about himself, what he does in school and outside, trying to present himself as well as he can. Trying to suck up and impress me, without being too obvious. During all this, my mind would inevitably wander during a long answer he was making, fantasizing about what could be. My boyfriend wouldn't appreciate me actually acting on any of these impulses, though. Whenever I did run across a hottie, I would always be sure to write an especially strong letter back to the admissions officers! Over the years, I like to think that I helped to improve the overall looks of the male portion of the student body at my alma mater. So much more eye candy for all the gay guys who are there now.
A couple of weeks ago, however, one of my interviewees was different. When I arrived in the lobby to greet Alex, I was left with no doubts that he was physically attractive. On the short side at five six, he had a small frame, but I could see that his body was well muscled, especially his legs. Even in January, Los Angelenos don't think twice about wearing shorts when the weather is warm. I was particularly glad today. I could see the veins bulging on his forearms and his calves. His thighs pressed against the fabric of his shorts. A very attractive young man--the kind Los Angeles has in excess. But, when I was walking up to him and was about to introduce myself to him, he stood up from the chair he had been sitting in, shook my hand, looked into my eyes, and said hello. I knew then there was something different about this interviewee. He was self-assured and mature in a way I had never seen someone of this age act. A touch aggressive, but friendly. Looking back into his eyes, I noticed the fire burning in his eyes. A pretty strong signal he was sending out with only a word and a glance. I didn't know what kinds of passions lurked in his mind, but I was ready to find out. Hopefully it was something more than just wanting to get into my alma mater.
"Hi, you must be Alex." He nodded. "Let me take you up a floor to the conference room. Can I get you anything to drink?" We stepped onto the elevator.
"No, I'm fine."
"Sure? Water, we have Coke, juice, coffee, tea."
"Well, a water would be nice."
We had arrived at the right floor. "Sure." I've found that this simple act of hospitality helps to put candidates at ease. I could go into the psychology of why this works, but I wouldn't want to bore you. The important thing is quickly making the interviewee comfortable.
I led Alex through the warren of offices and cubes into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and fished out a cold bottle. "Here."
"Thanks." His eyes showed a gratitude greater than his single word indicated. Maybe he had been worried that this guy on the other end of the phone wouldn't be a nice person when he actually showed up for the interview. I have had people several times thank me for being a nice person. As if they had expected the interview to be like a torture process or something.
We were walking the entire time I was thinking. Alex was chattering away about how easy parking had been. We finally came to the conference room and I ushered him in, turning on the lights as I reached to close the door behind me. He walked forward to the other side of the conference and I finally got a good look at his backside. Taut, appealing, but out of bounds.
"Pick a seat, any seat," I said. He found one apparently to his liking and sat down.
I sat across the table from him and placed my bottled water, notepad, and pen on the table in front of me. I introduced myself again to him and explained what this interview was for and that I would write up a letter to the admissions people about our conversation. He nodded and said he had already had another one for a different college he had applied to-which one, he didn't say. I smiled and said that I like to be informal; ask any questions you want. I readied my notepad and pen. "Okay, why don't you tell me about yourself?"
The answer to this question was twenty minutes long. I let him talk, I like to get a sense of who a person is by the kinds of stories that they select and tell about themselves. At appropriate places, I would nod, smile, ask a probing question. Generally, I did everything I could to signal that I was an attentive and interested listener. And, of course, my writing hand was jotting notes as fast as it could.
Alex told me about his courses. He liked his history and science courses. He took community college courses in psychology, swing dancing, and Asian history in the evening or during school breaks. He was learning French and Russian at school (obviously a well-heeled private school). I looked at the resume he handed me when he first sat down after our conversation and saw that his grades were stellar. He was third in his class of 120.
But, he wasn't all books and school. He loved playing soccer. "Ahh, that's it," I thought to myself. "Those legs and thighs-soccer muscles." He was the captain of his team this year. He had been on the teams that won the private school league in California the last two years. He though that this year looked good for the team. He talked about how he used lessons from the psychology courses he took to motivate his teammates. The fire I saw in his eyes returned when he spoke about the team and his experiences leading it. His natural outgoingness and charisma obviously greatly aided his team leading efforts--but it was also personal and intellectual for him.
The fire remained when he talked about his role as a class officer, his leadership roles in community service, and all of the other activities he was involved in. He was amazing-it wasn't the number of things he was doing, but rather how he thought about everything, how alive his mind was, how beautiful I found his way of looking at the world. This young man wouldn't be needing any "cute guy" bonus points because he had earned a strong letter to the admissions staff in his own right.
When I asked him if he had any regrets, though, he acted strangely. He started to say something, stopped, his face flushed, and then he said he regretted not getting involved in community service earlier in his high school career. That start-and-stop puzzled me because he was so articulate. I guess no one could be perfect and answer every question seemingly without effort.
He asked me a number of questions about my alma mater: living on campus, what kind of classes to take as a freshman, what regrets I had, how were the sports teams, how was the community service. He had obviously spent a lot of time thinking about this college, but he never asked me about campus life, dating, and the rest.
"I enjoyed meeting you, Alex. Let me give you my card. After today, if you have any questions please call me or drop me an email." He thanked me for my time. I stood up and walked him out the door and to the elevator. "I'll go down with you and get your parking validation." An elevator ride down, a quick conversation with the receptionist, and Alex was off on his way about an hour after I met him. Never to return.
I gave out the card as another one of those tricks to reassure people--like offering them a drink. Simple gesture, but it showed care and concern. So far in my several years, the most I had received was a thank you email or a phone call when someone was admitted-or rejected. Another one of those little things in life that are given and then forgotten about.
I was so impressed and, to be honest, besotted with this attractive, mentally agile, and charismatic young man that I decided to slag off the rest of the day's work and write his letter while everything was still fresh in my mind. Plus, I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the presentation for one of my cases until I had exorcised Alex from my mind. Writing everything down, like in this letter, was the best way of making everything clear. Only then could I forget about it, forget about him. As much as I would like to think about what could have been with Alex, in a different place or a different time, I knew that I had to get back to the grindstone as soon as possible.
I ended up writing one of the most impassioned letters I have ever penned--it couldn't say enough good things about Alex. On every level, he was exactly what my alma mater was looking for. Excellence in academics, athletics, service; an ethical, thoughtful person; someone who would be a good friend, challenging classmate, and comforting roommate. In another context, I suppose, someone could read the letter as a love letter to Alex. I suppose it was. I'm not terribly modest, but this really was one of the best things I had written. And it was only three pages long. I finished it, re-read it, and send it in. I then took off from work-I hadn't done much work, but it had been an exhausting day. I thought of Alex that night as my boyfriend ate out my ass and fucked me. I came harder that night than anytime in recent memory.
The next day I don't remember thinking about Alex. Every once in a while his face would pop up in my mind. But, at the end of January, I returned to my desk from a meeting, checked my voice mail, and heard the following message: "Hello, Mr. [name withheld], this is Alex [name withheld]. You interviewed me two weeks ago. You gave me your business card and, uh, said I could, uh, call if I had any questions. I would like to, uh, speak with you. That is, if you're not busy. Please call me on my cell at ..." The tone of the message got increasingly nervous and pinched as Alex continued speaking. Weird stuff.
I gave Alex a call back. No answer. I left a message. "Alex, I would be glad to talk with you. Please call me back and I will help you with your question."
About five minutes before I was going to leave for the evening, my phone rang and it was Alex.
"Hi Alex. What's your question?"
"Actually, Mr. [name withheld], could I speak with you in person? I have a couple of questions, actually."
"Alex, call me John. Umm, let me check my calendar. I could meet you tomorrow or Friday."
"Tomorrow works for me."
"Okay. Let's say right at 5.00. Instead of a conference room or something, why don't we meet down in the Coffee Bean in the lobby? Did you see it when you came here last time?"
"Yes. I know where it is. Thank you, John. I really appreciate this."
"My pleasure. I will see you tomorrow at 5.00"
And it was my pleasure. My cock had risen while we were on the phone. That night when I got home I was feeling randy. When my boyfriend walked in the door, I had my hand down his pants in seconds. But I went for his ass and started rubbing his pucker, little love taps. 'Knock, knock, is anybody home? Can I come in and stay a while?' The look on his face was precious. He almost always was the sexually aggressive one. Not tonight. "I want you."
Normally I'm never interested in topping. I love having my prostate plucked like a harp. In fact, my boyfriend's only complaint about our sex life is that I don't top him as much as he would like. Tonight was a different story as I fucked my boyfriend hard. First bout I lost quickly, five minutes, cum, but not out for the count. I rested up for a while and started again. Um, twenty good minutes in him. "You know, I'm going to have to do this more often." My boyfriend seemed to like the suggestion. I liked thinking of Alex's prone body contorted beneath mine, his ass taking my cock and his mouth moaning in pleasure and pain.
The next day I could hardly contain my excitement. I had to adjourn to the bathrooms for a quick pulling of the pud around 11.00. When 4.30 finally registered on the clock on my computer, I couldn't stand waiting anymore. I locked my computer and decided to go down to the Coffee Bean and wait for Alex. The ride down on the elevator was fast. I walked into the lobby of the building and across to the coffee bar. I saw Alex seated at one of the tables, facing away from entrance. Pretty sad I could recognize him from the back, huh? Obsession, obsession. I walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned, saw me, and said, "Hello, John." He had a big grin on his face.
"You're here early," I said.
"Yeah, uh, I took the bus down today. I wanted to be early rather than late so I had to wait for a while."
"Oh. Well, I came down for my early evening coffee break. I see you already have a coffee, otherwise I'd offer to get you something. Be right back."
Whew. Had to get away for a few seconds to recompose myself. 'God, I got caught coming down early. Who knows if he bought the early evening coffee break thing. Blah. Couldn't I think of a better lie?'
The coffee purchased and received, I walked back over to Alex, who had been looking in my direction most of the time. I sat down at the little table and looked at Alex. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
"Well, I had some more questions."
"Shoot."
"Could we walk outside?" I looked at him strangely for a second.
"If you want. It'll be getting dark out soon, though."
"That's okay."
"Fine." We both got up and walked across the lobby to the revolving doors.
"So?"
"Um. Well, could you tell me about the clubs again?"
Confusion in my brain. "Okay. Like I said last time, there is everything you could want..."
"No. Tell me about the gay clubs."
"Why do you think I would know anything about that?"
"You know that when we met, I could feel your eyes on me. I saw you check me out, my legs, everything. I was pretty sure I could ask you these questions, but I chickened out then."
"Um, sorry. I didn't think I was being so obvious. Okay. Well, the campus has... Are you really sure this is what you want to talk about? I had a fine time being out on campus. No problems to speak of--no homophobic roommates, no bashing, good parties, good friends, and good lovers. No complaints from me. But, that's just my perspective. I know people who had unpleasant confrontations with roommates or worse. It's all a bit of luck."
"Um. Good to know. Actually, what I want to talk about is you."
"Me?"
"Umm. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I've spent the last two weeks fingering myself to orgasm thinking about the interview. You know, how you spoke to me like an adult, but then undressed me with your eyes. You analyzed me, but I could tell you were daydreaming. I was getting pretty hot. Watching you thinking about me. I loved it and I had to tell you."
"Alex. I don't think my boyfriend would like where this is going." Of course, I wouldn't mind.
"Tell you what. You got to do it to me. Inspect me, judge me, daydream. I want my turn. Put you on the rack and see what pops up. Drive me home and then take me to dinner. I know you want to. And, fuck your boyfriend."
I did. I really wanted to. The pleasure of imagining where this could lead was enormous. What to do?
"Alex, I'm sorry, but..."
To be continued.
Author's Note: I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else. You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com. I will respond to all messages I receive.