The Wall
If you are under age, or live in an area where reading tales of male sex is illegal, or if you're not into this, please leave. These are stories of a few of trysts that began at a cruising area on my college campus known as The Wall. While the stories are basically true, I wasn't taking notes at the time, so some of the details are the product of artistic license, But that does not change the basic nature of the actual events. This all took place in a time when all sex was safe. It isn't now, so please respect yourself and others enough to always play safe. Comments are appreciated.
Alfie
I was just short of my 18th birthday when I went off to my freshman year at the State University. Being a shy, self-conscious kid, I was more than a little apprehensive about dorm life, living with a bunch of strangers, sharing a room with a stranger. Because I wasn't outgoing, I didn't make friends easily and usually kept to myself. I'd lived my whole life in the same house in a quiet suburban town, so change wasn't something I did well. I'd always had my own room and worried about getting along with an unknown roommate.
When I arrived on campus, it was worse than I expected. I'd been assigned to one of the larger rooms, and since there was a housing shortage, I had two roommates. One was a likeable freshman, kind of nerdy like me, but he seemed okay. The other was a senior who had lived in that room all through college and considered it his personal space. He was in ROTC, on the crew team, and had a weight bench in the room for working out. He made the rules clear right away. There was to be no noise in the room when he was there, no music, no socializing. And he was there most of the time, either studying or working out. After unpacking my things, I escaped from the room.
Across the hall, a door was open and there were five guys lounging around a smaller room. They called me in and introduced themselves. It turned out they were all freshman and very friendly. I found a seat on the floor, hung out for a while, not saying much, but getting to know the others through their conversation. A few of the guys did most of the talking, so my comparative silence kind of balanced things out. We all went down to the dining hall to get something to eat, and by the time that we got back, we were friends.
Over the next few weeks, we hung out together all the time, either all together, or in smaller groups. There was always someone to do something with. And college life began to look up. There were football games, movies, dorm and frat parties, and lots of beer.
And a class now and then.
And I had friends. In high school, I'd always been shy, lacking in self-confidence, non- athletic, hanging out with the other misfits. For the first time in my life, I was one of the guys. But there was a problem. I was gay and very much in the closet. I'd had a brief sexual relationship with a friend in high school, but we never talked about it. Over the past summer, I'd discovered a cruisy park and had had a number of brief anonymous encounters there, but that's all they were. I'd never talked to anyone about being gay, and now that I had some friends, I had no intention to.
Our college was all men, which was fine by me, but not with the other guys. The women's college was across town, so we all spent a lot of time over there. The guys seemed to think about girls as much as I thought about guys. Pretty soon, everyone was pairing off. I was fortunate to get `stuck' with a very nice, very Catholic girl who made it clear she wouldn't even consider kissing until she was engaged; a perfect girlfriend for me.
A few months into the semester, I found myself alone one evening, wandering the campus near the administration buildings. These were the original buildings of the school, very old and on a block closest to downtown. There was a low stone wall surrounding the block. I'd been walking a while, so I sat on the wall to rest a bit. After a few minutes, I noticed that a car had passed me several times, it was obviously circling the block. Maybe the fourth time around; he pulled in to the cub and put down the right window.
"Oh, great," I thought, "He's going to ask directions, and I probably know less about this area than he does."
Instead, his question was, "Want your cock sucked?"
I couldn't believe I was hearing right, so I said, "Excuse me?"
"Do you want your cock sucked?"
The brazenness of the question, and the realization that I was on campus and one of my friends could appear any minute put me off.
"No, thanks," I said as I hopped off the wall crossed the street and headed back to the dorm.
But every free evening I had afterwards found me hanging out at the wall. Usually it was the same thing, older guys driving around and around, sometimes stopping, always with corny lines. One guy actually asked me the time. I leaned in his window, read the time from his dashboard clock and walked away. Sometimes, there were other young guys like me, walking around the block, or just hanging around. One night, this beautiful young black man struck up a conversation with me. He was an upperclassman and we strolled around the block, making small talk about school. He lived in a rooming house a couple of blocks off campus and asked me if I wanted to stop by. Did I? He stopped at a tavern on the corner to pick up some beer to take back. While he was at the bar, I checked him out a bit. He was about my height, 5'10", medium build, on the slim side with a really cute face. I'd never been with a black guy, never even thought of being with a black guy, but he was cute and hot.
We got back to his room, had some beer and just talked for a while. Usually, I had a hard time holding up my end of conversations, thinking of things to say. But it was easy with him. He introduced himself as Alfie, and I surprised myself by giving, not only my real first name (I usually gave a nickname or my middle name), but my last name as well. We talked about being gay on campus. He had a few gay friends there. I told him I was very much in the closet. We talked about family ("Never tell your mother!") He brought out some gay porn magazines, the first I'd ever seen and we looked through them a while.
We moved over to the bed and slowly undressed each other. We lay there pressed together, kissing, nibbling on each other. It was so sweet and comfortable and sexy all at the same time. One of us turned so that we were in a 69 position and we sucked each other for a while. Then we turned back to face each other and he reached under the bed and brought out a bottle of baby oil. He poured some over my stiff dick and some over his. Then he took my dick in his hand and placed my hand on his. And we began slowly stroking each other in unison. It was slow and gentle, kissing each other deeply and stroking each other. He was so hot, so sexy. Kissing his mouth, his neck, licking his smooth chest and his hard nipples. And stroking that beautiful rigid cock. Our breathing became more rapid as we both neared orgasm. It his me first, my first shot hitting me in the neck, with the next several spraying all over my chest and stomach. As I started to come, my hand involuntarily slowed down on his cock, so with he placed his other hand over mine and together we kept pumping his dick. Only seconds after my orgasm subsided, he exploded, with shot after shot hitting his chest, my chest and both our stomachs. We turned in toward each other and kissed again, our hot sticky bodies pressed together. Finally, he got up and got a towel and we gently cleaned each other up. We snuggled just a little while longer and then I got up and got dressed, kissed him goodnight and went back to the dorm.
Not long after that the campus closed down for the holidays and I went home. A couple of days after Christmas, my sister called me to the phone. She had an extension in her room, so I took the call there. As she handed me the phone she said, "It's some guy named Alfie."
I panicked, I froze, I died. A guy I'd had sex with was calling my parent's house and had just talked to my sister. It's like my heart just stopped beating.
Finally, I found my voice and spoke into the phone, trying to sound as natural as possible, "Hey Alfie, how's it going?"
"Hi Mike, I hope you don't mind me calling you at home, but I noticed we don't live too far apart and thought maybe you'd like to get together and do something over vacation."
"Well, actually, I'm pretty tied up with family and seeing old friends for the rest of the week. Sorry," I lied.
"That's okay. I know its last minute. How about when we get back to school?"
"Sounds good to me. By the way, how'd you get the number here?"
"Easy. You told me your last name so I looked you up in the student directory. It gives dorm addresses, campus PO Boxes and home addresses and telephone numbers."
"Oh. I wouldn't have thought of that. Why don't you drop me a note after vacation and we'll get together then?"
"Sounds good. See you then."
I was in a quandary, I really liked him and I had really enjoyed our time together in bed.
And he was the first gay guy I'd ever really had a chance to talk to. But he was more out than I was. He had gay friends; I had straight friends I couldn't risk losing. I kept thinking, "What if I'm walking down College Avenue with one of the guys from the dorm and Alfie walks up and says hi. How could I explain that?" Talk about irrational paranoia. There was no way an explanation would be needed. No one would guess Alfie was gay or that anything was going on. He could just have been a guy from one of my classes, but I couldn't see that. I was deep in the closet and very paranoid.
A couple of days after returning from vacation, I found a sweet card from Alfie in my mailbox, telling me how much he had enjoyed our evening together and how much he wanted to see me again. He gave me the phone number of his rooming house and asked me to call. I read he note over and over, torn about what to do. Finally, I walked over to the door, tore the card in half, dropped it in the garbage can and went back to the dorm.
I came out a couple of years later and kept hoping I'd run into Alfie somewhere so I could apologize. But I never did. He was so sweet, obviously liked me and treated me so beautifully, and I led him on and didn't even have the decency to explain to him why I couldn't see him again. I can rationalize and blame it on the closet, but it was still wrong and after all these years, I still owe him an apology.