To Need or to Want

To Need or To Want

by

D. V. Zomba

Copyright 2010

Prologue Chapter One -- Getting My Feet Wet Chapter Two -- One Step at a Time Chapter Three -- Over My Head Chapere Four -- Que Sera, Sera Chapter Five -- The Long Distance Swimmer

Prologue

James William Adams was the eldest son of Richard Adams and Marie Winslow, and the only boy. His siblings were Ester, Josephine and Ellen. Like clockwork, they all were born two-an-a-half years apart. As the eldest and the only boy, there was some pressure put upon him to do well in what ever he attempted. This pressure, although not overt, came mostly from his father, a skilled cabinet maker and a man who did not have the advantage of a college education being the middle of five children from a working class family. As a cabinetmaker, he was sought after due to the perfection of his work. He had the good fortune to pick and choose his clients who never complained of his prices which were a bit above the average. Marie was a stay-at-home mom until Ellen, the youngest started first grade. Then, she took a position in one of the local law offices as a receptionist-typist and quickly worked her way up. It was suggested that she take a part-time course as a legal aide at a local junior college, which she did and after she received her diploma, she was given an office of her own and a suitable salary. The Adams' were a close family.

Not only did Jim have the advantage of a close, loving family, he also had the blessing of coming from a good gene pool. Jim could be considered `good looking.' By the time he entered college he stood nearly six-feet-one-inch tall and weighed one-hundred-seventy-five pounds. He possessed the physique of a swimmer. Brown, wavy hair, brown eyes, a straight, somewhat prominent nose and strong jaw were accented by his mouth with a fullish lower lip. All the girls melted when he flashed a broad smile. Bearing an affable personality, Jim was admired by his class mates and liked by his teachers as well. He may not have been the most popular boy in school, but he was far from the bottom. Jim was a dyed in the wool romantic. There's nothing wrong with that, but, as he grew older he found himself drawn to and/or addicted to things erotic. This would not appear to fully blossom in his life until he was well into his college experience.

A perfect family does not exist, and although the Adams' were admired by many, there were aspects that rankled Jim in his later years. There was a level of bigotry, that although not virulent, nonetheless left its mark on the Adams children. They were members of a fundamental church, which, although not rabid in their beliefs, were considerably to the right. The Adams had a number of friends who did not believe as they did, that, apparently was OK. However, it was a nonverbalized expectation that the children would meet and marry like minded partners. Not only like minded, but also persons from the same ethnic pool--that is, northern European. The Adams lived in a predominate Italian community and even though they had numerous Italian friends that they socialized with on a limited basis, the thought of one of their children marrying an Italian was not entirely acceptable . . . besides the Italians were Catholics.

On the other hand, the children were expected to treat everyone with courteous respect, regardless of age, social rank and ethnicity. The old fashioned, "Yes, Sir," or "No, Sir," or "Yes, Ma'am," or "No, Ma'am," were de rigueur. There were certain tags that were simply outlawed in the Adams' home--for example: Wop, Dago, Spic, Kike and, of course, Nigger. Mom said, "They are words we simply don't use!" And, she meant it too!

Of course profanity and sexual oriented words were way off the list. The man who ran a furniture store downtown was known to be a `cocksucker,' at least that was the story that ran around school that Jim attended. Jim took some credence in the gossip, because, one day Marie Adams told her son, "I wouldn't go into Mr. Farnsworth store, dear. He's strange!" So Strange became equated with cocksucker!

Sex education of Jim was nothing Richard Adams or his wife dealt with. So Jim grew up as most of the other guys in his town learning about sex from the ill-begotten stories of his age group. On the other hand there were some decisions that his parents took unilaterally. Jim did fairly well in high school and was intending to apply to River Falls State College forty miles from New Richmond. Then his mom came home one day from work and stated that one of the lawyers in the firm suggested that Jim apply to Weston College, near Milwaukee, on the other side of the state. It's cost was more than double what his tuition and fees would have been in River Falls, bit his mom and dad had discussed it and felt that it was worth it.

So they announced to Jim, "We've decided you should go to Weston College. It's small and has an excellent reputation."

So that was that!

Jim attended Weston College. Chapter One Getting My Feet Wet

Mom and dad drove me to Spring City to see that I was properly introduced to college life. Or so they said. Actually, I really think it was a bit of a trauma having the first chick leave the nest and they wanted to hold on to me as long as they could. They registered at an economy motel on the outskirts of Spring City before driving me to the dorm where I was to live. They wanted to get an early start back home the next day.

Prest Hall was one of the older dormitories on campus. It was an all men's dorm. It consisted of three floors with a few single rooms and an equal amount of triple suites, as well as majority of the double suites. The triples and the doubles all had one thing in common--a common sitting room.' Guess that made them a suite! The bedrooms in both the doubles and triples were big enough for a single bed, a desk and chair and a built-in wardrobe. I had been assigned a double.' Singles and triples were considered highly desirable, so generally no Freshman warranted one of them as they were snatched up by the upper classmen. My bed room seemed cramped compared to my room at home. Being the only boy, I, of course always had my own room.

It took all of twenty minutes to move me in. Mom made my bed and tried to make the room as comfy as she could. My room mate I found out was Robert Jefferson from Ann Arbor. I was told that he would be late in arriving.

"Hope he's a nice boy," Mom said.

I blanched! Even though I was eighteen, mom always revered to my friends and I as `boys.'

We went to a local restaurant and had dinner. Sort of a 'good bye' occasion. Mom and dad again reiterated the admonishments they had stated many times before. After dinner mom and dad dropped me off at the dorm and returned to their motel and the early departure the next morning. I went back to my room and dropped into bed. I was exhausted. Slept late, really late. It was 11:00 am when I got up. Heard some noise in the sitting room, put on a pair of shorts and walked out of my bedroom.

"Hi, You must be Jim Adams. I'm Bob Jefferson, your suite mate."

I have to admit I was a bit stunned. Robert, or Bob Jefferson was probably six-feet-two-inches tall and around one-hundred-eighty-five pounds. He walked with the grace of a great cat and the appearance that make a person look twice. Bob was obviously biracial, dark, close cropped, curly hair, full lips with a defined edge, brilliant white teeth, a strong nose with flaring nostrils, skin the color of burnt sugar, thick, tapered eyebrows and the most amazing eyes. They were hazel. His hands were large, but not heavy and with amazingly long fingers that moved with a studied economy of motion. No heavy handedness here! His voice was a natural deep baritone and his laugh rang through the halls like some great bell.

Bob's father, I was to find out, was a senior history professor at Ann Arbor, while his mother was a local pediatrician. He had one older sister who was studying cello at Julliard. Quite an impressive family. Quite an impressive pedigree.

"Hi, Bob."

His handshake was firm, neither knuckle busting nor mamby-pamby! Dad had said, "You can always tell a man by his hand shake!"

Well, with the hand shake and all the rest I observed, Bob was one hell of a guy!

We chatted for a while and then walked to the cafeteria for our supper.

"Well, looks like we won't starve," Bob uttered, "But it sure as hell won't make Gourmet Magazine's list of the hundred best!"

Trying to be worldly and sophisticated, I mused, "Wonder if they serve beer?"

"Not likely!"

We ate our first dinner at Weston College, chewed the fat with some other new students and then walked back to the dorm.

"Hey, Jim," he said, "I hope you're not a prude," as we walked into our room.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Well, when I'm in my room and when I go to the shower, I'm generally nude. Hope you don't mind."

"Naw," I said, "It won't bother me!"

Living with three sisters, I didn't have the luxury to walk around nude. About nudity, my family was pretty modest. I can remember a handful of times I saw my father without any clothes on. Being nude in the high school locker room and showers was de rigueur. It didn't bother me, too much.

Later that night, I was sitting in the old couch that the college supplied for every double and triple sitting room. It had seen better days and I remember mom eying it when we first got there. I was reading a magazine when Bob walked out of his room. I looked up. He was naked as a jaybird! Gawd, did he have a body! His six-feet-two-inches frame and his one-hundred-eighty-five pounds were so distributed as to remind one of a Greek Apollo. Wide shoulders, prominent, dark areolas, narrow waist and hips and fairly muscular thigh, thighs that would have been characterized as well turned' in the old days. And, his cock! Well, it can only be described as impressive. It was considerably darker than his body, the color of black walnut and nestled, or maybe a better term would be: swung' over a ball sac that would be the envy of any Herford bull. His balls were even darker than his cock.

I don't know if I gawked, maybe I gaped, but I realized what I was doing and quickly dropped my eyes to my magazine.

"Gawd," I said to myself in wonder.

"Hey Jim, do you know who you've got for Freshman English?" he asked.

Glancing up into his eyes--"Keep your eyes elevated!" I said to myself.

"I think I have Fergusson."

"Me too," and he turned and walked back into his room.

Not only was Bob possessed of an eye riveting front, he had a magnificent, muscular firm ass, too. Reading my magazine was fruitless after that. I went to my room and got ready for bed.

Mom and Dad called me later that night just as I was ready to slip into bed. It was great to hear their voices.

"You have a nice room mate, dear?" mom inquired.

"Yeah, he's great!"

"Where's he from?" dad asked.

"He's from Ann Arbor. His dad is a senior professor in history at the University of Michigan and his mother is a pediatrician."

"Sounds like he comes from a nice family, dear," mom commented. Mom always calls me `dear,' although she calls my sisters by their given names.

"Yeah, he does. His sister attends Julliard."

"Impressive!" mom added.

I purposely failed to mention that Bob was biracial. I will wait to break that news to them at Christmas.

"What's his name, son?" dad asked,

"Robert Veneable Jefferson," I answered.

We chatted a little longer, then they rang off.

"My parents," I commented to Bob who was going to the shower.

"Next time, give them my regards,"

"I will."

Every floor in Prest Hall had two bathrooms, each serving some twenty-five or thirty students. They amounted to four sinks side by side, two stalls and a shower room. They were never too crowded at any one time. You learn when the showers are not too busy and schedule yourself accordingly. The shower rooms were like a tiled cube--floor, walls and ceiling, each shower had four shower heads, two on opposing walls. In the dorm there was various etiquettes. I soon became aware that about half of the guys on my floor trudged to the showers carrying their towels in their hands, the other half, of which I was a member, carefully wrapped the towels around our waist, for modesty sake, I guess, shedding them only when we entered the shower room. The exception was Sunday. On Sunday from noon until 6:00 was informal open house at Prest Hall, so were admonished to dress accordingly.

Bob was a sound sleeper, and he asked me to make sure he was awake by 7:30, my usual time to get up. It was the second or third morning, I think, when I walked into his room to wake him. His bed covers were mostly off him and he was sprawled on his back. I was greeted to a truly awesome sight. He had a morning hard on and not unbelievable at that time of the day. His cock stood nearly straight up from his opulent balls and thick bush and tilted a bit towards his stomach. Its tumescence had caused his foreskin to be at half mast, revealing a glistening pink, bulbous cock head atop his black walnut shaft. I stopped short in my tracks and since Bob was still asleep, I gazed at my leisure in wonderment at that thing, that magnificent thing, that obdurate thing.

Every floor had its problems. One of ours was Eric Bradford. Eric was an upperclassman, a line backer on the college football team, which wasn't very good having won only one game this season. Eric was a boisterous, cocky son-of-a-bitch, always bullying somebody. He was as tall as Bob and maybe two-hundred-twenty pounds. Not every pound was muscle, but most were. He lived in a triple down the hall from Bob and I, so it was inevitable that we would run into him on a fairly regular basis. His greetings ran from a silent nod to "Hey." Since Bob and I were freshmen, he took particular delight in verbally hazing us.

One afternoon Bob came in from taking a shower. As usual his towel was wrapped about his neck and his long cock was swingin in the breeze as he walked.

"Damn! That stupid Bradford is going to drive me nuts!"

I had learned that when talking about somebody he doesn't like, Bob always uses the family name. I guess he views it as a form of derision.

"What did he do now?"

"Not so much what he did . . . but when I walked into the shower, he announced, `Here comes THE HOSE!'"

Chuckling I said, "He should have seen you when I woke you up this morning! He'd have to call you, `THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT!'"

"You ass!" he snorted, "You're almost as bad as he is."

"But not quite!"

"No," he admitted smiling, "Not quite!" as he disappeared into his room.

One afternoon Bob and I were in the shower when Eric Bradford walked in.

"He guys," he yelled over his shoulder, "The Hose is here!"

Bob who was standing opposite me merely rolled his eyes, turned towards the tile wall and kept lathering up.

"How's The Hose?" Eric asked pushing the insult with a vicious sneer.

Bob kept silent, but for some unknown reason, I jumped in on his defence, into the fray.

"Hey, Bradford. What do the call you? The Nib!"

Eric Bradford, like me, was circumcised, and like me, his cock is rather short in its detumescent state. I assume, also like me, that it swells to an acceptable length when aroused.

I used to feel inferior when I was in the gym class showers as my cock seemed so small. Not like a number of other guys, particularly the uncut guys, who seemed much more developed than me, but then that's a matter of male physiology. I was watching a couple of guys and I saw that if you flipped it up and down a couple of times after you take off your briefs or jock strap it lengthens a bit. All the jocks did that. So I learned to flip until one day, I said, "What the hell!" and stopped flipping. I also remembered one time the class hunk, Jake Iverson, who was one of the uncircumcised group and considered `well hung,' sprang a boner in the showers once. I was a bit surprised at its size. Mine hard on was a bit bigger than his--at least I thought so. Remember: from a tiny acorn a mighty oak will grow!

Bradford turned red with anger and said menacingly, "Hey, you stupid Frosh, you want a knuckle sandwich."

"Not particularly," I answered back and continued, "No more than you'd like to see a headline in the Westonian: `The Nib attacks Frosh in showers!" The Westonian is the college student paper.

"You damned, fucker," Bradford said ominously and stepped towards me.

The next thing I knew Bob grabbed my arm and drug me out of harm's way.

The `Hose' hazing stopped after that.

It was a Saturday in mid-October and we were experiencing unusually mild weather, the last days of Indian Summer. I had been studying hard and after lunch I couldn't concentrate. So I decided to take a break.

I stuck my head into Bob's room and announced, "Takin a break. Gonna walk down to the lake."

"Don't get lost!" Bob said with a smirk. He was on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles reading his history book, and his lengthy, soft cock was flopped to one side against his opulent balls.

"Well if I do, please, get dressed before you start the search!" ____________

The lake, at least part of it was on Weston's thirty acre campus and separated by some woods from the dorms. I had often walked there as it reminded me of home and the woods along the Prescott River where I would `explore' as a kid. It was on one of my exploring expeditions with Dicky and Jake, two of my thirteen year old friends, that I learned the joys of jacking off.

Jake suggested, "Let's see who can cum first!"

"OK," Dicky and I said. I hadn't the faintest idea what "cum" was, but soon found out.

Jake dropped his pants and Dicky soon followed suit. I was the last one to shed my pants. Jake began to play with his cock. I was surprised to see wisps of dark hair surrounding his cock and that adolescent dick was obviously bigger than Dicky's and mine. I was as smooth and bare as a baby. Dicky was hairless like me. Jake's cock got hard and he grasped his hard cock in his fist and began to move it up and down. Dicky followed and I, again, took up the caboose grasping our three inch wonders. When I started to feel my cock and run my fist up and down its length, it felt pretty good, actually, real good. We watched each other and that fueled our own incipient erotic desire. Jack was the first to cum, actually Jake was the only one of the three of us to shoot. I was amazed to see his viscous, milky fluid spurt out of his piss slit. Apparently it felt real good as Jake groaned a lot. Quickly we shoved our pricks back in our shorts and went about our

exploring

For the next couple of months I would jack off in bed achieving a dry orgasm. Then one night my life changed, `cause when I came, I flooded myself with my first cum! Since then, I've become a regular to that delightful and sensual sport.

I exited the woods near the old boat house. Weston once had a rowing team. They weren't any better than the foot ball team. In a word, they were lousy. All that was left of that vain glorious attempt at sport supremacy was the boat house. It was now used for storage of stuff that nobody wanted, particularly stuff from the grounds crew. I walked in, looked around and took the rickety stairs to the attic where there was a window overlooking the lake. I sat cross-legged and looked out the window over the lake.

I heard somebody entering the boat house.

"Are you sure it's OK?"

"Yeah man! I told you I've used it lots of times."

I froze.

"Come on man, over here behind these boxes."

Two guys moved into my view, thanks to a missing board. I recognized one of them. He lived in Prest Hall, an upper classman. They embraced and I watched as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Soon shirts were discarded, followed by pants and underwear. They both stood there with hard cocks jutting out. One guy had a pretty big dick. The other guy knelt down and took the big cock into his open mouth and began to bob up and down on it. I saw my first cocksucker in action, but it didn't look strange' to me. As a matter of fact the sight sent electric chills up my spine. The sucker must have been good cause the big guy was moaning and groaning like mad. After about five minutes, they changed places and the big cock guy immediately swallowed his partner's cock. Obviously they both loved to suck.

Damn! This whole scene made me horny as hell. I was surprised it didn't offend me. On the contrary I sprang a humongous hard on. Suddenly the big guy quit sucking stood up and turned his partner around. Apparently the partner knew what was coming because he passively bent over and offered his ass to the guy with the big cock. I watched with heightened interest as the guy lubed his compliant partner and slid his big cock in. There was a gasp as that big cock began to slide in and out of that tight ass. I watched with rapt attention as that great cock stretched the guy's sphincter as that tight hole was violated. There was little tenderness as the guy with the big cock pummeled the ass of his partner. Nonetheless the fuckee was moaning in apparent delight. Suddenly, the fucker stiffened up, threw his head back, slammed his great cock deep into that pliant hole and groaned loudly. Then he pulled that hard shaft out, dragging some of his cum with the

retreating cock, reached into his pants pocket and drew out some tissue. He wiped off his moist dick and handed the rest of the tissue to the other guy who wiped his well fucked ass of the residue. Quickly they dressed and left.

Waiting a few minutes to catch my breath and for my raging cock to subside, I climbed back down and walked back to the dorm.

When I got back to our room, Bob was reclining on the sofa, studying . . . one leg was on the floor and the other was cocked, and his cock lolled over the cushioning ball sac.

"How was your walk?"

"Weird!"

"How so?" Bob asked dropping his book into his lap, covering his magnificent package.

"Went to the boat house attic to relax and a couple of guys came in and had sex!"

"Had sex?"

"Yeah, they both sucked each other and one fucked the other guy's ass."

"You saw all this?"

"Yeah. There was a missing board and they did their thing right below me."

"Sounds like you had a ringside seat."

"Sure did," then shaking my head in disbelief, "Don't know how the one guy could take a cock up his ass. Must hurt like hell."

"Did he seem to be in pain?"

"No. He seemed to like it . . . the way he moaned."

"Well, there you are!"

Bob was a laid back guy, except where Eric Bradford was concerned. He paid little attention to rumors or the normal campus gossip. When ever I'd get a little out of hand in the gossip department, he'd slip into an atypical black patois and say, "Ah! Come on man!" Other than the obvious, knowing slips, Bob's English was impeccable. He dated occasionally `til Angela Mickelson came along. Then he seemed smitten, at least for a while. When he announced his third upcoming date with Angela within a week, I presented him with a gift wrapped package as he was leaving.

"What's this?"

"Just a little something from your concerned roomy." I said with a twinkle.

He unwrapped the package and uttered, "Damn! You ass!"

It was a dozen Extra Large Trojans!

"Hope the size is right!"

I had to quickly duck the flying condoms as they whizzed past my head.

"You will be on my shit list if you're not careful!" he chuckled.

A couple of weeks later, the Angela thing seemed to subside. I was going to the shower when he came into the room.

"Seeing Angela tonight?" I asked as I was walking to the shower.

"Naw. That's over."

"What's the matter? Couldn't she take it?"

I received a resounding smack on my bare ass. Yeah, I had succumbed to being one of the guys who walked to the shower with their towel around their necks. My cock bobbed up and down as I walked, didn't swing back and forth like Bob's.

The first two years flew by. Bob and I were Juniors, upper classmen. We both were good students, studied hard and regularly made the Dean's List. The summer between my Sophomore and Junior years. I took a job in the local, family owned brewery. The work wasn't hard, but the hours were long and the pay was all right. I was able to save a couple of grand for extra expenses.

Bob had mentioned in the Spring of our Sophomore year that his uncle on his mother's side had purchased a vacation home in the Caribbean and his family was invited there during Spring break of our Junior year. I was invited as a guest. I appreciated Bob's telling me well in advance. Hence my summer job so that I could save enough for the plane ticket.

As I was going home for Christmas, Bob said, "Don't forget Spring Break!"

"I won't. I even have my ticket money saved."

"Good. My cousin is going to get us reduced tickets from the company she works for."

"Great! Every little bit counts."

"Don't worry about expenses when we get there. You're my guest."

"So I have to pay the piper?" I added with a smirk.

"Only if you want to."

"By the way, where are we going in the Caribbean?"

"U.S. Virgin Islands."

"Do they have any there?"

"Any what?

"Virgins!"

"Not likely. So you may feel out of place."

"Well, I guess I will just have to rely on you!"

I rarely dated at Weston. Bob had kidded my of having a low libido. My answer was that most of the girls there really didn't interested me. I had my share of dates in high school and a few at Weston. Had necked and petted with a few, but dipping my wick into a girl's pussy was not top on my list. The truth was that I was a virgin, but it didn't bother me . . . a virgin `til that February.

A week into February of my Junior year I was seduced . . . . by a glory hole! I went to Milwaukee, a short bus ride from Spring City to do some research at the university's library. After lunch, I went into the john to relieve myself. The bathroom had three stalls and four urinals. Two of the urinals were occupied, besides I needed to sit down and take a crap. I entered the end stall and was amazed at all the graffiti. Some of it was as graphic as hell. And, there was a hole in the middle of the wall. I finished my business, flushed the toilet and continued to peruse the rest of the stall's `literature.' Suddenly a finger appeared through the hole. I leaned over and looked through the hole. In the other booth a guy was sitting, pants and briefs around his ankles, legs spread apart and playing with a substantial, erect cock. Quickly I sat back. He had seen me peeking through. The sight of his cock sent me spinning and soon my own cock was as

hard, as regnant as his.

"What the hell!" I thought, so I leaned back, spread my legs and started to play with my cock. The two guys at the urinals had long gone. There was just the two of us in the bathroom. Again the finger appeared again. I realized what he wanted, at least, I thought I did. His mouth came to the hole.

"Stick it through man!" it whispered.

I had no doubt what would ensue if I did. I remembered the guys in the boat house and jacked my cock harder.

"Come on man, stick it through. I want to suck that cock of yours."

Well, that sealed it. I slowly stood up, turned towards the hole and brought my throbbing cock head to that wide aperture. A tongue, his tongue snaked out and licked the head of my rampant cock. A million volts of erotic electricity wracked my body. With out hesitation, I stuck all if my seven-and-a-half inches into the middle stall.

"Oh! My gawd," I whispered as I felt the most incredible, licentious sensation I had ever experienced in my whole life to then. My whole cock had been encased in his moist, lustful, rutty mouth. Unbelievable! It was a thousand times more spectacular than my lotion covered hand moving up and down my pole when I jacked off. His wet, hot mouth, his licking tongue swirling around my cock head sent me spinning. Then he established a rhythmic bobbing on and off my imprisoned cock. Subconsciously, my hips thrust in and out of that glorious hole partnering that primordial dance. If I could have shoved my cock deeper, I would have, but the partition stopped me from burying the total length of my cock down his caressing, throbbing throat.

I began to tremble. My knees quaked and I grabbed the top of the partition for support. I felt as though I was going to collapse! He speeded up his sucking motion and I could feel my spine turning to electric jelly. By balls tightened up, my breathing came in short gasps and I felt that inevitable sensation in my chakra that presaged ultimate release.

"I'm cumming," I rasped and slammed my cock as far as I could.

"Aarrgghh!" I moaned as I shot my load deep into the guys throat. Three, four, five spasms wracked my cock and groin. Finally, I was totally spent. Slowly I pulled my quaking cock out of the hole and half collapsed back onto the toilet.

"That was great man! What a load!" he whispered through the hole.

"Thanks," I whispered.

Well, there I was a Junior from Weston, sitting in the bathroom of the university's library having just lost my virginity and loving it.

That was my first blow job, but it only takes one administered by a master cock sucker to be come addicted. I was addicted. I loved it.

All the way back to Weston on the bus, I reminisced again and again over that experience. But, I must admit, it certainly wasn't very auspicious. There was something about the anonymity that was both exciting and a bit depressing as well.

Got back to our room kinda late that night. Bob was just returning from the shower.

"How was your day?

"Alright."

"Just alright?" and then he added, "You look drawn!?

"Studying does that to a guy."

"Yeah. I guess so."

And I watched him disappear into his room. I took a shower and went to bed. Damn! Did I sleep soundly that night.

A month later we were on the plane to St. Croix and landed about noon. I don't know what I really expected from Bob's uncle's vacation home.' Austin Venable's home on St. Croix was not one of those palatial homes you see in the ads. It appeared to resemble a standard three bedroom, middle class homes you might see back home. It was white stucco, single storey with floor to ceiling windows, deep over hanging eaves and a terrace on three sides. Everywhere you looked there were palm trees, bougainvilleas, hibiscus and numerous other tropical trees and plants. Luckily, the house was on a hill overlooking the Caribbean about a half mile distance. There was a small semidetached guest house' which I suspect may have been a garage at one time--that was for Bob and me.

"Hope you two don't mind sharing a bed," Elizabeth Venable said, then added, "It's king size."

"No, That's fine, Aunt Elizabeth," Bob assured her.

The Venables had a maid-cook who prepared wonderful fare for all of us and a grounds keeper who came once a week to keep the semi-tropical plants in check. Actually, it was great.

The afternoon, after we arrived Bob and I walked down to the beach, a ten minute walk, and explored the surroundings. Along the beach were numerous shops and cafes catering to the tourists mainly. The beach was magnificent--white sand and palm trees. I thought I was in paradise. It wasn't too crowded, but I did notice that many of the bathers wore thong-type bathing suits. A couple of the guys were strolling back and forth displaying their firm asses.

"Damn!" I said, "Think my boxer-style swim suit will be old fashioned here."

"Don't worry. Anything goes here," Bob assured me.

"Do you have one of ass exposing thongs?"

"No way!"

That night as we were getting ready for bed Bob closed the Venetian blinds and stripped, as was his manner. I followed suit, as had become my manner since I was at Weston.

"What side do you want?" he asked me.

"Makes no difference to me," I answered.

"And, behave yourself! No jackin off!?" he said with a smirk.

"Shit!"

The week flew by. The night before we returned home, we decided to party. It started at dinner-time with cocktails. I had a rum and coke. The cook had prepared a wonderful dinner, wine was served and I had a couple of glasses. By the time Bob and I walked down to one of the beach-side bars, I was a bit buzzed.

"I'm a bit buzzed already," I admitted.

"Me too!"

We each had a couple of drinks before we went back. Laughing and joking we caromed off each other as we walked up the hill. When we got to our room Bob fell, spread eagle on the bed.

"I'm dead!" he announced.

"You will be if you don't get your clothes off and get under the covers."

"I can't move!" he giggled.

I stripped and wondered what I was going to do with Bob. After brushing my teeth and pissing I walked back into the bedroom. Bob was still stretched out on the bed, humming. I pulled his shoes off.

"Come on Bob, . . . Get undressed!"

"I can't move!" he repeated.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him up to a sitting position, leaned him against my hip and with some difficulty got his shirt off. He flopped back down.

"I can't move!" he giggled again.

"Shit!"

I reached down, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down. After pushing his legs together, I tugged on his pant's waist band, trying to get them off.

"Lift your damned ass!" I demanded, exasperated.

"What ya goin to do? Rape me?"

"You should be so lucky!" Then I said, "Come on, Bob, lift up!"

He did and I was able to slide his pants down to mid thigh. I grabbed one leg and pulled that one off, then the other. He sprawled there, eyes glazed staring at me.

"Don't forget my underwear!" he reminded me with a giggle.

Bob laid there clothed only in his briefs. I glanced down at the thin fabric that encased his ample package, took a deep breath, grabbed the waist band and wrestled them off! As I did his cock flopped free and lolled to one side.

"You got a hard on!" Bob announced.

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do. I can see it!"

I looked down and my cock was far from hard but not totally soft either. Then I scanned up his body and I noticed that his great cock was snaking out, swelling, getting hard.

Grabbing Bob around his torso, I tried to manoeuver him onto his side of the bed.

"You got a hard on!" he said again.

"No, I don't . . . but you do . . . you ass!"

I jerked him hard one last time and my effort caused me to loose my balance and tumble over with my load. Bob landed on top of me. I could feel his hardening cock against my thigh as I pushed him off of me. Lying there, facing each other, I was breathless from my exertion.

"Why do you have a hard on?" Bob chuckled.

"I don't have a hard on," I said emphatically.

"Yes, you do," he answered as he reached over and grasped my cock. It was sorta soft.

"See!" I exalted.

Bob fondled my cock and almost instantly it grew hard.

"See! I told you. . . . It's hard!"

"Oh! damn!" was all I could utter as his long fingers started to work their magic on my cock. I thought not that this was Bob, my room mate of nearly three years, I only reacted to my throbbing pole as it was being erotically massaged.

I slipped my hand under Bob's ministering arm and found his hard cock, and wrapped my fingers around its prodigious width . . . that great dark sausage . . . that piece of black walnut man meat. I played with that luscious milk chocolate rod, pushing the soft, velvety hood back and forth over that pink satin knob . . . running my finger over the slit and anointing it with he precum that oozed forth. I ran my fingers down the long length, feeling that ridge on the underside, the pulsing veins, the puckered surface of his pendant balls, and his ping pong balls. Running my fingers through his lush, curly bush, I returned to his cock and started to jack it off. He was doing the same to me.

Our orgasm was not the hot lightening flash that I had experienced through the library glory hole, but a soft warm release as we deposited our cum on and around each other's belly and genitals. Automatically, we both rolled over and sank into a sated, alcohol induced slumber.

Sleeping a little late, I roused myself out of the bed to see Bob packing his bag.

"Morning."

"Morning," he answered looking up at me questioningly.

I went into the bath, performed my usual activities and took a long shower. I paid special attention to the dried cum on my belly and in my cock hairs, dried myself and returned to the bedroom. Bob was finishing his packing as I dressed for the trip back to the States.

"Are you mad at me?" Bob asked quietly.

"For what?" I knew what he meant.

"For last night."

"Naw."

"I'm sorry . . . ."

"Hey, man, it was just two guys who . . . played a little . . .with each other. Nothing to get upset about. Besides it was probably that damned rum!"

"Yeah. Probably."

I could tell Bob was upset over what had happened. I'm not sure why, though. I guess he will tell me when the time is right. As for me? Well to tell the truth, I was a bit surprised at first when he grabbed me. But ever since I first met him I had wanted to feel that magnificent, hooded cock of his. So the experience was more a fulfillment of a dream, a quiet fantasy than anything else. Besides, it felt good!

By the time we got back to Weston and Prest Hall, everything was back to normal it seemed. Bob's upbringing, like mine, stressed manners and self control. Of all the people I have known, Bob is the most `in control of himself.' He's not a control freak when it comes to others, just himself. We were talking once and I asked him if he had ever smoked marijuana, he admitted that he had a couple of times, but didn't like it because he felt that he didn't have control. On the other hand, at school parties, I've seen him as wild as anybody else . . . but never over the edge.

So I feel that what ever triggered that incident in St. Croix was an aberration. An action for which he had no apparent reason to do.

Several months after my glory hole experience in Milwaukee, I came across one at Weston. I had occasion to be in the Old Main, the administration building for the college. There's a coffee shop in the basement, actually a half basement, and after finishing my business, I sat and had a cup of coffee.

Upon leaving, I passed a men's john and went in to relieve myself. There were four stalls. I went into the last one to piss as there was a guy at one of the three urinals. I find that if I have to piss and there is somebody near . . . I freeze up and have to force myself to pee. It's so embarrassing sometimes. So I generally take a stall if there is another guy at the urinals. As I walked into the stall I immediately spied a hole mid-way up the partition. Bingo! I hauled my cock out and watched as the golden stream splattered into the bowl. I also noticed that the next stall was occupied. The urinal guy left as I was finishing. I shook my cock three times ridding the end of that last drop. I was told in high school that if you shake your cock anymore than three times it means you're playing with it. Then I shook it again . . . four times and right on cue it began to swell. Well, that did it. A finger appeared through the hole. I turned and stuck

my lengthening cock through the hole with no second thoughts. I knew what to expect, I knew what I wanted at that moment. As in Milwaukee, I was treated to the feel of a hot, moist mouth enveloping my hardened cock.

I became a regular in the Old Main basement john, visiting that licentious premises three or four times a month `til I graduated. It was as if I was inexplicably drawn to this place like a beet to sweet nectar. A couple of times, as I sat there waiting for the emerging finger, I was met instead by a hard cock sliding into my space. Once or twice I would fondle that hard, throbbing intruder, but had no desire to suck it. I guess I felt that getting my cock sucked was one thing, sucking another guy's cock was something else again. So, by happenstance, I became a closeted top, and, I must admit I felt addicted to having my cock sucked, even anonymously, as it happened.

My senior year was hectic, but not too busy for me to finally loose my virginity in the real sense--with a girl. I had dated several times and twice with coeds who were more assertive, or maybe sexually aggressive than most. The first time I bedded one of them, Janet Upperson, was on our second date. She had an apartment and that made for a certain amount of privacy. One thing led to another. We started to pet and when she reached down to my hardening, encased cock--nature took its course. It was one of the more amazing experiences of my life to date.

Weston required comprehensive examinations of all its graduating seniors. They were not so bad, but a pain in the ass. Then there was applications to grad school. Both Bob and I were intending on entering a graduate program; he in history and I was leaning towards political science.

As it turned out, the St. Croix incident paled into insignificance as graduation approached. My whole family would be attending the ceremony. I was so excited. Bob's family would be there too. I had long since told my family about Bob being biracial. At first there was a pregnant silence when I finally told them. But, mom was the first to break the ice.

"Well, at least, dear, he has an accomplished family." ____________

Bob was accepted into the graduate program in history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and I was accepted at Ohio State in political science. Both of us received assistantships. That, at least helped me a lot. I got free tuition and a small stipend. Bob had been accepted into the Ph.D. program and received a substantial fellowship ____________

At the end of the ceremony came the hugs and congratulations from family and friends. My family and Bob's stood in a small group and chatted amiably. Mom and dad had met Bob right after Christmas holiday, my freshman year. They were reserved at first, but Bob's warm personality and good manners won them over in no time. Bob and I wandered off. Some lady, in a flowing, floral, organza dress and a stunning hat which may be consudered a bit over the top, floated up to us. She was preceded by the odor of an excessive amount of expensive perfume, and was heavily made up. You couldn't help but notice that her fingers were weight down with rather expensive rings.

"You must be Robert Veneable Jefferson," she said in a thick drawl.

"Yes, Ma'am," Bob answered politely.

"I'm Vivian Aston Smithers." she announced offering Bob her brightly manicured hand, palm down as if she expected it to be kissed and obviously ignoring me.

The Smithers were well known at Weston as one of their more important benefactors to the college. They were in finance from Georgia, maybe loan sharks! But what do I know? They didn't have children at Weston, so I suspected that this was one of their many social events. Maybe they were giving more money!

Then her mascara laden eyes narrowed slightly and her reddened lips hardened imperceptibly as she probed, "I don't suppose that you're from the Virginia Veneables by any chance?"

Her question was obviously transparent. I'm sure she thought, "What is this black man doing with such an aristocratic Southern name?"

Bob stiffened and slipped into his most sonorous voice, "Yes, Ma'am, I am. My mother is the daughter of Everton Murray Veneable. And my father is a direct descendent of Thomas Jefferson," he ended with a smile.

Her eyes widened and I thought she might curtsey. But Bob wasn't done yet.

"And, Ms. Vivian Aston Smithers . . . are you one of the Astons of Charleston?"

"No . . . I'm afraid . . . not."

"I see," and Bob imperiously turned heel and left Vivian Aston Smithers with her mouth gapping, standing there stunned. I quickly followed Bob.

"Hate those bigoted, social climbing bitches," he said under his breath.

"I didn't know that you were a direct descendent of Thomas Jefferson?" I said.

"I didn't either, but it sounded impressive didn't it?" he snorted, and added, "Actually, I might be as dad's family is from Virginia originally and the slaves often took the name of their owner or owner-father, as the case may be."

Slipping into the Southern patois I said, "Bob, for a well bred Southern boy, you can be downright nasty!"

He slugged me in the arm.

Back in Prest Hall, we were making the final check of our room before turning in the keys. We stood in the middle of the room, facing each other.

"Well, this is it!" Bob said.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Don't forget to call."

"I won't."

We hugged each other closely as our feelings flowed back and forth. I patted Bob's ass innocently.

"Hey! Get your hands off my ass!"

"Thought you got off on having your ass fondled!"

"Yeah?" he said as he bun cupped me.

We laughed and separated. Our college days were done.

Life was interesting. We had gotten our feet wet and emerged better men than when we entered. Specifically, I was no longer a virgin!