Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard
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Chapter 7
Tristan woke from an untroubled sleep to the sound of a fart.
"Morning, Cowboy."
"Morning, Pard. How'd ya like bunkin' with Colty?"
"Fucking brilliant!" replied Tristan with a grin. "Gay boy heaven."
"'xpect so. Now, if y'all oblige and mind that eatin' gear."
"You want me to suck you off?" asked Tristan in surprise and still as cautious `as a long tailed cat in a roomful o'rockin chairs' as he had once heard Hollis say.
"Certainly do. It'll keep y'hands free for y'own pleasurin', 'sides."
Tristan didn't wait, but slid the sheet down and was instantly face to face with Colton's impressive morning wood.
"Are you sure this isn't gay?"
"This is an emergency, I'm fit to bust, and make it quick 'cause we've gotta run."
Tristan lowered his lips and gently kissed the folds of skin that still concealed the head. "Be obliged with a little tongue-work jus' there," gasped Colton, above him. Tristan found the piss slit and lapped up his `sagebrush syrup' (Tristan coining the phrase) before drilling his tongue into the wide slit.
"Is that too kinky for you?" asked Tristan, in genuine concern.
"Not if it floats y'boat. Plum good f'me."
Next came the big test. Tristan had sucked a few cocks (This was not his first rodeo) but he'd never had `a piece' as big as this to fit between his jaws and he had never been so anxious to do a good job.
He slicked the outside with plenty of spit and then--well, what he did next is obvious and suffice it to say he did as good a job as could be expected and only stopped when Colton pulled him off by the hair.
"Stop, stop! Y'all getting' plum carried away there and you gotta take a breath."
"No, I'm all right," panted the cocksucker, and careless of the mess that was his face. "Was I doing it right?"
"Damn right it was right. Yo' momma must have been a vacuum cleaner."
"Well, I suspect she rode a broom."
"Hey, now don't go dissin' y' mom. Here, finish me off with this." He passed the lube to Tristan who then set to work with his hands. "Don't forget m'balls," Tristan didn't. Once again Colton took over at the last and this time Tristan made sure that he `got the good of it,' without scandalous waste. "Now do y'self an' we'll be sweet until tonight. Will y'give me a trim with them fancy clippers before I sees Yumi?"
Tristan said he would and pushed aside the certain cognitive dissonance between what they had just done and Colton's prospective date with his girlfriend.
The rest of the day passed in confusion for Tristan, stemming from the irrevocable change in their relationship. In most respects, their relationship had not changed one iota. But then there was the sex--an inescapable fact. It didn't matter to Tristan by what mental gymnastics and sophistry Colton made it otherwise, to Blind Freddy it was sex.
He had `serviced' the quarterback (as this is what it was called in the stories) and he reread several more where such activities formed the main plotline and looked in vain for guidance. Colt had displayed no interest or inclination to return the favour and, with but a moment's reflection, Tristan thought he could live with this. Colton was certainly affectionate, in a perfectly correct bro manner and he decided that he'd rather have Colt's arm around him while they slept than have his own cock sucked. The unequalness of their relationship had been there from the first day and he realised that this fact thrilled him. He also realised that he'd been starved of friendship, if not intimacy, and Colt was his best friend even if he could never be his boyfriend.
Was Colt bi? Tristan couldn't be sure, but didn't think so. Colton was still interested in girls and had indeed fallen quite heavily for Yumi in just a few days. Tristan suspected that this was a pattern. Could he be hiding his sexual attraction to men? Tristan could find no evidence of it, although as a jock he lived in a very male world. Was he merely using Tristan to get off'? This was more likely and Colt's hints at what he and his brothers got up to imparted a sort of innocent veneer to it all. He could live with this too, he supposed. Would it, however, paralyse him form ever finding his own boyfriend? He thought it might; the date' with Daryl brought this into sharp relief.
He was to see Daryl that very evening, but first he had to prune Colton's pubes with his electric trimmer. They were a darker gold than his hair, almost brown, and thick and wiry. Colton's chest was mostly hairless, so little topiary was done in that region. Tristan refused to shave Colton's butt which was lightly hairy and, as Tristan said, was absolutely perfect as it was. Tristan, however, was all for shaving Colton's big balls and the athlete reluctantly agreed, looking forward to the unusual feel that Tristan assured him would be the result. This proved to be hilarious rather than erotic and they were both convulsed with laughter, although hard, by the time the trimmer was silenced and put back in its box.
Yumi came to collect her date at six. She was petite but full of personality and Tristan found himself liking her and even wondering about her thighs that Colton extolled as being `like velvet'. She was apparently still in High School in Busan where she lived with her parents. The study trip had been to gain advanced standing in Biology and to improve her English. Of the second, Tristan stifled his doubts. They were to go to a Korean barbecue restaurant in the town, where they had been on a previous date. Colton said not to expect him home that night and left, putting his heavy arm around her slender waist, and swaggering to the lift.
The Gay-Straight Alliance actually now possessed a much more inclusive and comprehensive official name, but the cumbrousness of this moniker meant that even the most politically correct of its members fell to using the old one.
From the moment that he arrived at the meeting, which was held in a building near the Bell Tower, Tristan was aware of tensions that would be familiar to the members of the United Nations Security Council. "I'm Tree," said a large person seated at a folding table by the door. "I'm nineteen," said Tristan and instantly regretted it.
"My name is `Tree' said the person, crossly pointing to the sticky label on a lapel, "and I am the President. Your preferred pronoun?" Tree asked, as his own name was being written in marking pen on a label.
"`Their'?" ventured Tristan.
He received a vexed look. "I'll just put down `he'. You're very welcome, Tristan," Tree added without conviction. "This is a non-judgemental safe space."
Daryl, with whom he sat, attempted to get him up to speed. Tree was the President and had been since Tree was a fresher. Tree was non-binary and was constantly at war with Briffin, the secretary, who was gender fluid and thus lacked the constancy that Tree saw as a personal weakness and therefore making Briffin unfit for high office, at which Briffin was always accusing Tree of acts of `micro-aggression' such as during some petty dispute over the fair trade coffee and organic cookies that formed the supper.
Tree had no other name, claiming that oppression stemmed from the terrors of the prescriptive normativness of the hetro-parental paradigm and thus should be vigorously opposed. Tree also refused to use capital letters to show solidarity with the oppressed proletariat and was more properly, `tree'. The treasurer, Sharlene, was an unaffected lesbian who was a seasoned senior and attended the meeting with her cattle dog, which she tied to the table with a length of rope and who dozed through proceedings. She showed utter contempt for the other two. The gay boys were a variegated bunch, from the super girly to the straight-acting. Tristan hoped that he was in the latter group, but durst not voice this, of course, because it would have been bad manners, if not oppression of a minority.
Surprisingly, the guests for that night were Rachel and Leesha who, as part of their Community Service subject, had decided to work with the footballers (with whom they had already done much preliminary work, they said) and whose diversity policy could be put into greater practical affect by their participation in a student organization such as the Gay-Straight Alliance.
This unusual proposal was put before the meeting with some force and a certain contempt for their hosts, which made Tristan chuckle. It was hotly debated for nearly an hour. There was a small group of gays who, understandably, feared bullying and did not want the presence of footballers--often figures of torment from their past--in their `safe space', but these concerns were balanced by the more butch lesbians who wanted the right to play football on equal terms with the men and saw the connection as sort of potential Trojan horse.
Tree was against the recruitment of straight boys at all, conveniently forgetting the name of the society that Tree presided over--although Tree called it an autonomous collective' and rejected the hierarchical and paternalistic paradigm that such an oppressive figure as a president' represented, but de facto relished power like Stalin.
"How do you know the footballers aren't gay or non-binary?" asked one of the boys.
"Or gender fluid or questioning or emerging?" asked Briffin
"Will the new quarterback be coming?" asked a boy seated somewhere behind Tristan
Briffin finally forced a vote, chiefly to get back at Tree, and the question was decided by a show of hands. It was carried by the overwhelming gay constituency to the chagrin of the intersex, fluid and non-binary contingent--although an African-American girl stated that Math had been culturally appropriated from the Muslims and was being used by those with power and privilege as a tool of oppression, with this vote being but an instance, but she was ruled out of order and accused of stealing Sharlene's girlfriend.
Daryl and Tristan and Leesha and Rachel went to the coffee shop afterwards. "I don't think I want to go to another meeting," said Tristan. "I'm thinking of turning straight."
Tristan slept alone and quickly decided it was a second choice. He missed Colton and had wanted to tell him about the Gay-Straight Alliance meeting. He read yet another college story, this one concerning a basketballer and his tutor, but while it had some good bits, it did not help clarify his own situation and he found that he could not `get off' without Colton.
He did not see Colton until late the next afternoon. He seemed rather down as Yumi had departed for her native land. Colton produced his phone and swiped to some pictures: Yumi, Yumi and Colton standing in front of a mini-bus, Yumi sitting on Colton's right knee and her best friend sitting on his left. Two more Koreans girls were embraced within each arm while three more stood behind him, hands on his broad shoulders. It was a happy photo and Tristan found he was asking Colton to send it too him; he would print it out and tack it to the wall above his desk next to The Cowboy twine dispenser and list of irregular verbs. It captured Colt's character very well.
They did some study before Colton cooked three skinless chicken breasts in the Common Room and then suggested that they go swimming. Even this, Tristan found, had it's linguistic if not ontological aspects. He had cheekily asked Colt in the pool's locker room why he wore baggy jock-boy swim shorts.
"You want me to show all my junk in a tiny Speedo?"
"Speedos."
That's what I said...'
"No you said Speedo' singular--you all do; it's Speedos'."
No it ain't, ya pulls on a Speedo, everyone says that."
Tristan countered with trousers', jeans', scissors' and shorts'. "You don't say `My 501 Levi'. It's a permanent plural."
"Why's that?"
"Well, they have two legs or maybe their Mr Levi's pants."
"A Speedo don't have no legs, jus' two holes. What about a thong?"
Tristan had the graciousness to admit that this was a good point. "Want me to buy you a red Speedo? Or a lime green thong?"
"You don't think I look hot enough in these?" he said as he drew the cord and tied it. They were navy-blue and white and did indeed look very masculine.
"Maybe for the privacy of the room?" Tristan laughed.
They entered the pool and swam laps, Colton, of course, swimming powerfully up and down for some time and, hauling himself from the pool, dripping heroically and seemingly unaffected by the exertion.
Things returned to what might pass as normal that night. After watching some violent film in the Common Room with Hollis, Deshawn, Jimmy and several others, they retired to their own room and both fiddled around with their laptops for a while, before, catching Colton's eye, Tristan knew it was time for a `J.O.' and then bed. Colton was not wearing underwear, but instead threw his damp swimshorts to Tristan who sniffed. "Only chlorine" he complained, so Colt rose from the bed and searched the dirty clothes pile, giving Tristan an uninterrupted view of his arse. He emerged with an old jockstrap and handed it to Tristan. "No, you must put it over my head or stuff it in my mouth--that's how it happened in Sooner State Suck Slave. Colt, sighed and placed the stained mesh pouch over his nose and hooked the straps somehow over his ears.
"You'll need your mouth, you sick fuck," he observed, with some humour, as he fiddled with his phone to find some porn, putting in the earpiece.
Tristan performed from more than duty but Colton never took his eyes off his phone, although the jock strap prevented Tristan from knowing that for certain. When his jaws ached like they would break and the entrance to his throat was battered raw, he took a break and tongued the quarterback's balls, enjoying the tang and the smoothness of their shaven iteration. He moved lower with his tongue to what he knew to be Colt's perineum and pressed hard with his tongue hoping that Colt's prostate was somewhere in that region--he had not studied anatomy. Colt was still transfixed by the action on his phone and little snippets of noise--it was hardly dialogue--leaked out of his earpiece from time to time. Tristan dared to go lower still and then, in one pre-emptive strike, actually parted Colt's cheeks and plunged his tongue onto what might be described in Citizen Kane, as his rosebud.
Colt let out a cry and snatched the earpiece out. "Hey, that's my special place. I don't allow nothing up there, I to' you that."
Tristan tried to muster some convincing and even compelling arguments while he sat back on his haunches, his face covered in spittle. Instead he simply said, "Aw, go on," and Colton replied, "Okay," and went back to his phone.
It would be nice to say that Colton was clean down there, and he mostly was, the chief flavour being mainly a day's sweat and the chlorine from the pool. Colton was obviously enjoying it and, at one point, spread his own cheeks wider and urged Tristan to "Git right in thar." Presently he said the single word, "Lube," and Tristan knew that Colton wanted to finish himself off. Which he did.
Tristan did too, being careful not to let his cum touch Colton. Tristan used his overworked tongue and then the crusty towel to clean up the quarterback. All passion spent, they fell to talking as they lay on their backs next to each other, Colton not being one to simply turn over, he proudly said, although he frequently accused Tristan of being talkative ("Must a been vaccinated with a Victrola needle") he was actually quite talkative himself by nature... for a Texan.
"That was mighty fine, Roomy."
"Thanks. Was for me too."
Colton said, "For both our benefits, I think I should be more specific as t'what I like and what's liable to get me hot. Y'all like to see Colty hot?" Tristan nodded. And so he outlined what Tristan might conceivably practice and include in some sort of repertoire. "Consider it training for when y'all get a fella." Tristan responded with suggestions of his own, or rather from what he had read in stories online.
It was all remarkably complete and detailed ten minutes later, presumably Colton having given it much thought over the years and, no doubt, the product of many girls trying to please him. Tristan thought carte blanche' covered a fair amount of territory, but Colt's doing anything to Tristan, save for sitting on his face or holding him by the ears, was still out'--presumably crossing the line into gayness.
Tristan brought up the topic of anal sex again. "Look, Tris, I think that is a bit more than bro stuff." Tristan wondered how he had decided this. "It would mean me fuckin' a dude, not a chick." Tristan did not see past the obvious.
"Look," Colton continued. "Look at this," he said pushing down the bedclothes and grasping his half-hard cock. "Your anus would have to dilate to this diameter," he made a loop with the fingers of both hands, "and without training that would hurt. There are actually two sphincters in your ass, internus and externus. Do you know about the prudendal nerve--both of them?" Tristan did not and Colt explained their vital functions. "Then the adult rectum is about five inches long. It would come up to here on my penis." He indicated with his index finger. "All the while it would be stretching you terrible on inside. I'd be hurtin' ya bad. The anus is not made for things to go up, only to exit."
"So anal sex is `unnatural'?"
"Is the mouth made f'kissin' or just f'eatin'? Humans are not 'tirely slaves to their anatomy. We've evolved. And then," he continued, "the rest o'me would have to penetrate past a narrer op'ning, which separates the sigmoid colon from the rectum. Rectum means straight but the sigmoid colon has a bend in it. It would come up to here on my cock." He indicated the dreadful depth and Tristan couldn't help feeling thrilled. "Of course it can straighten and push your bladder and such aside to accommodate the invasion, but you risk losing bladder control and, of course, you might like to douche the shit out a'fore I entered ya. That would sure spoil sex unless y'all really freaky."
Tristan was feeling a little dispirited and had lot his erection. "Well you've done it before with girls."
"Not as often as I made out, Tris, and they was all experienced. It still hurt and I feel bad that I weren't more carin' and just preocc'pied with m'own lust. The outer walls are strong, such as the third layer of muscle and the outermost serosa, but the innermost ones is right delicate. They can tear as y'all know from talk 'bout AIDS."
The impressive anatomy lesson drew to an end with Tristan suddenly realising, as he put his head on the pillow on his side of the bed, that he while he might have been warned, Colt had not ruled it out categorically.
Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.