Unexpected Seduction Chapter 1

Unexpected seduction

Chapter 1

By dg912@gmx.com

"How have I been seeing clocks for 21 years and still seem to screw up what time it is," I think to myself, as I get to chem lab, only to find the place deserted.  Checking my schedule again, I realize I'm 30 minutes early.  Too little time to go back or do anything fun... so much time when you're waiting for class to start.  Figuring I don't have anything better to do, and since the door is unlocked, I head inside and pick out a spot that's close to a window.  After about 10 minutes, the door opens, and I look over to see another student coming in.

"I thought I'd be the first one here," he said.

"Guess I'm just a bit more excited about chemistry lab than you are," I responded, grinning.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you can bank on that one.  I'm Matt, by the way," he says, as he comes over and offers his hand.  

"I'm surprised the TA isn't here yet.  What is it about labs around here, anyway?  It seems like every one of them is taught by some freak of a TA who barely knows the subject. Takes five times as long as it would if they'd just pony up the money and pay real teachers instead of poor students who barely understand the material themselves.  Lord knows, the tuition's high enough to cover it."

"Glass-half-full kind of guy, eh?"

"I've been known to have the odd moment of optimism when I'm out running or riding."

Matt gave my lean frame a once over.  "Should have known.... all you runners desperately need to eat more.  What do you weigh?  130, soaking wet?"

"A bit more, but running is the basic option for guys just north of five and a half feet.  I wasn't exactly the first one chosen for teams in basketball, football, or hockey... you know how it is.  On second thought, given than you've got a good half foot on me and probably 50 pounds of muscle, I bet you were the first one chosen," I said, laughing.

"You've got broader shoulders than most runners.  Your frame would support quite a few more pounds of muscle."

"Too many roads and hills to conquer.  I tend to get a little bored in the gym."

We chatted a few minutes longer as other students began filtering in.  Eventually, he said, "Ahh, well, probably time to get this show on the road."  At which point, three things happened:  he got up, he introduced himself as the TA, and I remembered what I'd been saying about the TA's around campus ("nice one, asshole," I thought to myself).  Pretty sure I also did my Irish ancestry proud by blushing so hard that my fair skin blended with my lightly curled, reddish brown hair. 

Like the world's most interesting man, I don't always turn red, but when I do, it's with a glow-in-the-dark intensity.  We didn't really start hanging out while I was taking the lab, but we always joked and got on well during it, so when he suggested grabbing a beer after the last one to "celebrate surviving the horror of the TA we had" I just laughed, told him to lead the way, and we've been close friends ever since, which has been great since I'm not the most outgoing guy in the world.  I mean, sure, once you get to know me, I open up, but I tend to be a little more reserved in the beginning.  During high school, I dated the same girl for 3 years, so my mastery of the seductive arts wasn't one I'd honed before college, and while my looks tended to let me hold my own, there's no doubt that I'd have done better if I were a bit more of a natural at a bar.  Matt, by way of comparison, is more outgoing.  Given his prototypical QB build and hair that looked good messy or fixed in the way that only Hollywood seems able to deliver, simply being his wingman opened possibilities with more frequency than I'd been accustomed to.  Seriously, the guy dates like he's conducting bombing raids on the resident female population, not that I'm complaining, given the solid expansion to my own experience.  And I guess that's where it really started... 

***

"That was some serious staying power you had last night, Wyatt."  

"I didn't know you were paying attention."

Matt laughed.  "Always good to know what's going on around ya..." 

That was true, but there was always an element of friendly competition between us.  We were lucky that we were fairly evenly matched, depending on the activity.  He always dominated when he'd drag me to the weightroom or on the court, and I always dominated when we went to the track or pool.  Needless to say, the discussion deciding between whatever activity we were going to do often took longer than the actual activity, and we both walked away dissatisfied with the outcome more than we'd like.

In any event, something about knowing that he'd also been paying enough attention to me last night to know how I'd been, ah, performing made me feel better.  It had started as a typical Friday night of hanging out... going to a bar, drinking, seeing who was out and about. But last night was the first night we'd both been too drunk to drive, and the girls we'd met were roommates in a studio apartment that prevented you from knowing exactly what else was going on in the tight space.  At least, that's what I told myself when, besides paying attention to the girl I was with, as things took their natural... or at least desired... course, I realized that some small part of my mind that was not otherwise engaged kept taking note of Matt's moans and movements.  It merely stayed on my radar, at first, but, then I started noticing differences between our styles...  how I liked to make out for a while, where he was more one to get down to business; how I loved going down on a girl where he evidently saw it as a means to an end; how I loved making a girl cum multiple times before I came to one crashing, mind-blowing climax where he liked to get off as often as she was.  I found myself glancing over in his direction... more often than I was sure I really wanted to, to be honest.  I rationalized that it was just the movement catching my eye.  I read somewhere that our eyes were drawn to movement as an evolutionary advantage for survival... who knows... all I know is that I wasn't used to another guy fucking a girl in the same room as me, and Matt kept drawing my attention.  I added, to the voices discussing this in a corner in my mind, that, with us being competitive anyway, it made sense that I'd use the opportunity to see how we compared in bed, too.  And with those two points, I decided the matter was closed... or closed enough for now.

The light was dim, but I could see his body and could hear him whispering to the girl he was with.  It sounded like she wasn't quite as willing as mine to do more than some serious foreplay but, as things went on, they said less, they slowly lost items of clothing, and she whimpered more as her resistance ebbed.  I remember how his legs slid alongside hers, gradually working between them and spreading hers, and then the sound she made, as he entered her, which made me wonder how big he was.  A later look confirmed what I'd assumed from her rhythmic moans, the muscles in his back and ass flexing and relaxing.  "Too much looking over," I finally told myself, forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand, if you will.  And yet, as I was getting closer to cumming, my determination not to take another glance weakened.  I knew I had some time before I went over the edge, but something in me wanted to see what Matt and his girl were doing, and the more I denied it, the more it grew... morphed... from a want to a need, like some primal urge.  The girl I was with tensed, her eyes rolling back in another climax, and I gave in, taking the opportunity to look over, surprised to see Matt had changed positions and was looking directly at me.  Our eyes met, and the glance turned into a stare that I couldn't seem to break away from.  From the look of things, he was approaching the edge, too, but I was startled to feel myself suddenly lose control, moaning as I shot over the edge, watching that moment hit him seconds later.  As ironic as it sounds, everything else dropped away... like it was just the two of us getting our nut together.  I don't honestly know how long that moment lasted... it couldn't have lasted as long as it seemed to.  But I did gradually realize that the girl I was with, slowly recovering as well, was kissing up my neck, seeking my mouth, which caused a brief and irrational surge of annoyance with her as I was forced to break eye contact. 

"Yo... Wyatt, you there?"  Matt's voice snapped me back to the here and now.

"What? Yeah... sorry... well, you know, you came more times than I did... hell, you reloaded without missing a beat, which is pretty impressive, too, so...."  I said, laughing.

"Looks like I wasn't the only one paying attention.  Gah, horndog... you're high-beaming... again."  I looked down and realized he was seeing my nips pushing against the t-shirt I was wearing.  I took a moment to mentally thank the designers at Levi's for the thicker denim in jeans that was doing a better job of hiding my inexplicable half-mast.  

"Like that's anything unusual... one of these days you're going to get tired of pointing it out... and using that lame reference to it."

"Vintage reference, Wyatt... show some respect."

"I was showing respect by using 'lame' instead of 'old'... I know how sensitive you are about age references, ever since I found out you're knocking on thirty's door."

"You're just jealous that I look so young but still don't get carded every time I try to get a drink, and that jealousy drives you to point out my greater life experience... like a heartless bastard.  Anyway, light-weight... if you're not too hung over, I was thinking we could hit the bar again tonight... our glorious football team is playing, and, who knows, we might get lucky."

"One of these days, Matt, you're going to die of sexual exhaustion... and just because I don't train my liver like a marathoner doesn't mean I'm a light-weight."

"But what a way to go, eh?  And, please, two shots and you're three sheets to the wind... although given your pintsized body, I suppose that should be impressive."

"Oh, height jokes again.... damn you." I responded, laughing.

"Payback's a bitch.... so, you in?"

***

After setting up a plan for later and parting ways, the rest of the day was spent knocking out errands before taking a shower and throwing on some jeans and a tight waffle shirt that showed off my broad shoulders and narrow waist.  Matt and I exchanged small talk as we walked to a local bar, and we watched the game (our "glorious" team lost, which was hardly surprising... we were die hard fans... pretty much the only type of fans our team had these days).  I had my customary two shots to soften the heartless devastation that fate doled out with such depressing regularity during football season, so I was a little more relaxed... and then I had a couple of beers just to check on the shots I'd already had to make sure they weren't causing too much trouble.  After that it got a bit less clear, but every time I was turning around, Matt was handing me another beer, it seemed.  The game over, our attention shifted to mingling with the girls who were out.  I remember making some progress with one girl, but when Matt joined us, things petered out pretty quickly.  He wasn't offensive in what he said or anything; he just wasn't exactly smooth, either, with the consequence of royally derailing the whole thing. I suppose even Romeos have bad nights.  

"Sorry about what happened with that girl... Rachel, was it?" Matt said, as we left... alone.  

"Eh... it happens.  As many girls as I've gotten with because you've hit on their friend... I think we can let this one slide."

"You're selling yourself short, dude."  I groaned, mockingly.  "No, no... that's not a height joke, ya hypersensitive bastard.  I mean, you've got game, too.  Look at you tonight.  And while I might open the door sometimes, I'm hardly there at the time you seal the deal.  You do that all on your own.  And from what I can tell, you do a pretty good job of it," he said, winking at me.  
"Practice makes perfect."

As we continued to walk, he finally said, "You're going to make this walk back to your place four times as long if you keep stumbling and weaving so much."  

"I wouldn't be weaving so much if you hadn't bought me a keg's worth of beer," I retorted, as I felt his arm drop over my shoulder, steadying me as he pulled me against him. 

"A pony keg... at most, pintsize."  I could feel the hard muscle against my own body, and the thought of him, naked, fucking that girl... what was her name again?... flashed through my mind, followed by a series of remembered images of his body while working out or showering afterwards... the hard slabs of muscle ... how he hit the right balance between bulking up and not being a gym rat... how his pecs and nips looked when he lathered up after a workout...

We walked the rest of the way that way, his arm warm, easily countering when my own steps would have otherwise sent me in the wrong direction.  I fished my keys out, but he ultimately had to get us in, and I walked over to the couch and flopped down on it.  He grabbed us some water and came and joined me...  "Drink this."

"Thanks, dad."

"You'll thank me sincerely in the morning... and I'm gonna beat you one of these days if you keep up with the age jokes."

"Fair enough."  My drunk brain always got me sappy, it seemed, and here it was again... I could feel it... I clamped my lips shut to prevent any sloppy stupidity.  "But I'm serious.  (Damn you, mouth!)  You're a good friend, Matt... I mean... you're like the brother I'd always wanted, and I know you keep an eye on me when we're out and you think I don't notice... but I do... like when it's too crowded or I'd do my whole introvert thing and you... whatever... you know what I mean."

"I know, Wy... it's all good."

We sat there, drinking the water, when he suddenly asked, "You got any porn?"

My head swivled over, and I goggled at him.  "Seriously?  Way to ruin the moment..."

"Yeah, I'm serious...  and the moment was over.  Move on.  You have any?"

"Er... I've got the internet... and a smart tv...  help yourself..." I said, starting to get up.  "I'll leave you to it."  

I felt his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back onto the couch.  "You're not horned?  YOU?!? You fucking idle at horned.  Just because we struck out doesn't mean we have to stay frustrated... I'd feel all guilty if I knew I'd cost you one of your many nuts."  He grabbed the remote and fired up the browser on the tv.

"Well... I mean, yeah, but..."

"Then it's your house and your tv, so you don't have to go anywhere to get relief... you've more right to watch it than I have."  I looked at the screen, noticing the warning as he continued to navigate and selected a vid... some cliche porn with awful acting by a well-built blond talking to an impossibly in-shape service technician.  Not that porn is made to win oscars, but... come on... a little creativity for the industry that doomed the poor beta tape, despite its technical superiority, simply shouldn't be this difficult.  It wasn't long before I noticed my attention wasn't what it usually was.  As they inevitably (and, as is usual with porn), quickly began hooking up and shedding clothes, my focus drifted between both actors.  Her pert breasts, his pecs, her smooth and thin belly, his abs, her shaved pussy... his... his....

I watched the blond deep-throat the "technician".  "Fuck, I could use that about now." Matt's voice caused me to jump, as I looked over at him in time to see him undoing his jeans, his hand sliding under the waistband of his boxers.

"Wh-what are you doing?"  

"Hell, Wy, it's just us... after last night, it's not like... well.... it's just us.  Besides, my jeans don't deserve this kind of abuse... looks like yours could use some relief as well."

I was about to look away when he finished freeing his cock from his boxers.  I'm pretty sure I successfully stifled a gasp.  It was a solid 8 inches, cut, and thick, with a flared head.  I tore my eyes away from it, more aware than ever of how tight my jeans felt to my throbbing cock.  Looking back to the TV, I noticed the blond continued to expertly fellate the guy, his hands in her hair and his abs standing out as he began to slowly pump her mouth.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Matt stroking himself, hear the faint sound of his hand sliding up and down his shaft... my own hand absentmindedly wandered over the crotch of my jeans, palming my cock through the thick fabric... even that sensation was enough to make me softly moan, as I began slowly grinding my hand against my trapped cock.

"Why should he have all the fun?" I thought to myself, contemplating taking out my own aching 6.5 cut member, even if it meant conceding that quintessential competition between guys and size, as that was clearly one he'd get to tally in his column.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Wy, stop being a pussy and take your cock out and wank it properly."  There was something in his voice that I hadn't heard before.  It was more forceful than usual, urgent.  We'd joked with each other and called each other names, but this time there was a edge in what he said and how he said it.. something different.  I thought about firing an insult back but didn't.  Still, I was thrown, maybe a little offended, and reversed my earlier decision about jacking that accorded with just what he'd suggested... if only because it was to not do what he'd just suggested, as asinine a reason as that was... but even as my mind was reaching that decision, my hands unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, quickly fishing my own cock out and beginning the familiar stroke that I'd done so many times before... as if racing my mind before it could fully register its opposition, take control, and block what my body definitely wanted.

Things had progressed in the porn, I noticed, as I gave in to stroking myself.  It wasn't like I was going to stuff it back in my pants and pretend I'd mistakely whipped it out.  Periodically, one of us would groan our appreciation of our hands' efforts.  Each time he did, I'd look over at him, like it was a pavlovian response, and, as his moans increased, I found myself spending more and more time looking at him.  We were both still clothed, so I couldn't see any part of his body except his cock, thick and throbbing... dry unlike my own cock, which tends to leak (and was leaking) pretty heavily.  When I would look back at the TV, my attention was no longer divided... or at least, not nearly so much... drawn to the guy's smooth torso and the way the muscles played under the skin as he fucked the girl onscreen.  

I startled when I felt Matt's hand on mine... taking it, pulling it... I looked over at him, and our eyes met again, and that intense feeling when I came the previous night washed over me for the second time.  I felt the muscles in my arm flexing, instinctively resisting, but it was half-hearted, and his responded in kind.  I heard myself moan as my hand made contact with his cock, my fingers curling around it, feeling the girth, mentally noting the different feel of his increased thickness and length, as he guided my hand up and down his shaft.  I felt trapped in his stare.  His hand come off mine, but I continued to stroke him.  I heard him moan and felt a warm flush of satisfaction, spurring me to do to him the things I liked on my own cock, like using my fingers to stimulate the sensitive spot right under the head of his cock.  A beat later, I felt his own hand wrap around my cock, and I heard myself moan "ohhh fucckkkk" a little more loudly than I was used to as he began working me as well.  Eventually, he looked back at the screen, and from the sounds of it, the guy was really drilling the girl by this point.  I knew I should watch, too, but I continued drinking in Matt's profile, eyes alternating between his face, his cock, and my hand steadily stroking him.  His own hand worked me, mixing up his stroking, driving me up and backing me down.  At one point, I tried using my hips to help get me closer... oddly impatient with the need to cum, but I noticed he would loosen his grip or slow down when I did... With a groan, I gave up... letting him set the pace, gradully realizing he was timing it to coincide with his own approaching climax.  He breathing deepened as the porn was finishing.  I could see his chest rising and falling harder under this shirt, torn between wanting to see it bare and being glad I couldn't.  By the time the porn ended, I was staring at his cock, and the room fell silent other than what sounds we added to it.  My eyes travelled back up to his face to find him watching me.

"Yeah, you're ready," he said, as his grip tightened and his gaze held my own.  His words threw my body into a new gear, as if it was waiting for some sort of dispensation rather than my usual experience of having what was more than your average control.  With his words and hand, he was telling me to cum, and self-control be damned, he was triggering it.  Somewhere deep inside, the competitive part of me that recognized that control as such an asset raged against my body's willingness to follow someone else's lead, much less a peer and friend, but the only sound actually manifested was a low, long moan of need.  I have no idea what was on my face, but Matt's face took on that look I'd seen when he'd just sunk the winning shot of a game we were playing.  My whole body felt like it was on fire, my breathing grew more ragged, and I felt my cock begin to spasm, launching bolt after bolt of cum, hitting my neck and coating my shirt.  My shooting sent him over the edge a moment after, and I saw as well as felt the pulses jetting out of his cock as he shot his load, all the while his eyes boring into mine.  Breathing hard, as I slowly came down from what was, for just jacking off, a mind-blowing cum.  The world seemed to come back into focus, as I looked down at myself and the carnage I'd made... and the sheer volume I'd pumped out.  I yanked my hand off his cock.

"Fuck, Wy... you make a hell of a mess... what a shooter," he said, grinning.

"Yeah... I, um... better clean up."  I jumped up from the couch as if it was burning me and practically fled to my bedroom.  I heard Matt start to say something, but I didn't pay attention, given that I was too busy wondering what the hell just happened.  I stripped off my shirt, using the back of it to clean myself up before tossing it away from me and fell into bed, yielding to the mindlessness of the soft haze of alcohol and the siren call of sleep.

So, that's it for chapter 1 of my first story.  Have thought about a few installments of how things progress if there's interest.  Thanks for reading. Hit me up with any feedback or suggestions.  Anyone out there interested in catching typos of future installments?