This is a story involving teen/adult, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are a minor, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This story is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.
Other stories of mine can now be found in the authors' index.
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Arjuna ~ chapter four
by Biscuit
Freddy tried. I believe that. Looking back, I'm amazed by how hard he tried. But he could no more give up women and become my boyfriend than he could stop drinking. And yet, for a brief time he almost did those things; a magical few weeks.
It hurt so bad the first time he came home drunk. I had to listen to the blues throb from his room, hear him cry. Unlike the time before, he wouldn't come out and he wouldn't let me in. So horrible. But it was nowhere near as bad as the next night when he came home drunk, with a woman.
By then I'd been in that rooming house for more than a month and had carved my niche, in a way. I was the housekeeper. First it was the bathrooms I turned into things fit for human use, and then I'd tackled the grime in the kitchen. My house mates were amazed and actually pretty appreciative. I no longer hid from them but stood my ground bravely in either the bathroom or kitchen. They were an odd assortment of young men. Not as scary to me, as I got to know them, as guys I'd gone to school with. Maybe it's because they weren't a group or a pack. Each one of them was living a lonely kind of one room existence. Maybe that was the key -- meeting them out of the context of a peer group or family. Or their loneliness made them kind.
Most of them were either graduate students or low level faculty types. I guess there isn't much money in teaching when you first start out.
Nobody ever said a word to me about me and Freddy. No one said anything until the night the sound of him and his new girlfriend in the throes of passion drove me out of my room and into the kitchen, nearly in tears.
They'd come in about a half hour before. They were drunk. I could tell from the laughing and stumbling on the stairs.
It was late, near one in the morning. I went to the kitchen, the only place I could think to escape to. And there was Phil. In pajama pants and a tee-shirt, a book open in front of him on the old formica-topped table. He was waiting for the kettle on the stove to come to a boil. He looked up when I came in and it was too late to retreat by the time I saw him. I hung at the doorway not wanting to walk in but not wanting to go back to my room.
"Pretty bad, huh?" Phil said, not even pretending he didn't know why I looked so miserable.
I didn't say anything, turning away to the side but not leaving. I looked at the floor, trying to think of anything I could say that wouldn't make it worse; more obvious how upset I was.
"It was bound to happen, RJ," he said, sounding kind of weary but not unkind. The kettle was rumbling, pre whistle. Phil got up and turned off the flame before it could sing out. "Want some tea?"
"No thanks."
"Chamomile," he said. "It's good for sleeping. Once upon a time I had a girlfriend who swore by it. She's gone but I've still got the tea." He laughed at himself and got me a cup from the shelf even though I hadn't said yes. Better than brewing me tea was the invitation he offered to drink it with him in his room. Phil's room was at the other end of the floor where the groans and creaks from Freddy's room couldn't be heard.
When I think of Phil, I think of books. His room was practically lined with them. Not surprising that he was on his way to becoming an English teacher.
I curled up in his armchair, same vintage as the one in my room, faded red brocade. He sat cross-legged on his bed. The covers were turned back like he'd gone to bed and gotten up again; unable to sleep for his own reasons. We drank tea and talked about books. When he lit a joint I shared it with him even though what I really wanted was a cigarette. I didn't want to go back to my room to get one.
Some spiritual seeker, I thought, taking a deep toke, disgusted with myself. It didn't stop me from smoking that joint, any more than it had stopped me from having sex with Freddy. It just fueled my guilt. I tried to pay attention to Phil talking about Kurt Vonnegut but my mind kept wandering to how fucked up I'd let my life get.
I deserved to be hurt by Freddy, I thought. Justice for my rotten, unspiritual behavior. But thinking it didn't help. I wasn't worthy of someone like Bhakti, I decided, as I sat there getting more and more stoned. I should go back to my room and meditate, I told myself.
I'd only been in Berkeley a little more than a month and I was starting to split in half. There was the me that went to the ashram (most days) and meditated, who bowed at the feet of the guru with daily offerings of fruit and flowers. And then there was the me that had tasted sex. Heaven on earth. Sex was so good, so impossibly good. There were moments, especially fresh from bed with Freddy, that I was in lust with the whole world.
"Freddy's got a lot of problems," Phil said, drawing me back to the moment. The room felt very cozy around me, the light soft and Phil's voice, soothing. "You shouldn't take it personally, his drinking. You know," he said, "I don't really think Freddy's gay."
He hesitated before going on. God, by then I wasn't thinking so much about Freddy as I was zoning out on the sight of Phil. Maybe it was the joint, or how nice he was being to me, or it could just be that he was a guy and I was in his bedroom. I don't know. But I was watching his long fingers holding the joint, thinking how fine his hands were and wondering what it would feel like to have those hands touching me.
"You're a beautiful kid," he said. "I think he likes you a lot. But I've only seen him with women before." He said it gently, in case it was a revelation to me. He held the joint out to me and I felt super aware of our fingertips touching as I took the slim thing from him. In my head I kept hearing him saying the word, beautiful.
"Maybe I could borrow a book," I said, trying to change the subject. I didn't want to talk about Freddy. I felt hurt, deprived of him, angry at him; and guilty. Here I was in Phil's room, supposedly needing comfort and instead of feeling comforted I was getting horny.
"Help yourself," he said. I stood up, wrapping my arms around my chest and walked to the bookcase. I was standing by his bed, staring at a blur of book titles. Not only was I too stoned to concentrate on them, I was too distracted to focus. What did it mean that Phil thought I was a beautiful kid? Did it mean he was attracted to me?
The motion of him stretching out on his bed caught my eye. I felt a moment's panic that he was going to go to sleep and I'd have to go back to my room. What the hell, it was near two in the morning by then and he'd already been more than kind in giving me someplace to escape to. But I didn't want to go. What I wanted was to get in that bed with him.
Phil was lanky, handsome in a low key sort of way; not the kind of guy you'd turn around and stare at on the street, the kind that looked better the longer you looked at him. What made his angular face most appealing was the way he lit up when he talked about things.
When I glanced at him, it must have shown. He made a half chuckling, half groaning sound and moved to the far side of his bed dragging one of his pillows over.
"You can stay," he said. "I'm warning you now though, I haven't had any in a really long time, and you're a lot better looking than she was." He sounded amused. Teasing me, I figured, watching him stretch his long legs. Then I saw the shape of his hard dick through the thin covers. The curve of cloth tugged up by his dick pointed to his navel. I looked up at his face, there must have been a big question mark in my eyes.
"Come on," he said.
I got my hands and a knee on the bed and Phil put a hand out to stop me mid tumble.
"Wait," he said, grinning, and I was afraid he was laughing at my eagerness to jump him. "Take your clothes off, okay." He tugged at the billowing cloth of my pajama shirt.
"Okay," I said, feeling my face get hot. I put my other knee on the bed more slowly and sat back on my heels so I was kneeling. I drew my shirt up over my head, feeling cool air chase the heat across my skin. My hair had almost all come loose from the tie I was wearing and I took if off, letting it all hang free. I think I assumed he'd want it like that, like Freddy always did.
I stayed where I was, covering my hard dick with my hands, still wearing my pants and watching him. I could see the impression of his ribs as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head. He had a patch of hair in the center of his chest and little circles of it around his brown nipples. The hair in his armpits was dark and furry. But the body hair that fascinated me the most was the dark line I saw trailing down from his navel.
Being with Teddy the first time had been a blinding fury of passion. Being with Phil was very different. I don't think he was any more gay than Freddy was, but it was Phil's nature to be a lot more curious. He wasn't the type of guy to hide from what he was doing. If he was going to have sex with a guy he wanted it to be what it was, to see my cock and touch it, not to pretend I was a woman.
"What do you like to do?" he asked me. We were naked. Me, in a fever on my back, with his long fingered hand around my quivering cock. Him on his side, looking at me. His dick was warm and hard against my thigh.
"I like this," I said. Every word I got out made my face hotter, my neck, even my chest seemed to be breaking out in patches of heat.
"I guessed that," he said, moving his loose fist up and down me slowly. I was leaking a thin line of juice and I grabbed his hand, holding him still, grunting a little noise I couldn't help. "Seventeen," he said, smiling, letting go of my dick. "I remember what that was like." He was falling away from me, onto his back and I went after him.
Naked, his thin body was beautiful to me even though it wasn't the mass of curving muscle that excited me in Freddy. Nothing like Bhakti. But the spare lines had their own appeal, his narrow hips and lean stomach made his cock seem even bigger. It surprised me how graceful he was naked.
I put my hand on his chest and felt his nipple crinkle up under my fingers.
"That's nice," he said.
I felt the little patch of hair in the middle of his chest and went back to his nipple. He seemed to like that a lot so I did it more and watched his eyes closing halfway as I teased and pinched it and rubbed my hand over his chest. He reached up to put his arm around me, stroking my hair and over my shoulder blade. I got bolder and roamed down his stomach, roughing at the furry line from his navel to his crotch. His pubic hair was thick.
His cock felt so good in my hand, warm and heavy. His balls hung in the nest of hair between his legs, I lifted them up and tugged gently.
"That feels really good, RJ."
"Yeah?" I said, eager for praise.
"Oh, yeah," he said, spreading his legs a little further apart.
I was scared to say it out loud but I wanted to suck him. My mouth was watering and I leaned down toward his dick. I did it kind of slowly in case he might want to stop me. He didn't. I took an experimental swipe at the dark swollen head with my tongue and spidery line of my spit and his precum came away when I drew back. I went back down and closed my lips around him, swirling the circumference of his knob.
"Oh ..." he said low. Hearing that he liked it made my own dick start leaking like crazy. I felt those long fingers of his wrap around it. Fuck! It felt so good. I worked my hand down into the dark hair around his balls, lifting the handful of them.
It was getting more and more difficult to concentrate on what I was doing. I gripped him in my hand and started pumping him like he was doing to me. I couldn't keep sucking. We both let go of each other, like it was too good.
I was surprised when he pulled me down and started to kiss me, hard and deep. Both that he was doing it and that it felt so good; his mustache and beard were so soft and against my face.
"Damn, it's all good," he said, pulling back from my mouth, glancing down my body. He guided my hand to his cock and wrapped his long fingers around mine again. More kissing and stroking at the same time and then I was just panting against his mouth as he fucked my hand really hard and I felt his wet load hit my stomach. I creamed him just as hard.
I think the sun was starting to come up by the time we dropped off to sleep, Phil's long lean body wrapped all around me.