Campus Tearoom Days
by Philip McCormick
This is a sexually explicit story based on true events from my college days. If you are not of legal age to read this, please do not continue. Only the names of people and places have been changed, in order to avoid recognition by people I knew. All other details are authentic. Enjoy, and feel free to e-mail me at suck404@hotmail.com. If people write wanting more, I'll be happy to relate more of my college tales. Thanks! Phil.
My name is Phil. I'm 32, and I spent almost my entire twenties in school. I was what they call a "perpetual student" - I enjoyed studying for the sake of studying, loved the academic environment, and - let's speak honestly here - I wanted to avoid getting a real job for as long as possible. I also loved the many opportunities for sucking dick that college provided.
It might help if I describe my college, which was not like most. It was right in the center of a large city in California, and attracted an older student body than most colleges, with the average age being somewhere in the mid-thirties. There were many returning and graduate students, other students like me who seemed to stay in school forever, and many local businesspeople taking evening extension courses. Sports were not that big there, due to the lack of open spaces, but there were a few wrestlers and basketball players on campus. There were over a thousand staff and faculty members. And in addition to all of these legitimate campus "inhabitants," anyone could walk off the street and basically go wherever they wanted in the college. All of this added up to a very interesting mix of people on campus from very early in the morning until midnight or so - many of them horny men.
My first year or so there, I was pretty naive, I guess. I hadn't been out of the closet for that long, and was still basically ignorant of the fact that men cruised each other and had sex in public places. It's amazing, when I look back, to think that I didn't notice what was going on all around me practically all day, but I just hadn't had any experience of that kind. The internet barely existed back then, so I'd never even really seen much pornography or read sex stories like the ones on this site. I just got on with my studies and the rest of my life, jacking off a couple times a day alone at home, thinking that everyone else was doing the same. How wrong I was.
This isn't to say that I didn't look at guys. I was perpetually horny, and drooled over a lot of the studs around me. I deliberately staked out a table in one of the college's busiest corridors every day in order to watch men. (To this day I still have no idea why that corridor was lined with tables, as it was so noisy and busy that no one ever wanted to sit there, except me.) I'd sit and half-study, keeping one eye on the people walking past, checking out nice-looking guys as they walked past, but I did this so shyly and surreptitiously that I never even noticed whether anyone looked back at me or not.
There was one guy in particular that I really took a fancy to. He evidently worked on campus as some kind of maintenance man, as he always wore a dark blue or gray boiler-suit - you know, that all-in-one pants and shirt deal with a zipper up the front. He never wore a t-shirt under it, and often had the zipper down a good six inches or so, exposing his hairy chest. And this guy wasn't just hairy - he was covered with fur. That chest, the backs of his hands, and with hair creeping up over the back of his collar too. I would watch him walk past, imagining what a forest there must be on his back and shoulders underneath that damned boiler-suit.
Let me make one thing clear here. I am crazy about hairy guys. The more fur, the better. There's no such thing as too hairy. I want every inch of a guy's body to be covered with thick, dark hair. I love beards and mustaches too. The maintenance man had a thick, dark mustache that came down past the side of his mouth a little more than usual, halfway to his chin, and the rest of his face was black with thick stubble. In the morning he would have just shaved, but by four in the afternoon (when I'd sit at my table again between classes) his cheeks and chin would be like sandpaper already. Amazing. But I'd just sit and watch him walk past, then sigh and turn back to my books, certain that nothing would ever happen. Chances were he was straight anyway.
It was some time near the beginning of the sophomore year of my first degree program that I became aware of the cruising going on on campus. In the library one day, I suddenly needed to go to the bathroom. Number two, no less. Now, I'm kinda shy, and I prefer to do that at home, but this day it wasn't going to wait none. I think this was the first time I ever went in a bathroom stall on campus, and boy, did I get a surprise. The back of the door was covered with crude black-marker drawings of blowjobs and ejaculating cocks. On the side wall were messages scrawled in ballpoint: "Meet 6th floor for BJ," "Fuck me Friday 8 pm," and, in larger letters, the infamous "TAP FOOT FOR SUCK." I sat and thought about that last one for a moment. Tap foot? I looked down, and sure enough, without craning my neck too much I could easily see the floor in front of the toilet in the next stall, where someone's foot would be. But where could you do anything around here, I wondered?
That question was answered for me when I explored the other bathrooms in the building. On the 6th floor there was a big glory-hole between the last two stalls, with white stains dripping all the way down the wall on both sides. I was amazed, and knew I had to try it out. I finally got my courage up a few days later, went in, sat down in the last stall, and waited.
That bathroom was obviously a hot spot, because the first person who came in a few seconds after me made a beeline for the stall next to mine, and was soon wagging his finger through the hole. I sat there, watching. He was tapping his foot frantically. Finally, in desperation, the owner of the finger put his mouth to the hole and said, "Let me suck your dick." I stood up nervously, and pushed my already hard cock through the hole, into his wet mouth. It was heaven, the power of it enhanced by the anonymity and sleaziness of the surroundings. He was a great cocksucker, sliding his lips and tongue up and down my cock with just the right amount of pressure, slowing down when I wanted to savor the feeling, speeding up when I wanted to get closer to coming, chewing on my foreskin and sliding his tongue around under it. A couple of times people came in, but the double-door warning system gave us both time to sit down and pretend to be getting on with business (lots of paper-tearing, and so on). Finally we had a few uninterrupted minutes, and I was getting close. "I'm gonna cum," I said in a loud whisper, and he kept his mouth right on my dick as it erupted, pumping three days' worth of thick jizz into the back of his throat. He gulped it down, sucked me a little longer, cleaned my dick off with his tongue, then pulled off. I had almost fainted from the intensity of it, and stood there for a moment, my dick still through the hole, to get my balance back. Then I withdrew, pulled my pants back up, zipped them, put my mouth to the hole and said "Thanks" before heading off to class.
I was a regular after that. Almost every day I'd sit at the only desk that had a proper view of the bathroom door, and pretend to study. Every time I heard footsteps, I'd look up and watch the person approach the door and go in. I'd sit and wait, timing them. I wrote down descriptions of the hotter ones. Pretty soon I got to know who the other regulars were. These were the guys who went in twice or more in a short period of time, sometimes spending twenty minutes or longer in there. Sometimes they would cruise me as they walked past too. After a few weeks of this, I knew whether someone was safe to approach or not when I saw him in the bathroom. And if I was outside and saw a guy I liked go in, I'd quickly pack up my books and join him for a session. I'd spend hours in there sometimes, coming three or four times on a good day (I was young!), and often sucking twice as many dicks.
After a while, people got pretty brazen about what they'd do in there, especially late at night. They started by leaving the stalls and sucking each other at the urinals. Pretty soon there were groups of three or more going at it in the open area by the washbasins. The craziest scene was one afternoon where I watched one guy fuck another while a third guy sucked me and another guy off. Another time, I was kneeling with two guys in front of me, and I alternated sucking them until they both shot their juice on me. I washed the cum off my face and hair at the washbasin. I don't know what I would have done if someone had walked in while I still had cum in my hair (which is short and dark, so it would have really shown).
One day I was at my usual desk, watching the bathroom door, when a guy walked past me and toward the door. It was the maintenance man from the corridor, carrying a toolbox! Damn, I thought: he couldn't be ... ? But then I came to my senses; no, he must be fixing something in there. I waited. He didn't come out. I waited more. He was still in there. OK, this is it, I thought: who dares wins. I picked up my bookbag and strode into the bathroom. The toolbox was by the washbasins, and he was at the farthest urinal, standing there. There was no sound of pissing, and no one else was in there. I boldly went to the urinal next to him, unzipped, and deliberately didn't piss either, although I kinda needed to. Five, ten seconds passed. I could see him out of the corner of my eye glancing down at my dick. (There were no partitions between the urinals - I never understood why not, but I sure was glad about that.) I looked down at his. Damn! A nice one, fully erect, not hugely long - a shade over six inches - but fat as a burrito, with a thick, bulbous head on it. A tangle of dark pubic hair poked out of his fly around the base of his tool, which he was stroking gently, teasing a glistening drop of pre-cum out of the yawning piss-slit. By this point we both knew what we wanted. I reached out my hand, and he let go of his meat, which sprang up and pointed at the ceiling. I put my hand on it, and hell, I could only just get my hand all the way round it. I pulled on it for a few seconds, then bent at the waist to take it in my mouth. He gasped as I rolled my tongue wetly around the head, then suddenly pulled out. "Not here," he said. I must have looked hurt, as he smiled and said, "Come with me."
We both left, him a few yards ahead of me, and I followed him for what seemed like miles to an adjacent building lined with science laboratories and offices. Up several flights of stairs we went, through twisting corridors to a big steel door. He took out a huge bunch of keys, fished out the right one, and opened the door. It was a Chemistry supplies storage room. Bottles and jars filled with powders and liquids were stacked on the shelves. There were dozens of boxes of paper towels and industrial rags in the middle of the floor, next to piles of tangled rubber pipes and plastic tubes. There was an acrid chemical smell in the air. He locked the door, and assured me no one would be coming in here. He said that only he and one other person had a key to the room, for security reasons, and that the other person was not there that day.
So here I was, alone with my fantasy maintenance man in a locked room. Incredible! We took all our clothes off, even our shoes and socks, then I sat down on a cardboard box to suck him. His dick was short enough that I could take it all the way into my mouth, but thick enough that my mouth was totally full. He leaked a lot of pre-cum, which I love. After only a few minutes, he told me to stop. "Getting close," he said. He took my place on the box and started to suck me. He had obviously sucked an uncut dick before. A lot of guys, faced with one, don't quite know what to do, and yank on it as if it were circumcised. Big mistake. You can't do this; an uncut dick is sensitive, and it just plain hurts to have the skin tugged back too quickly. But this guy knew what he was doing. His hand rode up and down the shaft gently as his lips glided over the head, back and forth, slow, fast, wet, hot. From my standing position I could look down and see his mustached lips engulfing my cock, and below that I could see the glorious dark pelt covering his chest and belly. His arms were thick, beefy and hairy, one fur-covered hand gripping my cock, the other kneading my right buttock in time with his sucking. His furry back and shoulders glistened with sweat, as did the bald patch amid his buzzcut.
It was my turn to pull out. I wanted to taste his cum before I lost my load, and I got my wish. I sat down on the box again, and he pushed his taut, bloated tool between my lips until it grazed the back of my throat. I really went for it, offering him no escape this time. As he got closer to shooting, I ate his cock faster and pulled him toward me, not letting him withdraw. He started saying over and over, "Oh God, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fuckin' cum" - and then he grunted and let it fly. My lower lip was resting on his hairy, swollen balls when he shot, and I felt the underside of his dick pulse and jerk against my tongue as the cum was propelled toward the back of my mouth. Three, four, five huge oysters of sperm splashed against the back of my tongue and throat as he groaned, standing up on the tips of his toes as if to pour out every last drop. When it had stopped, I swallowed half of it, then rolled the rest around my mouth as I gave the final few tugs to my aching cock, which immediately spewed a large pool of creamy spunk onto the concrete floor in front of me.
We met up in the storage room pretty regularly over the next six months or so. His name was Pete, and he was 34. When we had whole afternoons to kill, we'd take it slow, stretching our suck sessions over several hours. Anyone who has done it for this long knows how incredible it is when you finally can't stand it any longer, and you gratefully pump a massive load into a willing throat. If we didn't have much time, when I was between classes or he had to get back to work, we'd quickly trade blowjobs, gulping down our sticky rewards and wiping our mouths on our sleeves as we hurriedly zipped up and ran out the door. Pete didn't only like to swallow cum; he loved to be covered with it too. Occasionally I'd pull out of his mouth at the last second and shoot my wad all across his chest. Then he would rub it into his fur, lifting his hand to his mouth every now and then to lick it off his fingers as he jerked off into my mouth with his other hand. We even fucked a couple of times; well, I fucked Pete. He bent over the pile of boxes, and I slipped on a condom and rammed him ass good. He loved it, crying out as I rode his butt. He sometimes got so carried away that I thought someone would hear us, but we never got caught.
Later that year Pete moved buildings to the other side of campus. Did I mention that the college was over a mile from one side to the other, straddling downtown like a concrete Colossus? Our meetings became less and less frequent, and then he got a boyfriend, which ended it completely. But I'll always look back on those sessions as the hottest sex I ever had, with an incredibly handsome and nice man.
There were several other guys I had sex with fairly frequently. One, Ray, was another hairy beast, but clean-shaven (he was a flight attendant, so had no choice in the matter, he told me). He loved being sucked off through the glory-hole, and I was happy to oblige. I also sucked him under the partition between the stalls, which was high enough to allow this. This was great, as I could put my hands on his furry thighs as my mouth plunged up and down on his long dick. Sometimes he'd take his shirt off in his stall, and I'd admire his firm chest and stomach, which were covered with black hair, through the glory-hole for a minute or two until he shoved his meat back through the hole and I'd finish him off. I must have eaten his load at least fifty times over the next two years before he graduated and moved to New York.
Another regular was a guy whose name I never knew. I had to go to the library one Saturday to get a book from the library, and as I was there I stopped by the bathroom, of course. I never usually went to school weekends, so I figured I might see some new faces (or dicks). It turned out to be deathly quiet; I was about to leave when someone entered, however. He stood at a urinal for what seemed like forever. Through the tiny crack between the door and the stall wall, I could see him looking round at my stall. Could he see me through the crack? After a few more minutes of everything going nowhere, I cracked the door slightly and looked at him. He looked away, then back at me. He was so nervous that he was shaking, but boy, was he a stud. Tree-trunk hairy legs, tight shorts with an impressive bulge down one leg, white tank-top revealing muscles everywhere, with a nice patch of thick chest hair poking out the top, hairy forearms, and a face to die for, with a dark blond flat-top and chinstrap beard. I motioned for him to go into the next stall, which he did. I crouched down to show him my dick under the partition, then he did the same. I touched his nice-sized (seven inches or so) cock. It was veiny and uncut. He trembled like a butterfly in the wind, but let me slowly jerk him off until he let out a single "Ah!" and let loose one of the biggest cumloads I have seen in my life, even to this day. He practically ran out of the room while I wiped it up. I jerked off while sniffing the cum-soaked tissue.
I just knew he'd be back the same time the week after, and sure enough, at the magic hour, the two doors creaked open one after the other. This time he went directly into the stall, and we had a repeat performance. He came so much, I guess he hadn't jacked off all week. I felt strangely proud and privileged: he was saving it up for me! This second time, he let me rub his hairy balls for a while before he left.
We met every week for about three months, same time, same place. One time I asked if I could suck him, but he said no, he wasn't ready for that. I desperately wanted to, but I didn't ask again for fear of driving him away. The last time I saw him, we had been doing it at the urinals for a few weeks already, as he preferred to be standing up when he came. This time, he was getting close to coming when someone came in, and - horrors - it was a friend of his, who said, "What are you doing over here?" (I could have asked this friend the same question!) My buddy got very flustered, and started talking with the guy, but I left as fast as I could. I went back a few more Saturdays, but never saw him again. Well, not in person. A few months later I was reading the college newspaper when I saw a photo of the wrestling team, and there he was. So that was why he always wore the tanktop and tight shorts - he must have just finished weekend practice. I wish I could have talked to him properly, and blown him and swallowed his cum like I know he really wanted, deep down, but it was never to be. He's probably married with a couple of kids somewhere now.
During my college years, I met not only students and staff in the bathroom, but professors also. An Architecture professor I met there took me to his office, where I sat under his desk and blew him slowly as he graded papers (some kind of fantasy of his, I guess). When he was about to cum, he pulled out of my mouth, stood up, and jerked himself off, blowing his load across the desk, his cum spraying over a pile of students' papers. We both laughed about it afterwards as he wiped it off with Kleenex. I met him once more, but he got nervous about doing it in his office, and that sort of fizzled out. Another day I received a great cum-swallowing blowjob through the bathroom glory-hole, and saw the guy's face afterwards through the hole. A few months later I saw him deliver one of the speeches at a graduation ceremony - he was one of the assistant deans of the university! I later met him with his wife at a reception on campus; he glared at me as if to warn me not to say anything, but then he acted real nice as we chatted. People are strange.
As I mentioned earlier, people could just walk off the street into the college without being stopped, and many did. I met a lot of horny local businessmen that way. One total cum addict who worked in a high-rise just down the street often came by in his lunch break to suck me off. We used to go into a little-used stairwell next to the campus bookstore, where we had plenty of warning from the echoes if anyone started coming down the stairs. This went on for over a year, about once a week. By the end, before I graduated, he had me videotaping him suck me off every time with his camcorder. He always wanted me to pull out and shoot onto his extended tongue, so it would show on tape. I usually prefer to shoot deep into a swallowing throat, but this was pretty damn hot, so I had no problem with it.
Another businessman used to come by once every two weeks or so and we'd go down the same stairwell. He was heavily into frottage - grinding our cocks together through our clothes while standing up - and we'd do that for a long time. I didn't even touch his cock until the third or fourth time we met, but it was a beauty. Over eight inches and incredibly thick - a true beercan dick, with the longest, floppiest foreskin I've ever seen. Literally two inches of excess skin when soft, an inch or so hanging off the end even when fully hard. It was amazing, as he wasn't a very big guy otherwise, but hairy as hell with a bushy black mustache. He wasn't into oral, unfortunately, but I had great fun kneeling in front of him, jerking his huge dick (the foreskin made a slapping noise as it whiplashed against my hand), and feeling his hot cum spray across my face. I always took a hand-towel in my bookbag with me when we met, so I could clean up afterwards. He always came a huge amount.
The bathroom got to be so well-known that people would drive in from rural areas to check it out. I met one real country guy, Bill, a bearded hunk of a man with a strong rural accent, there one day. He was an excellent cocksucker, almost psychic in his ability to tell what I wanted, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down, when to speed up. He was a true cocklover, craving my cum, torturing it out of me and drinking it eagerly every time we met. One day I watched him suck and swallow four guys in succession before I got my turn. One weekend I even drove out to his place, over forty miles away, where he and his lover took turns sucking me until I fed Bill a massive load I'd been saving for almost a week, as he had asked me to (agony the whole week, but worth it in the end). They had a glory-hole set up in their house, which was pretty cool, though we didn't use it.
Unfortunately, the bathroom eventually got so well-known that the campus cops started monitoring it. While it was still pretty safe as long as you were discreet, traffic fell off pretty fast, and it ceased being as much fun as it had been. Then a series of arrests that were publicized in the campus paper and on TV reduced traffic to almost zero, and it never really recovered while I was there. (I have no idea what it's like now, as I live on the other side of the country.) That didn't stop me, though; I just met guys in other places. All those horny guys had to go somewhere, and most started cruising outside the library and taking their pickups to other places, like the stairwell, for action. I met one incredible sex buddy that way - but that's another story ...
(c) 2001 Philip McCormick (suck404@hotmail.com)