We were back in those dimly lit bathroom stalls. Robbie stood before me again, hurriedly shucking his jeans to the floor. He was pulling that thick cock from his underwear again and I felt like a magnetic force was drawing me forward. I sat with my back against the cool surface of the porcelain, grabbing Robbie's dick by the base and guiding it to my lips. As soon as our skin made contact, almost as if we'd set off a hair trigger, there was a thunderous rapping at the stall door. "Fuck!" Robbie whispered, pulling his pants back up. The fucker wouldn't quit though, and slammed against the door again in three quick knocks.
My eyes fluttered open in gasping panic and I was staring up at shitty white popcorn ceilings. My dick was residually hard but coming down when my door flew open and Henry poked his head in, grinning at me.
"Quit jerkin' off. You can't dodge me for another day, man." he said, sauntering in and perching on the edge of my bed as I stared at him in stunned silence. "Look, if you're avoiding me, you might want to give Dean more strict instructions on your visitor's policy, my friend."
"I'm -- I wasn't dodging you!" I exclaimed, sitting up and thanking God as my boner receded. Henry had clearly come from the gym and was wearing a stringer tank so I could, from my angle, see his light-brown nipple slipping out. If it weren't for the power of my sheer force of will, this could be disastrous.
"Well, I've got three unread messages that would seem to indicate otherwise..." He said, smirking at me so I knew he wasn't serious.
"Dude, I met up with Alex last night," I announced in exasperation. Henry's eyes were immediately alight.
"You did?! That was fast. So you're saying your ass is sore, then?"
"What? No. I'm not sore," I justified, partially to him and mostly to me. In reality, I was hurting a good hurt.
"So he's sore?" Henry prodded.
"No. Nobody is sore," I said, clamoring out of bed and picking up a shirt. Henry wolf-whistled as I bent over. I turned to him and gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Yes, stuff happened. I don't kiss and tell."
"Even for me?" He gave me a puppy-dog frown.
"Even for you," I said, pulling socks and shoes on. "So remind me again why you're invading my privacy on this fine day?"
"I need breakfast and you're the only person who can be bothered to get out of bed before eleven. This is a visit out of necessity."
"Necessity, huh?"
"Yes. This is dire," hesaid as he steered us out of my room.
"Sorry, Connor! He said it was urgent!" Dean called to me from the couch, laughing. He wasn't sorry.
Henry was apparently considerably hungry, as we walked through the cafeteria and he loaded his plate. He wore a classic pair of black sweatpants and a backwards hat, succumbing to one of those grimy college days. Thin facial hair had grown over his jawline, softening his rough features. Watching Henry, even if all he was doing was loading up a plate, was a hobby in itself.
When we sat down though, morning light from the window framed his face perfectly. Not that he was acting particularly angelic, shoveling breakfast potatoes into his mouth and talking in quick and wild sentences about this girl and another girl. My chest tightened when he glanced up from his plate and grinned at me, having made some silly joke about pussy that I discarded immediately.
That boyish smile. In my mind's eye, I thought of these two interesting men in my life -- like two photographs. Alex was a streak of light and color, flitting in and out of the frame in motion. No way, Alex Owens could hardly be described by vocabulary, let alone bound to a single, static moment. Last night, I laid awake in bed trying to pin Alex down to one person but he'd slipped through my hands like water. In my life of order and predictability, Alex was neither.
But Henry, he was a snapshot of life. He was your memory of a goofy fifth grade sleepover, or late-night bike rides on the Fourth of July. That was the feeling he could put in your stomach, and it was perfectly describable. You could throw him in an old cardboard box, dig him out three years later, see that friendly face glaring out of water-stained paper. Then you'd call him on the phone, and he'd bound out like a golden retriever to meet you.
My reverie was broken when Henry, mouth full, interjected, "Dude, your head is in the clouds lately. It's bumming me out."
"Ah- I'm sorry, Hen. Just have a lot going on right now," I muttered, sipping OJ to avoid the involuntary guilty grimace. And I did feel this real, raw, achey guilt. I owed Henry a lot more than absentmindedly eating breakfast and nodding my head. I really did.
"You know, I was going to tell you something really, really interesting but if it's not your priority..." he trailed off, goading me.
"What? What do you know?"
"Ah no, no it's fine. You probably wouldn't even care."
"Henry, don't jerk me around. It stresses me out."
"I know you're like, obsessed with Alex or whatever, but I heard an interesting rumor."
"A rumor? Not about me?" My mind was racing by now, and Henry was milking it. What would people even say about me?
"Well, I was sitting right in this very spot yesterday," he said in whispered tones, looking around, "when a strapping young lad rudely interrupted my dinner."
"What? Henry, you're killing me here."
"Oh and that's not all, he was looking for you. He said he might have written his number down wrong and wanted to meet up."
"What? And what did you say?" I smacked my forehead dramatically. Robbie. I'd forgotten to text Robbie.
"I said no, and that he was the tenth guy this week that you cruelly `forgot' to call. Shame on you."
"Hen, that's so not funny, he's going to think I'm such a dick. And I don't even do that!" I blushed, burying my face in my hands. I felt his hand touch my shoulder and squeeze, which by God's great electrical design, sent a shock to my balls.
"Connor, you can't seriously think I said that. What kind of wingman would I be if I revealed that you're such a slut these days? I gave him your number and said I'd bug you to text him."
"You what? Why?" I asked, exasperated. I hadn't even thought about Robbie since stats. Alex had eclipsed him completely.
"Well, though you seem to have forgotten, I seem to remember you possessing some class. Just text him, even if you're not interested. I though he was pretty cute." Henry winked up at me as he texted me Robbie's contact. He was obviously joking, but his point was still true: Yes, I had options. No, I hadn't suddenly become a complete dick.
"Okay, okay. I'll text him right now. To be a gentleman."
It would have been lying to claim it was out of some sort of devotion to Alex. As we'd been chatting, I thought back to the dream that Henry had so rudely awakened me from, back with Robbie's dick in the bathroom stall. It was, admittedly, a hot scene.
"That's my boy." He grinned again and dug back into his breakfast, and we returned to his epic sexual saga with Leijla, an Iranian exchange student.
I tried to match his enthusiasm for Leijla that he'd given for Alex, but as was often the case with Henry, his energy was boundless.
Throughout classes that week and attendant school life, a few things became apparent. First, that Robbie was a prolific texter. Second, that Alex may not even know how to operate a telephone.
Between the gas station and our stats field trip, I either made quite the impression on Robbie or he was exceptionally bored. Early on, I'd let him know that -- just FYI, I wasn't looking for anything serious. Still, he pressed on with `being friends.' At this point, we'd shared brief text exchanges on every topic from hometowns to majors. He was a sweet guy, but I was preoccupied with Alex's constant aloofness.
Throughout the week, I'd sent him a few hopeful messages to try and spur a response. No luck. Despite seemingly ignoring me, though, he'd sat down across from me in a library booth one evening. I looked up from an essay response for Lit in mixed shock and joy.
"Hey, handsome." He said. Today, he wore a stylish boxy pair of glasses and a slim jacket.
"Oh. Hi, Alex." I said. My heart hammered against my lungs in a way that made it difficult to breathe.
"Sorry. I meant to reply." He dug into his jeans and produced a phone with a completely shattered screen. "Slammed it in a car door," he added.
"Oh, ah, no. No worries," I stammered, straightening my workspace.
"Let me take you out?" He placed his broken phone down on the table. Between shards of glass, there was a smiling face shining back.
"Yeah. Oh. Sure, that sounds fun." I nodded, glancing back at my essay.
"Then it's a plan. Let's go." He shoved his phone back into his pocket and slung his bag back over his shoulder.
"Huh? Like right now?"
"Yes. Right now. Unless you have a mysterious 8PM class?" He smirked and led the way out of the library. For a second time, I was trotting on his heels.
--
Alex had already threaded through the stacks to the back of the store where an older man, maybe fifty, stood behind a glass case full of coins. I presumed the coins were special or whatever, but of all the many nerdy hobbies and collections I had accumulated, rare currency just didn't hit the spot. It must not have for Alex either, as he was leaning over the glass chatting with the guy.
I heard the man gruffly ask, "Where's your friend?" and my mind was racing. Could I possibly have made such an impression on Alex that he was telling people about me? In my mind's eye, I saw Alex gesturing towards me and drawing me closer to the counter with his arm around me.
That wasn't the case. They must have been talking about a mutual family friend or something, as Alex flippantly answered back that they'd gone out of town. I shook off the heavy pall of disappointment and turned to scan the spines. The bookstore was densely packed with tall shelves. Ever the millennial, I wondered if stores like this should have been replaced by eBay back in '05.
I had waded into the middle of the store and lost sight of the door when I felt Alex come up behind me, placing his hands on my waist and pressing his crotch against my ass.
"Alex, I don't think it's that kind of bookstore..." I whispered. Silently, I patted myself on the back. I never came up with a line that quickly!
"Mhm, don't worry about it." He said into my ear as his hand slipped to the front of me and unbuttoned my pants.
"What are you doing?" I said, laughing nervously. I grabbed his wrist and tried to tug him out from his encroaching grasp on my hardening cock.
"What do I keep telling you to do, Connor? Just relax. Am I going to let anyone hurt you?" he said, and now was actually pulling the waist of my pants down. My heart froze in my chest. I was the last boy awake at the sleepover, trying to swallow every breath in silence.
"I've been wanting this ass all week. I can't keep waiting. I can't keep dancing around wanting to fuck this ass." He whispered three flurried phrases in my ear. I could barely hear him over the blood rushing to my ears.
"We can't -- we can't here." I said as Alex pushed his still clothed cock so firmly against my ass that I had to grasp the edge of the bookcase to stay upright.
"I need to, here," he said, firmly. The truth, of course, was that I desperately wanted to be fucked by Alex again and would take virtually any opportunity. Not only that, but the thrill of being fucked in public wasn't exactly beyond my imagination. He could take me anywhere, and I'm not sure I'd ever have really cared.
I let myself succumb to his touch. From behind, I felt him fish his dick out of the fly of his pants. He worked the huge, curved piece through his palm, producing lube from his jacket. It became clear that, whatever he might indicate, there were no "sudden urges" for Alex. Much like not wearing underwear to our coffee date, Alex was deliberate. Bringing lube to a bookstore was no accident.
He hiked my shirt slightly further up my torso, reaching under it to grasp my shoulders. I was still balancing myself against the shelves, dizzy with anticipation mixed with pure adrenaline. His hands moved and firmly grasped my hips, tightly fitting between the waist of my pants and my skin.
"You want this, right?" He said, snaking his hands to the front of my pants and undoing my button. "It'll be fine. Trust me," he whispered, and I nodded. With Alex, this certainty he carried was so magnetic that it was difficult to deny him. He said it would be fine, and you knew it to be true.
With my nod, Alex leapt into action. With complete precision, he tugged my pants down until they were tightly held against my thighs. He knocked my legs apart to hold them up and pressed his cock against my ass.
"I want to fuck you so bad, Connor. I need this ass," he whispered, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to tingle. First, the gentle wind of his breath against my neck was ecstasy. Second, the pure fear of the guy at the counter being only a few yards away -- possibly hearing Alex. I let out a soft sigh, which Alex took as a chance to initiate.
I felt his cock against my ass, and it took all of my willpower to just hold my breath as he pressed into me. Counting in my head, one, two, three. The pain mixed with oxygen deprivation was dizzying, but not nearly as much so as the feeling of Alex's dick back inside of me. In complete silence, he pulled back out before roughly pushing back in again. I felt almost that he must have devised this as a test of my willpower: to see if I could be silent or submit to him. I wasn't sure how I really felt about that, caught in the moment of him gently fucking my ass against a bookstore shelf. I wasn't completely sold on being Alex's bitch, yet.
But for today, bitch I must be. Alex, in a rare moment of roughness, grabbed at my neck and rapidly fucked my ass with this grace that was completely silent. Truly, the only sound in that book store was the rushing blood against my eardrums. My own cock hung down, and on an occasionally rough thrust it would poke against the bookshelf, leaving a string of precum there. When Alex finally hit that magic rhythm, pounding my ass and narrowly avoiding the slapping noise of flesh on flesh, I grabbed at my cock roughly and began to jerk off.
Alex, however, was in another world. From behind me, all I could hear was a deep and measured breathing. When he started hammering away at my ass with renewed vigor, I knew he must be close and started to really stroke my own cock. Right at that horizon, I made a split decision that I'm not sure I feel great about and shot my load between my legs and into my underwear. Alex, taking my lead, pulled out, stepped back, grabbed my shoulder for balance and let out a soft "Hmph" as he shot into my underwear as well. Perfect aim. How like Alex to have perfect aim.
With an incredibly sudden urgency, Alex was pulling up his pants and tucking his sticky softening dick away. I followed suit and he headed off to the bathroom. I guess my standard for hygiene must have been much less, as I was content enough as it was. All in all, only a few minutes had passed, but the rapidly receding light of fall made it feel like we'd just stepped out of a movie.
Alex made a flick of the hand and a final nod to his friend at the desk before putting his arm around me and leading us both out of the store. We walked home in relative silence, only breaking it to occasionally giggle about the absurdity of what we'd just done.
--
So, there was another whirlwind evening with Alex, balanced against the ever-pressing force that was Robbie. On Wednesday, when our stats class met again, I deliberately avoided glancing over at him to avoid another grave `miscommunication'. Even then, Robbie slowly put his notebook away to catch me right as I was walking out of the lecture hall.
"Hey! Connor! What's up man?" He said, jogging a bit to catch up with me and putting a hand on my shoulder.
"Oh hi, Robbie. Just going to um, go back to my dorm and nap or something." I responded. In reality, I would almost certainly go get lunch -- but that might come across like an invitation to join me, which I wasn't extending. I had another pang of regret at responding that way, the deep well in me that I had to call upon increasingly often: I was not a dick to people. That wasn't who I was going to be.
"Cool. Are you good with this?" He said. I gave him a sideways glance when he added, "Stats, I mean. Are you good at stats?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "I mean, I guess. I do well on the tests at least." In reality, I knew I was probably the best intro stats student in the section, but I took no pleasure really in telling other people about my nerdiness.
"Well, I wondered if you might help me out sometime." He said, still keeping pace with my walking out of the building. "I don't need a tutor," he added, "But maybe we could study sometime."
"Sure, I could help you out. I need to spend some time on it too, anyway." I said, trying to keep an even tone. I really didn't want to hurt Robbie's feelings by being less interested than he was.
But Robbie rounded on me, turning on one foot to get in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders.
"Connor. Listen. I probably made a really bad impression, with the bathroom and everything. But I can tell you're really smart from our text conversations, and you're clearly good at stats. I like smart, because well, I'm not. So relax, because I'm just trying to make a friend and a study partner, not get in your pants." He finished his rant and let his shoulders fall down and his hands with them.
"Robbie, I--" but I faltered before continuing, "I'm sorry. Yeah, we can study whenever you want." I smiled before adding. "And I don't think you're dumb, either."
"Well, it won't take long for me to prove you wrong." He smirked at me and we continued our walk. Robbie's moment of honesty endeared me to him, and I'd never done well with a guilty conscience.
"Actually, I think I'll get lunch, if you want to join me. We can go over that practice problem, if you want." I said innocuously. Worst case scenario, we'd just talk stats and skip any awkwardness and the guilty rock in my abdomen would dissolve.
But lunch was actually remarkably pleasant. In the busy student union, we found a large table and managed to actually bust out the entire week's worth of stats problems. I'm not going to strictly accuse Robbie of lying about being bad at stats, and he certainly didn't keep a catalog of notes of my caliber, but he clearly didn't struggle in the class either.
Robbie turned out to be great comedic relief from the monotony of homework. He would crack jokes about working at the gas station or some of the funnier-looking kids in our class. Robbie was good looking and with a recent neat haircut looked more his age than skater boy. When he was laughing and shooting joke after joke though, Robbie transformed into this hilariously handsome guy with a remarkable twinkle in his eye.
He would make a casual joke (often at my expense) in the midst of a problem and then look up at me, pushing the hair out of his eyes. I'd glance up too, we'd meet eyes, and then -- magic. There was this little burst of light when he'd see me laugh, the kind of fire that's lit on happiness and a well told joke.
As we triumphantly wrapped up the last and most difficult stats problem for the chapter, Robbie started to pack up his things.
"You know, you're an interesting guy, Connor." He remarked, shoving his textbook into his bag.
"How do you figure?" I asked back. I was at ease with Robbie. His comedic laid-back attitude meant there was really no weird pretenses.
"I think you really underestimate the effect you have on people. That's all." And I would have loved to ask him what that meant, but he was already gone.
-- --- Connor Witmer https://connorwitmer.com/ me@connorwitmer.com