Forest for the Trees

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Forest for the Trees

Chapter 1

"I'm going to the store. You need anything?"

I grunted, not looking up from my economics paper. " . . . No. If I don't get this done soon, my prof is going to have my ass."

Steve snorted. "Thanks for THAT image. See you later."

I glanced up long enough to smile and wave before turning back to That Damned Paper.

But it wasn't long after he'd left that I pushed the chair back and I shut my eyes, trying to defocus for a minute before tackling it again.

With an effort, I opened my eyes—and found that it was morning.

"What the HELL?"

Steve strolled into the bedroom, wearing a towel around his waist. "You fell asleep." He walked to his side of the room and started getting dressed. "It's a good thing that isn't due today, otherwise you'd be in deep shit." I flashed him an irritated look as he pulled on his pants and grinned.

"Why are you in such a good mood?"

His grin broadened. "I scored last night."

I rolled my eyes. "Not HERE, I assume."

"That WOULD have been hard to pull off . . . but kinky."

I threw a stack of papers at him. I certainly wasn't what anyone would call unattractive, but Steve was on the vaguely petite side, muscle-bound as he was. For whatever reason, the girls tended to fawn on him given a choice between the two of us. In high school I was on the heavy side. By the time I was 16 I was quite annoyed with the fact and changed a number of my personal habits. In the second year of college, I was six-one and fit enough to do ten tri-athalons, one a day, one after another.

He laughed, throwing on a shirt. "You coming to the gym this morning? I know you think you're behind schedule, but it's SATURDAY."

I rubbed my eyes, looking at the clock. 8:15. "Yeah. Let me get some clothes together." With effort, I got up, found suitable attire and stripped down. It was only after I was down to my underwear that I noticed him watching me. "Enjoying the show?"

He tapped his wrist. "Come on. I know they say timing is everything, but PLEASE."

I laughed as I turned my back to finish, bending over to replace my underwear.

"Nice ass."

I snorted. "ALL the guys say so." I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and the two of us stepped out of our dorm.

The gym we favored was just across the street from campus. It was usually quite busy, but since it was 8:30 on a Saturday, only those with no social life—like us—were there.

We started with the usual cardio and stretching to warm up, and then hit the machines. We were doing a chest, shoulder, and upper back day, so we started with the bench press, alternating and spotting for each other.

By the time we left, we were both exhausted and glistening with sweat. "That was a good workout."

"It's always the highlight of my day straddling your face." He grinned impishly as we stepped into our dorm again.

"There you go again, always seeing the silver lining," I said sarcastically.

"I think you SAW the lining." He paused distractedly, "I'm taking a shower."

I stripped back down to my undies. "I think I'm going to take a nap. Sleeping in a chair isn't all that comfortable."

We both went our separate ways, him to the bathroom and I pretty-much fell onto my bed, not even bothering to get under a blanket.

I'm not sure how long I slept, but it couldn't have been more than half an hour. The second thing I noticed was that my back was killing me. "Son of a bitch."

Steve was still in his underwear. "What's wrong Greg?"

I explained. "I'm pretty sure it was the chair last night."

"Or the workout this morning." He clapped his hands together. "Lie down on your stomach."

"I'm not one of the girls to be seduced by one of your sensual massages."

He gave another of his infamous grins. "But they work so WELL." He took a step or two toward me, and seeing me hesitate, continued: "Quit being a homophobic pussy and lie down."

My sarcasm gave way to genuine irritation, but I realized he was right. Without saying anything, I laid down with my face resting on the edge.

Steve walked up to the bedside and playfully slapped my ass. "Relax Greg. I ain't gonna rape ya." Before I could say anything to THAT, his fingers spread out on my shoulder blades and gently forced them apart. They probed my muscles, and against my own self-control I let out a small gasp as they oozed feelings of relief from the tension I hadn't realized I'd been holding. His fingers wandered to my neck and shoulders, somehow sapping the energy out of me and leaving me drained and panting for breath. When they wandered back below the shoulder blades I found he'd discover pockets of tense muscles, and that my back would give a small spasm and I'd involuntarily cry out softly.

By the time he was done working my lower back, he was straddling my thighs and grasping my back where it met the top of my ass. He slapped it again, playfully. "My turn."

"That was somewhat more intimate that I expected . . . and yet I'm not bothered by the fact." I mustered my energy and got to my feet.

"That's the point. It wouldn't be much of a seductive massage if the receiver was." Ignoring the semi-hard tenting in his shorts, he turned and fell onto his own bed, mirroring my former position. "Have you ever given one?"

Trying not to feel self-conscious, I knelt, straddling his thighs as he'd done and placed my hands on the small of his back. "No. But I think I might be adding it to my repertoire."

"Just don't cripple me. Firm but gentle."

"Like I'm popping your cherry?"

That one earned me a heel to the ass and we both laughed.

I ran my hands up and down his back a couple of times, feeling the contours. I felt from where his neck met his dirty blond hair all the way down to the waistline of his boxer-briefs. For a split-second, my `natural' instincts took over—my cock sprang to attention and I was gently grasping his hips like I would have made love to a woman from behind.

'Cut that shit out! I told myself firmly.' I moved my hands to just below his shoulder blades and started applying gentle pressure. 'All joking aside, he's not going to be amused if you actually make a move on him!'

"You alright?"

"Fine. Worried?" I kept my tone light.

"Under your hand? Never."

'That was an odd thing to say.' I started working his back as he'd worked mine. Identifying tense lumps and strings and smoothing them around. It was only a couple of minutes until he was spasming and gasping the way I had. I found myself admiring the curves. The muscles and ripples. The perfect skin, and all of the reactions I seemed to earn—each with a restrained touch. It was like learning to play an instrument that responded with a life of its own.

I was suddenly aware that I had lost track of time. And while I knew I'd gone longer than Steve, I couldn't say by how much.

I sat back, suddenly also aware that I was sporting a hard-on. And not just any hard-on, I was fully aroused and rock hard.

"I think it's time I took a shower." I didn't think my banter was up to a reciprocating slap on Steve's ass, so I just got up—carefully in order to avoid showing how aroused I was.

Steve seemed to be having trouble breathing regularly. "That was . . . pretty good . . . for a first time." He started to push himself up, but looked down distractedly and lowered himself again.

I offered a brief, distracted grin and made my way to the bathroom. I shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes to try and clear my head.

It was in this quiet moment that I heard a noise. I frowned, trying to place it. Once I realized it was coming from the bedroom, my frown deepened and I quietly eased the door open, sticking my head out into the hall.

It abruptly dawned on me that Steve was masturbating. The wet sounds, the gasping breaths, the involuntary grunts, and the faint squeaking of bedsprings.

It was too much. I took the precaution of turning on the shower, and then grabbed the lotion. I whipped off my boxer-briefs and grasped my throbbing penis. I imagined my own heavy breathing matching Steve's. I remembered the feel of his skin under my hands, and the twitching and squirming between my thighs. I massaged my balls, feeling my other hand gliding up and down my shaft at a faster and faster rhythm until I stopped breathing, let out a somewhat louder grunt, thrust my hips forward and came with enough force to hit the bathroom mirror four feet away.

I took a moment, sagging against the bathroom door before I stepped into the shower. The accumulated sweat washed off with a mild scrubbing and I felt invigorated.

There was a knock at the door, and Steve pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Horror flooded through me. 'Jesus! The mirror!' "A little warning would have been nice."

There was a pause from the other side of the shower curtain. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"You're one to talk." There. We both knew that we knew. After another pause, I heard Steve peeing.

"I honestly didn't think I'd get that turned on . . . or that you would be."

"You could have guessed. How many women did that work on?" I was genuinely curious.

"If it got to that point? Almost always. I didn't really expect it to work on you."

"I'm a human being. I feel what anyone—wait. You were angling for this?"

There was a much longer pause, and for the first time since I'd met him, I heard sadness in Steve's voice. "Do you know what it's like, to feel attraction and to never have it even register on the other person?"

"Wait a minute. You're GAY?" 'How on Earth have I not figured this out?' "What about all those women you've been with? I can remember meeting at least fifteen over the last two years!"

"Oh, I slept with them—I even enjoyed it. You didn't notice that it never lasted too long?"

Now I was getting angry. Not the volcanic kind, but the slow burning anger that a person feels for themselves when they realize they should have known better. "Like you said, I wasn't paying attention."

Steve took a breath. "I'm going out for some air."

I was alone in the bathroom, and a minute later: the dorm. I frowned to myself as I turned off the water and towelled dry. I walked nude into the bedroom and started to get dressed.

Steve's bed had a generous wet spot on it, answering my violation of the bathroom mirror. Clearly I'd been attracted and I'd just never admitted it to myself—let alone Steve.

I sighed to myself. He was still my roommate. I'd patch things up as best I could when he got back—if I could at all.

And I still had That Damned Paper to finish.

I was awake. According to my subconscious, 3:13 in the morning was an excellent time to replay events.

'God damn it.' I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, trying to find that elusive sleep I knew I needed while I listened to Steve's soft breathing over on the other bed.

I'd spent the last week spending time with him while trying not to look like I was making a point of it.

We both knew I was, though. I sucked at lying. Always had.

The truth was that I didn't know what I wanted. `Friends' was safe. I'd fallen back on that because it was the only thing I could think of to do. We'd both had girlfriends, each of us making arrangements to be elsewhere if the other was in need of the room. But this—this—changed the landscape considerably.

Or did it? I couldn't deny that I felt something. I certainly had last week. But it hadn't gone away either—not completely. Had I always felt that way and just never consciously admitted it?

I rolled over to my other side, and stared at Steve in the dimness. He was beautiful.

Not knowing what else to do, I quietly got up and walked to the kitchen. In the dark I poured myself an alcohol-heavy drink, taking it and the bottle back to the bedroom. I sat down on the floor, leaning against my bed and took a long swallow.

When had I allowed myself to become trapped like this? If some guy had propositioned me at random I probably would have become defensive and belligerent. But then, I'd have had a reaction if a woman had done the same thing. Maybe I'd have laughed instead, but I still wouldn't have even entertained the idea.

I took a second long pull, finishing the glass and poured myself another.

I wasn't actually any more or less receptive to getting laid based on who asked. So what was it? Had I fallen into that trap where it was socially acceptable to be more blatantly dismissive of gay interest?

I polished off the second glass in one go. I felt it start to kick in as I poured the third.

But with the artificial levity came regret—the back-biting kind that leaves a person more miserable as the evening goes on. As I sipped through the third and fourth drinks, I found I was trying not to cry. My breath became unsteady and it took all of my compromised concentration not to shiver.

Steve's bedside light turned on. "Greg?"

I set the glass down on the carpet and abruptly realized I couldn't find my balance well enough to stand.

Steve's gaze sharpened. "You've been drinking. I didn't realize you drank, never mind the fact that you have alcohol." He sat up. "Greg? What's wrong?"

And to my horror, I broke down. I cried like a six year old girl in front of my roommate.

With a sigh Steve sat down on the floor beside me. He took a long drink straight from the bottle. "Yeah. I guess I should have known I don't have a monopoly on being fucked up."

"I'm so . . . SORRY."

He draped his arm over my shoulder. "For what? Not knowing what to do? Join the goddamn club."

Drunk enough not to care about appearances, I leaned my head down on his shoulder and hot tears rolled down his chest as I let go.

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, but I gradually became aware that the room was starting to spin. I took a breath and tried to collect myself—as much as a guy can when he's drunk. I had the presence of mind to ask for a garbage can, and for help into bed.

Steve struggled to lift me to a seated position on the edge of the bed, using my armpits for leverage.

I leaned against him—mostly because he wasn't moving like the rest of the room. "You ARE beautiful, you know."

"And YOU are drunk." He eased me back onto the bed, then stood and lifted my feet so that I was more-or-less lying down.

" 'Drunk words equal sober thoughts.' " And with that, I passed out.

The following day wasn't that enjoyable.

Sunday, however, was a marked improvement. I was actually able to look at and smell food without reaching for a garbage can.

Steve kept putting fluids in front of me, each time telling me: "You're an idiot," to which I'd usually just grunt in acknowledgement.

I went for a walk for most of the afternoon. Screwing my head back on straight—if it ever was—was taking a long time. It wasn't that I needed to change my thinking, it was more about syncing what I felt with what I thought. I was pretty sure I still hadn't nailed it all down by the time I got back.

Steve was reading some Art-Lit text. "There's pizza in the fridge."

I found that it was still luke-warm and ate a piece without nuking it.

"Are you up for the gym?"

I shook my head. "A workout on the heels of a hangover? I'll try tomorrow."

He gathered his things and stepped out.

He'll be back in a couple of hours. On impulse I decided to check out Steve's internet history, already knowing what I'd find. Logging in really wasn't that difficult. He'd needed me to get a file from his computer at one point last year, giving me the access code and—apparently—never replacing it. I pulled up his internet browser . . . and there they were. The history was set to clear every time the browser closed, but the bookmarks . . . 'Holy shit'.

I opened several. Male on male, all. At least now I know what turns him on. He had a thing for the muscular types. 'I belong in that category, I suppose.' Jerking off—solo and in pairs, blow jobs, facials and cum shots, rimming and anal. He watched it all. I found I was embarrassed and knew that I shouldn't have invaded his private life, and yet I was having difficulty looking away. There was a morbid fascination to it for me. How could anyone truly enjoy taking a dick up their ass? That had to be painful. I flipped through more screens. Cut versus uncut. I had to admit I was curious about how different that would be. I myself was cut, but I couldn't recall seeing if Steve was.

As I started in on the videos, my dick swelled in my shorts, pushing uncomfortably at an awkward angle. I started to readjust, but realized it would be simpler to just take care of matters. I slid my shorts and underwear off and sat back down in front of Steve's computer.

It didn't take me long to figure out I found foreskin a turn-on. It certainly wasn't the only thing: blowjobs and rimming looked so . . . erotic. Checking his desk drawers, I found a bottle of lotion and squeezed some out onto my hand. As the latest series of erotic videos play out, my right hand was gliding up and down my cock—from the base of the mast up over my glans and then back down. Out of curiosity I put a generous amount of lotion on my left and started massaging my scrotum, and then eased further down, touching and rubbing my asshole. My erection stiffened—not that it was inadequate before—and my glans swelled up, causing me to increase my stroking. I involuntarily started hip thrusting—as much as anyone can while sitting down. The hand massaging my asshole started pushing more insistently on its own. I couldn't decide if I wanted to watch my own cock or the video. My breathing became labored as both of my hands moved faster. Impulsively finding the anal arousing I pushed a finger inside gasping at the mild discomfort, and the gasping again and again as I was really turned on.

It was too much. I cried out in ecstasy as I spurted cum up past my shoulder and then onto my nipple. A third, fourth, and fifth spurt left a gooey trail down my abs, with a sixth sliding down into my pubic hair.

By the time Steve came back, I'd cleaned up and removed any evidence that I'd used his computer. I'd stripped down to my underwear, and was reading a macroeconomics text.

He had a shower. Trudging back and forth between the bathroom and bedroom, he finally returned in his underwear and sat down at his computer. "You could put some clothes on, you know."

"That's never been an issue before," I said, to all appearances still engrossed in my textbook.

He shifted in his chair, and adjusted his cock in his underwear—just out of view. "God dammit. You're making me uncomfortable."

"So take care of it." I turned a page without looking up.

He turned and looked at me incredulously. "What does that mean?"

I looked up from the text for the first time. "I mean you're a man, and you're over the age of twelve. Jerking off isn't a new concept." He just stared at me bizarrely, like I'd grown two heads. I shrugged. "Look, I'm not saying do it in front of me. But I'd have to be pretty naïve to think other guys don't do it. I certainly do." I turned back to the textbook, studiously ignoring the fact that I'd gone to half-mast.

He spent the next hour avoiding me without looking like he was avoiding me. When we finally turned the lights out there was silence that lasted for several minutes.

"Greg?"

"Ya?"

"I need to bust a nut."

"So take care of it."

"Here? Now?"

"Well there IS the bathroom, but it is your bed."

"I . . . can't do it while you're just sitting there listening to me."

I smiled in the dark. "What do you suggest?"

"Will you . . . jerk off at the same time?"

"I don't know . . . That sounds kinda gay."

"Quit being a fucking tease! Will you or not?"

I laughed softly in the dark. "Sure."

The light turned on. I stared at him owlishly as he got out of bed. He was clearly sporting a hard-on under his boxers, and it became undeniable as he pulled some lotion out of his desk drawer, turned on some soft music and walked back to his bed, setting the bottle down on the nightstand between us. I could swear he was seeing if I was watching—I was, of course.

The light went out, and I could hear him slide out of his underwear and lie down. " . . . Greg?"

"Ya?"

"I can tell you're still wearing clothes."

I was suddenly reluctant. Even in the dark, I had to force myself. I threw back the covers and slid my boxers off. My cock was hard enough that it slapped upwards against my stomach. "There. I'm in my birthday suit."

I heard him grab the lotion bottle, and a vaguely wet sound as he slathered himself and started gently stroking.

'There's no helping it now . . .' I took some lotion myself and felt it's coolness on my penis as I wrapped my fingers around it and swirled my thumb over and around my glans. I took a shaky breath and heard Steve start to make similarly heated noises.

I stroked up and down gently as I used my other hand to massage my scrotum, then easing further down and pushing my index finger against my tight hole. I grunted as it forced past the resisting muscle and slid in. I softly let out an involuntary moan as my dick stiffened and throbbed. I gently rubbed in and out as my other hand stroked up and down more wetly—my own contribution to the lubrication having an effect.

Steve started breathing more heavily as I heard the slurp-sucking sound of his lubed hands working his groin. The persistent rhythm gradually increased in speed, and I found myself keeping pace without thinking about it, making my own wet sounding motions that were probably turning Steve on as much as his noises were me.

I stopped and reached for more lotion in the dark, and was surprised when my hand met his, also reaching for more. The weirdness of it struck me, but I decided I was too turned on to care.

" . . . Go . . . ahead," panted Steve.

" . . . Thanks," I panted in return, squeezing more goo into my hand and setting the bottle back on the nightstand. I slathered the fresh coolness onto my throbbing cock, thinking about Steve's fingers touching mine—my juices and his, mingled.

There was a thump, and Steve muttered: "God damn it."

"What?"

The light turned on.

For the first time, I was alarmed. "Jesus!" I whipped the sheet over my crotch. "Give a guy a little warning, will you?"

Steve was fishing for the lotion bottle, which had fallen to the floor. He looked startled, apparently only just realizing I was embarrassed at being exposed. He picked up the bottle and set it back, lithely naked, and sporting an impressive erection.

He turned the light off again. " . . . Sorry."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before easing off the sheet again. "It's alright. You just startled me, is all."

The squelching started again, slower than before, but rhythmically. I curled my fingers around my penis and eased them upwards, ending in a similar sound. Finding myself thinking about Steve leaning over the side of the bed with that beautiful dick brought my breath back to a ragged edge. Steve grunted, and I pictured him finger-fucking himself as I started rubbing my hole again while I stroked up and down. I forced a second finger inside, and as it penetrated I let out a soft cry and bit my lip.

" . . . Oh God. Oh God. Oh God." Steve's bed bounced three or four times, and I could tell he'd climaxed, ejaculating all over himself. In my mind's eye I watched his abs get spattered with cum as his harsh breathing became more relaxed.

Ironically, this didn't push me over the edge, and I was disturbed as the sound of the two of us masturbating suddenly became just me. Trying to dismiss my reservations, I pushed on, and the squelching sound continued as I started increasing the rhythm.

I worked my fingers in and out of my hole, feeling turned on as my other hand glided over my hard flesh, caressing my glans. Not making any pretense at keeping quiet, I moaned and worked my sensitive areas, my hip thrusting becoming more and more insistent before I gasped and my hips came off the bed. My glans swelled even more and hot spatters landed on my chest and abs.

"Jesus." I wasn't sure if I'd said it or he did.

"I hope that was as good as it sounded."

I was panting. " . . . It was." I took a breath. "It sounded like you had a good time too."

"I don't think I've cum like that since I was twelve."

I gave a dry laugh and sat up, fumbling in the darkness for a cloth. I found one—a pair of underwear—and wiped myself down with them.

"Toss those over here."

I frowned even as I gave another dry laugh. " . . . Are you sure?"

"You think I'm afraid of your spunk?"

I shrugged and tossed them blindly.

Steve coughed. "You . . . uh . . . caught me in the face."

I coughed, feeling my face flush in the darkness. " . . . Uh . . . sorry."

"I apparently asked for it."

"And don't you forget it."

We both laughed.