From Tragedy a Romance Part 1
(The events in part one of these stories is true.)
Brad wasn't really a friend, merely an acquaintance at best. We both attended a small, private, Catholic college. We were both juniors, both majored in business, and both commuted from the same city. While we had those things in common, Brad had transferred in during our junior year with a different group of friends than my own.
It was the early nineties. To describe the two of us, I'd say that we were both relatively average. Neither of us had features that made us stand out, but neither of us were ugly either, both of us could be considered preppy, always coming to school impeccably dressed, like any gay man would. But otherwise for a gay guy in a Catholic school, being ordinary was the perfect way to blend in. In fact, I chose to commute to college because I was so afraid of my body betraying me in the shower room, so I decided to live at home. Needless to say, at the age of 19 I was still a virgin. I was 5' 11" tall, with dark hair and dark eyes and was still carrying the dreaded freshman fifteen. Brad was a couple inches shorter than me, with shoulder length sandy blonde hair, he still had his swimmer's build, and I had definitely taken note of his glistening while smile that lit up the room.
That Fall, for one week of classes I noticed that smile wasn't in the room. In fact after a week or so I had heard rumblings from his friends about a tragedy. Being that our school was stoked in religion it wasn't long before one of our professors had told us to pray for Brad as he was in the hospital severely burned. It seemed that Brad had gone on a camping trip with his friends. As is tradition with a late fall camping trip, they had started a camp fire. During the evening some horseplay erupted, and in the course of laughing and carrying on, Brad had backed into that campfire. Before he knew it, the nylon running pants he was wearing had burst into flames. In a panic, he didn't think to "stop, drop, and roll", and instead started screaming and running only to cause the flames to become ever more intense. Thank God one of his friends had the wherewithal to tackle him to the ground and get the fire out before an even worse tragedy, but not before those nylon running pants had started to melt and fuse themselves directly to his burning calves. He had to have skin grafts and was going to spend a few weeks in the hospital until the risk of infection and extreme pain had subsided.
I was rattled by the whole story. I felt like there was something I should do, we weren't close, but at the same time, we were a small school with small classes, and we shared a major. We definitely knew each other and had even worked on projects together in class, so I felt like he was one of the family even if I didn't consider us to be best friends. To my surprise that same night my telephone rang. It was Brad; he said that he had gotten my number from the commuter office at the college. He asked if I had been told what had happened, and told me that besides his parents, no one had come to the hospital to visit. His friends either felt too guilty, he was too angry with them, or they weren't really the friends he thought they were. I wasn't sure. But Brad had asked me if I could please come visit him, he needed some one to talk to that weren't his parents.
It wasn't long before I was in my car driving to the hospital. It was late and pretty quiet at the hospital when I arrived. His parents had already left for the evening. I took a deep breath and worked up my courage to walk into the room, not knowing what to expect. Fortunately, his injuries were well covered, though he was attached to an IV, some other monitors and a morphine drip. Brad appeared to be sleeping when I arrived, but turned his head to look at me when I entered. He raised the bed, and with his left hand, reached out to call me over and then took my hand in the best handshake he could muster. That warm smile reemerged on his face. I sat in the chair next to him, and he proceeded to recount his horrible story to me. Then he told me that his parents had been in contact with the college. The school was understanding and wasn't going to make him withdraw as long as he kept up with the syllabus. He asked if I could keep notes for him; stop by the hospital, and later his home, to help him keep up with his work. Also, to our surprise, the doctor's said that it would not be long before he could return to school. They had said it would be hard for him at first, as his stamina wouldn't be the same, the pain medication would make him tired often, and he wouldn't be able to drive. He asked if I would be willing to take him to school, and since he would be on crutches, could I help him out to and from his classes. I was touched that he had asked me, and of course I agreed to do anything I could; besides it gave me the opportunity to get to know him better.
For the next couple of weeks, I did exactly what he asked. I took notes, brought materials to and from the hospital and later his home. What I couldn't do, I arranged for friends in other classes to pass materials on to me, and then I to him.
Before long, it was time for Brad to return to school. The first day back was particularly hard for Brad. First, he had to navigate the sidewalks and hallways on crutches. He would stop often just to rest or catch his breath. Besides sitting through class, he also had to endure the barrage of questions and well-wishes of everyone in the college community. By lunch time Brad was thoroughly exhausted and asked if I could take him home.
The house was empty when we arrived. Brad asked me if I would stay with him. Brad grabbed some pain killers and then left to his bedroom. From the family room I could hear noises from his room that sounded as if he was in some kind of distress. I knocked on his bedroom door and asked if he was OK. In a panicked response he called back, ?Don?t come in?. Heeding his wishes, I returned to the family room. I waited about thirty minutes then started to get worried. I knocked on his bedroom door again and got no response. I checked to see if the door was locked, it wasn?t, so I quietly turned the knob and gently opened the door just a crack to peek in on him. He was sound asleep on his bed. Apparently the day had been too much on him. I stuck around as he had asked me to do, but when his mom got home, he was still asleep, I left him in her care and went home.
On the way to school the next day, Brad apologized. He told me that he hadn't intended to fall asleep and that if I stuck around today, he promised not to let that happen again. The rest of the day proceeded in much the same way as the previous one had. Only this time when we got back to his house, things went a little differently. Just like the day before, Brad grabbed some pain killers and then headed up to his bedroom. Only this time I heard him call for me. When I got up there, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, clearly upset. He explained that the noise I had heard in his bedroom the day before was him trying to change the dressing on his burns himself. He couldn't do it, so rather than ask for help, he covered his legs in blankets and fell asleep. You see, up until this point I had never seen nor asked to see his injury. He explained to me that he was embarrassed by his scars; it was painful for him both physically and emotionally. Besides the doctors and his parents, no one had seen them. He had grown to value and appreciate the friendship we had built but was still afraid of the response I might have to seeing them. He needed to check on them and change the dressing. Today, he needed help. He asked me if I wanted to see his injury. He said it was OK if I couldn't deal with it and couldn't help him. I told him that it meant a lot to me that he entrusted me in such a way. Slowly, he removed his pants, then the bandages. It was not as shocking as I had expected. Weeks had passed and a lot of healing had taken place. Perhaps because Brad had lived with it so long, he did not realize the progress he had made. But as he sat there in his boxers that day, exposing those scars, but more than that, his raw emotion, I was moved more by this moment of intimacy than by the scars that he had shown me. I think I helped him more that day than just by changing his bandages. My response and lack of shock helped him begin to heal emotionally. After changing we went back down to the family room and sat on the couch watching television. My heart was already racing from the feelings I had developed for Brad, and I was doing my best to catch my breath from that moment of intimacy we had just experienced. My feelings for him were almost more than I could bear, especially since now he had shared such a part of himself, and he still didn't know the secret that I carried. Not to mention I had just seen him sitting in front of me in only his boxers, at the time it wasn't erotic, but I knew that it was a sight that I wouldn't soon forget.
That day while watching TV on the sofa, I felt something else. I felt the side of Brad's hand gently touch the side of mine. Electricity shot through my arm, but I dared not move. Brad's hand lingered there for What seemed like an eternity. Later, I felt Brad's hand move again, and rest on top of my own. I concentrated to look straight ahead and not move. Finally Brad reached down and pushed his fingers between mine. He was holding my hand. I closed my eyes and caught my breath. This couldn't be happening. Could he really be gay like me, or was this something else? Either way, I wasn't about to let go.
It was with dread that his mom got home and we pulled our hands away. At the same time I couldn't wait to get home. I had a hard-on all the way home, and once home I couldn't get down to my room fast enough. By the time I pulled off my pants, a huge wet spot of pre-cum was clearly visible on my briefs. I got pulled my briefs down to my ankles. Standing in the middle of my room, with my pants and briefs around my ankles, I closed my eyes, in my mind I saw Brad in his green boxers. I grabbed hold of my engorged eight inch cock, and with just a few strokes, using the hand that Brad had just been holding, I had an orgasm like I had never had before. I let out a moan so loud that it was a wonder the neighbors didn't hear me. My cock erupted, it squirted over and over again, I counted at least eight. Cum shot so far that it hit the wall in front of me. In just a few short minutes, my room and I were covered in cum. I was sweaty and spent. I fell to the floor, eyes still shut, I was short of breath, and smiling. I brought my hand up to my nose and smelled what was left of Brad mingling with the scent of my cum. It was intoxicating, thinking about the experience that day with Brad. I was in love and in lust. There was no point in cleaning up, and there wasn't much studying going on that night. I wasn't finished yet. I needed another session that would take longer and that I could just savor the feelings. Sitting on the floor, I kicked off my pants, grabbed my now soft cock, and using a handful of cum, I lubed my cock and began stroking it to full attention again. I closed my eyes and dreamt of Brad doing the same thing back at his house. I imagined what he must look like naked, and especially what his cock might look like. I imagined making love to Brad. I wondered if he had any experience, and if he did, what he liked. I didn't care; I lubed my middle finger, reached under me and started probing my hole. I thought of Brad on top of me, I started inching my finger inside my hole, fucking myself and stroking my cock at the same time. I wanted to give myself up to him and feel him inside me. I increased the pace, rocking my hips up and down, stroking my cock and fingering my hole. I quivered, I wondered if he would like my tight virgin hole. Would he want to cum inside me? I wanted him to be a part of me. I had to have his cock inside me. I could feel my cock swelling again; I shot another load, this time all over my chest. That night, I jerked off several more times. I could barely sleep; I couldn't stop thinking about him, or whether he had the same feelings for me. Sometimes I imagined him fucking me, and other times I thought about fucking him, being one with him, feeling the warmth of his insides around my cock. Over and over again I came that night. Before I could pick up Brad for school in the morning, I had to make sure to shoot one more load. By the time I was done my cock was sore, my balls spent.
(That ends Part 1 the true part of this story. The remaining parts are simply fantasy of how I hoped things had turned out between us.)