Disclaimer: This story depicts sexual relationships between men. It's a first-time submission to nifty and light on sex scenes.
Hey, Beautiful
He stayed in the shower for a few hours with the bathroom light off so the room was cast in a deep blackness except for a thin slice of moonlight. During his long shower he sometimes he stood, but usually he squatted with his arms tucked around his trim legs.
He rocked back and forth at the start of the shower, trying to feel better, but now his back resting against the white tiles and, because it was three a.m. and he was tired, he sank down and sat on the grimy shower floor -- he had avoided sitting on it before but now he did not care. He mused that he, Matthew Alsagoff, was scum anyway.
Matthew sat with his legs crunched up in front of him and his head resting on his knees, water from the shower streamed down his lithe body. He ran his fingers through his own raven black hair with a tenderness that had been absent before, from himself and from the guy he messed around with earlier. A few moments later Matthew fell asleep for a few minutes in the shower. He shook himself awake, and finally lifted himself up groggily and turned the water off. Eyes closed, he rested his head against the cool shower door.
He vaguely wondered how many gallons the water heater in the basement must have to keep the shower hot for hours. The hot water was one advantage to being in a dorm. The other, he hoped, was that no one was around this late on a weeknight to see him. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped his blue towel around his waste, his amazingly defined abdominal muscles shown a pale hue under the moonlight seeping through the fog on the barred windows. He leaned against the sink and brushed his teeth again, for the second time that night.
He paused from brushing and wiped away the fog on the mirror to look at his own face -- angular and handsome with deep gray-blue eyes and thick black bags underneath his eyelids. He had read somewhere that those black bags were due to bruising of the ocular muscles. He was working too hard again.
Suddenly the bathroom was flooded with florescent white light as someone opened the bathroom door. Matthew shielded his eyes and pulled his foamed toothbrush out of his mouth and held it like it was a dagger meant to fend off the intruder.
"Hey Matt," Tracy said. She was bundled in a comfortable and sporty yellow robe and her black flip-flops caused a distinct scuffing sound. She glanced at his tensed arm and well defined biceps -- a sculpted part of his slender, athletic build. Then she regarded him curiously.
"Kinda late, isn't it?" She asked.
"Yeah," Matthew put down the toothbrush, and made himself look busy by rinsing his mouth.
"You ok?" She asked bluntly. Matthew smiled sheepishly -- he really liked Tracy. She was very cute with short cut platinum blonde hair and had an engaging, playful manner but she also had intellectual depth and gave him vibes of a deeper understanding. Matthew could see why he was always tempted to kiss her. What is wrong with me? -- Matthew thought in a flash.
"Ah," Matthew said, "yeah, I'm fine just kind of sore from crew practice and I drank too much."
Neither statement was true. Matthew was tired from practice, sure, but not that sore and he only had one beer earlier to fit in.
"Drinking too much?" Tracy asked, surprised. That fact didn't fit the Matthew she knew.
"Well, not really." Matthew backpedaled. "I've got some stuff due tomorrow. Must be nerves. I should get some sleep. It's always good to see you, Tracy."
Matthew moved to the door -- always good to see you? What an odd comment, but he thought Tracy would get the meaning. He did like seeing her.
"Wait, Matthew..." Tracy called out in a warm manner.
"Yeah?" He turned, squinting and swaying from real fatigue.
"Didn't you already brush your teeth?" She asked with playfulness meant too be disarming but not flirtatious. She had seen him hours before in the bathroom when he brushed his teeth before getting in the shower.
"Yeah." He smiled politely, the cold hallway air chilling him so he had goosebumps. He started walking backwards.
"Oh. Okay. Good night." She said, clearly a little worried. Matthew turned and walked down the hallway towards his room.
"So, Matthew, are we all still going to the climbing gym this Friday afternoon?" She called out.
"Yeah," he waved over his shoulder, catching some of his old charm back and he put on a gentle smile, "wouldn't miss it. Good night."
He fumbled around in his single studio aimlessly before falling asleep.
The courtyard was a striking wintry white when Matthew woke up and stared out his window in the morning. It was seven a.m. and he was unable to go back to sleep. He had that same dream again, where he could feel the warmth of a lover he never had and heard him whisper in his ear "hey, beautiful..."
Matthew felt disgusted at himself. He jumped out of bed dressed only in his boxer-briefs, and after darting to the bathroom to relieve himself, pounced on the floor to do push-ups. Then he punched and kicked the air for one-half hour, practicing the martial arts he learned as a teenager. Finally, somewhat calm, he sat on his bed and looked out the window at the fresh snow and the writhing branches of the old oak tree.
Matthew stood and put on a pair of jeans and considered for the hundredth time out how hot his room was from the poorly regulated steam heaters that constantly clanked like the boiler room of an old civil war ironclad. He'd seen one once at the exhibit along the Virginia shoreline when he was growing up.
He opened his window, which swung outward and was decorated with a complex blackened metalworking weave amongst the glass that was the signature of most windows at this ivy league college. The cold air rushed in. He heard a crow caw somewhere in the rooftops and this made him smile. The scavengers always make it.
Then he thought about Jon -- what a mess.
A few months ago Bryce had mentioned to Matthew that he was certain that Jon was "pathetically" gay but in the closet. Matthew hadn't really noticed but the next time he talked with Jon, it made sense, and it also meant that Matthew could make a well-planned move.
Jon was five-foot six and shorter than Matthew by half a foot. Jon was also slightly built and pretty cute and reserved most of the time with a lopsided smile, although he did attend my clubs and was animated in organized settings. Jon was a classic good guy -- a first generation, like Matthew. This meant that he got into the ivy leagues through his own hard work and some luck and not as a legacy or due to extravagant wealth or connections.
So Matthew knew he had the upper-hand with Jon, even if, in truth, he was just as secretly desirous of other men. Matthew knew he himself was very handsome and wondered if it was obvious to his friends that he was mostly gay, then again, he kept them on their toes with the few pretty girls he casually hooked up with occasionally, like Magdalen or Emma or Julie.
He did like the girls and for the most part had fun, a little empty fun, because he really wanted to have sex with a guy, clear and simple. Matthew's past was a little checkered in this department. When Matthew was thirteen, he had given a lot of blow jobs for a few months to some older high school students who lived in his neighborhood, but after being beaten pretty badly by two of them on a few occasions, Matthew stopped. He became determined not to be gay.
He did get some sexual arousal from women and was able to masturbate while thinking about them and he tried to avoid incorporating other boys into his fantasies. This worked through high school and expanded until he was able to have sex with a girlfriend that he had cared about, but now, in college, he knew he wanted something more.
Matthew considered how hard he had fought his feelings and the years of disciplined work and the few times he came close to kissing or fondling another guy but stopped himself. What stupid sexual repression hidden behind the illusion of noble self-restraint? -- Matthew chastised himself.
With his looks and intelligence he should have snagged whom he wanted. He should have fucked all those guys with whom he had felt some sexual tension. Was he just a coward? Actually, Matthew considered, not really, Bryce was the coward -- using alcohol, drugs and money and any means or justification to "get some pussy."
Matthew always wanted sex with another man and Jon was the guy Matthew could be okay with rationally -- Jon was friendly, pretty good looking, clearly interested and unlikely to have an STD, plus Matthew was pretty sure that Jon would be his friend afterwards -- his plutonic friend. Matthew didn't want a relationship. Besides, Jon could be trusted not to tell other people
Matthew had spent the past few weeks vaguely considering the timing of it all. He would hang out occasionally with Jon and his friends like he always did. Then he would spend a few times alone with Jon, talking about common interests -- usually politics or achitecture. Then, when break was about to come and he knew Jon had a flight the next day, he would ask Jon to come over and hang out -- maybe watch a movie. He would tell Jon that he, Matthew, was randy he'd like to explore Jon's body, if he didn't mind, because it was college and time to experiment. All of this happened last night, just like Matthew planned.
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