My college buddy liked to brag. He's probably told this story far and wide by now. If you've heard this, drop me a line at just4funboy@yahoo.com. I'll be glad to hear from you.
Kent
I managed to get into the evening section of third semester physics. The alternative was three days a week of AM classes, which assured that the night version would be a sold out event. I'd arrived early for a choice of seats, and the room was quickly filling up. Physics was never much of a place for boy watching, which is why I was so startled to see a genuine golden stud come through the door. As he looked around the room for a seat, I moved my notebook off the chair next to mine. I looked right at him. It worked.
As he took his seat, he offered a quick "Hi." While the instructor was covering the usual first day drivel, we chatted a little. His name was Kent. He lived at the frat a block from my dorm. My guess that he played baseball was not far off. Softball it was, not that I could have told anyone the difference. He had a ball player's chest and thighs, which is as much as I cared for the sport.
Over the next several weeks, I'd save him a seat and we'd walk back to our rooms together most nights. On rainy nights he'd have his car, which to my disappointment he packed as full as he could. We did not have much in common, other than two classes in which he was gradually getting behind. One evening I took a small chance with this connection. I noted that the mid term was next week, and that this week's lecture had been a desperate dash to catch up with the syllabus.
"It's a lot of material, but I think I've got the most of it down," I said calmly. Without a response, I dug a little more. "Are you getting it? Can I help?" I'd seen his latest quiz come back. He was not getting it. We'd arrived at his driveway.
"Would you mind?" he asked. "I missed a day last week. Do you have those notes?" We spent about an hour in the main downstairs room of his frat. I sat across a plain wooden table from him. One of his housemates, stuck with the morning session, listened in as I gave my prediction of what would be on the midterm.
The test came and went. He did okay, and thanked me for pointing his nose into the book. He missed a class again the following Friday, and I recalled him saying something about an away game.
Sometime the next week, I asked him if he'd like the notes from the class he missed.
"Already got them." My mood sank. His morning class housemate, Derek, had come through for him. I bounced right back to the top of the world with his next remark. "Want to stop by the house for a beer tonight?"
I tried not to go overboard with my acceptance. "Sure. That's the nicest offer I have had in a while." It was true. I'd decided once and for all that I was gay and I might as well get more serious about it. I'd played around some with trusted friends, but never really cruised anyone before meeting Kent. He was pure hot in my book. He had a stocky build, muscular but a keg or two away from being ripped and lean. He was fair and blond, except for a trace of red in his end of the day beard. His broad forearms, bare even in cool weather, wore a nice coat of fine blond hair. I found myself staring at them, at how the muscles in his forearms rolled as he wrote and moved around. He had piercing green eyes, and a face that might not land him in the movies but could certainly lure him a date any night of the week. More than anything, though, I admired how he filled his jeans. Everything below his belt radiated his physical strength. The way his ass formed his jeans made it all look rock solid. His thighs, for lack of a more flattering word, were huge. They were truly massive, and again looked hard as stone under stretched out denim.
And now he was handing me a beer. I raised it to my lips and felt the smooth lip of the bottle. I nearly dropped the damn thing. I was nervous with the same kind of indefinite anxiety that won't let you sleep when you need to the most. The kitchen was crowded and noisy. Some of the guys were having a late dinner, or maybe were just still eating. This fraternity had a reputation of attracting jocks and hard partiers. The jocks had clearly taken the kitchen. One of his buddies belched an obscene greeting at him.
"Up yours! Come on, let's go up to my room and let the animals eat in peace." Fine with me.
"We got our new uniforms today." He pointed to a lump of clothes on the bed. It was much like the lump of clothes spilling out of the cracked plastic hamper, awkwardly sitting in the middle of the room. The room was a disaster. I'm no housekeeper, but this place was some sort of work in progress for an art class. The upstairs of the frat, for that matter, was less than the main floor or the exterior suggested it might be. The maintenance seemed to be confined to layering on more paint, which I'm sure the pledges obediently did each fall. The occasional shoe mark on a wall or door testified to some wild parties since then.
"I've got to get this tried on tonight. I can exchange it in the morning if it doesn't fit," Kent explained.
I waved my beer at him for a go-ahead, pretending to have a mouthful preventing a more formal answer. In fact, I didn't dare answer. What would I say? I liked how the show was going so far, so just kept quiet.
He had a bathroom that seemed to be shared with the adjacent room. He closed the door and locked it, which seemed to be the only way to shut it at all. I was starting to like this very, very much. A private show! I reached over and brushed the hallway door closed as I piled into a worn red lounge chair. I looked up for the lock, but there wasn't one.
He kicked off his shoes and said, "Don't worry about it. Nobody here opens a closed door." He stepped around the hamper, flipping on the radio and turning it up a little too much. He stopped just off to my left. I watched his hands as he popped his belt buckle and peeled down his jeans. They did not surrender his thighs easily. Briefs. I was speculating from time to time, and got it right. He wore plain white no-name briefs. Good to know. This was a spanking new pair.
He did not look at me as he stripped, but he didn't need to. I was staring shamelessly at the hairs on his legs, at the elastic on his briefs, and at everything else I'd only imagined before. What a treat this was. He then stood upright and faced square at me, in just briefs and socks.
"What do you think? Summer uniforms."
I couldn't stand it. He was teasing me more than ever. In a flash, I remembered all his little playful comments about "holding his seat for him" and not being an "athletic supporter."
"You've finally found a way to get me to buy a season ticket." I said as I deliberately checked him out from head to foot and halfway back up again. "Can I get a locker room pass with that?" I stared him square in the crotch. I felt him checking out my gaze. He brushed off his bulge, though my attention was already there.
The only question now was who wanted it more. Who would make the big move? He shifted a little to the side, as if to say that was as far as he'd come. I slid off the chair and landed on my knees before him. His basket was like a magnet to me. He packed his dick right down the center, hiding any definite clue about his length for later discovery. A swath of sandy colored hair trailed down from navel, widening considerably before diving below the elastic of his briefs. His thighs, those adorable thighs, were liberally peppered with curly hair as if it were spilling out of his overstuffed briefs. I wanted him to turn around, but figured we'd get to that.
"Only our most devoted fans get passes. Now show me how much you love the team." Kent cracked a broad smile, the one that made me melt.
Fuck the team, I thought. I'm alone with the biggest bat I've ever swung. In truth, I loved the line. It wasn't for the words. It was the demanding way he said it and the fact that he still made me make the move. He was clearly into the fact that I would be servicing him. He wanted me to ask for it.
I rolled his briefs down, pausing for a moment when just his pubic bush was exposed. I could see a thinner spot of hair at the root of his shaft, as it parted from his fine torso. My fingers ran back along the elastic band of his briefs, hooked over them, and began to pull them over his smooth, firm ass. At that moment he pushed my head forward, causing me to dive, face first, into his bulge. As my nose buried into his basket, I opened my mouth to breathe. My pulse quickened.
"Suck it. Suck my shorts!" He said it slowly, savoring the words. I took as much of his basket as I could into my mouth. The feel of the dry cotton on my lips and tongue made me burn with sexual energy. I was now more eager to satisfy him than I'd ever been even in my dreams. I felt like I'd been taken over by a side of me left waiting alone until now.
After a minute of working his briefs with my lips, I followed his instructions to remove his shorts. I rolled them down to his feet, and held them there as he stepped out of them and around to one side again. I was kneeling at his side, with his cock, now fully hard, in front of my face. It was a beauty. I didn't know what eight inches would look like, but this must be it. I had a generous six, nothing to be ashamed of in the shower, but here was a stud cock. More impressive was the width. His prick was more like a flattened oval than round, noticeably more wide than thick. I caught sight of a small hair stuck to the uneven skin marking his circumcision and wondered if I'd feel it in my mouth.
He grabbed both my shoulders and led me over to face him head on. Dropping his hands away, he stood there for a few long seconds, with his dick just short of touching my lips. "Open up!" he said, as if handing out cough syrup. The next ten minutes went by in a flash. I ate his rod with real passion, both licking his dickhead with my tongue and sucking as much of his member as I could take in with as much force as I could deliver. Sometimes he would run a hand to the back of my head and hold me in or out, or move me at the speed he liked.
I loved this. I fantasized for years about just such a face fuck, though Kent's obvious pleasure with my service had been missing from my dreams. This was more than about what I was doing and feeling, which drove my fantasies. This was turning him on in a big way as well, making the real act crush the potency of the imagined.
Unfortunately, I was sucking myself out of work. His breathing has become heavier and more deliberate. He pulled out of my mouth and tilted my head back. His heavy cock flopped onto my face. Its heat and its weight captivated me. It covered my face. Kent's meat ran from my chin to my eyebrows. His balls hung below my chin.
"Lick the nuts." His voice was a touch higher than before, less commanding, and more driven by desire. I spent a few minutes bringing one testicle, then the other, into my mouth. There was no way to get both fully inside. As I worked his balls, he stroked his shaft. He worked slowly from the base to the head, and then rapidly back. I held his balls with my lips to spare them from bouncing around, and felt them draw up, tighter and more closely to his body.
He pushed me back a bit. "Shut your eyes," he grunted. There was no chance of that. I stared him right in the face. He looked down as his dick exploded. The first shot went over my head. The second spurt, larger but less forceful, creamed onto my right cheek. Afterwards a cascade of spurts and dribbles drained onto my face, drenching my nose and lips. I let my lips part slightly and secretly tasted his sperm.
He let out a hoot of sorts and rotated his shoulders. He looked down at my cum-covered face. I shut my eyes for him. For the next minute or two, I felt him running his cock up and down my face. He smeared his jism around until it was too dry and sticky to spread any more. He pulled my head towards him, but I turned away. He pressed his softening shaft against my face and held me there for a few moments.
"Okay. You're in." He nearly whispered it. I had no idea what he was talking about until later, when I wondered if he was serious. Would I really be visiting him and his teammates after a practice? How would that be explained? He stepped away and threw me a towel. I let it drop and picked up his briefs.
"These will do." I said as I mopped my face.
"Don't think so, buddy. Get in here." Came the answer from the bathroom. I spent a good five minutes cleaning my face and hair as he watched from behind me. I didn't even think until I was out the back door that I had not shot my own load. My dorm room was four minutes away. I ran and got there in half that. I locked the door to my room and dove onto the bed. My roommate was out. I whipped out my own meat and pumped it to success. With every hormone I had on a rampage, I shot to the wall. I found the blotches of cum and watched them slowly run down towards the blanket. Not bothering with a towel, I collapsed into a deep sleep.
In the morning I checked out his window, which I could see from mine. Nobody was there.
There was no beer the next week. He was struggling to keep up both his practice and studies, and managing with no time left over. The following Monday he invited me up to his room. We grabbed the usual from the fridge. The kitchen was crowded, but less rowdy tonight. I recognized Derek, who greeted me by name this time.
We went upstairs and I slumped into my favorite chair. The room was a little better off now, with at least the clothes put away and that stupid hamper back in the closet. I went to put my beer on the tiny lamp stand. An envelope was there.
"Pictures from your Ohio game?" I asked with more interest than I really had in his away game from last weekend.
"No!" He chirped the rebuttal so clearly that I studied his face for a clue. How far off was I?
I was still looking at him as I slid the stack of photos out of their envelope and into my open palm. As I glanced at the stack, I felt my chest muscles tighten. My breath became shallow and forced. There was a picture of his ass, with his briefs caught half way down. His legs. My blue sweatshirt. He had pictures from the night I went down on him! My stomach tightened up into a knot so hard that I must have leaned forward.
I did not need to look for where the camera had been. The door to his closet had a few slats missing. The photo was more of a strip than a full frame, shot through one of these windows on the action. How could I have been so stupid! I realized that he had me by the balls with these. I tried to swallow, but there my mouth was too dry for it to work. The back of my throat just closed up and stuck there for a second.
Did I want to see any more? I knew how it went. The images in my mind were as vivid as those on the paper in my hand. I flipped forward to the next shot. This one really said it all. He'd turned a bit so he was in profile, and had steered my head with his hand so that I was facing into the camera. The shot framed him from the waist down. His erect prick, curving slightly upwards, obscured part of my lips and the end of my nose. I had my eyes fully open, and my arms resting at my side. I was kneeling in front of him, with my knees spread wide apart so that my mouth was at the level of his meat.
I was frozen, and barely breathing. I was hardly conscious of him, drawn completely into the photos. By the third picture, I had moved back to facing him. He had slyly maneuvered me around for the benefit of the camera. I had parted my lips, inviting him to penetrate my mouth. His head was just short of entering me, and fully hard and proud of its new conquest. In the next few images, he was in various stages of fucking my mouth. In one, I'd had my eyes closed and my cheeks pulled in as I treated him to a hard suck. Again, his hand away from the camera was wrapped around the back of my head. This left no doubt about who was driving. In more of the suck shots I had my eyes open, and was looking at his chest, or waist, or most of the time right ahead at his nest of pubic hair.
I'd gone through only a quarter of the stack before getting to where he'd pulled out and started rolling his glistening cock over my face. These photos were framed a little higher. His face was just breaking the top of the print, but enough so to show his lips pursed as if exhaling in a hard blast. His balls rested below my chin, with his shaft running to my eyebrows. I was looking right into his face.
By now I was breathing normally again, but was still unable to swallow. My stomach jumped now and then, perhaps hardest when I turned to the next image. This was the picture that said it all. Cum streaked down my cheeks. A strand of it stretched from the tip of his dick to my cum-drenched nose. Being caught on film sucking dick was bad enough, but seeing myself wearing a load of jism made me weak. On top of it, my tongue was starting to venture out for a taste. I flipped forward to a shot of his cum painted over most of my face, his hand again on my head with his softening dick beside my cheeks. I remembered how he held me in this position, giving his camera buddy the chance to zoom in and frame the shot as best he could.
As I moved on to the next photo, I was relieved to see his ass again.
"I got doubles." He said, snapping me back to the present. "Hot, aren't they?"
For a minute I could not answer. I didn't know what to say. I had no idea how I felt. At the same moment I hated him and found him sexier than ever. I was scared too. Sure, they were hot. As anyone could see, I enjoyed my evening. But I felt betrayed by the fact that he had these photos and had showed them around, maybe to some guys I knew. Certainly Derek had seen them, given his warmer than normal greeting.
"How many guys have seen these?" I asked with an edge to my voice. The anger was winning. "Ten? Twenty?"
"Twenty here at the frat, plus about a dozen who came here from Indiana last weekend's game." He had dropped onto the bed, and stretched out his legs as he said it. I didn't need to reply. I've only had them three days." I was still speechless.
"Derek had the idea." He continued without prompting. "He bet me that if I could get you up here and drop my pants, you'd suck me to orgasm. He was right. They're actually his photos. He's the one who has shown them off, except for the few I showed some selected teammates."
"You do this from time to time, I take it." I'd sunk a little deeper into the chair and taken a big swig off the beer.
"Not me, but another guy here did it last fall. He got one of the pledges to take a fuck. These are better photos, though. His face was never clear like yours is, and we never saw any cum since he shot it up the guy's ass. I think the wet shot is my favorite. You're totally creamed over." He'd been flipping through the photos rapidly, settling on his choice. He looked at me for a moment, and for the first time I would not look at him.
"Are you okay? Don't barf in here." Kent was spread out as he said this, as if he expected a second round.
I got up, and I left. The next week I avoided him, and he didn't make any special effort to see me. I didn't find myself cruising him at all. I took a different way back.
Towards the end of the semester, a letter came. I tore it open in the dorm lobby and flopped onto one of the dismal hard couches. Out came a shower of tiny brownish gold plastic strips. It was film, or at least had been. Deeper, stuck in the envelope was a set of prints. Here was Kent, lying in the grass and wearing nothing but a big smile and a semi-hard on in one, adding a catcher's mitt and squatting behind home plate in another. A third had him posing in the locker room, while in the next he was soaped up in the shower and hard as a rock. The last photo was a close up of his cock, with a trail of cum going up his chest. To the back of this was taped an index card.
Locker Room Pass Select Players and Their Best Fans Only No Cameras
Following was an apartment address and a date. I trotted off to my room and called him to say I'd be there.
"Great!" He sounded quite pleased. "Are we even now?'
"We can square that off at the party. You know what you need to do." I left it at that and hung up. We'll see.