Disclaimer: This is an Adam's Gay Reader pulp story (#239) written by Derek Olson. There is no copyright on it, so I wanted to share it with others before it gets lost forever. This story includes sex between adult males. If this is unappealing or illegal in your location, please do not read this story.
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-DurtyRiter
Chapter 7: Kevin
Okay, you want to hear about my favorite freshman? Well, first I have to tell you a few things about Hobart Ramsey Tuxhill Carlyle. You never heard my full name before?
Tuxhill. My great-great-great grandaddy founded this fucking college as a place to park his no-good son when the boy returned to Boston from the Civil War. He figured sending the kid to the wilderness of northern Vermont was about the safest thing he could do with him. All his tycoon friends did the same thing.
Tuxhill College. Send your lusty sons to us and we'll keep 'em out of trouble for four years. Well, those aren't the exact words of the college motto, but that was the whole idea.
So why'd I come here? Simple. I couldn't get into Harvard, Yale -- any of the Ivy League colleges. And I like to ski. So after I got rejected by all the Ivies, I took a year off and skied. Vail, Aspen, Switzerland. But then Dad said, Hobie, enough is enough. Go to Tuxhill and stay out of trouble.
So you see, it's a family tradition. Send your lusty son to Tuxhill. Deep-freeze his libido in all that snow and sleet and all that clean, outdoor recreation.
Anyway, one day this last January I was out on the slopes and I scoped out this young guy. He was part of a freshman ski session. You remember how they required all of us to take a mandatory ski lesson our freshman year? Doug twisted his ankle. Jesse plowed into the instructor. I mean, you guys are pathetic on skis.
So anyway, these freshmen were strutting their stuff and I noticed this guy, kind of short, like you, Jesse, but with red hair and freckles. Yeah, freckles, I kid you not. He looked like he hadn't even started shaving.
He was built pretty solid though. Even through his ski togs I could see the strength in his chest and shoulders and legs. He saw me looking at him and acted sort of confused, like no one had ever looked at him like that before.
Later, in the lodge, I saw him again. He was in a group of freshmen who were drinking hot cocoa and joking about the tumbles they'd taken and trying to decide whether they should try the "intermediate" slope when they went back out. They were typical freshman jerks, full of crap. But I gave this kid the eye again and he noticed.
I couldn't read his response, though, and usually I'm pretty good at that.
When he went into the john, I followed. He went to the last urinal in a line of about seven. I went to third from last. It was one of those thrilling moments when you sense things are gonna happen, the plot's in motion. But the spell was broken when some of the geeky freshmen came trooping in and lined up to piss.
The kid finished up and left.
I didn't see him again that day. To tell you the truth, I sort of forgot about him until two weeks later when we had our annual Winterfest at the house. All the freshmen who were rushing Beta were invited, plus a bunch of girls from our sister house. The place was jammed.
He walked in with a couple of buddies around eleven. The party was in full swing by then. I figured it wouldn't hurt to make a fast move, so I went up to him and introduced myself.
"Hi, I'm Hobie Carlyle. Welcome to Beta."
He recognized me instantly. His green eyes widened and he flashed a 200-watt smile.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Kevin Mayo."
"Great. What's your drink, Kevin?"
"Oh, ah, 7-Up or anything's fine."
The party was supposed to he strictly dry with all those underage kids, but in the pool room and library we'd stocked up for those who were 21. We always invite a dean and a few professors to our shindigs and you guys know they'd never come if we didn't keep the hard stuff flowing.
I got Kevin a 7-Up and laced it with gin. He took a few sips, caught the taste, and flashed me a look of appreciation.
"You play pool, Kevin?"
"Unh uh."
"Like to learn?"
"Sure, I guess."
I led him to the pool room. Most nights you'll find brothers racking up the balls but of course tonight was different, with the party in full swing. This wasn't where the action was.
We each took down a cue. I racked up the balls and cracked them with the cue ball. Then it was time to give Kevin some pointers.
I had him lean forward to line up a shot. That gave his rounded butt a nice turned-up angle and I found myself flying off into fantasy-land.
"Like this?" he asked.
"Well, sort of."
I came up next to him and leaned down over him, stretching my arm out next to his. I was so close to him that our thighs were lined up against each other.
"Hold the cue like this, Kevin. See?"
"Uh, I think so. Like this?"
My crotch was closing on that beautiful butt. When contact was finally made -- firm contact -- I felt a shudder course through the freshman's body. He didn't buck, didn't flinch, he just broke into a sweat.
He took his shot.
Which meant I had to back off.
"Nice shot, Kevin," I said. But the kid began acting nervous. When I'd approach him, he'd move away. When I positioned myself at just the spot where he could take his best shot, he'd find another, worse-angled shot.
I wasn't too uptight about it. I figured the kid was raw and the gin would take some time to take effect. Good things are worth waiting for. 1 left the room to get Kevin another extra strong 7-Up.
When I came back, he was gone. His cue was back in the rack on the wall. He must have taken the back way out. Now I was pissed. Damn right! What kind of game was this red-head freshman playing with me, anyway?
I found me another freshman that night but it wasn't the same. I had Kevin on my mind. That freckled, smooth face, that chunky, hunky body of his, that cupcake butt. And especially, that wet-behind-the-ears quality about him. He and Hobie definitely had some unfinished business. At least I thought so.
It was three days later that I discovered Kevin delivered newspapers to rooms around campus. One of the nicer touches at Tuxhill College: the New York Times delivered to your door -- if you can afford the subscription.
I had to take a piss one morning at, God, I don't know, 5:30, and I happened to look out the window. There was Kevin walking down Frat Row with a newspaper bag slung over his shoulder. I immediately decided to subscribe to the Times! I put a check through campus mail to start delivery the next day.
Next morning I got up early. You know that early-morning hour when you're hard? I read somewhere why that is: your daily testosterone supply kicks into your bloodstream then. Anyway, I managed to get my dick halfway down and back inside my fly as I waited for Kevin.
I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I went to the door, opened it. There he was, those green eyes still groggy with sleep.
"Kevin!" I said, trying to sound totally surprised.
"Oh, hi," he said, genuinely startled. I think he'd never actually encountered an awake student while making deliveries.
"How you been, Kevin?"
"Alright."
"You want a cup of coffee? Kind of chilly this morning."
"Uh, I don't know. I've got thirty more papers to deliver."
"Come on in. I can make it fast. I've got a Mr. Coffee."
"Really?"
"Yeah. We had two in the kitchen, so I took one on permanent loan. You drink coffee?"
"Yeah. Back home, dad used to say, drink coffee, Kevin, it'll put hair on your chest."
"Where's home?"
"Columbus, Ohio."
"Did it work?"
"Come again?"
"Did it put hair on your chest?"
That was a risky shot and I knew it. Kevin blushed the way only a freckled guy can blush.
"Uh, not really. I guess Dad gave up on me a long time ago."
I pushed the right buttons on the coffee machine and sat down across from Kevin. I let my legs swing wide. The snap fly on my flannel pajamas barely concealed the still-swollen condition of my cock. I noticed that Kevin noticed.
"So Kevin," -- he lifted his eyes quickly from my crotch to my face --"why'd you leave the party the other night and not even tell me you were going?"
He swallowed and looked down at the floor.
"Did I do something? Say something?"
Now he had to speak.
"It's nothing you said . . . nothing at all, I mean, I . . . I didn't feel well."
"Oh," I said, rising to get a couple mugs and pour the coffee. "Maybe that was because of my lacing your 7-Up like that. You take cream or sugar?"
"In 7-Up?"
I laughed.
"No, in your coffee."
"Oh, both," he said.
I laughed again.
"Did I say something funny?"
The freshman looked totally confused.
"That's why your daddy's advice didn't work. It's gotta be black coffee to put hair on your chest."
Another blush. The kid was flustered. I handed him his mug.
"Thanks," he said, avoiding my gaze. He began gulping the brew.
"This is good," he reported. "A lot better than cafeteria coffee."
"That's because I flavor it."
"You do? What with?"
"Kahlua."
Kevin had probably never heard of the Mexican liqueur. He certainly wasn't going to ask me what it was and reveal himself to be a dumb-ass freshman.
"Well, it's really good," he said, and then his gaze dropped again to my lap where undoubtedly he noticed, since I'd spread my legs wide apart, that something was starting to tent my pants upward.
I looked at Kevin, leaned back and quietly sipped my coffee. You guys know I'm basically Mr. Uninhibited. I figured things were going my way with Kevin. So I just reeled him in.
My cock was cranking up slowly but steadily. When the tip finally wormed its way through the fly and emerged into view, Kevin's eyes went wide open and he half-choked on the high-octane coffee.
"Sorry, Kev," I said, "it's just my morning hard-on."
His eyes got even wider. He looked kind of sick, kind of panic-stricken, for a moment, but then seemed to get a hold of himself. The guy was cute, I mean, shit, he had that last-moment-of-innocence look on his face as he just kept staring at the unfurling of my dick.
And it was no time at all before I was at full-staff.
"Oh Jeez," I muttered with a long sigh. "When it gets like that, it just stays that way unless I either take a cold shower or . . . "
Kevin blinked, looked up, seemed to take in my meaning. But he said nothing, just gulped the last of his coffee.
"Or beat off," I said, looking straight into his green eyes. "Only, sometimes, you want something a little different, you know, Kev?"
Oh the blessed innocence of a freshman! The kid nodded, and looked down into my crotch again. "Yeah," he said. That was all.
I reached down to my fly with both hands and unsnapped it. Drew the folds apart. Now Kevin could see my naked shaft rising from a dark surrounding pelt. And how he stared! Like he'd never laid eyes on another guy's hard tube. I think he hadn't, except in his dreams.
"Want to touch it?" I asked.
He froze up. Just sat there like a statue, until . . . his mouth slowly creased into the beginnings of a smile. Whatever doubts I might have had before, anywhere along the line, disappeared at that moment.
Now I closed my eyes. Let my arms dangle over the arms of the chair. Pushed my legs even wider apart. And just waited.
I heard him get to his feet. Take a step toward me. Stop. Sigh. And then continue -- toward the object.
A long moment passed -- I guessed he was kneeling -- and then, the feel of his hand closing lightly over my dick. I started to say something. Caught myself. It was a moment so perfect that words could not possibly enhance it. Better to let ourselves be surrounded by a thunderous silence.
His hand tightened as it became adjusted to the heft and feel of my cock. The feel of someone else's meat in your hand is never like the feel of your own, is it? And that's what Kevin was discovering now.
He let go of the shaft. I waited, hoping the kid wouldn't leave my stick alone too long. Knowing he wouldn't.
He took hold of the head with his fingertips and began to toy with it.
"Ahhhhhhrrr," I sighed. Couldn't help it.
Now he was gathering pre-cum from the tiny, leaky opening, smearing it around the cockhead, under the rim, along the sensitive underside of the rim. That got the flow of pre-cum running faster. He took it. Slicked it down the length of my shaft, got me lubed with my own juice.
And then the freshman began to pump me. Slowly at first, almost teasing-like. Taking his time, just the way he would if it were his own meat. Squeezing, massaging it. Milking the tip for more juice.
Something about the way he gripped me told me he was finally, totally into the scene. Enjoying it. Getting off on it.
Slick-sliding the thin, transparent dick-skin along my prick. Getting down. Pumping his fist down to my wires and back up again.
Down and back up.
Down, up.
Down and up. The ancient male motion.
And me -- all I had to do was sit tight, let it all hang out, let the freshman boy do me with his hand. At one point he leaned closer to me and I caught the scent of coffee and Kahlua on his warm breath. I wondered if he was about to kiss me but, no, he leaned away.
Kevin had one free hand and now it joined in the action. It came kneading up my thigh, working from the outside toward the inside. Going straight for my balls.
His pumping motion speeded up on me. He had me groaning now with the sweet, helpless feeling of man sex reaching its most urgent pitch. He had my pole in his hand and he was using it to push me to the brink.
Only one thing left. His free hand reached my halls, curled around them, and gently squeezed.
"Oh Christ!" I cried. I was gone. My pelvis gave a twitch, a wrench, and then my juice shot high in the air. I opened my eyes just in time to witness the cum-geyser.
A moment later Kevin was gone. Finishing his deliveries.