Events portrayed hardly represent reality at all anymore and any resemblance to real people or events is--well--you'd have to be quite clever to pick up on it. There's sex here. So, probably the juiciest of the chapters yet--but remarkably more juicy if you've read the rest. Sorry about the delay, but updates will probably be sporadic. If you're really hooked, then you're going to have to be patient. If you're new, then read it all from the beginning. As always, comments and suggestions are appreciated--perhaps more so than compliments. But compliments are good too--heaven knows my ego's a bit small as it is ~_^.
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"If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the foundation of all there lay only a wildly seething power which writhing with obscure passions produced everything that is great and everything that is insignificant, if a bottomless void never satiated lay hidden beneath all- "what then would life be but despair?" Soren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling
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Cody had already left the field with his water bottle, we sat on the bleachers a little longer--a little more carefully--before we got up, put our shirts on, and headed off to the pizza place. It was a short walk and a classic hang out for college students who were sick of what little the campus food options had to offer.
Maybe I should narrate some of the intervening dialogue. But what did we talk about? It's kind of boring, I wouldn't want to lose your interest. Really, I don't remember each individual conversation myself, if that's any hint at how significant it was. But it wasn't spectator sports, women (or men, as should be more appropriate, I guess), food, or beer. Well, sometimes food. It wasn't your usual filler conversations, though, that's what was amazing--that's what I loved the most about being with him, is that our conversations meant something, too. Any physical (and sexual? I hoped) intimacy was secondary (or, at least, complementary) to our "intellectual" intimacy, if something like that exists.
Books came up, school, occasionally. He was smart (he was perfect), I liked learning and so did he. I'm a sucker for learning more, and our personalities clicked together. He was deep in the sciences, and I was just as deep in the liberal arts, but that just meant we had more to teach each other. Not just about subject matter, but about methods, aims,goals. I was learning (and teaching--we bounced ideas back and forth, like Hegel's thesis, antithesis, synthesis) new ways to think, and our minds began to wrap themselves around each other, bit by bit, like they always do when you start to get to know someone more.
Wait--here I am getting carried away; I told you I wouldn't talk about our conversations because I'd lose your interest. You get the point. On with the story.
We got to the pizza place, ate our pizza, and I realized we probably smelled terrible--half-covered in grass stains and completely covered in dry sweat. Not that this was really a problem in the pizza place, it was one of those older ones, locally-owned, often frequented by local college students at a variety of levels of personal hygiene. Our own smells were occasionally overpowered (or overpowering) the smells of cigarette smoke, old carpets, seedy cologne, and, above all, the distinct odor of mozzarella, marinara, and dough, carefully arranged, cooked, and rising in the oven. Mouth-watering fresh mozzarella, melting and bubbling on the pizza, casually-tossed shreds browning and crackling on the edges--
"Wait, what?" I said, realizing that Jon had asked me a question, pulling me out of my cheese-loving daze. Sometimes I forget how much I like cheese (maybe my next story should be cheese-fetish erotic fiction. Second thought, maybe not).
"I said, we probably smell like ass. Maybe we should get a shower after this."
"Oh, yeah, definitely. Sorry--I was actually just smelling the cheese, which happens to be overpowering the man-stench right now. But you're right--let's face it. We stink." The last I said with a smile and the shrug that cherishes the inescapable.
"My roommate went home for the weekend, we could head over to my place, even grab a movie or something on the way, if you want."
"Yeah that sounds good to me. What movie? Nothing romantic, I hope."
"I just got the Star Wars DVDs, and I've just watched the first two--we could watch Return of the Jedi."
"Great--that's definitely my favorite."
"Really? Most people like the first two more."
And the conversation continued over the pizza, which had just gotten to our table. We walked back to campus and found our way to Jon's two-bedroom apartment--he shared it with one of his friends--nothing really great, barely big enough for two bedrooms, a bathroom, and one common space as a kitchen, dining room, and living room. There was only a table with two chairs, an armchair, and a two-person sofa. Plain, by any account, and it didn't look like Jon or his roommate had made any effort to make it any nicer; excepting, of course, the three dirty dishes in the sink (required of every college apartment), the pile of unsweepables in the corner of the kitchen, and the movie posters covering the walls.
"What do you think of the place?" he said, noticing me looking around the room.
"Well, it, uh, looks a lot like, um, every other college dorm."
"Oh, gee, thanks. You make it sound like I don't try to make it look nice or anything."
"You do?"
"No, but it'd be nice if you thought so."
"I see."
"How about the shower?"
"Is that an invitation? Cause, you know, I'm a guest and--"
"Of course it is, come on, dirty freak."
"Hey--" I paused, trying to get the comeback together, failing, and getting the blame for the awkward silence after.
"Let's go," he said, solving the problem.
I followed him into the bathroom, and he turned on the shower. I started to pull off my shirt as he turned around, but then,
"Wait," he said quietly, and started pulling off the rest of my shirt for me. I was a bit startled, but he continued, "you know, we ought to do something about this," pointing to my lanky (at best) frame; not in a condescending way (our relationship was past that), but in a constructive way.
"It's not like I haven't tried anything," I began, but was quieted with his finger over my mouth. He stepped down and began undoing first my shoes, then my socks, as I stepped out of each carefully. It was an odd, sensuous kind of feeling that I didn't expect, to see him slowly remove each article of clothing until I stood naked (but still sweaty and dirt-stained) in front of him.
"Now my turn," I said, after he started to take his shirt off (to think he would take that privilege from me!). I couldn't help myself from taking it up a notch: as I pulled off his shirt, I pushed him back against the shower door, holding his hands above his head (his torso a perfect taper, each pectoral still maintaing its shape, abdominals becoming even more pronounced, separated and flattened to make the muscles clearly visible), I went for his left nipple, carefully kissing, licking around it, bringing out a slight gasp from him as I grazed it gently with my teeth--I let my hand that was holding his arms fall down around his neck as he grabbed the top of the shower so he could keep his pose and I could tweak his right nipple with my other hand, flicking the tip and kneading his muscle because I knew--I saw in his body such development and such power that I'd never experience--I'd never experienced myself. The scent, too, he didn't reek the staunchy sweat of a locker room (well, not anymore), but from his body there was the characteristic smell of masculine power, and the smell mingled perfectly with my tongue's taste of salty sweat along his torso.
I had to stop and step back--
"Damn," I half spoke, half gasped as I stepped away, looking at Jon, still standing there in mid-rapture, with arms spread high and eyes closed as if in a dream. I realized how heavily I was breathing, practically panting, my cock already nearly erect in my erotic ecstasy.
"And we haven't even gotten in the shower yet," I said in a near-whisper, almost to myself, as my breath slowed down and I realized I was sweating as the bathroom was heating up from the warm water of the shower.
"That was amazing, Alex--I practically came already. What a fucking high...I've never felt so turned on in my life."
"Alright, let's get in the shower already--I feel at the disadvantage, here, you still being clothed and all." He quickly took off his shoes and shorts himself (I guess I'll have to experience that luxury another day) and opened the shower, pulling me in behind him.
He spared me no intensity of passion as he began soaping me down, starting first at my chest (returning the favor by sliding his soap-slippery fingers across the tips of my chest, gently tweaking them as I had just done for him), then continuing to soap down my torso, pits, and arms, wiping off the grass and dirt stains clinging from our frisbee game earlier. His touch on my half-hard cock brought it to full mast, although he didn't linger but for a second as he continued down my legs, gently massaging them when he wasn't actually soaping them up. Turning me around to face the showerhead, he started upwards on the back of my legs, then turning his attention to my ass, he slowly pulled my cheeks apart, pulling me back just a little bit to get his best view. Never having a rim job before, it was a startling (and surprising) feeling of delight to have his tongue invading my hole--now licking around the sides, now forcing its way as far into my hole as he could reach it. I leaned forward against the wall of the shower, moaning as the water fell around me and his tongue continually probed deeper into me. Minutes--days? moments?--passed and he came up, dragging the soap along the rest of my back and putting it down.
Then he embraced me from behind like he had done the week before in the gym shower. I pushed myself back upright as his hands reached around my torso, one pulling me close to him, the other tracing a line from my stomach to my chest. He took the opportunity to pinch at my tender nipple; I reached one hand behind me, clutching his ass and pulling it closer to me (and his cock, certainly hard by now, rubbing gently against my hole as it slid between my legs). His mouth was working powerfully against my neck, then moving up tonguing, biting, kissing my neck, my ears, moving along the side of my face, rubbing against the slightly rough stubble from yesterday morning's shave.
I've rotated my head around now, still clinging to his ass with one hand, the other reaches down to hold the hand he's put around my waist, it slides over the top of his and our hands interlock on my stomach. His mouth reaches mine and our tongues interlace I feel his chest beat against my back, its pace strong and fast, but calm My sense of sight is useless now, overcome by the warmth, feeling, touching, the sensation of his mouth against mine (tongue seeking tongue, fighting but not to win) His hand reaches down for my cock as he begins to slowly, rhyth mi cal ly thrust his in and out of my legs. His touch is lightning through the dense fog and rain of the shower, water and soap gently mingling to ease his movements up and down as he jacks me off--what a new world to have someone else on my pole, knowing the strong, gentle hand rubbing my cock, teasing my head, isn't mine, but his--Jon's--our bodies seem now to be locked in a wild rhythm driven only by touch and taste Tongues tenderly tangling in time with his thrusts and the aching pulse of my cock in his hands, my heartbeat matching his and becoming one. It was too much all at once I broke the kiss and gasped, clinging to the statue behind me for support as I globbed my first streams of cum against the shower wall in front of me, willing, trapped prisoner to the torment of delight Jon's hand was so eager to provide--oh, Ah, "Ungh" I grunted as I sprayed three, four times more
Still panting for air, Jon slowed his strokes and began to gently massage my balls, seeming to be the sole support for my weakend body. I broke from my trance to turn around and face him, still holding one of his hands, still embracing with the other, and said "Fuck, that was hot."
"Yeah,
amazing; even for me."
"Fuck, and you're not even clean yet," I whispered into his ear, picking up the soap with one hand. I began rubbing his body down with the soap, just as he had mine, taking advantage of such an opportunity to feel all of the muscles that peaked and striated from his solid frame, going down and tracing the lines of each of his abs, clearly defined, then reaching around his back and tracing back up where his lats spread out to make his torso a sharp v. Kneeling down, I took the soap and washed his legs, starting from his feet to his thick calves, then as I reached his completely muscled thighs, I began to lick his throbbing eight inches, holding it with one hand as I teased the head of his cock, swirling around the edges of the tip at first, then working my way down. I'd worked the soap into his ass-crack, cleaning out the tender area around his hole, working it slick with the soap; I began to run my mouth along the side of his shaft--not taking it whole in my mouth, but running up and down its entire length.
As I put the soap down, I slipped a finger into his now clean, tight hole, working my way in carefully, eased by the slipperiness of the soap. He pushed back on my finger, taking his cock a bit further from my mouth, but I quickly plunged down, sticking as much of it as I could into my mouth, Jon moaning in pleasure (me--I was too). I couldn't get down the whole shaft at first (this first cock I'd ever sucked--it seemed to fill up my mouth as it was, I had to pull back and catch my breath before I went down again. Every stroke I stuck my finger further into his hole, then I slipped two and slowly slid them in and out in time with my strokes on his cock. He placed a strong hand on my head to force me farther down, and it was only his forceful hand that let me get more in, stuffing my face full, more and more with every stroke, until I felt like gagging on his pubes.
But looking up, looking at his face in ecstasy, every movement of his body flexing his muscles, like he was swimming with those careful motions, the strength of his body now focused on sex: focused on the fingers fondling his ass, and the mouth swallowing his dick, sinuously moving up and down, tongue playing with the head of his cock while my lips work the rest. How did I get it all in? How did I get to be on my knees, causing so much pleasure to this sculpted Cupid?
And in a flash, as quickly as it had for me, I felt his dick shooting gobs of cum, as salty as sweat, into my mouth. His moans had turned into grunts, panting gasps of pleasure as he let loose his seed into my waiting mouth. Already half-filled with his dick, his cum soon oozed out of the corners of my mouth, and I pulled back on his shaft to leave more room, eliciting yet another moan as his torrent subsided. Cautiously I pulled my fingers out of his ass, feeling as the water rinsed away the sweat, dirt, and soap. He was speechless, eyes closed, breathing heavily (more heavily than I'd ever seen him breathe) as I stood up in front of him.
Waiting patiently, I saw his eyes open, still dazzling blue, and he suddenly jumped at me, piercing my mouth with a still passionate kiss, forcefully pulling me close to him, like he never wanted to let go. I returned the favor, letting myself be drawn into his wooden arms, letting my worries melt away in his arms and in his mouth. The ferocity of the kiss soon subsided and the kiss broke, though we held close to each other, waiting under the water for a few seconds more--a few minutes, before we broke the embrace as well, turning off the water in silence, and toweling each other off.