DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction about teenaged boys and men confused over their sexuality. There are graphic descriptions of sexual activity, most of it homosexual. If you are not allowed to read such material, stop now. Author retains copyright.
Hallowed Halls
Schuyler Brandt was having an outstanding day. He had just beaten his arch rival from the Sigma Chi house to advance to the finals of the intramural tennis championship, and he was wearing his lucky jock strap. He walked into the locker room on top of the world, sweaty but victorious. Zipping his racket into his bag he surveyed the territory; his territory. It was mostly empty on a Thursday afternoon, but that didn't bother Schuyler. He didn't need a crowd.
The jock had been his older brother's, and he'd started to wear it out of pride. As the elastic gave way, and his endowment expanded to equal or exceed what his brother had packed into it, the pouch no longer pulled the organs into his groin, but let them flop about as he walked. Sometime around his junior year in high school, some of his teammates took an unnatural interest in Schuyler's manly virtues, and Schuyler took an unnatural interest in their interest. It was a dance, a game that Schuyler became very good at.
He stowed his racket in the locker and took off his shoes, then turned to see who was watching. One kid, across the room, in a wet swimsuit, was drying his feet. Schuyler pulled his white tennis shorts off and stowed them carefully in the locker, aware of his dick nestled comfortably in the family pouch as he folded and then refolded the shorts and shirt to get them exactly in the center of the upper shelf of the locker. He turned and pulled his socks off, pointing his shapely butt at the kid, taking his time. When he stood back up to fold the socks in the same deliberate fashion, he stole a glance. The kid was still in a wet suit. He turned and looked directly at him, the kid pretended not to see; wonderful. He walked over there, bouncing along, nuts swaying in the long worn out pouch, fine butt cheeks flexing, big fraternity smile leading the way.
"Hi, I'm Schuyler Brandt."
"Shane Stoop," he said awkwardly, standing up, dragging his eyes up from the display Schuyler had put right in front of his face.
"You a freshman?"
"Uh, yeah. Is it that obvious?"
"No. I just haven't seen you here before. Welcome! Say, could I borrow some shampoo? I seem to have left mine at the house." Schuyler stood there with a big smile, waiting.
The kid stood there for a moment, not reacting to the request. He was medium tall, pale, hairless, and well proportioned. With some training he'd have a jock body and be playing the other side of this game in a year or two. But, now he was fair game.
"Sure, yeah, here," he said, retrieving some Head and Shoulders from his locker.
Schuyler took the shampoo, nodded acknowledgement of the loan and turned, walking back to his locker, flexing butt cheeks and relishing the kid's discomfort and conflict. Once at his locker, he pulled off the jock and folded it carefully, taking care to angle toward the kid so he could see clearly what the jock had covered. He turned abruptly and walked to the showers.
Returning from the shower, trailing water the whole way, Schuyler found the kid mostly dressed. Offering the shampoo back to Shane, Schuyler stood there nude, private parts swaying as he vigorously dried his hair.
"Thanks, Shane." He found a minor defect on his shoulder and addressed his entire attention there, giving Shane a chance to take in whatever body parts interested him without the awkward glare of his gaze. Then abruptly he turned back and queried, "So, what are you taking this semester?"
Shane responded, stammering out his schedule.
"Oh, Econ 101; a bitch. How you doin'?"
"OK, I guess."
"I aced it. If you want any help, stop by. I usually study upstairs, in the old coach's office. It's open most nights."
"Well, thanks."
"No problem. I usually get there about eight. Tonight would be OK." He turned and walked back across the locker room. At his locker he bent over to dry his feet, taking care between the toes before drying the feet, calves, thighs, butt, cock and balls, and then up. The audience excited him almost to erection. Shane was gone when he finished.
"Yeah, see how the slope of that graph moves up as you go along the axis there?" Schuyler leaned over and rubbed his cock shamelessly along Shane's shoulder. Shane didn't recoil. Sure now, Schuyler stood and rubbed his cock through his Levis. Shane looked up, eyes on a bulge in Schuyler's pants.
Across the sidewalk and up one floor the old professor squeezed a long dormant but not dead cock in his pants. The game was playing out like it had so many times before in the long abandoned coach's office left open by his connivance with the building supervisor. He took a sip of very old brandy and adjusted his opera glasses. Schuyler was a dependable seducer; he'd had a half dozen boys in this office in the past year; almost a record. He was good. The old penis erected as Schuyler guided Shane's face down onto his dick, slowly pumping it past minimal initial resistance. Shane pulled Schuyler's briefs down to rub his hands across the taut butt cheeks as they flexed, pumping dick into his mouth. It was all over too soon for the old professor. Schuyler's butt moved quickly a dozen times and his head snapped down when the climax hit, and Shane held onto the cheeks as the dick sank into his face. They were immobile for a minute, Shane milking the last of Schuyler's sperm, then pulled off. Schuyler stepped back and wiped of his dick, then stuffed it back into his pants. It was over that quick.
The old dick wilted, unsatisfied. The boys studied for another half hour and were gone, turning out the light.
"Professor Wilkins? Professor? You in?" Harold, the building superintendent knocked, then opened the door with his pass key. It was morning.
"Yes, Harold. By all means come in." The professor hurried toward the door. He was dressed in his suit pants and starched shirt and tie, though with his reduced schedule he didn't have a class until next week.
Closing the door and locking it, Harold scanned the room for signs they might not be alone.
"It's just us, Harold," the professor reassured. "Thanks for locking up late again. Another freshman was learning the ropes last night."
"Good." A pause, then, "Say, I've got a date this afternoon and didn't get a chance to shower."
"Oh, yes. Oh, let me clean it for you."
Harold unzipped his work pants and fished out a large soft uncircumcised penis. He flopped it a couple times but it remained soft, then he opened his belt and lowered his boxers and cupped the elastic under his balls. The professor pulled up an ottoman and sat down, grabbing the penis.
The smell of a dirty dick; old urine, stale semen, sweat, and a hint of butt crack wafting up out of the boxers sent the old man back. A lifetime enjoying the smell of boys and men flashed by, and his old penis erected again. He sucked in the still flaccid dick and the taste intensified the memories. He remembered his first awkward encounter as a teen, compelled by a bigger friend to suck, and then the wonder of his own climax when the friend did his part. His first boyfriend, and the first time he took his catamite research assistant to a faculty party as a couple. They felt so avant garde. He exposed his own member, once so proud and sought after, and stroked it.
The professor flicked through the memories, stopping on an encounter long ago, with Charles, his research assistant, on a Sunday morning after that faculty party. They lay nude in bed, drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper. The professor had the book reviews while Charles did a crossword puzzle. Charles lay on his side, propped on an elbow, his white rounded ass opened just enough to expose his recently fucked anus. A drop of semen still clung to one of the puffy rosettes, pink, inviting. The professor ran his hand along the buttocks and down to the anus. He touched it.
"Sore?"
"Yes," Charles said without looking up.
"Some lotion?"
"Yes, carefully"
The professor rolled to the night stand and found some lotion. He spread it on his hands and began to massage the buttocks, working toward the anus. Charles remained motionless. Circling the anus with his index finger, the professor stopped to apply some more lotion, then slowly inserted the finger. No response from Charles. He retreated and then returned, burying the digit all the way, then began a well lubricated slow rhythmic pulsation. Charles sighed, resigned to being fucked again. He lay the crossword puzzle on the floor and rolled onto his knees, pointing his buttocks at the professor.
Back in the present, though only partially erect the professor felt a climax approach. He swallowed Harold's now swelling penis and cupped the balls. In a couple minutes his crisis came and he grasped Harold's now exposed buttocks and his frantically pumping fist pushed him into the spasm. It was intense, and he lost his balance and Harold had to steady him to keep him from falling.
"Do come again soon," the professor said, his composure now regained. He thrust a handful of bills into Harold's hand as he opened the deadbolt.
Harold crossed the campus and entered his lair, the back door of the steam generation plant that housed the boiler that heated the whole campus. He'd walked briskly, and his dick was stiff in his pants; certainly not because of the ministrations of the old professor, but because of the young man he'd seen idling along the path around from the library, backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Knock knock," Shane Stoop said, brushing his longish hair from his eyes as he peered into the oily mechanical room.
"Yeah," Harold replied, dick near to bursting in anticipation.
Shane entered, looking around. He dropped his back pack on the table and walked back to the boiler, curious, then turned, "You have something for me?"
"Oh yes."
"Is it big and hard?"
"Oh yes." Harold stood, revealing his erection.
"And, is there something else?"
Harold pulled the roll of bills the professor had given him and dropped them on the table.
Shane picked up the roll and thrust it into his pocket without unrolling it. He opened his pants and slid them over his slender hips. His erect penis was smaller than Harold's but no less stiff. It rose out of a sparse patch of pubic hair; each hair individually trimmed to mimic a pubertal patch just sprouting.
The effect on Harold was electric. He grasped the boy and attempted to kiss him on the lips.
Shane recoiled, laughing, still the flirt. He stepped closer and grasped Harold's erection. He smiled, his face inches from Harold's, but retreated when Harold advanced.
"C'mon!" Harold pleaded.
Shane kneeled, holding Harold's thick prick, admiring, examining. He pumped it several times and then looked up. He smiled, then slowing allowed it to touch his lips, and then oh so slowly, advanced it into his mouth.
"Aah."
Shane licked, and bobbed on the dick, wetting it so well that saliva ran down the shaft and soaked into his boxer shorts. With one last bob he took the entire thing into his throat, then withdrew leaving a sloppy wet dick. He stood and spit into his hand, then turned a leaned over the desk, his buttocks arched, inviting. He smiled over his shoulder as he wiped the spit between his butt cheeks.
Harold lost no time. He pulled back his foreskin and advanced the erection to Shane's butt. Shane pulled his cheeks apart and his anus winked as Harold's dick head slid down the crease. A thrust and a grunt and Harold was in. In no mood for foreplay he thrust again, getting a grunt of discomfort from Shane. Another thrust and Harold was in to the mid shaft. He waited a moment and began a slow rhythm while caressing the flawless butt and pulling it higher. The exquisite pleasure lasted only a few dozen pumps and Harold emptied himself into Shane's rectum with some frantic thrusts and a loud grunt. They stood immobile, the older larger man all but collapsed on the boy, whose butt muscles were milking out the last drops of Harold's climax.
Shane stood and Harold stepped back, his long penis slid out of a stretched open butt hole and hung there dripping, obscenely long and veiny. Harold stuffed it back into his shorts. Shane grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and wiped his behind, dropping it into the wastebasket. He stood and faced Harold, leaning forward to offer a kiss. Harold, no longer burning from the heat of desire, pulled away. Shane snickered and pulled up his pants, pulled out the roll of bills to admire it and walked nonchalantly to the door.