This is gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else.
Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. Anyway, if this was based on real events, I would have the good sense to change the names of the people involved to protect the (not-so) innocent. That said, they are all products of the author's overactive imagination.
The Common Room
The day I got to Oxford, off the long flight from Denver into Gatwick Airport, outside of London, was the day I met him. Shorts, thin t-shirt, and attitude emanating off his body. Stunning legs, ripped torso. Masculine, attractive face with a strong jaw line. Obviously, a total jock, a fact that made me hard. I spoke with him for thirty seconds, exchanging names, programs of study, and U.S. colleges, and I came away thinking `cute stud but total airhead.' I eventually learned that I was wrong, very wrong. It took me quite a while studying him before I finally figured out how I made this mistake. This story is partially about how easy it is to misinterpret what Alan says and does.
Why was I meeting Alan in Oxford? When I was 20 and in college in the U.S., I decided I had had enough. I wanted to expand my provincial American view of the world. I wanted to study abroad. So, I convinced my parents and my college to let me take my junior year of college in England. I enrolled at one of the colleges at Oxford and got my home university to accept the coursework towards my degree here in the States.
I told myself I was ready for something different from the snobbish people at my college. The way I saw it there were a few good ones at my college, but most everyone else just presented superficial shells to the world. You had no way to pry these people open and see what was inside, what was interesting or unique. I was actually terribly afraid I would learn most of these people--my classmates, some my acquaintances or supposed friends--were hollow or empty people. Instead, I wanted to meet people who were full of life. I was hoping a skip across the Atlantic might help me to find that. I ended up meeting a lot of people at Oxford. In this story, I would like to tell you mostly about Alan. Even now, I think back on him and smile. He was a definite trip.
The only reason I got to know him at all was the architecture of the dormitory we both lived in. Funny, but true. I don't think I would have voluntarily sought him out. But the setup of this building made it inevitable. Fifteen Americans, along with twenty Brits, living in this extremely new, extremely nice facility about half a mile from the rest of the college. They were trying to impress us and keep us, the paying students, very happy. This room brought us together, nearly every night. We ate in here, watched television together, and hung out. We bonded with each other. It was nice, except for one small problem.
To be really honest, I got really uncomfortable around really attractive guys. During the first term, there were three during the Oxford academic year, I tried to avoid Alan in the common room. His room was next door to the entrance and he was always in there. However, my room was right under the common room, the place where everyone seemed to wind up after dinner. A group of the American students would congregate and watch one of the four channels that the English had on their television. Four. It was sometimes torture for me to visit the common room--but too tempting and too damn loud with all the noise from upstairs not to go up and say hello. But, I always feared I'd make an ass of myself--or, in a moment of weakness, make a pass that wouldn't be so well received. Plus, Alan never made a good impression on me--he was always trying too hard to make people like him and expending entirely too much energy posing for best effect. Two strikes against him: too pretty for me to be comfortable around him and obnoxious as hell.
As I later found out, he had some self-confidence issues (as I suppose I did myself). Whenever he got around a group of people, he got loud and self-aggrandizing. Maybe a month after everyone moved into college, we decided to celebrate Halloween. Someone rustled up a stack of pumpkins and we decided to have a carving contest. We each got a permanent marker to draw our design and a knife to cut it. Not being very artistic, I did some simple geometric designs. Alan, however, got his supplies and ran away to a corner, laughing. A few minutes later, he holding in his hands an orange dildo-looking creation and smiling widely. "Look guys. Look what I did." He had drawn and them cut out a middling sized set of cock and balls. And then he made one of the girls in the room go get a camera. "Who's gonna put this in their mouth? Huh? Pussies."
When the girl got back, Alan proceeded to perform fellatio on the pumpkin dildo. The girl got five or six different shots, one with Alan's cheek poked out about as far as it would go. Whenever she'd stop taking pictures, he moan at her to keep going. Definitely reaffirmed my opinion: young, dumb, and full of cum. Too bad he liked mocking my favorite method of getting some. I looked down on him, as I could be pretty snobbish, but I still lusted after his body. I wouldn't have minded helping him with his pumpkin flavored prick--or the one inside his Umbros.
I think Alan was really in love with his body. He loved to show it off. One time after he'd been to crew or soccer practice, when some of the rest of us were watching movies in the common room, he laid on his back on the heated floor and lowered his lycra bottoms so that his bare ass was resting on the floor. He proceeded to cock his head around and glare at everyone, daring someone to make a comment. Over the next hour, as we watched Natalie Portman and Uma Thurman strut their stuff on the screen, he proceeded to continue pushing his lycra off his ass, apparently because his butt wasn't getting enough of the warmth radiating off the floor. I was definitely more interested in the guy on the floor than the chicks on the screen. By the time the movie ended, I and everyone else in the room could see that he was hard. The top of his pubes were also plainly visible. One beautiful black woman, a British student in her final year at the college and someone not known for putting up with shit, loudly left the room once she saw the first pubic hair come into view. After the movie, Alan started rubbing his body, his hand straying over his crotch more than once. He definitely needed to lock himself in his own room and tug on it, in private.
He was always doing these kinds of things. For example, you could count on seeing Alan shirtless in the common room for hours in the afternoon at least once every two weeks. The reason for him being there was to have one of his pals use a beard trimmer to give him a hair cut. Of course, in the logic of some parallel universe, this necessitated Alan wearing skimpy shorts and no shirt. He would sling a towel over his shoulders and his pal would trim him. One would expect this to be a fairly quick process, like shearing a sheep. But, Alan had different ideas. He thought that the hair trimming process began with a drawn out display of bringing in chairs, towels, and the beard trimmer, taking ten minutes, as if he were hoping that more people would get the message and arrive to sit in the audience. Then, after his hair was trimmed, Alan would start doing pull ups from the exposed beams of the ceiling. Then, he would turn to his friend and trim his hair. And, then, more pull ups or push ups. And, then, they would wait, maybe for someone else to show up to the impromptu barbershop. Once, I walked into the room, saw Alan in his corner with a fresh haircut doing pull ups, asked some of my friends watching TV if they wanted some of the food I was making, went down to the kitchen and made the food, brought it up and fed everyone--and he was still hanging out half naked. Not that I would have minded, but his partial nudity in front of my friends definitely made me uncomfortable. I knew I wanted to feel his great abs, but I doubted my friends would be amused. They had a strong disdain for him because of some of the stunts he kept on pulling.
Whenever Alan had friends visit, he usually ended up pulling a stunt that pissed off most everyone living in the building. But, his friends apparently enjoyed his exhibitionist streak and love for being photographed. Not once, but twice, he had some of his jock friends come over from the States to visit him. Alan had played serious soccer when he was in high school and he was ordinarily on the varsity team for his home university. All of his friends were former teammates of some sort. Definitely not of the same intellectual cut as Alan. I know it may seem from these anecdotes that he was the "young, dumb, and full of cum" guy I thought he was, but if you ever got him by himself and had a conversation with him, you would see the deep intelligence and intellectual passion he possessed. Of course, when in the presence of his friends, he immediately seemed to shed 30 or 40 IQ points. One night, a weeknight, he took his friends out on a bar crawl. And, even though I was asleep in my bed, I heard loud and clear exactly when they got back in from their cavorting. Being in the room right under the common room had a number of disadvantages. This was one of them.
I was really disgruntled. It was 1.00 and I had been asleep for more than an hour. It would take a long time for me to fall back asleep. Dammit! The thumping, pounding, and thudding coming from the floor above indicated they were wrestling. Eventually the noise stopped and I heard the balcony door open. My room was at water level next to a small river running through the town. The balcony from the common room hung over the river. I had enjoyed many evenings sitting on the balcony bullshitting with friends.
Tonight it sounded like the balcony was getting a different use. I could hear the voices from above echoing down through my window. I could hear the balcony's metal frame groaning as weight moved or shifted above. The groaning of the metal increasing, sounding almost like a diving board in tension. And the voices got louder, like they were right outside my window. I knew I wasn't going to be getting any sleep while these idiots were doing whatever was making the balcony groan. And, my curiosity got the better of me. I got up, sat on the ledge in front of my window, and parted the curtains. Looking out, I almost gasped in shock as I saw a naked torso and flailing set of legs lowering itself over the railing of the balcony, apparently intending to make it into the narrow river. The streetlight from the other side of the river provided me with a shadowy view on this dangling body. Could be Alan, can't be sure. I'd never seen him totally in the buff before and his face hadn't yet made it below the railing. But, the body was rock solid. And, as whoever this was turned and wiggled, I could catch light glancing off his privates. Pretty, but they had definitely felt the shrinkage effect caused by the cool night air. At least, I hoped substantial shrinkage had occurred, otherwise this guy would be a bit of a laughing stock in the team locker room's showers, if you catch my meaning.
The torso eventually expanded to show some shoulders, and then the body was free hanging from the railing. I saw the face; it was Alan. He hung there, and I drank in his body, shrinkage and all. And suddenly I heard a splash and didn't see Alan anymore. He must have released his grasp of the railing. I looked in the water and after a second or two, he surfaced and howled about the cold water. Even through the glass, I could make out that much of his yelling. He kept howling and splashing around and, then, I heard the metal of the balcony begin to groan again. This time I saw first one foot, then another, and then a distance away another two feet. I guess both of the remaining guys were climbing down at the same time. So, I continued to sit on my window ledge and was treated to a show, a strange kind of strip tease. Instead of seeing fully clothed men taking off clothing piece by piece, I was witnessing completely nude men revealing themselves to me body part by body part. In this case, the guy on the right had nothing to be ashamed of at all in the cock department, even with the shrinkage, even if he didn't have the greatest body or face. The guy on the left I had seen earlier in the day; he was pretty cute, but nature had not been kind to him, unfortunately.
Watching them, eventually I saw one and then the other disappear, accompanied by splashing sounds. Once they both surfaced, they apparently stood up in the waist high water. They started rough housing and grabassing. The cold water must have gotten to them because they all started walking through the water to the other side of the river where there was a bank leading up to the street level. As I watched them hoist themselves from the water, I wondered how drunk these guys really were. I mean, there was a hell of a lot of touching, kneading, and grasping going on. Anyway, once they had helped each other out of the water, up the bank, and onto the street, they all finally started looking around to see if anyone else was out at this time of night. I looked at my clock. Fifteen minutes had passed from when I had been rudely awoken, but it felt like a lot longer since I had had my first glance of naked flesh hanging and parading itself outside my window. Funny how time works like that.
The guys had found it hard to make it back to the house. There weren't all that many bridges across the river, so they had to run up maybe a quarter mile, cross the bridge, and then back down a quarter mile to the front gate of the little building where we lived. Maybe four minutes passed, but then I heard what sounded like more cattle stampeding in the common room above me. The sounds went on for another twenty minutes; I didn't know then what they were doing. When they had first entered the room again, I had guessed they were picking up their clothes or something like that. But, the noises continued. It wasn't until a few days later that I found out what they had been doing.
However, first thing next morning, after I got up from my poor slumber (but a night of interesting entertainment), I heard some of the British students reading Alan the riot act, both the British and American versions! Apparently this trio had had many viewers, or perhaps just auditors, the previous night, interrupting the sleeping patterns of nearly everyone living on that side of the building. Honestly, I don't think anyone had a view quite as stellar as mine, but there were very few who would have appreciated the view as much as I did.
A few days later, as the almost universal silent treatment of Alan was wearing thin, I heard two different rumors, both of which I found absolutely credible (particularly because I later had confirmation on both from Alan himself). First, Alan had gotten his camera out and taken pictures of himself and his friends before and after their river diving experience. Alan definitely enjoyed the camera and posing for it. I could believe this.
The second rumor that surfaced was that Alan had, until a few weeks ago, been a virgin. Apparently in high school and even his first two years of college, he was a serious bookwork, taking out time only to play soccer. So, as the rumor went, Alan decided to spend his time in Oxford as a different person, wild, outgoing, and (apparently) sexually active. He had met some little thing in a club; they had started dating; and he had finally gone all the way with her. I met her once, nice enough, but not exactly the kind of person I would want to get to know better. When I heard all this, I was pretty confused. I thought back on all the sexual aggression--the blowing of the pumpkin penis, the parading around in various states of undress, all of it. Was he trawling for some prey? Or was he just covering up something he was ashamed about by getting loud and boisterous? I suppose Alan would know best, as both his parents were psychiatrists. Of course, in my experience, kids with two shrinks for parents usually come out being the most neurotic. Alan is a case in point.
Now, as you might have noticed, I haven't figured into this story very much. I've been more passive: looking, but not touching, reporting what I've seen and heard. But, I wouldn't be telling this story unless it concerned me. As I've said, I avoided Alan because I just didn't trust myself around him. But one night, one of my friends said, "Let's go out to the pubs." Okay. I got my shoes on and walked out into the hallway and up the stairs to the entrance of the building. Eventually my friend walked down from the floor above, with two people in tow. Alan was one of them. I wasn't about to back out, but I decided to watch myself very carefully.
The four of us ended up having a great time, wandering from pub to pub, even stopping in at the local brewery, trying to get a free sample or three. When we finally got back to the building, we all staggered into the common room and sat down. The room had already emptied out by that time, but we decided to watch something. We found some awful Pamela Anderson flick on and started making fun of it. The general intelligence of the conversation quickly degraded even further--and everyone was trash talking. This went on for a long time.
Finally Alan said something stupid, not an unusual event. In the spirit of the evening, I replied, "Blow me."
Each of the next things he said were met with this same comment, "Blow me," each time a little more emphatically but all in good fun.
The fourth time I said "Blow me," Alan got this huge smile on his face. He said, nonchalantly, "no problem. Whip it out."
Everyone else stopped talking. My face flushed. Alan moved his chair closer to mine and his hand started moving over to my crotch.
Talk about brinkmanship. No one could ever win against Alan in a war of wills. Which he knew.
Of course, time stopped for me as I considered my options. I could actually pull it out, option one. It had already started hardening. Two problems with this: first, I would get shit from the other guys for playing along. Second, I had gone home with this cutie from the gay pub in town two days ago. His idea of foreplay had been to shave off all my pubes--I admit it was very hot and I had a good time fucking his ass that night, but now it didn't seem like such a good idea.
So, a big "no" to option one. Option two, then, was given Alan for being a "fag," or some other diversionary, defensive tactic.
At the second I had decided on option two, the other guys started giving Alan hell for being a prick and a closet homo. (They said this not knowing a real one was sitting in the room; I value my sexual privacy.) So, after Alan backed down because of the other guys, I decided on option three. "Hey, big boy, whenever you want a piece, you come see me," in my best over-the-top fuck-me-now-stud voice.
`What an asshole,' I thought to myself. He could do something so simple and get me riled up. I didn't like the way he was able to play me like he had just finished reading the instruction manual to my mind. Definitely someone I wanted to keep my distance from.
For the next week, I didn't see Alan at all. And, then, came the knock on my door as I was two-thirds through re-reading King Lear. Before I tell you who was at the door (although I am sure you can guess!), I should tell you that I was big into drama. In fact, it was one of the things I was known for in the building. I had been averaging a trip up to Stratford (for the Royal Shakespeare Company) or to London (for any number of West End shows) every three weeks. Sometimes I'd organize a group, sometimes I'd just take the afternoon off and head off. So, everyone knew that I was connected to what was going on.
Back to the knock. After I said `come in,' I saw that it was, you guessed it, Alan. This was the first time he had ever come to my room (nor had I ever ventured into his). He looked a little sheepish. He eventually explained that he wanted to take his girlfriend to Stratford for a weekend and take in a show, maybe. He was thinking about seeing Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida.
I said, "Pull up a seat and sit down. I just finished reading Chaucer's tale on that. Let me see..." and I launched into filling him in. It seemed like a legit question and I wanted to help the guy out--if taking his girl to a play would get him some sex, I had no problems with it. I had long since steered myself away from `straight' boys, as I had had some major post-coital disasters. Let someone else clean up the mess on this one.
But, we kept talking. First we talked about the play. Then about Stratford, where to stay, what to do (I had taken a couple of friends up before for the weekend). Then about the world in general. Like I said, Alan was a smart guy, just as long as the dumbest guy in the room was pretty smart. He would set his mood and personality to meet the lowest common denominator. By himself, he was smart and worldly, at least around me. With jock friends close by, his knuckles nearly dragged on the ground.
I was getting a bit hot. I got up from my bed where I had been reading, opened the window, and noticed the bottle of wine from last night's little party. I though I should finish it off before it oxidized and began to taste like hell. I offered some to Alan; he accepted.
We continued talking and finished off the bottle. And we were still talking. Finally, I actually took a good hard look at him. He was hard in his shorts, no mistaking it. As you may have guessed, I was interested in this fact. But, I was also very cautious. I am the kind of person who lets numerous opportunities slip by if even the smallest thing seems out of place. I decided to investigate this opportunity a little more fully.
"How you feeling? You want I should open another bottle?"
"No. The alcohol has already gotten me excited." He tugged at his crotch.
"Yeah, I noticed. Would you like some help with that?"
"You offering?"
"Yeah. You could say that."
"Blow me." He stroked himself through his shorts.
"Sure."
I guess the seed that got planted a week ago had continued to grow.
"Why did you really come here tonight? You and I aren't really friends."
"Yeah. True, but you're a good guy. You know about theatre. And I was pretty sure I could get your help with my, uh, problem." His hands hadn't left his crotch and were pulling on the fabric and clearly outlining his cock.
I walked over to the chair, kneeled, and peeled down his shorts. No underwear or jock. He was definitely presumptuous. But, of course, he was right. This is an opportunity I would not pass up.
Cut, as expected (Alan was Jewish). Hard, a touch over six inches. I took the head in my mouth and probed every valley and ridge with my tongue. His hands moved to my shoulders. I moved further down his shaft and continued to massage his flesh. More than anything, it was his smell that got to me. Masculine, murky, and intoxicating. I tightened my lips around him and started plunging up and down, keeping my tongue on the underside of his shaft. As I was getting into this, Alan stopped me and stood up. He grabbed the back of my head and started slamming himself into my face. He definitely liked to drive.
I preferred the more gentle approach myself, but figured this would be a once-in-al-lifetime opportunity to explore this guy I had been ogling for nearly seven months. I brought my hands to his hips and tugged at his shorts, bringing them off his ass and down to his feet. I ran my hands over his globes, hairier than expected, but very tight and enticing. I started kneading, moving my hands toward the center, toward the crack that help the prize. I found what I was looking for and started stroking my fingers throw the hair on his ass. I located his pucker and swirled my finger around it. Alan moaned. Encouraged, I push harder, continuing the concentric circles I was drawing on his flesh. He picked up the pace. My jaw was already aching like crazy. If he could do this, then I could claim a finger fuck. I pushed my finger in. He gasped. I started massaging the muscles clamping themselves around my finger. As my finger finally pushed its way into the empty space, I noticed that Alan' breathing had changed and his balls had started pulling up. I started trying to press a second finger in his ass, but I couldn't do it without pulling out my first finger most the way. Before I could get there, I had a guy moaning and pumping his flavor into my mouth. Time to extract all fingers before he comes down off this high and starts doing the `straight' guy freakout.
Alan pulled himself out of my mouth and pulled on his shorts very quickly. I sat there, enjoying his body and savoring his scent and flavor, still held in my mouth. He turned around when he got to the door.
"Thanks, John. Uh, for the tips about Stratford. I'm sure my girlfriend and I will have a good time."
"No problem. Let me know if I can help you with any other problems."
His smile came on again. "Yeah, I will do that." I knew he wouldn't say anything about this to anyone else. Then, again, if he had, it would have been some okay marketing on my behalf. There were a couple of other cute guys in the building I wouldn't mind spending some private time with!
He never came back to my door. I heard through the grapevine that he had taken the trip to Stratford and had enjoyed himself. I still purposefully avoided getting into situations where I would be around Alan. He kept up with his antics. He also did another session of his balcony diving when more of his jock friends came to visit--during the middle of Finals week. All the Brits completely stopped talking to him. He also got pictures of that one too (and I had the best seat in the house).
He was an asshole, but I look back on him fondly. He was eye candy of the highest order, but a fascinating character too. I was glad I got to meet him (and eat him, too). Definitely the kind of colorful person about whom stories can be written.
(Alan, if you're reading this, do send along a set of the pics you took of yourself that night on the balcony. I'd like to have something to remember you by.)
Author's Note: I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else. You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com. I will respond to all messages I receive.