Best-Friend Fantasy Comes True

[DonQuixote]

Can we be attending assistants? I'd be happy to help with the Rectal and the hernia exams! And Palpating testes and penises? Sounds like fun to me!

 

[pe_gay89]

Wow, what an exam! It's a shame Jay seems uncomfortable with what happened in one way, but in another, it's really hot!

 

[sfcfml]

Jay is a complex dude, more complex than you might think for a jock. Give him some time.

I appreciate your kind words as I help Stu, Jay, Kirk, and the rest navigate this bisexual maze.

 

[sfcfml]

Part XVIII

I put the key in the ignition and pondered how improbably bizarre all of this was.

Over the previous hour, without warning really, I had been thoroughly examined completely naked by a sexy female doctor whose slender but surprisingly long finger had been in my ass at the precise moment I had spewed cum all over her exam table.

Plus, I had fulfilled my two-week-long fantasy of seeing what Jay's junk looked like. And that came as I served as a "chaperone" for his sports physical, for crying out loud! And then, it was my turn to be under the doctor's care and Jay's turn to watch. I had pushed the limits, and thankfully so, because it seemed that seeing me on all fours, and seeing that I had blown my seed while in that compromising position, is ultimately what had prompted the Freshmen ballplayer to rip open his 501s, finger his ass, and add his semen to mine on the white paper of the exam table.

To top it all off, I had come out of the doctor's office wearing the shortstop's underwear!

Where was THIS going to lead?

Jay and I still hadn't uttered a word to each other. In the build-up to it all, Jay had seemed so into me. Now, after he had blown his load, he was so distant. What was going on?

I attempted to make eye contact with my tip-top-shape, brown-haired passenger, but he just stared straight and stayed silent. He turned to his passenger window, and when he did, I pretended to check his seat belt was fastened but instead took opportunity to confirm that his floppy penis, unrestrained by the underwear that I was wearing, was snaking down the left leg of his somewhat baggy 501s. But strangely, with my curiousity satisfied for the time being, I did not lust over his dick as I had before. That, I had seen.

I needed to talk. To Jay.

"Jay, I--"

"Just drive."

"I think we should--"

The ballplayer slapped the dashboard with startling force. "Drive, OK?"

I literally held my breath, started the car, and gingerly backed out of the stall to begin piloting us back to the dorms. At the first stoplight, I looked sideways toward Jay. His gaze was straight, but when he felt my eyes on him, it wasn't straight anymore and his passenger-side window seemed more compelling than anything I could or would say.

I stayed silent till the light turned green.

"You want to hit a drive-thru?"

"Not really."

"Dining hall's closed."

"So? I'm not hungry."

I sighed. "Jay, I--"

"I'm not a FUCKING FAG, 'K Stu?"

"I didn't say you were."

"Whatever you are, that's your business."

I wanted to be angry at what he had just said, but oddly I couldn't be.

"Jay, look. Whatever happened happened, OK?"

Jay just kept looking ahead straight, though I could tell he wanted to turn his head. His voice softened somewhat. "Stu, c'mon. Look. Thanks for getting me to the doctor. You promised my dad you'd do it, and you did it. Great. Congratulations. You're a grown-up. Call him up and celebrate. Now just drive, OK?"

"Jay, if you're worried I'm going to tell someone that you're attracted to--"

I did not like what I was seeing out of the corner of my eye. "FUCK ... YOU ... STU!" Jay was on the verge of being enraged. "WHAT did I tell YOU about not being a FUCKING ... FAGGOT?"

I glanced to my right long enough to see his eyes were red. I responded as softly as I could. "Like I said, I didn't say you--"

"If you're gay, fine. I don't care. I can deal with a gay RA."

Jay looked straight again. I had had enough.

"Now you stop right there, man. I'm NOT gay. Don't you remember that I said I had a fucking girlfriend? Rebecca? Name's RE-BEC-CA? Rebecca's the only reason I could get you into Dr. Fitzgerald for that physical so quickly, so count your blessings that I'm NOT GAY, dude."

Jay snorted. "I don't need no fuckin' fags around me--"

"Jay, please stop using that word. And if you're thinking I'm--"

"If the guys on the team find out about this, before winter practice, shit, I'm done before I've even started."

I paused. "Find out about what?"

"Find out that-- Oh, never mind."

We had hit another red light, so I turned my head sideways. "I said, Jay, FIND ... OUT ... ABOUT ... WHAT?"

Jay's eyes met mine. They were still red, but much softer. They sort of shifted back and forth, the way eyes do when their owner is trying to feel somebody out. He blinked twice, then furrowed his brow, and straightened his gaze. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry anymore either.

"Exactly. Find out about what. Nothing to find out about."

There was a honk from behind. Jay and I looked through the windshield as we continued our journey. And within a minute, a dimpled Freshmen ballplayer had something to confide in me: maybe a drive-thru wouldn't be such a bad idea.

* * *

It was after 6 by the time Jay and I got back to the little four-chaired round table in the dorm's TV lounge. I had ordered my usual, Combo No. 5. Jay got a Big Mac and two cheeseburgers, no drink and no fries. Barely a minute into Sports Center the little rat stole one fry and then another. When I told him to knock it off, he stole four more and chuckled through his nose as he folded my floppy taters into his mouth. He had a mole right in the middle of his Adam's apple. I hadn't noticed that before.

The Cubs had played a day game and I was waiting for the score. Jay said he was more of a Twins fan, having grown up in northern Iowa, but said Wrigley was a great place, "tough to top" in his words. I said I had been to the Metrodome but never Wrigley, but still loved the Cubs because of all the games being on WGN. In fact, I said, I'd never even been to Chicago. I explained that we were going to go as family, take Amtrak actually, celebrate my high school graduation, but then my dad had died and--

"Whoa, Stu, your dad died?"

"Yeah."

"Whoa, man, I'm sorry. I mean, I--"

"That's OK, Jay. Thanks."

"When?"

"Right before graduation."

"Shit. Wow. I mean, wow." Jay's eyes were locked into mine and shifting back and forth again, in a searching sort of way. "I can't imagine being without-- Cripes."

Jay was stammering, as most teenagers did when they learned of my dad's passing. Kirk was among the few our age who didn't freak out when they learned the news. And of course then Kirk ended up dealing with what I had dealt with.

"It's OK, Jay, really. Things are cool ..."

About three other guys came and went as Jay and I continued to make our connection. I could feel the Freshmen student athletes' anticipation for the first day of college. Classes were due to start the next morning. I felt like a seasoned veteran by comparison. Most of the guys on my floor had 9:00 classes. A few even started at 8:00. Silly Freshmen, I thought. My first class was at 10. Well, 9 the next day. I hadn't even bought my books yet.

Jay was on his last cheeseburger when I thought I saw my girlfriend walk past.

"Rebecca?! Hey ..."

I hadn't talked to Rebecca for days, though it wasn't for lack of trying. She had suggested we stick to our own dorm floors for a while, get to know the residents we'd be "advising." Reluctantly, I had agreed. She had been my first-ever fuck, just days earlier. I wanted more. It was hot. SHE was hot. My 22-year-old girlfriend was wearing tight shorts and one of her trademark low-cut t-shirts that made her tits look delicious. And here she was, in my dorm, apparently trolling for me. Yes!

Certainly she wouldn't say no to sex! We'd try something different this time. Maybe side to side. I still had nine condoms to go. I pondered whether I still had enough juice in me to screw Rebecca tonight and decided I did, and suddenly Jay became a buddy and not an object of my sexual desire.

As Rebecca said hey, Peter, the 20-year-old ex-Marine on my dorm floor, came up behind her but I tried to ignore him.

"Hey. Yeah, Rebecca, thanks for coming by. I've been meaning to call--"

"Becky, you know this guy?" Peter had just called my girlfriend Becky. I thought about correcting him but knew my girlfriend could stick up for herself. But she didn't. Instead, she explained to the arrogant prick with the 3 o'clock shadow that she and I had "just met during RA training" and she had been "showing me the ropes."

I looked at Peter, then back at Rebecca, then back at Peter, and then at Jay, wishing he wasn't witnessing this.

"Stu, we met over at the rec center. Last night."

"Who?

"Me and Peter."

"You and Peter. Oh. Yeah. Sure. I've been over there myself a time or three. Swimming. You know. Staying in shape."

I tried to puff myself up as Rebecca smiled nervously and took a step toward the stairs, with Peter on her heels.

"Rebecca, I--"

She kept going.

"I, ah, I'll see ya later then."

When they were out of earshot, Jay inquired.

"That the Rebecca you were talking about?"

I sighed. "Yes."

Jay mashed the final bite of cheeseburger into his suddenly lovely mouth and uttered a single word that said it all.

"Oops."

* * *

I kicked my closet door. Girlfriend. Yeah, right. How stupid could I be that an older woman would see something in me? Fuck.

I was mad. Then sad. I mean, I had lost my virginity with Rebecca -- not a minor thing. I had lost it three times in one night, for God's sake. THREE TIMES! I wasn't a slut. I mean, I wouldn't do that with just anybody. It was Rebecca. She and I seemed to have had an emotional connection. The walks after dinner, all that. And now, shit ...

I needed to talk to somebody. Mom? Um, no. Rebecca? Obviously not. Jay? Hmm ...

I chose Kirk, my best buddy from high school, who was living back home to tend to the farm during the first harvest season without his dad. His younger twin brother answered the phone, recognized my voice, and said he expected Kirk back from Jessica's within the hour.

Fuck, that's right. Kirk and Jessica. My best friend was finding a new best friend, of the female variety. AND SHE WAS MY EX-GIRLFRIEND, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Probably had been fucking her brains out.

I was jealous, angry, sad, and lonely all at once. I plopped down on my bed and wanted to cry but nothing would come out. As I looked toward my toes, I could see just a hint of Jay's tighty whities under the waistband of my cargo shorts. I pulled the shorts down and massaged my mound, which fit in the palm of my hand. I was in no mood to get hard.

All I had was school. Classes. Tomorrow. I picked up my schedule and looked at what was ahead. Intro to Psychology tomorrow at 10:00. Human Anatomy at 1:00. On Wednesday, Music Appreciation and Intro to Theater.

I snorted. How would any of that get me a job? What a joke. What did I want to do with my life, anyway?

Who was I, anyway?

* * *

I waited for an hour for Kirk to call back but he never did. Finally I gave up and stripped down for a shower. I wanted to be aroused at the realization that I was wearing JAY'S UNDERWEAR, but in my full-length mirror his briefs looked oddly ridiculous on me and my not-as-athletic frame. I thought about Jay and Ezekiel, getting to know each other and each other's underwear in their dorm room. Would the experience in the exam room and afterward change Jay's thoughts on having an "artsy" roommate? Would Jay stop using the word "fag"? Or would he let it slip and cause a ruckus? If that happened, what would I do?

I stripped off Jay's undies and headed for a shower. When I got there, Juan and Kevin, the baseball teammates from high school and now roommates, were just finishing up. It was the first time I had seen either of them naked, and I found both to be oddly unarousing, particularly together. Juan's short but thick uncut penis struggled to point its head out from a thick mound of jet-black pubic hair. Kevin was more interesting, but not sexy. He was tall and lanky and, I soon confirmed, a true readhead. His penis was like his body -- long, thin, and very white. As Kevin collected the soap and shampoo the two had been sharing, I thought how odd it was that they were such good friends, since they seemed to be so different.

Then they were on their way, and for the beginning of my shower I was all alone. It felt good to wash off the grime of the day. It had been a sweaty experience at Dr. Fitzgerald's office. I soaped up my butt to clean out the remnants of my rectal exam, massaged shampoo into my hair, and closed my eyes to rinse it out. When I turned 180 degrees to wash out my butt, there he was, right across from me, naked, flaccid, and delicious.

Jay.

The ballplayer bit his bottom lip as he looked from my eyes to my chest to my crotch. I washed my penis deliberately but gingerly as Jay seemed to like to shower with the water hitting his back. He looked toward the shower's entry, spread his cheeks, and bent over slightly.

"That really was something, eh Stu?"

"What are you talking about?"

Jay glanced toward the shower entry again. Then his dimples came back. "The thing that didn't happen."

I tried to make dimples too. "Ah yes, the thing that didn't happen."

After Jay had cleaned out the remnants of his rectal exam, he turned toward the showerhead for a few seconds but then treated me to more frontal nudity. We were still alone. I whispered that I'd get Jay his underwear back. He told me I could keep it, that he needed to get some boxers anyway.

The soap cascaded down Jay's sporty frame with ease. He really did have the perfect body for a shortstop -- 5-foot-10, 165, strong upper body though it could (and would) be stronger. In the steam of the shower, Jay's hairless pecs and abs looked more muscular than they had under the glare of the exam room lights. He washed his pubic hair carefully and pressed at the top of his floppy penis. I soaked it in. Jay was probably 5 inches soft, maybe a bit less, and it was an organ of perfect proportions. Tonight, at this point, he was staying soft, which was just fine. He was beyond fine! Then I shifted my attention away from Jay's package and soaked him up as a Freshmen, a ballplayer, a guy, a person.

A friend.

In the previous hours I had seen my friend nervous, naked, orgasmic, confused and angry, and, after learning about my dad's death, tender and empathetic. There was no question he had been trying to put himself in my position. As friends do. A sporty athlete, vicious but also vulnerable. Imagine that. Now, in the shower, Jay was smiling again, undoubtedly in recognition of what had to have been the most bizarre situation of our young lives.

At that point, I didn't care what Jay's ballplayer dick looked like. It could've been an inch long for all I cared. Nor did I care what his bulge would look like in his 501s, or baseball pants.

(Well, baseball pants might be a different story. Anyway ...)

Jay was beautiful, and I wanted him to see me that way too. I lingered in the shower and let the Jay drink in every inch of my wet body.

And then ...

Rudolf came in.

My heart sank, particularly when the German swimmer chose a showerhead next to Jay's. I was perturbed at first, then confused. Rudolf had interrupted us and seemed to be IGNORING the beautiful person to his right. How could that be? How could he completely ignore such a sexy naked young man? Particularly since Rudolf had seemed so eager to suck my penis, and so willing to let me suck his. If Rudolf wasn't gay, who was? I mean, really.

Maybe the German was just nervous. I thought I better play RA. "Ah, Jay, have you met Rudolf?"

Jay gave the naked uncut German a quick once-over. "Hey."

"'Allo, Jay. Nice to meet you." The swimmer extended a hand and the ballplayer reluctantly shook it there in the shower. I watched Jay closely and there was no mistaking the fact that he took the opportunity to steal glances of Rudolf's package whenever the opportunity arose.

Rudolf, strangely, showered in a hurry and was out of there.

One was a swimmer and one was a ballplayer. I didn't play any college sports. But were the three of us on the same team?

In the coming weeks, I was to find out.

 

[pe_gay89]

What the hell with the Rebecca situation!?! I really dislike Peter! I'm glad Jay is feeling better about what happened, even if he won't admit it ever did. I wonder what will happen between Stu, Jay and Rudolf...

 

[gaytxn09]

Nice update, man! I'm hoping Jay, Rudolf, and Stu hang out some soon. ;-)

As for Rebecca...she seems like a tramp. "Just showing him the ropes"?? Nice.

 

[Craiger]

It's nice to see Jay has softened. Fear of someone knowing or getting too close at such a vulnerable time seems to always be hidden by that aggressive bit of machoism. It sounds as though Stu and Jay are going to be good friends.

As for Rebecca... forget her. She used Stu and now seems to have tossed him aside for Peter. Her loss...

I like this story as it tends to portray how frustrating college life can be for a teenager. Particularly when they don't know which side of the fence to jump. Thank goodness Stu is able to participate on both sides....lol

Craiger

 

[tocarter]

You truly are a fantastic writer. Your story is evoking distant memories, both painful and pleasurable. Thank you on behalf of the community. Please keep it up! (no pun intended)

 

[DonQuixote]

SFCFML,
Another great chapter in this story of collegiate discovery.
Rebecca turns out to be the slut of the dorms, looking for the biggest cock she can get between her legs.

Then, the tentative friendship that is evolving with Jay. Could he possibly stop over to his neighborly RA's room for a little T&A after their shower?

Frederick a bit afraid of being overly casual in front of Jay?

You are crafting a truly interesting tale with lots of twist and possibilities for us.

Thanks for taking the time and effort to make such a memorable story for us.

 

[harry113]

Thanks, great chapter plus some twists in the tale!!
More please
Harry

 

[sfcfml]

Part XIX

Tuesday. The first day of classes. Intro to Psych wasn't till 10, but I dragged myself out of bed at 7:45 to grab a shower knowing that lots of the Freshmen had class at 9 or even 8. Plus, thoughts of Jay had been lingering in my mind, so I had awakened more gay than not and definitely in the mood for Freshmen athlete eye candy in the communal shower.

And with one exception, I was not disappointed. To my gay side's delight, the room was packed and there even was a line. Terry, the lanky Freshmen with whom I had gone to church but on whom I had not yet gotten a good frontal-nudity look, was in front of me, wearing just a white towel around his slender, hairless waist. As I anticipated that perhaps within seconds I'd be getting more than a peek of the athlete's private parts, I could see just a bit of a bulge under the Terry's terry cloth as the teen bit his lower lip while anticipating his inevitable plunge into a shower room of a half-dozen nude 18-year-old Freshmen student-athletes.

I soaked it all in. On the one hand I felt sort of guilty. Really guilty, actually. I mean, I wasn't gay, at least I didn't think I was, but yet there I was, almost literally drooling at the sight. I felt saliva building in my mouth in virtual anticipation that maybe, perhaps, one of them, one of those dicks, would be ending up there and I had to be prepared.

So on the other hand I counted my blessings. The smell of six showers running was arousing in and of itself, and the smell of so much perfumed soap and shampoo intense. And the sights, wow! Six naked, smooth, toned, and still tanned young men in various stages of the morning shower -- shampoo in hair, pits being attended to, soapy water running off their bodies and into the single drain at the center.

I thought about how at our homes, for probably all of our lives, group showers had been the exception not the rule. The shower had been a private place where we -- all of us, but individually, in private -- had lingered for as long as we wanted as we soaped up our bodies and, a fair amount of time, paid extra attention to our moistened penises and testicles. Sometimes, like before heading off to school on a cold winter morning, there was no time to masturbate. Oftentimes, though, even when time was tight, we -- all of us, but individually, in private -- took opportunity to work lather into our crotches and semen out of our erections and onto the shower's floor.

Or if we were in a particularly kinky mood, like that one time a few years ago, we'd cum onto the shower door and leave it for our little sisters to find.

For the next nine months, there were going to be no shower doors, no little sisters, no privacy. The shower was not going to be a place where most of us would relieve our horniness. Just the opposite was going to be true. For me, at least.

Shit.

Waiting for a shower, Terry seemed to be strangely nervous and therefore completely sexy in a vulnerable sort of way. He looked most vulnerable, of course, in the eyes, which were shifting around the room but trying not to. The lump under his towel had seemed to grow, just a little, but I could not be sure.

The exception to my lack of shower-room disappointment was was Peter, the 20-year-old ex-Marine who apparently had been befriending my "girlfriend" Rebecca. Even though I had woken up feeling gay and not feeling much toward Rebecca, on that morning I felt myself strangely repulsed by Peter, his hairy chest, and his long, fat dick that look more menacing than arousing. Even though fucking Rebecca was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment, I shuddered at the thought of Peter's angry rod being plunged violently into Rebecca's athletic frame. When Peter was done, I seemingly did not exist as the man who could beat the crap out of me in 10 seconds made me take a step to my left as he headed for his towel.

Terry was to take Peter's place at a middle showerhead. The shy swimmer turned away from me as he placed his towel on a peg and stood for a second in a pair of tight, white boxer briefs. I waited for a sight of his bare butt, but the briefs stayed on, and oddly, awkwardly, Terry remained partially clothed as he entered the room of otherwise naked young men. There was no question that Terry was the one who looked out of place as the shower came on and the undies stayed on. Being white, of course, they did not hide much when wet, and within seconds I got to see 18-year-old butt crack anyway, although through wet white cotton.

Within a minute or so I ended up on the far end next to Terry, who greeted my arrival by pressing his taut body as close to the front wall as possible as he finished shampooing his hair. The soap ran over what was now a definite lump in the swimmer's undergarment, which, bizarrely, he kept on even as he soaped up his armpits and torso. I thought to myself, this beautiful young man has nothing to hide or be ashamed of. What the hell is going on?

Nathan, the lanky baseball player from Minnesota, had taken the spot on Terry's other side. The hair on Nathan's head was basically brown, but in the shower that day I learned that Nathan was, at one time at least, a redhead. His penis pointed out more than not and looked strangely friendly in a surprisingly thick bush of orangish pubic hair. There was little question that Terry packed more in the crotch than Nathan, but it was the better-endowed of the two athletes who seemed to be shy. Maybe that's why Nathan looked at Terry with a look of "who is this odd duck?" before striking up a conversation with a couple baseball players on the other side of the shower.

Terry and I stayed silent while the other four in the shower carried on a conversation and seemed to be ignoring both of us. Down to the legs Terry's soap went. All the while, the underwear stayed on. Terry must've sensed Nathan's gaze, because at that point the shy swimmer turned toward me as he raised one leg and then the other to wash up his long, slender feet. And then it was becoming particularly clear. A not-entirely-soft lump in his soaked white shorts was plainly visible, as were the contents of his scrotum. Terry finished with his legs and then turned back to the spray and lingered there for a good 45 seconds as he closed his eyes and seemed to be whispering something as his wet white tent stuck straight out.

Nathan was taking his sweet-ass time, and there still was a line for the showers, so finally Terry turned back toward me, glanced to see if there was any sign of me looking, and began to lift the boxer-briefs from his slender waist. I was looking, a little, and he knew it, but there was not much he could do. A triangle of pubic hair came first. Slowly, carefully, embarrassingly for Terry, the swimmer peeled the wet cotton further down, revealing the top of a surprisingly slender, white penis. I waited for signs that the organ was erect, but unfortunately it seemed not to be, a fact confirmed as Terry kept one hand on the soap dish as he pushed the sopped undies to the shower room's floor.

There really was no place for Terry to hide, so he turned to face me, completely naked. Finally. Maybe I was less intimidating than Nathan for Terry. The more likely explanation for why he revealed himself to me was that by facing my direction, he also faced the shower room's back wall, and therefore was not facing four other naked athletes who he'd have to live with for the next nine months.

Irrespective of the reason, I now had an unobstructed view of the naked lanky swimmer as he rubbed a bar of yellow Dial soap against the side of his flaccid, floppy penis. While it was slender, it was long, close to 5 inches I was sure. It jiggled as Terry turned to that marvelous spot in a guy's groin where the scrotum touches the thigh. Terry's ballsac was bigger than mine and bigger than most, and as soon as he could he put the soap down to clean his crotch thorougly, elongating his shaft a few times as he worked the suds into it.

Terry attended to a trimmed triangle of pubic hair next before massaging his balls, which, in the warmth of the communal shower, seemed substantially more relaxed than Terry's brain.

I couldn't help it. The unobstructed sight of a vulnerable, nervous swimmer, sudsy and finally stripped to nothing even though he very much did not want to be, made me start to bone up. So I had a choice to make: face the wall and miss out on what might come next, or stand where I could watch Terry finish bathing his beautiful frame but where he and perhaps Nathan could see what was happening. I chose the latter, and within a few seconds, Terry could see. It. On me.

And then Terry started to plump up and faced an even more difficult dilemma. Option one was to face the showerhead, thereby revealing to Nathan and me what a swimmer's half-erection look like from the side. Option two was to avert his eyes from his me, his apparent source of arousal, but by doing so he would put his own frontal nudity on display to God and everybody else. Option three was to just keep showering, facing me, revealing his slender but long and getting-plumper penis to the one guy in the room who had already seen it.

To this day I count my lucky stars that the lanky swimmer chose option number three. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the embarrassed young man pop a half-erection. Then it was closer to three-quarters, beyond being parallel to the floor. Surprisingly, it wasn't tremendously longer in this state than it was when soft, but he and it looked absolutely delicious. I yearned to see Terry completely hard, as I had seen Andy, and Rudolf, and remarkably Jay. Even more I wanted to touch Terry, make him fully erect, as I had done with Andy. And to take Terry in my mouth, as I had done to Rudolf and as Rudolf had done to me.

By that point, my mouth was wet and both of us were certainly hard enough to have plowed our penises into cheerleader vagina, if that's what one of us had wanted. I most certainly didn't. Not right then. Did Terry? I could not tell.

Terry closed his eyes and started muttering something again. I think he could sense that Nathan was still preoccupied talking to his teammates, so the aroused swimmer turned away from me a little as he seemed to be hoping, pleading, requesting that his half-erection would go away. From the side, I watched the organ droop a bit until finally it pointed more toward the floor than the ceiling.

Suddenly, strangely, I felt not horny but rather a mixture of pity and guilt for prying into a vulnerable young man's private parts. I turned the water to cold and got myself and my penis into a state where I could face the rest of the shower room with respect. I was the resident advisor, for crying out loud, and I had a reputation to keep. As I turned to leave the group shower, Jay was just entering, so I kept my on his forehead as I said hey and made a beeline for my towel.

By then Terry was there, too. He made sure his towel was in front of his crotch as he dried off his face, but I moved to the side so I could get a peek underneath. He was lovely. But also mysterious. Under cover. Strangely pained.

Was Terry gay? He couldn't be! He had to be straight a swimming lane, a church-going boy like himself.

Had to be ...

 

[DonQuixote]

SFCFML,
A great, poignant chapter. Full house in the shower, yet surprisingly intimate in the interplay or non-interplay between the guys.

I never did the College away experience. Jr College from home, then married, finished BS as an adult.

The closest to this experience for me was using the showers after gym or working out, or scout campouts as a teen then again as an adult.

It's a great telling of coming of age and identity. Thanks for taking the time to craft this sensitive story for us.

 

[pe_gay89]

Great! I've said it before and I'll say it again, I wish we had communal showers in our accomodation.

 

[conrad]

Amazing, isn't it? The other guy's cock always seemed to outclass one'e own.

Yet, isn't it strange, even in Iowa, that one can get to college age and still be afraid to display what one has?

But this is a story. And, despite the hazard of embarrassment, I always did look forward to showering with others.

 

[swmjck]

I also love this story. Keep the episodes coming.

 

[sfcfml]

Part XX

After pondering what made Terry tick, I scrambled to buy my books for the semester and landed in Intro to Psych with about a minute to spare. By then only desks in the front were left. Damn. To my surprise three dorm-floor Freshmen were there: Robert (Terry's roommate and the black kid from the suburbs of Des Moines), Josh (the always-seems-to-need-a-shave swimmer), and Nick (the little blond soccer player from Kansas City with a hairdo like an '80s heartthrob).

Nick was the cutest of the three, and there was an open seat next to him, so I chose it just as the professor strode in followed by a young woman who looked strikingly familiar. She was of about average height, I'd say, maybe a little shorter. She had blondish hair but a little shorter than I liked, close-set eyes, maybe a tad overweight but in a way that gave her big breasts. Still, she wasn't as hot as Rebecca. Or Jessica, for that matter. Anyway, as the professor went over the preliminaries, I couldn't stop staring at her. Not because she was drop-dead gorgeous, but because I knew her from somewhere.

After class, she took the first step toward helping me find out.

"You were staring at me."

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were. You recognize me from somewhere."

"Maybe. But I wasn't staring."

"Well, anyway. I'm Connie. I'm Professor Morgan's TA. Teaching assistant."

"All right. Nice to meet you."

"You really don't recognize me, do you."

"N-no. Should I?"

"Dorm floor, first year, in the hallway?"

"Y-you, must have me confused with somebody else."

"No, I distinctly remember you. I handed you the survey and you filled it out."

My stomach dropped.

"Survey?"

"For my class." Connie dropped her voice to a whisper. "The sexual orientation survey. Remember?"

Connie took my silence as a yes and continued.

"I was an undergraduate then, in Professor Morgan's Human Sexuality senior seminar. You remember filling it out?"

"No, I uh ... Oh yeah, that."

I was trying to play it cool, probably unsuccessfully. That was because the specifics were coming back to me. Connie had been making the rounds on my floor during my Freshmen year, handing out a questionnaire that asked Freshmen guys where they fell on the continuum of being gay or straight, 1 being straight and 7 being gay. I had never seen such a thing in my life. I vaguely remembered putting an x between numbers 3 and 4, but I couldn't be sure.

"The, um, survey. Sure."

"I thought you would." There was a pause, then Connie continued. "Remember, it's all confidential. I just-- I just wanted to say hi, in case you remembered me, in case you had, um, concerns that maybe the survey had gotten into the wrong hands. Because it didn't. It hasn't. And it never will."

Connie knew about me. There was no question. I was worried but also relieved that SOMEBODY knew. When Connie turned to leave, I intervened.

"So, Connie, as, ah, a TA, do we work together, and stuff?"

"I'll be helping you on your research project."

"Research project?"

"It's in the syllabus, along with a list of topics. Your first draft will be due the week after spring break. Never too early to get started, though. And once a topic is taken, it's taken, and no one else can do that topic. You should let me know when you decide." Connie took the syllabus from my hand and showed me page 4. "Here's the list." She pointed right to topic 12, "Sexual orientation in the human male."

"Let me know, Stu."

Stu. How did she know my name?

* * *

In a quiet corner of the dining hall, I pawed at my taco salad and thought about how if I could've taken the survey after having sex with Rebecca, I would've circled 1, or maybe 2. But if I had taken it after soaking up Terry in the shower, or after witnessing Jay's erotic sports physical firsthand, I'd be at least a 6. Maybe 7. Fuck.

Where was I now? WHAT was I now?

I turned my attention to the Intro to Psych syllabus. The paper had to be 25 pages. TWENTY-FIVE PAGES?! I read it three times to scan the topics looking for the easiest ones.

None seemed easy. Shit. Drop the class, that's what I'd do.

* * *

I got to Human Anatomy with plenty of time to spare, but even at 12:45 the room was jammed and strangely quiet. There was a single seat in the back row so I took it.

From what I had heard, Anatomy was hard but also my kind of class because there were no papers required. Plus, I had done well in science classes both in high school and my Freshmen year so I was looking forward to something easy.

But I got worried as I looked around the room. Everybody was so serious. One student even carried a briefcase. I started to sweat once I had the syllabus and tried to make sense of a mishmash of terms I could barely pronounce -- embryological, arthrology, marcoscopic, mesenteries. But then something that raised my interst: "the male and female reproductive structures and their embryologic development."

Sounds hot, I thought. But what the fuck did embryologic mean?

We hadn't prepared for class, but that didn't matter to Professor Adams who said we all had bodies and for the first day of lecture that's all we'd need. When Adams made a comment about us doing homework in the privacy of our own dorms, a smartass football player in front of me snickered that his roommate from last year already would've had lots of extra credit. The guys in the room erupted while the women in gross anatomy shook their heads in recognition of the gross male species. Surprisingly Adams did nothing to discourage the frank talk. "Exploration, all such exploration, is to be encouraged, ladies and gentlemen. It's your body -- learn to know it, love it, and enjoy it. It's yours."

I was mesmerized, and after class I went to the library and did something amazing. I cracked the books, immediately. The anatomy textbook was going to be a challenge, no doubt about it. The syllabus pointed me to 30 pages on "reproductive structures." I looked in the textbook and there were 60 pages in all, and for the first time in my life I was bummed that the prof had not assigned more. I scanned the paragraphs for words I understood. There weren't many, but the pictures I could understand.

There were depictions of males and females stripped to their muscles, babies in wombs, and, yes, diagrams of sexual organs. Some words were obvious: scrotum, testis, urinary bladder. A few others I could figure out: erectile tissue, ejaculatory duct, prostate. Others were entirely new: seminal vesicle, vas deferens, prepuce.

Because I felt my erectile tissue being triggered and my seminal vesicle being filled, I moved to a private study carrel to continue my examination of the photos and began looking up words in the glossary. After 10 minutes I was horny as hell, so I turned my attention to the Intro to Psych syllabus, which, with its research-paper requirement, was the functional equivalent of a cold shower.

At first, that is.

My hairbrained idea was that I'd just find a topic that the professor wasn't covering, read that section of the textbook, change some wording, and be done. Male sexuality seemed as good as any. It wasn't in the syllabus, and there were 10 pages dedicated to the topic in the textbook, an excerpt of which read as follows:

Males do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual. The world is not to be divided into sheep and goats. It is a fundamental of taxonomy that nature rarely deals with discrete categories. . . . The living world is a continuum in each and every one of its aspects.

The language was reprinted from a book dating to 1948 and called Sexual Behavior in the Human Male. The author was Alfred Kinsey, who, according to a box on the page, taught zoology at Indiana University and whose research into human sexuality was as groundbreaking as it was controversial.

I had to find that book!

My hands were shaking as I typed the title into the library's electronic card catalog. Bingo! One copy in the collection, in the second-floor stacks (whatever those were), and ...

"CHECKED OUT BY FACULTY; LONG-TERM LOAN"

Fuck. I HAD TO HAVE THAT BOOK! I typed in the code for "other copies available" and learned that a university in Des Moines was the closest. Shit. A two-hour drive away.

My breaths were fast and shallow. That book -- Kinsey's book -- seemed to have the secret to who I was. Who Rudolf was. Maybe who Jay and Andy were.

Maybe, possibly, who Kirk was.

I had to go to Des Moines. Now! But I couldn't. I had a mandatory RA meeting at 7, and Intro to Theater and Music Appreciation the next day. Fuck. What worthless classes. I'd just skip them and head to Des Moines first thing tomorrow. That was my plan.

* * *

Throughout the mandatory RA meeting, I could not stop thinking about Kinsey the zoologist and his scale.

Not sheep and goats. Nature rarely deals in discrete categories. Hmmm ...

Where was I on the scale? Jay? Rudolf? Terry?

Kirk?

What about Kirk? Where was my best buddy from high school on the scale? The lanky boy I had first met in the junior high shower who liked to linger there so I could soak him in? The teen with whom I had felt sexual tension and attraction all during our adolescent years, but who now, as a 19-year-old farmboy stud, was dating Jessica, my former high school girlfriend for crying out loud?

I got back to my dorm room around 8:30, and lo and behold Kirk had left a message on my answering machine. I felt a flash of warmth as I called him back. I honestly was eager to get the lowdown on how things were going on the farm during the first harvest season without his dad -- a reality that had caused my buddy to take a year off from college after completing his Freshmen year. But I also was eager to probe a little into where my blue-eyed blond buddy was on The Scale. And to be honest, I wanted to hear that maybe, just maybe, he had broken up with Jessica.

"Kirk! What's up?"

"Hey, Stu! Good to hear your voice. Sounds like we played a little telephone tag there."

"Yeah. So ... You're not hanging with Jessica?"

"No, she's got classes starting too, like you. Speaking of that, how's the RA business? Find any Freshmen with pot yet?"

"No, the guys are great. Most of 'em, anyway. It'll be fine. They seem pretty straight-laced to be honest. And also to be honest, I'm sort of focused on my classes."

"Classes? On the FIRST DAY? You? REALLY?"

"Surprising, I know. I just think Human Anatomy is really interesting."

"Human Anatomy. Huh. Nothing like anatomy to get the juices flowing."

I almost made a crack about seminal vesicles, but I didn't. I probably should have.

"Right. And, ah, Intro to Psych I hope will be good."

"Psych? Wow. I had to write a big paper for my Psych class last year. You don't have to?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And you haven't dropped the class yet?"

"You know me too well, Kirk."

"What are you going to write on? Maslow's pyramid of needs?"

"What's that?"

"You'll find out. Or Freud's oral and anal stages?"

My ears perked up. "What the hell is that?"

"You'll find out."

"No, tell me."

"What, you got an oral or anal fixation or something?"

Oral? Anal? Fuck! I tried to think fast. "What do you mean by that?"

"When you buy your books, look it up, Einstein."

"I already bought my books."

"You what?"

"I bought my books."

"Did you not learn anything from Freshmen year? Nobody buys their books till they know they're staying in the class. You ARE turning into a nerd. I suppose the next thing you'll say is you headed right to the library after class.

"Well, even I have my limits, Kirk."

There was a pause. I think my best friend could tell I was lying.

As the discussion turned from my developing nerdiness to how things were going on Kirk's farm, I reached for the Psych book and found a chart with Freud's oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital stages in chapter 2. I scanned the chapter as Kirk was going on and on about farming stuff I could not pretend to understand, so I took the opportunity to do a quick learn on Freud's views on oral sex, masturbation, and gays. In a nutshell, Freud seemed to find all of it abhorrent.

"Stu, you there?"

"Oh, a, yeah, sorry. I'm here."

"What's going on?"

"I, ah, the dorm floor's fine. I have two more classes tomorrow--"

"No, Stu, what ... is ... going ... on. Something's up. I can tell."

"No, I, uh, I just pulled out the psych book, like you suggested ..."

"And ..."

"And, ah, here's the section on Freud, and those stages."

"Oh boy. OK, Einstein. And ..."

I took 10 seconds to read some more.

"Well, ahem, looks like sex is pretty important to Mr. Freud."

"You could say that."

"And, um, looks like he has a few things to say about various fixations."

"Fixations. Big word, professor."

"What do you think?"

"About what?"

"About Freud?"

"I don't know. It's been awhile."

"It was just last year."

"Yeah, well--"

"What about Kinsey? Did you study him?"

"No. Who the hell are you talking about?"

"Kinsey. Albert Kinsey, I think it is. He did research into male sexuality."

"How do you know all this?"

"It's in the book. You should read about it. He was a zoologist, so he must know a thing or two about farm animals."

"Stu, we just have crops. You know that. And I can't believe what I'm hearing. You're REALLY into this, aren't you."

"Yeah, well. Ahem. Anyway. He says it's impossible to divide the world -- the human world -- the male world -- into chickens and goats. That's what he said. I think that was his example."

"And you read this?"

"Yes."

"Today."

"Yes."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"Why? You think he's wrong and Kinsey's right?"

"Huh?"

"Or that Kinsey is wrong and Freud's right, that gays are messed up?"

"I don't know what I think. What I do know is that your new-found fascination with being a bookworm is bizarre."

"You should try it."

"Oh now c'mon. I read, you know that. I read a lot more than you do, bub. When's the last time you finished a book? Catcher in the Rye, junior year?"

"I never finished it. You told me how it ended, right before the quiz."

"So what's the last book you've read?"

"I don't know."

"The Hardy Boys?"

"Maybe."

"Mmmhf. You should be on the farm, and I should be in school."

"Probably."

"Hey, look, my bro needs something. Can I call you back? Tomorrow night, maybe? I do want to talk with you more, about Jessica and stuff."

"Sure, Kirk, but tomorrow, I, uh, might have to be busy."

"Busy? Well, OK, maybe later in the week."

"Sounds good bud."

"Good night."

"'Night."

* * *

I hung up the phone and dug my Human Anatomy notebook out of the closet as I stood in the closet's doorway. In it I had scrawled:

Homework -- in dorm room. Explore body. OK, good. Learn to know it, love it, enjoy it. Mine.

I looked to the right, and there I was, in the full-length mirror on the inside door of my closet. I reflected on what I should do now.

It was time for homework. So I got naked and stayed by the mirror.

I had a little flab around the waist, and I could stand to bulk up in the chest, but on balance, I was fine. My dick wasn't big, but it got the job done, and I loved it, and I liked the way my balls sagged at this time of the night, when the day's work was done.

I put three fingertips to my chin and compared my prickly chin stubble with the still boyish peach fuzz on my cheek, finally ridded of acne. Next I went to my neck, which had just a hint of stubble too but was mainly smooth. Then to my shoulers and collarbone and down to my chest, which only recently I had been able to flex. Then to my nipples. They got hard, but not like Jessica's, or Rebecca's, or Dr. Fitzgerald's, or probably Connie. I had a little hair around them, but it was light-colored for the most part. The dark strands probably numbered no more than a dozen.

Mmmm, my abs. They were tighter than in high school, and even a little defined. I loved the way the muscles moved in an out with each of my deep breaths. I was getting more hair, a trail from just above my navel to my groin -- signs, I knew, of more to come, of true manhood.

I tugged at my pubic hair. Why did God make it curly? Should I trim some back, like Terry, to make myself look bigger?

I touched the base of my flaccid dick as Dr. Fitzgerald had done the previous day. The thought of her doing that to me, to Jay, to Kirk, put my "erectile tissue" into action. In the privacy of my dorm-room mirror I watched my slender erection rise all by itself, with my hand close but not touching. Mmmmm. For just a few seconds my penis was parallel to the floor, but then, as it had to do, it angled toward my tummy, took its position pointing just a little to the left, and twitched with each beat of my heart.

It wanted to be touched, but I would not touch it. Of course this was because I knew it would feel even better once I did touch it! I turned 90 degrees and enjoyed myself from the side before finally facing the mirror head-on and, finally, very lightly, teasingly, doing what needed to be done to an erection.

But this session of masturbation was to be different. To the best of my ability I was going to focus not on the messages the nerves in my dick and balls would sent to my brain, but instead on what my hand was sensing. I wanted to feel my aroused genitalia as it would feel to somebody else. I wanted to compare myself to Andy, or Rudolf. How might I compare to Jay? Or Kirk?

Mmmmm.

I started at the tip and moved the remnants of my foreskin slowly up and down, doing my best to focus on what my hand felt and not my dick. What must've been my seminal vesicle kicked into preparatory action. Mmmmmm. I examined the shaft, slowly, lightly. My penis was screaming to be held hard, but I wasn't going there. This was about my hand, about what an erection felt like in that hand, what another hand might feel on my boner.

With my left hand I did the same with my sagging testicles. The left was larger; why? Mmmmmm, it felt so good. It was hard, but also soft, and in that way like an erect penis. And so smooth. Not a bump on 'em. So verrrrry smooth. Mmmmm. Dr. Fitzgerald had done this on me. Mmmmmm. And on Jay. Mmmmmmm. I had done it on Andy. Mmmmm.

I marveled at the narrow rainbow of an erection -- white, pink, red, even purple. One big vein on top. How the tube had another tube on the underside, but only when I was hard.

Really hard. Like now.

I moved my left hand to the mysterious place under my scrotum, the place where when I pushed I could feel the juices really stir. Why?

Juices. Mmmmm. Wet, sticky, soon to come!

I moved closer to the mirror and let my dick bounce against it, which left a little smear on the reflective glass. I leaned back just a little and held my erection in a way so I could see as much of it as possible as the inevitable moment neared.

Of course, since the dick was mine, I knew where to look at just the right moment. The first shot, as expected, was much longer than it was wide and landed pretty much on top of the reflection of my pecs. The next several were more watery but very intense, ample and strong. They started running down the mirror pretty much as soon as they splashed against it. As my orgasm neared the end, I pressed my penis into its reflection and enjoyed two post-orgasmic organs for the price of one. As I ground my groin into my reflection, it felt so right. So slippery! So dirty! So delicious! So fun!

I stayed that way for maybe 10 seconds before peeling my steaming crotch off of the glass. And then, I just stood there and looked at my post-orgasmic self and the dripping mess my 100 pecent male body had made. The mess was marvelous. Magical, really. It made babies, but also love, and also brought such relief. What was it, anyway? Water, of course, and little sperms. But what else? Why creamy, but then watery? Women had nothing like it, that was for sure. It was male. 100 percent male. It was me. 100 percent me.

I crouched down just a little and dragged my nostrils through what was left of the first cumshot. It smelled nuttier and more natural than when I had sniffed my cum in Kleenex or on a sweatsock while growing up. I moved up a little and looked myself in the eyes as I readied the tip of my tongue. I had tasted myself before, licked it a little, but that was it. But this time, as part of my homework, I sucked up some of my semen between my lips and worked it onto the middle of my tongue where the taste buds were more ample. It felt like snot, but tasted different because it was sort of sweet. Sort of. I let my ejaculate float to the roof of my mouth and took a risk. I gagged a little after the first swallow, but then tried again and learned it wasn't so bad. Besides, it was mine. It was me. 100 percent me.

And soon, it was pretty much all gone.

I knelt in front of the mirror and struggled to see my eyes through the smear. As I tried to analyze the taste, I yearned for my reflection to be clear. But as the drying saliva mixed with what was left of my semen, it was blurry. And I only seemed to be getting blurrier.

 

[Craiger]

OMG! I witnessed all those feelings just like Stu. How else do you know yourself unless you experiment...lol That was a very erotic chapter, sfcfml. Poor Stu is really straddling that fence and seems to be falling more on the "happy" side. Keep it going!

Craiger

 

[GrayFox]

Whoa! Have we all done this at one time or another? Great discriptions.

 

[hardreader]

I have been really busy and fell way behind on this story, which I had been thoroughly enjoying. I am now finished reading chapter 17-- the double cum at the doctor's office. What a hot chapter. What a psychological epic. So much confusion. So much cock. So much cum. You tell this story beautifully and have me hard the whole time. Not because of the sex, but because of the anticipation and the very real characters you have created. I'll get myself back under control and try to read a little more later. For now, I'll just say thanks!

Oh, yeah, like your narrator, I want that baseball stud so bad.

 

[Bodhi1]

I'm impressed and LOVING IT! VERY erotic - sense of drama - heightened suspense - so very well written!!! Kudos! I am awaiting the next chapter - and many more beyond ... Hugs!