All Male College, 1957

[622675]

I attended college in late 60s and early 70. A friend and I registered late my junior year and found ourselves in an older U shaped dorm with no A/C. Each floor was just one long hall with 30 or more two-man rooms. Most doors stayed open when anyone was there (remember south Texas and no A/C) At the end of each hall was a large latrine with an open bay shower pit.

It was one of the best social environments I have ever experienced. After a few weeks everyone knew everybody. It was a standard practice around 5PM to walk either nude or with a towel down the hall to the showers, visit on the way, and invite anyone around to hit the showers with you then head as a group to the dinning hall.

Dorms were not that far from the GYM so you could just run back to the dorm if you wanted to. In those days the GYM was a place to play, but the “Official School Athletes” used the shower and locker areas. Our regular patter was to use the GYM courts, then group up into someone’s car and head for the dorm.

Most of us lived in our underwear. In our dorm culture, it was totally appropriate to take a shower, wrap yourself in a towel (or not) then stop by a friend’s room on the way back for a visit. If you needed to use the towel to dry your hair, no one got up tight about you sitting bare assed on his bed next to him while drying off. If you were still dripping, you might just stand spread-eagle in front of his open window and let the wind ring all the right chimes.

I had a friend up the hall that I had known for a couple of years. He grew up in the northeast where wrestling was part of the standard athletic program. In south Texas wrestling was an unknown behavior or sport so we would kid him about wrestling with another guy. As payback, on his return trip from the showers, he would often catch me lying on my bed studying, my butt in the air (clothed or not), at which time he would jump my ass and we would have to wrestle. It didn’t matter if there were five other people in the room, we would have a few minutes of nude wrestling. If anyone else in the room should be in the mood, they might jump in also. This often resulted in something like a clothing optional dog pile, but then no one knew how to wrestle anyhow.

It was fun, uninhibited, and created a bonding environment for all involved. No one got up tight and such events had the impact of opening the door for a lot of (nonsexual) group sharing. Before the year was over there may be as many as twenty guys at a time in the room with little more than a wet towel and a grin. This was likely the closest some of these guys had ever been to another guy. A year or so later when the Vietnam War took its toll, most of the hall members would still show up to pay their respects.

It was an interesting year and may have never happened if the A/C had been working.

 

[DavidXL]

I attended college in late 60s and early 70. A friend and I registered late my junior year and found ourselves in an older U shaped dorm with no A/C. Each floor was just one long hall with 30 or more two-man rooms. Most doors stayed open when anyone was there (remember south Texas and no A/C) At the end of each hall was a large latrine with an open bay shower pit.

It was one of the best social environments I have ever experienced. After a few weeks everyone knew everybody. It was a standard practice around 5PM to walk either nude or with a towel down the hall to the showers, visit on the way, and invite anyone around to hit the showers with you then head as a group to the dinning hall.

Dorms were not that far from the GYM so you could just run back to the dorm if you wanted to. In those days the GYM was a place to play, but the “Official School Athletes” used the shower and locker areas. Our regular patter was to use the GYM courts, then group up into someone’s car and head for the dorm.

Most of us lived in our underwear. In our dorm culture, it was totally appropriate to take a shower, wrap yourself in a towel (or not) then stop by a friend’s room on the way back for a visit. If you needed to use the towel to dry your hair, no one got up tight about you sitting bare assed on his bed next to him while drying off. If you were still dripping, you might just stand spread-eagle in front of his open window and let the wind ring all the right chimes.

I had a friend up the hall that I had known for a couple of years. He grew up in the northeast where wrestling was part of the standard athletic program. In south Texas wrestling was an unknown behavior or sport so we would kid him about wrestling with another guy. As payback, on his return trip from the showers, he would often catch me lying on my bed studying, my butt in the air (clothed or not), at which time he would jump my ass and we would have to wrestle. It didn’t matter if there were five other people in the room, we would have a few minutes of nude wrestling. If anyone else in the room should be in the mood, they might jump in also. This often resulted in something like a clothing optional dog pile, but then no one knew how to wrestle anyhow.

It was fun, uninhibited, and created a bonding environment for all involved. No one got up tight and such events had the impact of opening the door for a lot of (nonsexual) group sharing. Before the year was over there may be as many as twenty guys at a time in the room with little more than a wet towel and a grin. This was likely the closest some of these guys had ever been to another guy. A year or so later when the Vietnam War took its toll, most of the hall members would still show up to pay their respects.

It was an interesting year and may have never happened if the A/C had been working.

Thank you very much, Levi, for sharing the above. I found it very moving and read it several times since you first posted it. That is exactly the type environment I have had in mind as I have written this story and is similar to my experiences (or at least how I have idealized that they were). Thank you again.

 

[DavidXL]

Thanks again, everyone for continuing to read and for your comments. I really appreciate it. This next chapter picks up as final exams and the semester has ended. Most of the students have left for winter break, and Dusty and Jack make plans to spend the night together.

Chapter 15: Angels

Dusty wanted to make our big tonight together special, and he made plans for us to go out to dinner in town at a Chinese restaurant named Garden of the Orient. Chinese food was far more exotic then than it is now. I know it must sound quaint, but a white bread kid like me had never had it before. I had also never been on a date with a guy before, which felt pretty exotic as well. I was caught up in the exhilaration of being in love for the first time and the knowledge that Dusty loved me right back. It was hard to imagine how I could have been any happier than I was, and my heart surged at the thought of what the evening might bring.

There was no blueprint that I was aware of for relationships between two guys during those times. I had never known of men being lovers in a way that men and women were. There were none that I knew of in popular culture, in movies, in any literature I had read or heard of, in school, or in any other facet of public life as I knew it. I had only heard of the furtive aspects of homosexual conduct as perceived by others: the veneer of sleaze, the perversion, the arrests, and the aspersions that were cast upon those who engaged in it. My relationship with Dusty didn’t feel like that at all. Yes, it felt forbidden on the outside. But, it felt so natural and beautiful and pure on the inside. I knew it was illegal for us to have sex back then, that people would hate that we loved each other, and that people professed fear that we wanted what we wanted. I also knew of the dangers that faced us and the need for discretion if you didn’t want trouble, which neither Dusty nor I did. That’s not to say I was ashamed. I wasn’t. At all. I was flush with pride and excitement. I knew I had nothing to be ashamed about, and if there was cause for shame, it should be cast upon those looked at us and saw ugliness instead of beauty. I couldn’t hold Dusty’s hand and walk down the street in public. But, I could go out on a date and have dinner at a restaurant with him, just like the dates I had gone on with Alison. Just like the dates boys took girls on every Friday and Saturday night. It felt like a big step forward, and I could not have been happier to be doing it.

He stopped by my room to get me, and we bundled up for the walk across campus into the village. A steady snow had fallen that afternoon and evening, blanketing the campus in a further quiet that had descended upon it with the departure of most of the students. As we walked to the restaurant, we leaned in towards each other to shield ourselves from the gusts of snow and the cold. Hunched together against the wind, our shoulders would bump every few steps, and I felt warm inside even though the elements suggested otherwise.

Garden of the Orient has a gaudy kitschiness to me in my memories. But, it didn’t feel that way to me and my 18 year old self who had been raised in world of WASPY homogeneity. As I type these words, I am smiling with bemusement at how grown up and sophisticated I felt to be going out with Dusty to a real restaurant like a normal couple, which I knew then and now we were normal even if others didn’t. The restaurant felt foreign and colorful. The staff was all Chinese and spoke the English of the menu, but apparently nothing else. The high-backed booths were covered with red Naugahyde. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. The music of Chinese mandolins and flutes played from an overhead speaker. Wooden chopsticks, which I had never used before, were at every table.

Dusty ordered a variety of dishes for us along with a drink called a scorpion bowl. It was a fruity concoction with a potent amount of alcohol that was served in a large, decorated ceramic bowl that had a volcano rising up from the center. It was made to be shared, and Dusty and I each drank from it with straws we dipped into the bowl. Our foreheads would touch together as we leaned forward to sip the drink, which felt daring and romantic at the same time. Most of all, it felt so right to share the magic of the evening with someone I had come to love with such intensity it frightened me if I thought about it too much.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat. He pulled out a brown paper bag that had a present inside wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. I immediately felt a sharp pang of regret. I had not thought to get him a present, and I was embarrassed he had gotten me one. We had not discussed exchanging gifts, and despite the love we felt for each other, we had never formally vocalized the nature of our relationship and whether he was my boyfriend and whether I was his. This seemed to say that we were, which normally would have made every part of me soar. Now that he had just handed me a present and was himself was sitting there empty-handed, I wanted to kick myself for not matching his thoughtfulness.

“I feel terrible,” I said. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t worry about it! Just open it,” he said. “I hope you like it.”

I shook my head in embarrassment and tore open the wrapping paper. When I pulled it back, I am sure my eyes widened and my mouth opened at the unexpected surprise. It was a hardback copy of “The Razor’s Edge” protected in a cellophane wrapper.

Dusty’s eyes overflowed with pride and excitement. “Take the wrapper off and look inside!”

My heart was pounding with emotion fueled by how exceptionally well thought-out this gift was and who was giving it to me. I opened the cover and flipped to the title page, which was marked with the signature “W. Somerset Maugham” neatly hand-written with the ink of a fountain pen. I wondered if it was what I thought it was, and I looked up at him.

He read my mind. “Yes, it’s a first edition signed by Willie himself. Do you like it?”

My eyes burned from the sting of unexpectedly emergent tears that threatened to spill over and down my cheeks, but didn’t. To say that I was moved would be a gross understatement. I sat there in fumbling silence. I could not find words to express the avalanche of emotion I felt. I had to get a hold of myself, and I looked away for a long moment at the silver-colored, artificial Christmas tree that stood to the left of the cash register at the front of the restaurant before turning back to meet Dusty’s expectant gaze.

“It’s so incredibly thoughtful, I don’t know what to say,” I said, my voice slow and hoarse. I didn’t know what reaction Dusty had been anticipating from me, but I am sure it was not this one, which had to have seemed rather bewildering to him. The truth was, I was stunned and could barely speak. I was so moved that Dusty would have made the effort to give me a gift with such meaning. I could not believe that anyone could ever have selected a gift with such thought and such refinement and such effort – and such expense. No one had ever given me a gift that was so special in my whole life. What made it even more meaningful to me was that the book was important to him as well. We had spoken at length about the central themes of the story, how the main character, Larry Darrell, searched for meaning and purpose in life, and the idea that love without passion isn’t really love. This is all to say nothing of how The Razor’s Edge had precipitated our first kiss as we each leaned in to grab the book as it slipped from his fingers that night in his room after we had lingered in the showers with throbbing hardons that betrayed what we really feeling even if neither of has had the courage to say it. That this book had been given to me by Dusty, who I had ever fallen in love with so deeply and truly, had taken my breath and my voice away. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

The look of bewilderment melted from Dusty’s face as I explained all of the above. I could tell by the way he looked at me that if he could have, he would have leaned over and kissed me. Instead, he reached under the table and squeezed my thigh and held his hand there until our food arrived. His gaze met mine, and he just stared at me with those improbably blue eyes that said everything he needed to say without saying a word. Dusty and I had spent countless hours so far talking about just about everything in the intense impassioned way that young people speak of ideas and experiences as if they were the ones that had thought or felt them for the first time in the history of mankind. One of the great things about knowing so much about what the other thought is that Dusty and I could have a complete conversation that began with a squeeze of my thigh and be conducted solely by looking the other in the eye and knowing what the other was thinking and where their thoughts would go.

Though we would spend endless hours probing each other’s brains with the same curiosity and intensity with which we probed each other’s bodies, tonight was not one of those nights. We were content with small talk, as if we had known each other forever, which it felt we had. It was pretty great just to be out in public with Dusty and do something normal, like we really were together as a couple. I basked in the glow of emotion at the impact Dusty’s gift had upon me. Over the course of my lifetime, I actually prefer giving gifts than receiving. That Dusty would think of such a gift and know me so well as to have made the effort to get it for me pulled me into him and his world in a way I never wanted to leave. I knew then that I would never forget this gesture and how it showed he had known intuitively that something would be so impactful and meaningful to me before the thought or the desire had even entered my mind. To this day, that book is on the shelf right next to my desk as I type these very words, and it is one of my most prized physical possessions.

I never imagined as we walked to dinner at the Garden of the Orient in a small college town in Vermont that my life would change in the way that it did. The irony is that the restaurant seemed out of place here on a snowy night in Vermont in just the same way that Dusty and I seemed out of place in the world. Sure, we had already fooled around in sexual ways and shared the heightened passion of love when it has been found for the first time. But, by going out for a fun meal, sharing a potent drink with paper umbrellas, and to sit in public with Dusty’s hand on my thigh felt like something regular people did. He had given me a gift selected and receive with the greatest love and affection. We weren’t deviants in the way that the law and society condemned us. Tonight, we were just a normal couple on a date.

The snow continued to fall while we were in the restaurant, and the walk back to campus was more challenging than the walk had been on the way there. But, we didn’t care. We had the misperception of warmth from a second scorpion bowl, and we were flush with the realization that our simple meal of Chinese food had served as a stepping stone to a real relationship, even if it was one that we had to keep to ourselves. Under the cover of snow and darkness, Dusty interlocked his elbow with mine in a way that felt romantic and loving and brave all in the same simple gesture. My cock was a constant source of pleasure and surprise then, and I remember it was rock hard and throbbing as Dusty’s arm connected with mine.

After we passed the entrance gates to the campus, we trudged the length of the long mall that was grassy in the summer and a blanket of pure white on this snowy night. It stretched majestically from where we stood at the quad to where our dormitory stood all the way back down to the entrance gates and the lights of the village behind it in the distance.

As I paused to look back at the distant lights of the village, Dusty dropped to the snowy ground on his back and spread his arms.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“A snow angel.”

“You’re crazy,” I said.

He laughed. “Give me a break! I never saw snow until my freshman year here. I’ve had to make up for what you East Coasters have been able to do your whole lives.”

I dropped down next to him and made my own angel with the outstretched motion of my arms and legs. I laid there with the snow pelting my face and thought how great this was as Dusty and I created these angels with childlike innocence. Yes, my face was so cold I could barely feel it anymore, and my clothes were wet from the snow that the heat of my body had melted. I was so happy to be here with Dusty that my heart was soaring as high as it ever does. As I think back to that night and this image, we really were two angels. We were innocent and happy and consumed with goodness and the simple joy of being with each other on a beautiful night like this. It could be such a hateful, difficult time for people like us who dared to find love with each other. But, somehow we had found it and were able to forget all of that as we experienced the moment. I have seen great beauty over the course of my life and travels, but it is difficult for me to think of anything more beautiful than the image in my memory of two angel boys in love on a snowy night.

Dusty stopped the arcs of movement from his arms and legs. “Shhh,” he said. “What do you hear?”

I listened. “Just the falling snow,” I said, which barely made any sound out at all.

“That’s right,” he said. “It’s just us. It’s so beautiful - the falling snow, the view, the sound of silence.”

My eyes blinked in agreement, but I was too taken with the moment to say anything.

“And, most of all, being here with you,” he added. He leaned up on his elbow and I leaned up on mine and into him. Our lips met, and we kissed for a long while as the snow fell upon us in silence.


* * *

We were not the only the ones in the dorm, but it was mostly empty. Dusty had a twin bed in his room, as did I. Given the plans that he and I had for each other, a twin bed would not suffice. With David gone, however, we could pull both my mattress and his down onto the floor and push them together so Dusty and I could spend the night in the same bed, something we had not been able to do before, even at my parents’ house, where we also had been condemned to sleep in twin beds.

We had made sure that no one had seen us enter my room, and I turned out the light as soon as we were safely inside. The lights from the walkways outside the dorm reflected off of the snow and bathed the room in a gentle, white light that kept us from total darkness. Because of the furtive nature of our relationship and the need for discretion, each opportunity for us to be alone was a luxury for which each of us hungered. Knowing that we would have the entire night together in the same bed, it felt even more sublime than I had ever dared to hope for in my whole life. This evening had been one of the best of my entire life, and I don’t say that with any hyperbole. I never wanted it to end.

Despite knowing that the dorm was mostly empty, we felt the need to be as quiet as possible, which I must admit felt sexy as well. Some of the most powerful sexual experiences of my life have been when I was having sex when I had to be supremely soundless or else risk exposure. Tonight was one of those nights, and neither of us needed to explain it to the other. We reached for each other in the silence and the semi-darkness. Our lips met first, and his tongue slid into my mouth and found mine and began a duel for supremacy that ended in a draw. His arms embraced me, and mine him. He reached with the top half of his hand into the back of my damp khakis and touched his middle finger to the top of my crack, gliding his finger up and down. In unison, our cocks hardened and we pressed them together through our clothes in a mad, hungry, and powerful embrace that each of us knew was just the beginning. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

I reached for Dusty’s belt buckle and fumbled with his pants, which fell to his floor when unbuttoned. His hard cock bulged from his underwear, which I pulled halfway down. His cock bounced out in unencumbered freedom. I dropped to my knees and took it into my mouth. It tasted faintly of urine and sweat. The unmistakable musky odor emanating out from his groin made my own cock surge even harder. My cocksucking skills had improved with practice, and I was able to take Dusty’s long, thick cock into my mouth with relative ease. My tongue slithered around the broad, shiny helmet of his cock head and flicked back and forth across the opening of his dick hole. He moaned my name and a slow, steady stream of pre-cum dribbled out of his dick hole into my mouth, coating my tongue with a smooth and salty film. I moved my head down and created a ring of suction just past the crown where it met his shaft, and I sucked with alternating degrees of tension. He moaned my name again and grabbed my head by the hair above each of my ears. I slid further down and then back up and then back down with several slow strokes. Until meeting Dusty, I had never really thought about sucking a cock. I had liked to look at them, of course, and fantasized about touching one and jerking off with a buddy, which had never happened. With Dusty, however, I hungered with the ultimate need to have his cock in my mouth, to smell it, taste it, and feel the ridges and the smoothness of its skin meet my lips and my tongue and the wetness of my mouth.

He pulled his cock from my mouth and dropped to his knees so that we were now eye-to-eye. He pulled me towards him and kissed me with everything had while his right hand flipped the clasp of my belt buckle open. Roughly, he shoved my pants and underwear down and released my hard cock, which jutted straight outwards.

He pushed me back on to the bed I had created and yanked my pants and underwear the rest of the way off of me. He dove onto me as I lay spread-eagle, and he buried his face in my crotch in much the same way I had with him. His tongue swirled around on the crown of my penis. In a smooth, singular motion that I was not yet skilled enough to mimic, he then slid his mouth down to the base of my pubic bone and swallowed my entire cock. I gasped. He had done this before on a number of occasions, but each time it never ceased to amaze me how incredible it felt. It was an ethereal combination of friction and pressure and wetness and the beauty of skin-to-skin contact. As his head bobbed up and down, he grasped my scrotum between his fingers as if he were cradling a baseball he planned on pitching over home plate. He twirled my balls with tender care and ran his fingers in marveled curiosity over the wrinkled skin of my sac. I gasped for breath as I was buffeted by the updrafts and downdrafts of ecstasy and fought the urge to cum, which was racing to a point that soon would be beyond my control.

“Dusty!” I gasped, and pulled my wet, throbbing cock from the vortex of his mouth right before the point of no return.

He flipped over onto his back and laughed. “Your cock tasted so amazing!”

I climbed on top of him and said, “Yeah, I was about to shoot a torrent of cum down your throat, and I’m not ready to share that bountiful load with you just yet.” As open as I was with Dusty about so many things, I still was not open with him regarding my masturbation habits. When he and I weren’t together, I jerked off at least once or twice a day. Because of the final rush of the last days of final exams, I had not jerked off for two days, which was an eternity for me back then and meant that I would have a monster load when I finally came.

“Don’t be selfish! I want to swallow every drop.”

I leaned in and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around me, and we rolled around in a tight embrace around the bed. I remember how strong his arms felt as they enveloped me and how cherished and safe I felt with him. Our lovemaking had a power and a sense of caring and a sense of insatiable rawness all built into a formidable package of physical and emotional intimacy. We kissed, we explored each other’s bodies, we tested each other’s strength, and we searched for new ways to satisfy each other’s desires along with our own. I was new to the world of sex with any gender, yet I knew even then the difference between sex with just anyone and sex with someone I cared about as much as I cared for and loved Dusty. My feelings for him added an intensity and a heightened desire to give him the greatest degree of pleasure that I possibly could. And, in turn, I offered up my body and my heart to him to receive whatever pleasure he could give me.

As we kissed, he reached for my boner, grabbing it with a strong grip and shifting his body so that he could rub our cocks together. I looked down and grinned at the sight of our balls snuggled up close in a nest of loose, wrinkled scrotums and a tangle of black and brown pubic hair. Our cocks were clasped against each other’s by his open hand which stretched to encase them both but could only reach about half way. I brought my hand down to close the circle, my palm against our cocks and my fingers interlinked with his. The sight of a large, hard cock is powerful under any circumstances. The sight and combined sensation of both of our large cocks pressed together between our hands was hypnotic, and we each stared at them. Because my cock juts out straight and Dusty’s cock had an upwards arc, the skin of the undersides of our cocks only met until Dusty’s curved away. I squeezed my Kegel muscles, and my cock surged. A drop of pre-cum escaped from my dick hole. Dusty did the same and produced a larger drop that spilled over and slid backwards down the underside of his shaft.

I wanted – needed – to taste the drop. I brought my head back down to his groin and ran my tongue up and down the underside of his cock. That drop and the thin stream of pre-cum that accompanied it tasted salty and sweet with an erotic deliciousness that didn’t satisfy my hunger but only fueled the insatiable desire for more. Dusty spun himself around so that he was under me in a 69 position. We bathed each other’s cocks with our tongues, sucked them, and swallowed them as far as we could, which was only half-way for me and all the way for Dusty. I grabbed his tight, athletic ass with my hands while his cock was in my mouth. I spread his cheeks and ran a wet finger over the tight slit of his hole. He squirmed and moaned with pleasure that encouraged me to continue. He did the same with me, and we moved in a sensuous synchronicity as pleasured each other’s bodies and received a reward of pleasure in return.

Dusty’s cock and groin and the sweat on his balls had a powerful, musky odor that pulled me into his world and his being in a way that made me want our bodies and our spirits to converge. I wanted him on the inside and the outside. I wanted him to shoot a load of his semen down my throat. My wet middle finger glided back and forth over his wet hole which relaxed in a way that seemed as if it were an invitation to enter inside him. My finger slid in easily, and he gasped. He sucked my cock harder. I curved my finger in and pressed it against his prostate, and he groaned loudly. He rubbed his finger against my hole and worked its way inside me. My hole was tight and not as ready for his finger as his was for mine, so it was a mixture of pleasure and pain as he stretched his finger inside me and pressed it against my prostate at the same time mine was pressed against his. The unexpected stimulation of my ass was enough to thrust me over the edge of no return. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

(this is the last part of this chapter - thanks for sticking with it if you're still reading)

I wanted to warn Dusty that I was starting to cum, but his cock was down my throat, and my words were a gargle of the unintelligible. It didn’t matter. Dusty knew what was happening and made the same cock-filled grunt that emanated from his throat and escaped from his cock-filled mouth. I held back my roiling reservoir of semen for as long as I could until I exploded with an orgasmic burst that shot inside him. He squeezed my ass and at that instant shot his own load in my mouth at the same time I was pumping a huge, 2 day load of semen down his throat. The first burst of his cum was a powerful one that hit the back of my throat. He followed it up with a half a dozen or so bursts with decreasing levels of power except for the last one, which instead of being the weakest ended up striking the back of my mouth as well in a grand finale to the fireworks display that he had shot off inside me. As his cum filled my mouth and as I struggled to swallow all of it while he fucked my mouth, I was simultaneously blowing a long river of cum down his throat. We moaned in tandem, and our bodies shook and writhed together in the explosive ecstatic release of simultaneous orgasm.

When the orgasm was all but over, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply the musky scent of Dusty’s groin, which was the best thing I had ever smelled in my whole life. When I had inhaled to a point that almost satisfied me, I pivoted my body around so that my mouth met Dusty’s. We kissed as we each savored the post-orgasmic glow that still tingled through our bodies in the most ethereal, peaceful, and happy way. I slid onto my side and held Dusty from behind, my moist, spent cock mashed up against the heat of his crack, my chest pressed against his back.

“That felt so incredible,” Dusty said, his voice thick with woozy ecstasy.

I could only murmur in agreement. My eyes were closed as I basked in the glow. I was spent in every way. Not just sexually, but from the emotional charge I received from being with Dusty, someone I loved more than I ever thought possible, more than I ever though I could love someone in my entire life. I was exhausted and felt the pull of sleep, even though I would have thought it impossible to fall asleep with his naked body pressed against mine.

“I love you,” he said.

I clutched him tighter and said, “I love you, too” before drifting off to a deep and satiated sleep.

* * *

The post-dawn sunlight was obscured by the grey, heavy sky and snow that had continued to fall during the night. It bathed the room in a muted light and caused us to stir as the darkness lifted. During the night, Dusty and I had shifted around so that I was curled on my side with him spooning behind me, his chest pressed up against my back and his arms wrapped around me in the reverse of how we fallen asleep the night before. His cock was pressed tightly against my crack. While my cock had started off as a medium softy, Dusty’s was rock hard and twitched against the bare skin of my ass. I had not yet opened my eyes, but I pushed my ass back firmly against him and ground my ass against his cock. My own cock was rock hard just as it was every morning when I awoke, and it surged in arousal.

We each murmured, not fully awake, but each of us being pulled from our slumber. Dusty reached under the covers and bent his cock downwards, firmly pressing it between the cheeks of my ass. That combination of motions caused me to be pulled – willingly – from any lingering semblance of sleep. I have previously described Dusty’s cock as long, thick, and banana-shaped. He pushed it between my legs and gently pumped it back and forth as if he were fucking me from behind. Because his cock had a prominent upward curve, its smooth skin slid against my crack, the spread slit of my virgin hole, and poked out against my balls and pressed up against the bottom of my cock. I felt vulnerable in this position in a way I had not felt before. But, I was not complaining. I couldn’t imagine anything on this planet that was better than rolling around naked with Dusty. I was flush with arousal as he gripped my hips and slid his cock back and forth between my legs and stimulated my ass in a way I had never before even contemplated.

Now, more awake than we had been, Dusty buried his face in my neck and kissed it with an insistence that let me know he wasn’t asking to do this, he was telling me. I could feel the stubble of his cheek against mine and smell the scent of him, a fragrance borne of sex and sweat and unbathed skin. He wrapped his arms around me in a tighter embrace and thrust his hips insistently forwarded, jamming his thick cock between my legs. I didn’t want to move – but I thought of how this might be improved. I reached for the bottle of baby oil I kept under my bed as a masturbation assistant. I opened the bottle and poured a handful of the oil and slathered a coat of it on Dusty’s cock and on my own. He squirmed with the pleasure that the lubrication added and the increased ease with which he was able to fuck the smooth skin between my thighs.

He reached down and pushed my hand aside and grabbed my cock, stroking it as he continued to pump me. The slippery contact of his cock against the inside of my spread crack and hole was too much. Without warning for either of us, I sprayed a load of cum across the sheets with the final remnants running down my shaft and onto Dusty’s hand.

“Oh, baby,” he said as he squeezed the last drops of cum out of me. His hips were pumping powerfully and frenetically against my ass. “Oh, baby,” he said again and moaned in a silent scream of pleasure as he shot his load between my legs, spreading a river of cum that ran from the triangle of my pubic hair, along my cock and balls, and formed a gooey coating over the outside of my hole. We each shuddered in ecstasy and drifted back into a lazy, shallow slumber.

Dusty stirred first, lifting himself up onto his elbow and propping himself up to check the clock. As erotic and emotionally charged and physically satisfying as last evening, night, and this morning had been, we each knew without saying it that it was coming to an end for now. Dusty’s bus for the airport was leaving in an hour. My father would be up here sometime after that, and I needed to pack and pull the mattresses and my room back together.

“Hit the showers and grab a quick breakfast?” Dusty asked.

I let him borrow one of my towels so that we could head straight for the bathroom together since we were both covered in cum, and Dusty didn’t want to get back into his clothes. I opened the door first to take a quick peek down the hallway to make sure that we were alone. We were. With the coast clear, we headed down to the bathroom. As happy as I was to be with Dusty, I was glad that there was no one there to see us. We each had the drunken, heavy-lidded look of a night and morning of hot sex. I was flush with pleasure and emotion, and I am sure there would have been no way to hide it if someone had seen us in the hallway. We shaved together at the sink in the bathroom. I shaved first while Dusty watched. His shaving kit was in his room, so I let him borrow my razor and watched while he did.

In the vestibule outside the shower, we hung our towels on the hooks, and I reached into my bag for a bar of soap. As I was bending over, I was surprised by the sight of Freddy who had entered the bathroom without either Dusty or I hearing.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Freddy said, a sly smile on his face.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were still here,” I said.

I could not have helped looking like I was up to something, because I had been. But, having my pubic hair and Dusty’s pubic hair matted by fresh cum made us both look guilty of something. Dusty and I stepped into the shower, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Freddy had noticed.

“Yep, taking the bus up to Burlington and flying home to Cleveland later this morning,” Freddy said. “You fellas have fun last night?”

Dusty sheepishly said, “Yes, I’m glad final exams are all over.”

“I’ll bet,” Freddy said.

It was pretty clear to both Dusty and I that Freddy was dangling bait in the water. But, I wasn’t biting and neither was Dusty. We made small talk about the snow and the holidays and the relief that the winter break was upon us. I was disappointed to say the least that Freddy of all people was with us in the showers. After such a magical night together with Dusty, Freddy was one of the last people I would have wanted to have joined us in the shower, particularly since Dusty and I would be separated over the break and not see each other for 3 weeks, which seemed like an eternity if I thought about it too much.

Before we knew it, it was time for Dusty to get on the bus to the airport. The snow had mostly stopped, and I walked with him to the bus stop. We each had that sense of loss and longing when you come to a point you need to say good bye to someone you love, even if you know that you will be seeing each other in just a few weeks. I wanted to kiss him and give him a hug. But, that was impossible, of course, with all of the other people around who were in the midst of getting on the bus. He took a seat next to Freddy on the side of the bus where he could see me. Dusty gave me a broad smile through the window and waved. I waved back, and Freddy waved as well, probably thinking I was waving at him, too, even though I wasn’t. It had been an incredible semester for me, and Dusty was a huge part of my happiness and who I was and who I was becoming. I was going to miss him over these upcoming weeks. But, I was looking forward to the start of the New Year and what that might bring for us now that I knew with all certainty that Dusty and I were moving forward at full force.

 

[bi_todd]

I'm breathless.

 

[blkntall614]

Oh course DavidXL, excellent writing once again!!!!

 

[w18761]

Thank you again for yet another amazing chapter. I can't wait for the next!

 

[silvertriumph2]

Oh yes......As always...Great reading! A story that raises, and keeps raised
more than my attention..
David...Keep it up.....(pardon the pun)

 

[AJnCJ]

Wonderfully well written....

 

[piksii89]

Loved it as always, David!
Im so turned on reading ur fantastic story
Can't wait to read next chapter!

 

[DavidXL]

Thanks again, everyone for continuing to read. I had planned to hold off on posting the next chapter for a few days, but figured there was no reason to wait. This next chapter picks up after Jack and Dusty have spent an incredible night together and each of them head off to their respective homes for Christmas break. I hope you like it, and let me know what you think. Thanks.


Chapter 16: Out with a Bang

My father arrived about an hour after the bus with Dusty and Freddy on it had left for the airport, which gave me enough time to get my room back in order and David’s mattress back up on his bed. My father had arisen before dawn and had been on the road for 3 hours. He was tired from driving, and I took over at the wheel. I was happy to see him, and we talked about finals and the end of the semester and non-substantive topics until he drifted off to sleep. That gave me a couple of uninterrupted hours to think about Dusty, how lucky I was to have the Magnificent 7, all that went on over the course of the semester, and how much I had changed. I thought about David and how fortunate I was to have a friend like him and how I needed to be careful not to let that very important relationship go any further off course than it already had. I thought of my future and what I might want to do with it now that I had been exposed to new areas of academic interest, particularly my Emerging Governments class. I also thought about Alison and how much I had grown away from her since I had started my new life as a college freshman. She and I had not spoken since Thanksgiving, which was unusual for us, although we had exchanged brief letters wishing the other well on final exams. I wasn’t sure what she and I had become, notwithstanding what had happened and not happened in the laundry room at her house over Thanksgiving. But, I knew in my heart where we weren’t going, and I couldn’t move forward fully and cleanly with Dusty if Alison was on the sidelines, even if the sidelines were on the opposite edge of the field. I decided it was finally time to summon the courage to have the discussion with her in person over the holiday recess about officially parting ways but remaining friends.

Once I was home, I quickly fell into a routine of not doing much of anything. My mother made sure Florence kept me well-fed. I would eat, sleep, read, and watch TV even though there was not too much to watch in those days. I masturbated when I got into bed each night, in the morning before I got out of bed, and usually at least once more at some point during the day when I could secure some privacy behind the safety of my locked bedroom door. Most of the masturbatory fantasies that helped me get off were playbacks of Dusty and I with our cocks pulsating and ejaculating in each other’s mouths at the same time, fantasies that I still draw upon from time to time, even at my age and after all of these years.

I also saw some old friends from high school and was surprised at how far we had grown apart just since the summer. And, I reached out to Alison to get together so we could have the talk I needed to have with her. But, she was on her way with her family to her grandparents’ house in Old Saybrook, just like she had at Thanksgiving and wouldn’t be back until New Year’s Eve. Her parents and mine had been social acquaintances for years, and she had been invited along with her parents to come to my mother and father’s annual New Year’s Eve party at our home. I could say what I wanted to say then, in person, which I felt would be more honorable than by letter or over the phone.

Another thing I did over break was eat oranges – a lot of them. Dusty’s mother had sent an entire crate of them from their grove as a thank you gift to my parents for having hosted her son at Thanksgiving. Oranges were comparatively expensive then and more of a treat then than they are today. The gesture had been well-received by my entire family and particularly me, who was eating most of them. I still have the crate they came in. It is beat up from use over all of these years, but I use it to hold old record albums. It sits at the bottom of the bookshelf next to my desk and you can still read the words that say “McCaffrey Grove” in a faded florid blue script with an orange in place of the “o” in “grove.”

It was not a white Christmas that year, but it was cold enough to light the fireplace while we exchanged gifts as a family in front of the Christmas tree. I remember receiving a new squash racquet that year, which my father had proudly picked out, a few books, including Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged,” and Nevil Shute’s “On the Beach,” both of which were best sellers that year. I also got Winston Churchill's "The Age of Revolution: A History of the English Speaking Peoples, Volume 3" which recounted Britain's rise to world leadership over the course of the eighteenth century. It also was a best seller that year, and it was of particular interest to me given the paper that I had presented to my Emerging Governments class and the department faculty on the British Commonwealth at Professor Johnston’s beckoning. Otherwise, Christmas was nowhere near the commercial extravaganza it is today, and the day was mostly quiet.

Later that morning, we went to church, which was crowded with regular churchgoers like my parents, along with those who attended only for the major holidays. I have to confess that while I consider myself a religious person in terms of my strong faith in God, which might surprise you given how easily I succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh, I have not been a big believer in organized religion. I enjoy the spirit of common unity and the music of church services, but I tend to zone out at the words that are spoken. But, this time, as I sat between my parents and recited the Lord’s Prayer with rest of the congregation, I stumbled over the words “and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” I mulled them over in my mind and repeated them to myself several times. I knew I had lead myself headfirst into temptation with Dusty. I knew there was no way I could lead myself away from it even if I had wanted to. I had wrestled for years with my same sex desires and the reconciliation of sin. I knew I was supposed to think my conduct with Dusty was the evil about which those words were said. But, as I lingered over “temptation” and “evil,” I saw the image of his eyes and his smile and the uncommon goodness that emanated from him and the love he felt for me. I just knew in my heart that those words were not meant for me or for us. How could anyone think love was evil, particularly when it was as simple and uncomplicated as what Dusty and I felt for each other? How could anyone ever think that that Dusty in all of his decency and goodness was an abomination? How could anyone ever think that about me? As open-minded as I tried to be for the sake of understanding the source of the hatred and the recriminations, I just couldn’t see it. I thought of how Dusty and I had laid on our backs and made angels in the snow in the image of our bodies. I smiled to myself and just knew with the core my being that we really were like angels and there was just no way we were abominations.

Later that afternoon after church, I was upstairs in my room masturbating. This was the era when masturbation was viewed as self-abuse and a sin with negative health implications. It was a vice I could not escape and did not even bother trying to anymore, though I did sometimes worry that I might be masturbating myself into Hell because I had long since stopped trying to stop myself. Despite my views on organized religion, I used to feel guilty about masturbating on religious holidays just in case I was wrong and would try not to if I could. But, masturbation at that age was an act for which temptation had a low threshold for me, and trying not to wasn’t always successful, like today. I was locked in the safety of my room and rubbing one out while I thought of Dusty and relived our night together, which so far had been a series of visions I had not worn out in my fantasies even if my cock felt almost as if it was starting to. I heard the phone ringing from outside my room. I heard my mother’s voice answer and raise an octave in response to her delight to whomever was on the other end, but otherwise I paid no attention to it and continued beating off.

After a few more minutes, I was just about to blow my load, when I heard my mother start calling my name.

“Just a minute!” I shouted as I shot my load into the damp towel I had used to shower this morning in a rushed, unsatisfied orgasm that was ruined by my mother’s voice and the sound of her footsteps in the hallway towards my room.

“Jack! The telephone’s for you.”

“Sheesh, Mom! I’ll be right there! Just give me a sec!”

“Jack! It’s Dusty!” She was almost at my door as I pulled up my pants. I opened it, unconcerned as I usually might be that my face was flush in post-orgasmic glow, so excited was I that Dusty was on the phone for me.

“Dusty?”

“Yes, he’s calling to wish us a Merry Christmas. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes!” I said. I had missed him so much that my chest felt the heaviness of longing. It was hard to believe that he was on the other end of the line at this very moment given the coincidence of my having just unloaded a still warm and wet batch of semen in his memory.

(continued)

 

[DavidXL]

I picked up the phone in my parents’ room. My mother hovered over me with a smile on her face, and I am sure she was hoping to overhear my conversation with Dusty. It was not out of nosiness, but because she had liked him so much and wanted to hear what he had to say. I am sure, however, if she were to overhear what I really wanted to talk about with him that she would have wished she had not heard in the first place. A much as I wanted her to leave, I couldn’t knock her too much. During the 5 days that Dusty had spent with my family over Thanksgiving, they had fallen in love with him, too. Still, I waved her off, and she left me alone.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

We spoke in low voices for about 10 to 15 minutes. I told him I had just jerked off thinking about him as he had called and that I had been rubbing my cock raw the past few days thinking about what I wanted to do him as soon as we got back to school. He said it was so hot to hear it and fessed up to jerking off to thoughts of me as well. It was incredibly great to talk to him. The 5 days since we had last seen or spoken to each other had seemed like an eternity. It is hard to imagine it today, when you can call over the world for practically nothing. But, long distance telephone calls back then, particularly cross country calls from California, were expensive and an almost extravagant gesture, which I very much welcomed. There was always static on the line in those days, and he sounded very far away. But, it was terrific to hear his voice, even if it made me miss him even more. I whispered, “I love you,” into the phone. He whispered it back, and we agreed that I would call him at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

I spent the remainder of the week between Christmas and New Year’s visiting with old high school friends, sleeping, eating, reading the books I had received as gifts, and masturbating, as I had admittedly previously. Because the trading activity was slower during that interim, my father invited me to the Hartford Athletic & Social Club for another game of squash and lunch. I felt quite grown up that he had asked me to do something he had never done with me before except for when he had asked Dusty and me to join him and his friend Bud Anderson over Thanksgiving. I have mentioned before how I had always wanted more time from my father, who I had no doubt loved me even if he never said it and was more of a remote fixture in my life in a 1950s father sort of way. Having him invite me into his life in this way gave me a rush of pleasure that I was grown up enough to be worthy of his time. We talked about how the semester had gone and how I thought I might be interested in the State Department or some type of career related to foreign affairs after college. He knew about all of the As I had received on the papers I had written and the presentation I had made to my Emerging Governments class, and he told me how proud he was of me, and that he had no worries about me turning into “a fine, nice upstanding young man,” which was as close to “I love you” as I could have hoped to have heard from him.

My father was an expert squash player, and even though he was an old man of 41, and I was just about to turn 19, he beat me handily in 3 out of the 4 matches that we played, similar to how the score tended to end up when David and I played. Because it was a slow trading day, my father was especially generous with his time and suggested we go for a swim and a steam room visit after our squash match. As excited as I was to spend every moment with my father that I possibly could, it makes me rather sad as I type these words at how hungry I was for time with him and how I drank up every moment of it that he was willing to offer to me. That hunger for paternal attention was something I speculate was one of the reasons an older guy like Dusty was so attractive to me, aside from his other notable attributes, both physical and non-physical. He was only four years older than I was, but a rather significant gap when I was an 18 year old freshman and he a 22 year old senior and particularly since he was an RA and I was one of his charges. I always remembered that craving for attention from my father when it came time to spend time with my own sons. I have mentioned that I was a different sort of parent than mine were. I am sure my sons would have plenty to say about me if you were to get them into a room without me present. But, I would bet you any sum you would wish to bet that my sons would tell you I was there in spirit and actual presence in ways that were greater and more satisfying than my father was there for me, this visit to my father’s club notwithstanding.

After squash, we went for a swim in the pool, which I have previously described as a Beaux-Arts tiled masterpiece of the type you do not see any more outside of grand edifices like Grand Central Station and Union Station or buildings on the campuses of prestigious universities. We had changed out of our sweaty clothes from squash and left them in our lockers and strolled naked into the showers to clean off before heading out to the pool area. Even though it was the custom of the time to swim in the nude, and it was as ordinary to stroll out to the pool area and swim in the naked as it was to shower or get dressed at a men’s locker room today, it may not surprise you to hear me confess that I found it extremely erotic to strip out of sweaty athletic clothes into bare-assed freedom and walk through the locker room into the pool area wearing absolutely nothing at all.

With my father at my side, I had to confess only in my deepest private thoughts that he still had it going on and if I looked as good as he did at his age that I would be a pretty lucky man. I had never given it much thought until Dusty had pointed it out and razzed me about it to a degree that made me uncomfortable. But, after Dusty had planted that seed in my thoughts, I could not help but think about it, even though I did not want to. My father still had a full head of hair. His eyes were a deep grey that would hold your gaze and contrasted in a darkly handsome way from the thick black hair on his head. As we ambled into the pool area, I could not help but notice that his longish, thick cock looked remarkably like mine. In fact, even though he and I did not bear the strongest facial resemblance, the rest of our bodies – and our cocks – had an uncanny similarity. Luckily, I never saw my father’s cock hard – I would have had to scratch my eyes out if I had – but I will admit, as difficult as it is to do so in print, that my father’s cock was the doppelganger to my own. I would have to imagine that when hard, his and mine would have jutted out straight, about 7 ½ inches or so and about as thick as the cardboard tube in a roll of paper towels. I couldn’t help but remember how Dusty had razzed me about my father, telling me how hot he thought he was, how hot he thought his ass was, and how big his cock was while I squirmed and told him to stop.

As my father and I sauntered out to the pool area, I had a sick, twisted, fantastical image of Dusty taking his ribbing even further, that he shoved my father against the wall in the same way that Dusty had kissed me that time in the lobby of the freshman dorm when I had thought all was lost. Except in this wild hallucination, Dusty didn’t kiss my father for more than an instant. Instead, he dropped to his knees and sucked my father’s cock furiously and frenetically while my father grabbed his head and pulled him in faster and faster. My father’s cock popped out of Dusty’s mouth, and I was alarmed to see that it looked exactly like my cock and that Dusty savored it just as much as mine. Dusty grabbed it and shoved it back into his own mouth and sucked him to completion. It was a series of thoughts and images that that made me queasy and curious all at the same time, and I attempted to dispatch such thoughts at the same speed with which they crossed my consciousness. What the fuck was wrong with me? Where the fuck did such thoughts come from? I shook my head at the horrific imagery, which is not something I ever wished to happen or was anything I ever fantasized about. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

Those stomach-turning, fucked up thoughts left my head as soon as we entered the grand, tiled pool area. Almost every lane was occupied by one or more men swimming, their bodies torqueing from side to side as they dutifully swam laps with their bare asses on full display. I caught the quick and furious glimpses of upended asses, cocks, balls, scrotums, and taints with the flip turns at every end. It really was the most extraordinary sight if you thought about it, which I could not help but do. My father and I each stepped up to the starting blocks in lanes next to each other. In tandem, we bent down and touched our toes, and I stole a quick glimpse of my father’s ass, which Dusty had described as “juicy, hairy, and meaty.” I tried to shake that description from my consciousness and looked away. Before diving in, my father paused and smiled at me. He took a glimpse of me and my body in all of its naked glory, and his face softened into a contented smile. I did not understand the source of that contented smile as he assessed the scope of my youthful vibrancy. I realize now that he was taking stock in a prideful way of how his son had turned out as I stood there in in the prime of life, as if he was recognizing for the first time that I had grown into a man. But, I did not know that then. I was embarrassed that my father had taken in a long look of my naked body. I blushed and dove head first into the pool.

My father and I swam for half an hour and then took a steam together before having lunch in the club dining room. I had come prepared this time with a jacket and tie. As the father of 3 sons who have long since grown, my heart warms at the image of a father and son spending time together in healthy and physical and vigorous ways, each of us sharply dressed and enjoying lunch and conversation. I have mentioned previously how I had often wished for more time with my father and to be more a part of his life than I was. I drank up moments like this when I could get them and probably overdid it on the other end when it was my turn to be a father and right situations I wished had been different in my youth.

My father and I discussed school, and he shared with me some gossip about some of the club members with whom my parents knew socially. We also talked about “The Bridge Over the River Kwai,” which made me think of Anthony’s description of how he had fucked that girl at the drive in, and my cock briefly got hard and then went soft again at the thought of how I had gotten busted with a boner in the shower. We also spoke a lot about two Sputnik satellites that the Soviet Union had just launched into space last month and the month before. Sputnik 1 had been shocking enough to us, but Sputnik 2 had carried Laika, a dog, which seemed the embodiment of science fiction come-to-life to both of us, and we each agreed how unsettling it was that the Soviets had taken the lead in space while the United States had lagged so far behind and had been got by surprise. I felt incredibly grown up to be talking about such things with my father and could not have been happier that he was treating me like a man.


* * *

I have mentioned before that my parents had a big social life and entertained on a scale that never interested me then or now. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy a fun party or hosting a dinner for friends at home. I will concede that my own career has benefited from social encounters where I had emulated my parents, so this will not be the first time I will own the accusation of hypocrisy when it may have seemed that I have attempted to look more principled. My parents had a formal social engagement every Friday and Saturday night without fail, whether they were invited out or were hosting their friends or my father’s business associates in our home. They also played tennis and golf at the country club on weekend days. My mother maintained a social calendar to keep track of all of their plans and would go over guest lists and proposed engagements with my father to make sure that their social life was going in the direction they wanted it to go in, both for social purposes and my father’s professional purposes, which often overlapped. She also had Florence, our housekeeper, to help her manage their entertaining schedule and bring in extra “girls” to help out when the entertaining was done at our house. I feel vaguely critical of them as I look back at those words, but that is not my intention at all. I only mention that to underscore that I was different from them and sometimes felt like I had ended up in the wrong family, which was why afternoons like I had spent with my father at the Hartford Athletic & Social Club were all the more meaningful to me.

My parents were hosting a New Year’s Eve party at our home this year. I will admit that as much as I was enjoying loafing about over the past 10 days or so, eating, sleeping, reading, jerking off until my cock was raw, and visiting with a few high school friends, I was getting a little stir crazy. I was looking forward to the excitement of a party, even if it was for my parents’ friends and not mine, except for Alison, of course. I was looking forward to seeing her, because I enjoyed her company and missed her, and I was also looking forward to having the “I think we should be friends talk” that in my egocentric naivety I assumed would be welcome news for her as well. I knew that we both recognized we each were moving in different directions at our respective colleges. I was certain she felt her ties to me were more akin to ballast in a ship’s hold that was there to steady her journey through life rather than fuel it.

Alison and her parents were some of the first guests to arrive, and I happened to be in the foyer with my parents when they came in. Alison’s father shook my hand vigorously with a jolly smile across his face and slapped me on the back after giving me a hearty, “Hey, Jack! How’s college treating you?” without waiting for an answer. My parents greeted him, Alison, and her mother in a friendly, animated way. I couldn’t help but think what a phony prick Alison’s father was to show up as the exemplar of congeniality at my parents’ house with expectant recipient of their hospitality after the way he had wrenched my arm and dragged me up the stairs at his house. As a father, I have a greater sympathy now for the trials of fathers of daughters who have to fend off horny young guys like I was who wanted to fuck their daughters. With that greater understanding, I have long since forgiven Alison’s father for the rough way he treated me, particularly since I realize how terrifying it must have been to have seen the boner straining through my pants and my hands on his daughter’s hips, even if she had been the initiator of the encounter. That New Year’s Eve, however, I remember resenting him with a measure of hatred that he could come over and shake my hand, pound me on the back, and drink my parents’ liquor and eat their food given that the memory of my Thanksgiving humiliation was still fresh in my mind.

I had been nervous that afternoon at the prospect of officially breaking up with Alison even though I did not think it would be an unwelcome surprise to her. Surely, she must have realized it would be better if each of us were allowed to go forth without the tether of a hometown attachment, no matter how tenuous that attachment had become, right? Our relationship had been intimate and sweet in a high school sort of way. But, I did not feel the fire I now knew was possible since I had met Dusty and could not imagine she felt it either. I knew even at that age, however, that women could be unpredictable and you never knew how anyone could react, particularly when matters of the heart or the heartless were involved.

Now that Alison was here, I was surprisingly happy to see her. We had not seen each other or spoken since the events of Thanksgiving. All barriers immediately fell now that we were standing here in person. She was dressed up for the party, and I thought she looked especially beautiful in the pink satin and tulle-flared dress she was wearing with grey heels and white pearls. She smiled broadly at me, and I could tell she wanted to kiss me hello, but didn’t dare with her father standing right there with us. I could not help but smile back at her. We exchanged knowing smirks in unspoken recognition of the drama of the last time we had been together and the incongruity of her father standing with friendly nonchalance just feet from us, my parents entirely oblivious to the uncomfortable dynamic.

I was unexpectedly taken with Alison tonight and how pretty she looked, particularly when coupled with the excitement of a party in the air. If you were concerned that I would be enough of a clod to break up with a girl on New Year’s Eve, a holiday that is fraught with heightened romantic expectations, you may be relieved to know that I knew as soon as she walked in the door that I would not do that to her, at least not that night. Once we escaped from the scrutiny of our parents, we helped ourselves to something to eat and drink. We ended up having a giggle about what had happened at Thanksgiving. Her father had had a long talk with her about the dangers of young men and how they were only after “one thing.” He had warned her to stay away from me tonight, which both of us found amusing as we sat in the open in my parents’ living room. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

It was only my parents’ friends who were there that evening, except for Alison. Without the presence of people we knew from high school, which I felt had been an interactive audience to our private interactions at Thanksgiving and injected a variable to the chemistry we had together, it felt natural and relaxed to be with her in this setting where we were the outliers. We caught up and reminisced and gossiped about our friends. We made discreet fun of our parents’ friends, particularly the pompous ones, the blatant social climbers, and the phonies.

Even though I wished it could always be like this between us, there was a bitter sweetness to the time we were spending together this evening. It was unspoken, but it appeared clear to both of us that we each had moved on in our lives and what we had was distinctly in the past. Each of us were consumed by new friends and experiences in our new lives, and each of us was happy for the other, even if I had not fully shared all that was going on in my life and I had the suspicion that she had not shared everything that was going on in hers. And that was OK with me. As we sat and spoke and shared a cocktail from the same glass, I had the sense that we each knew that rather than being a mark on a continuum, this was a brief reunion in which we would soon go off in divergent directions.

Alison and I lost track of each other as the evening wore on after we were separately corralled by successive chains of inquisitive adults inquiring in sincere terms about how we were faring in college. I had a long, friendly conversation with Bud Anderson, my father’s squash buddy with whom Dusty and I had played at the Hartford Athletic & Social Club over Thanksgiving. He asked about Dusty and said how much he enjoyed meeting him and inquired about the status of our rematch, giving no thought to how Dusty lived in California and how I had no idea when he would ever come back to West Hartford. I genuinely liked Bud and could see why my father had enjoyed the company of someone who seemed to be completely genuine, without guile, and ready for an easy laugh. He reminded me in a way of Howell. I could smell the scotch on Bud’s breath as he leaned in close and recounted some of the “hijinks” he had engaged in during his own college years. In the face of Bud’s genuineness, I felt a slight pang of guilt as the image of his average-sized circumcised cock flashed before my eyes, and I wondered if he had indeed been cute back in college as I suspected, before the doughyness of middle-age had set in with him.

The evening marched on, and by now it was almost 11:30, just a mere half hour until 1958 would begin. I have never been a big fan of New Year’s Eve. It always seemed to me a rather artificial holiday that was in part maudlin and in part a narcotic of unrealistic expectations. I also did not like pressure to celebrate it with others even if you just didn’t feel like it that year. I did not always feel that way, and did not feel that way that evening. But, I had had enough for the evening. I was very much looking forward to calling Dusty at midnight and then going to sleep.

I hadn’t seen where Alison was, and I was tired of the small talk with my parents’ friends and even with Bud. I hadn’t had very much to drink and had started to feel out-of-place as one of the few sober people at party where the alcohol had been flowing from spigots. And despite the mutually unspoken sentiment about the twilight of my relationship with Alison, I had been wondering if she would be expecting me to kiss her at midnight, which didn’t feel right anymore, particularly because if the world were perfect, I would be kissing Dusty when the clock struck twelve, and he and I would be drunk with new-found love and the wonder of where it was taking us. I wanted to avoid that potential awkwardness with Alison if I could.

I left the noise of the party below me and went up to my bedroom where I closed the door and laid down on my bed to kill some time before calling Dusty. Alone in my thoughts, I was nostalgic for Dusty and counting the minutes before I would call at the agreed upon time. It is hard to imagine now with advances in telecommunications that were unthinkable to me back then, but a long distance telephone call to say “Happy New Year” was a rather extravagant gesture given the expense back then, even if my parents would be paying it and not me. A smile spread across my face at the thought of how lucky I was and how great the year had turned out to be. I thought of the Magnificent 7 and wondered if Anthony was getting laid tonight. I thought of David and how much I cared for him. I thought of Dusty and how much I loved him. I picked up the first edition of “The Razor’s Edge” that Dusty had given me and flipped through the pages. I was again struck by how much that gift meant to me when gifts almost never mean anything to me. I was so incredibly fortunate to have him, and I did not take it for granted.

I was surprised by the sound of a hand on the doorknob to my room and the sight of it twisting to the right. In an instant, Alison slipped into my room, closing the door behind her as quickly as she had opened it. My brow crinkled in surprise at the sight of her, and she sat down on my bed.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked.

I didn’t know what she meant and assumed the question was rhetorical. “It’s a fun party, no?”

“I watched you sneak upstairs,” she said. “Finally! I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all night.”

I smiled, though I found it hard to believe given how platonic our interactions had seemed this evening, from both my end and hers.

She leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “You’ve been such an incredible flirt all evening! The way you were looking at me, I was so turned on. I couldn’t wait until we could sneak off and be alone.”

What?! How could she possibly be thinking that? I didn’t understand. At all. I hadn’t been flirting with her, though I will confess I have been accused many times over my life with flirting in circumstances in which non-sexual interest had been confused with flirting. Her lips were on mine, her tongue in my mouth, which effectively prevented me from disagreeing with her even though my mind implored me to while my body betrayed me. I could have protested, but my cock betrayed my true intentions by hardening and jutting out prominently from my wool trousers. As Alison and I kissed, her hand found my boner and gently stroked it. The part of me that wanted this to stop, that thought this was wrong, was overruled by the part of me that hungered for sexual release of any kind. The part of me that said this was wrong told me I could do this for a little longer and that I could stop and all parts of me could be forgiven. But, those were just lies I was telling myself in the battle of right and wrong and what was fair to Alison and what was fair to Dusty.

Alison unzipped my pants and my boner popped out of them, bobbing vertically upward. My cock was purple with engorgement, the main dorsal vein and its tributaries pumping at full capacity. Alison looked at it with some trepidation. Since she had felt but never seen my cock before, I knew this was the first cock she had ever seen unless she had seen someone else’s this past semester, which I did not believe she had. She touched it as if it were a burner on a hot stove and then pulled away.

“It’s OK,” I said. “Touch it.”

With those words, the parts of me that wanted to go and wanted to stop converged and worked from that moment forward in complicity. There was no way I could turn back now. In all honesty, I didn’t want to. Everything was happening too quickly. Desire and curiosity took over from all forms of rational thinking. I wanted to feel more about what I had thought about so much. I wanted to know more about what waited for me in the world that was on the other side of my virginity.

She touched it again and squeezed it in a way that was not unpleasant but, truthfully, did nothing for me. She gripped the bare skin of my cock head and squeezed it as if it were a foreign object she had no idea what to do with. I have noticed over the course of my life that men and women tend to approach and appreciate cocks with different perspectives during sex. Only very rarely did I ever hear of or experience a woman admiring a cock for its beauty or appreciating size in the way that men do. Women can fear them and often find them mildly revolting and dirty even if they will not admit that to their lovers or even to themselves. They will want the cock inside them to feel the pleasure it will bring and the closeness and emotional connection they hope it will create with their lover. They will caress it and suck on it to please their partner, but not necessarily themselves. That’s not to say women don’t crave cock. But, rarely did I ever encounter a woman who could appreciate and tend to a big, hard cock with the same hunger and attention and ability as a man could. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

I reached under the layers of tulle and pink satin of Alison’s dress, which was partially flipped up over her waist. I fumbled around in the disarray of fabric for her panties and pulled them down rather roughly to her knees in my desperation to get to the hot wetness of her vagina. I slid the fingers of my right hand over her opening, which was moist with arousal, and I could feel the heat rising from it. I slid my middle finger over and then into her vagina, gently probing her inside. She moaned with pleasure and said, “Oh, Jack!” I pulled my hand up from under the fabric and brought it to my face so that I could smell her scent and taste what the wetness tasted like. It smelled and tasted of the indescribable mysteries of sex and musk and fueled my desire for more.

“Do you have something?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, knowing instantly that she was referring to a condom. I stood up, my pants around my knees, and shuffled over the few steps to my dresser and opened my sock drawer. I had hidden 2 condoms I had purchased from a vending machine in a gas station two years earlier for a moment just like this one. I had bought 3, but I had practiced with one as soon as I bought it, unrolling it onto my cock and jerking off into it. The remaining 2 had been lying in wait since junior year. I pulled one out and tore open the foil wrapper. Alison watched with a combination of desire and curiosity and fear at the thought of whether and how much it would hurt when I stuck inside her my big cock that she was afraid to touch. I started to remove her dress, but she demurred with shyness at the prospect of me seeing her naked.

I looked at her quizzically. She wanted me to have sex with her, but not see her naked? This was not how I envisioned losing my virginity. But, I was happy to be losing it under any circumstances, and there was no way I was going to protest anything. I climbed up on top of her with my pants still around my knees and wriggled my way between the confection of pink satin and layers of tulle. The head of my hard cock found the hot opening of her vagina, and I pushed my way in, sliding my glans in just past the curved ridge of the crown.

She winced. “Wait, wait! Go slow!”

I stopped. But, I did not pull out for fear she might not let me back in. The thought entered my mind that if she made me stop now, whether this would count as losing my virginity or whether I had to get my cock all the way in and not just the first inch and a half. I rested there for a moment just barely inside her, my cock pulsating as I waited for the go ahead to resume. I said a silent prayer that I would be allowed to continue.

Her eyes were devoid of desire, and she grimaced at the expectation the pain would worsen. It occurred to me at that moment that she was seeking experience, not pleasure. She didn’t want to be with me. She wanted to get through this and leave her virginity in the wake behind her. If I were a gentleman that night, I would have asked if she wanted me to stop. But, I was far too self-seeking of sexual pleasure. I was hungry in the most base and primal of ways. The desire in my eyes was more than enough for both of us, and I shared her desire for experience. I could tell by the determination I could see in her eyes where I had expected to see desire and by the way she pressed her hips against me that she was on a mission and wanted me to continue. I slowly worked my hard cock all the way in, inch by inch. I reached some resistance with what I realized was her hymen. I steeled myself and pushed past it. She winced and gasped as I pressed myself inside her until I was all the way at the bottom. I slowly pulled almost all the way out and then plunged more quickly back in and repeated it with increasing velocity.

Soon, I was pumping steadily up and down on top of her. I remember thinking how surreal this was. Variations of “Wow! I can’t believe I am losing my virginity! I’m finally doing this!” reverberated in my mind. Her vagina felt warm and wet on my penis even through the thickness of the condom. I was surprised, however, that it did not feel as tight as I expected it would, despite the resistance I received as I broke through her hymen. I was used to the firmness of my dry fist, not the warm, wet barrel of love I had entered for the very first time. Through the hyperbolic stories I had heard from guys had lost their virginity or had at least claimed to, I had thought that pussy would feel the same tightness as my fist, but with added sensations of heat it wetness. The heat and wetness were there, though the active tightness of my well-traveled hands was not. That’s not to say it did not feel fantastic, but rather to say that the reality was different than I expected.

I could tell by how Alison stared at the ceiling instead of into my eyes that she was not enjoying this. I wanted it to go on for longer, but figured enough was enough and it was time to bring it to a close. I pumped a little faster and a little harder and soon ejaculated a prodigious load of semen inside of the condom that was inside her. It was a long, slow, powerful orgasm. I remember as I was coming that I was not thinking of whether the condom was still on or whether it had broken, which were concerns of mine when I was a more experienced and considerate lover instead of the greedy neophyte who wanted to leap over the hurdle of my virginity and cross the victory line. I was only thinking of how great this felt and how utterly amazed and thrilled I was that I was no longer a virgin and was now officially a man. I shake my head at the recollection, because I know now of course that being a man entails a lot more than just inserting one’s penis into the body of another. Given that I was young and had a whole lot more to learn about life, I won’t beat myself up too much about that.

Spent, I rolled off of Alison and laid on my back while I caught my breath. Almost without pause, she sat up, pulled up her panties, and straightened out her dress. After only a few moments, I stood up. I felt a tinge of self-consciousness that she was dressed and my pants were down, my cock and pubic hair still exposed. Modesty barely mattered, however, because she wasn’t looking at me. I looked down and took notice of how the condom drooped with the weight of the semen-filled reservoir tip and the softening of my cock. I noticed there was some blood smeared on the condom as confirmation that her hymen had broken and she was no longer a virgin. And that meant, I was no longer a virgin either. I tried not to smile, at least not too much. But, I couldn’t help it. I was just too excited that it had finally happened, even it ended up not turning out to be quite as spectacular as I had envisioned it would have been. It was officially complete, and I had crossed over to the other side of manhood.

“Are you OK?” I asked, thinking of her for the first time since this encounter began after only thinking of myself.

“Yes,” she said with a distance that I might have thought was coldness if I hadn’t known her so well and recognized that her mind was also awhirl at having just lost her virginity.

I pulled the condom off of my cock and wrapped it in a tissue before dropping it in the wastebasket in the bathroom where it landed with a heavy thud. She pressed the wrinkles out of her dress and smoothed her hair in the mirror that hung above the dresser in my room. Then she used the bathroom, closing the door behind her, awkwardly excusing herself as she did. I pulled myself together as well. By the time she exited the bathroom, it would have been difficult to tell that anything had gone on between us. I put my hand on her shoulder and kissed her softly on the lips.

She smiled and looked away from me and then looked back.

“We should go downstairs before people start wondering where we are,” she said. “It’s almost midnight.”

“You’re right,” I said, even though I don’t think anyone would have been wondering about us all except for her father, and he was on the road to being plastered the last I had seen him. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

She nodded and said that she was. We agreed that she would slip out of the room first and I would follow a few minutes later to avoid any suspicions. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be feeling now that I had lost my virginity. Yes, I was excited, and to say that I was thrilled that I had shook myself of that burden would be an understatement. But, Alison was acting strange and distant, and, frankly, all of this was unexpected. I had planned on breaking up this evening, not consummating our relationship of the last 2 years. And I hoped everything worked out with the condom and that she wouldn’t get pregnant, a thought that never occurred to me before intercourse, only after. She leaned up on her tippy toes to kiss me on the lips for a long moment. Instead of sealing our union, however, the kiss felt more like a good bye. And then she was gone. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

I looked back at the bed where I had spent so many endless hours with my hands on my cock, fantasizing about what it would be like to have sex. I had rubbed my cock literally so much it sometimes had turned red with rawness, and I had on occasion ejaculated so many times in short proximity that the final orgasm was dry and had an element of pain to it that, while not unwelcome, had not been unduly pleasurable, either. I had never expected during any of those uncountable jerk off sessions that I would lose my virginity in this very bed of my boyhood, my pants pulled down to my ankles, my bare ass pumping frenetically up and down on top of Alison, her pink satin dress and layers of tulle flipped up on her midsection so that I would feel, but never actually seen her vagina.

I was proud and exhilarated and at the same type felt a whiff of melancholy. The thing is, even though I was as horny as every other 18 year old college freshman, and I often wondered if it were possible for anyone to be hornier than me or masturbate more than me, I was also a romantic. I believed in love and had always wanted to lose my virginity to someone I loved in a sensuous, dreamy setting. Yes, it was romantic to lose one’s virginity on New Year’s Eve, which is both one of the most romantic and potentially depressing holidays given that it is layered with so many expectations that are hard to fill even under the most ideal circumstances. But as much as I cared for Alison, I did not love her, and I knew she did not love me. The twin bed of my childhood was the seat of self-abuse, but it was hardly a romantic setting.

My heart sank, and I felt a gigantic jolt of guilt as my eye caught the first edition copy of “The Razor’s Edge,” which had fallen to the floor unnoticed. It was the first thought of Dusty I had had since Alison had slipped into my room and I had ceased thinking about anything other than my own cock and my own sexual pleasure. I felt the pounding of a heavy waterfall of shame at the thought of what I had done to Dusty and what he would think when I confessed to him. He had forgiven me for Thanksgiving. Would he forgive me this time? I shook my head at the thought of all that had happened so quickly and completely unexpectedly. My mind was a jumble of emotions that were too numerous to process. I felt completely shitty at having betrayed Dusty, who loved me with every inch of my body in the same way that I loved him. At the same time, I felt exhilarated at having lost my virginity. Holy fucking shit! I had gotten laid! On New Year’s Eve, no less! And, even though I had thought more of Alison’s vagina than I had thought of her as a human being, I genuinely cared for her and hoped she was OK.

From downstairs, I could hear the clamor of the party guests counting down from ten seconds until midnight and then breaking out into a cheer. I felt like cheering as well and was in a celebratory mood. Yes, I was no longer a virgin! It was incredibly exciting and wholly unexpected. I was proud and felt like shouting the news to the world. For the moment, I could not think about Dusty, and I needed to enjoy the moment and revel in my newly acquired manhood.

Alison and her parents left not long after midnight. The gentleman in me returned to make a brief appearance as I said farewell to all of them. They gathered in the foyer and readied themselves to leave. Alison and I stared shyly at each other. We might have kissed goodnight if her parents and mine had not been right there standing with us as they buttoned their coats and prepared to go out into the cold. Alison and I smiled warm, reminiscent smiles at each other without saying anything, and then they left.

I would not see or speak with Alison for 10 years until we met up again at our high school reunion, a decade in the future, her husband at her side. In the morning on New Year’s Day, she would sit down and write me a letter that would begin with her telling me I was “so sweet” and end with her saying she “would always remember what we had together.” It may amuse you to know that even though I had been looking for a way to break it off with Alison for the very same reasons she explained why she was breaking up with me, I actually felt rather stung to be on the receiving end of such a letter, especially given how she wrote it only hours after we had both jointly jettisoned our virginity. I wouldn’t know any of this for several days, however. For the moment, I simply reveled in my newly acquired manhood.

Dusty and I had agreed when he phoned on Christmas Day that I would call him tonight just after midnight to wish him well in the New Year. Even though I had been looking forward to this call from the moment we first agreed that I would do it, he was suddenly the last person I wanted to speak with. At least for right now. It’s not that I didn’t love him. In fact, I might have loved him even more at this moment, if that makes any sense. But, my mind was a jumble of emotions, and I was not yet ready to share any of them with him.

After Alison and her parents left, however, I went to my father’s study and closed the door to make the call to Dusty that I had promised to make. I poured myself some of my father’s scotch even though it was a taste I never fully embraced. It didn’t matter that night. Scotch was a drink that men drank, and I was now officially a man. I picked up the phone and dialed the operator to ask for a long distance operator to place the call, because direct dial telephoning was not yet possible between Hartford and rural Orange County, California. The local operator told me that because of the holiday telephone traffic, it would be at least an hour before I could get a long distance operator to place the call. I debated for a few seconds about whether I should wait, which would not even have been a question just an hour ago. I thanked the operator and was actually relieved to have an excuse to put off the inevitable and figure out what I was going to tell and do about Dusty. I know you must think it terrible how I would allow him to sit by the phone and wait for my call after each of us had shared with each other the gifts of our hearts, particularly after I had betrayed him in a way he did not yet know. (continued)

 

[DavidXL]

[OK - thanks for sticking with his chapter if you've had the stamina to keep reading! This is the end of this chapter]

In the meantime, however, I could not just sit on news like this. I had to share it with someone. David instantly came to mind, and I reached for the phone. His parents were like mine and either were entertaining or at a party themselves and would not have minded an interruption so late at night. This was a call for which direct dialing was available, and I dialed it myself. A weary-sounding housekeeper answered the phone, no doubt wishing she was back at her own home with her own family and friends rather than helping David’s parents entertain theirs. In a moment, I was speaking with David who was also had sequestered himself in his father’s study to take the call.

“Hey, buddy! Happy New Year!” he said.

“Happy New Year!” There was a broad smile across my face. I was so happy to be able to speak with him and so glad that somehow we had been able to work through the awkwardness that arisen between us at Thanksgiving. David was the first person who came to mind when I wanted to share news like this of such a personal, intimate, and momentous nature. I told him everything that had happened with Alison, and he could not have sounded happier as he said, “Welcome, to the club!”

One of the challenges I have found with male friendships over the course of my life is that men are outwardly resistant to emotional connection with other men. When uncommonly close emotional connections develop in unexpected quarters, complications can arise when it is not always clear where the path for those connections is headed and what is possible and what is not. David was one of the people I cared for most in my whole life, and my relationship with him was riddled with those complications. I did not know where my friendship with him was going, and I know he did not know either. At this very moment, I could not have been happier to pick up the phone just after midnight and call to share these events with him when I was bursting to speak with someone, but not just anyone. It is probably no surprise for you to know that my friendship with him would grow more complicated over time, particularly in ways you might or might not expect. But for now, I basked in the warm embrace of the baritone in his voice on the other end of the line.

I know you probably think my conduct that evening with respect to Dusty was disappointing, and I cannot argue with that. You also might think me guilty of self-serving rationalization knowing that I viewed the events of that evening as an unconventional farewell to Alison and my youth and a hello to the adult sexual life that I knew even then was likely to be rife with complications. Despite how easily I had capitulated to the temptations of the flesh that had haunted me through my years of diligent church attendance, my sense of right and wrong still had a heartbeat, even if it were a faint one. I planned to come clean and share everything with Dusty after I thought it through and figured out a way how to do it. I would think all of that through later on. For now, I was happy to think back at all that happened that night and over the big events in my life that had occurred this past year.

After I finished speaking with David and crawled into bed, I jerked off to the still-fresh and incredibly unexpected memory of having lost my virginity. Yes, I was finally, truly a man! Or so I thought then, unaware of the challenges that were headed my way. I did not yet know it, but on the near horizon, I would pass through a shadowed valley that would test me in ways that would alter the direction of my life. After a journey that would be harrowing in ways that make me tremble at the memory even all of these years later, I would rightly be able to call myself a man. Nonetheless, I had changed this very night and grown up in a definitive way, even if it was not as much as I thought it was. As the glow of my blown load dissipated, I laid there happy that the year had ended with a bang and wondered what the New Year would bring. I could not yet know it, but it would be a rollercoaster of a year, one of the best and worst of my whole life. I had no inkling of any of that then. Gratified for now in more ways than one, I drifted off to a deep and heavy sleep blissfully unaware that the course for what would happen in the New Year had already been set.

 

[bi_todd]

If you look up the word 'resplendent' in the dictionary, it will refer you to this chapter.

This story just keeps getting better.