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I met Brett my first year of college when we were both placed on a recruiting team that would travel each weekend to different locations throughout the midwest and mid-Atlantic regions. My first impression of him was that he was certainly easy on the eyes and had a pleasing personality to match. Since our recruiting team was musical, I discovered that he had a great tenor voice that paired nicely with my own baritone. During our rehearsals, I gleaned much information about him -- information that I hoped would be useful in the future that school year. He was as straight as an arrow, and I was a closeted gay who passed for straight.
Brett had played soccer or "futbol" as he learned to refer to it during his elementary and high school years growing up in Chile where his parents worked as Americans overseas. He had an athlete's build above the waist, but his thighs were as thick as you might expect a footballer's to be due to all that running about the soccer field. At least, that was what I told myself whenever I would see him filling out a pair of sweats or wearing less than that. He admitted that he didn't work out, yet his body seemed to naturally maintain the tone of a man who could blame it all on great genes. At 24, he had that clean-cut look of a straight guy that you'd love to see naked but didn't know how to make that possible. I was 19 at the time and very naive when it came to love; yet, I was an expert when it came to lust. I had been lusting after manflesh since a kid and had honed my skills on seeking out the guys to whom I was attracted. Sadly, I had never actually expressed my feelings for one, nor had I complimented one's looks, and I had certainly not had any experience with another guy's dick before. I was "young, dumb, and full of cum," as we say.
One evening after rehearsals, I walked with Brett back to his apartment and brought up the topic of moving into his very small one-room studio apartment with him and splitting the rent 50/50. We discussed where my twin bed would go (perpendicular to his bed). We both commented on how small the apartment was, but we laughed that off knowing that we could make it work. I promptly wrote a check for my part of the rent and moved in the next weekend.
Through the next couple of weeks, I was absolutely in heaven. Life in the apartment was just like I had hoped it would be, and it was very different than dorm life with just a few similarities. One similarity was that we couldn't get away from each other's phone calls, so I would have to be privy to his conversations in with his parents who were still overseas and also to his conversations with his girlfriend Stacey. I would make my phone calls from the recruiting office where there was more privacy. Another similarity was that both he and I would strip down to our underwear while in the apartment for the evening or during the weekend. I wore boxers and he wore white briefs. My suspicions about his thighs were confirmed: they were thick and strong. Also, I was able to appraise the rest of his visible body: smooth and strong chest, slight treasure trail, and developed abs. He was SO easy on the eyes! Since there was just one sink in the bathroom, we swapped morning time in the shower and time using the sink. We were typically a combination of naked or toweled before we headed off to class, so we each saw each other naked every morning although never in any state of arousal.
He had a habit of not using the table at all for his work. Rather, he would spend his evenings reclined on his bed, books spread open around him, and a legal pad handy to jot notes. When I would return to the apartment at night after finishing my shift at work, it was commonplace to find him stripped to his underwear and studying his lessons. Grades were paramount to both of us, so we were diligent with our studies. Yet, after my work shift, I was ready for bed, so I would strip down and climb into bed. His lamp was bright, so I would always cover my head with my sheet and blanket then fall asleep.
One evening, and I don't know exactly what make me do this, instead of falling asleep, I lay awake looking through the small vent in the bedspread that I gave myself as a way to breathe while my head was covered up. Due to the perpendicular nature of my bed's placement with Brett's, I would either be facing a wall when lying on my right side, or I would be facing Brett's bed when lying on my left side. This night, I was lying on my left side and could see Brett studying on his bed. What I noticed caught my breath and made my heart start racing. In his left hand he was holding the book which he was reviewing. He had his right hand on his crotch (not uncommon) and his dick was an enormous bulge in his underwear (very uncommon). I had never seen Brett with a hard-on before, so this amazing development went beyond any hope or fascination I had dreamed before moving in with him. I wasn't even breathing as I watched, enthralled, as he lazily drummed his fingers on his cock, gave it a squeeze, then slid his hand down inside his briefs to cup his balls and roll them in his fingers. This entire episode lasted no more than five minutes. While he had his hand inside his briefs, he glanced over at my bed where my head was, and although he could not see my eyes and had no knowledge that I was anything other than in a deep sleep per my usual routine, he pulled his covers over himself before continuing to do something rhythmic under the covers in the area where his cock and balls would be. He still had his book in hand, but there was activity going on with his other hand.
Soon, Brett threw off his covers and, respecting my presumed sleep, quietly went to the bathroom. He was still hard. As soon as I heard the door click, I rolled over onto my back and jacked off in a frenzy. I came in seconds, and I jizzed all over my body and the sheets. I knew that I'd have to try to sleep despite the cold, slick spots of cum on the sheets, but I didn't care at all. Who wanted to sleep anyway? I had just experienced my gorgeous roommate playing with himself, and the gears of my imagination were spinning. The next morning, I was so horned up in the apartment and couldn't help jacking in the shower while he was shaving and humming on the other side of the shower curtain. Despite our rush to get dressed and head off to class, he might have noticed my post-cum bulge while I was getting dressed. We headed out for our morning of school, and I couldn't wait to get back to the apartment after work that night to see if I could catch the same show that I saw the night before. It became a nightly routine: go to work, jack off in the work bathroom due to excitement about possibly catching Brett fondling himself later that evening, then dashing home to play it cool while I was on fire inside.
Thanksgiving break was coming up in a couple of weeks, and since his parents and family lived overseas and he hadn't made plans yet to go anywhere, I invited him to come with me to my grandmother's house in Kansas. He excitedly accepted since he would have otherwise just spent Thanksgiving by himself in the apartment. This was more than satisfactory to me because I wanted to go out drinking one night with him and see if he might be interested in a blowjob as drunk straight guys often get. Also, my grandmother lived in a two-bedroom house and Brett and I would likely end up sharing the double bed in her extra bedroom -- another very satisfactory element to the trip that I hoped would pay off in spades.
We left on Wednesday after classes and drove the two hours in his 1978 Honda Civic, a car which he painstakingly nursed along with dutiful oil changes and spark plug cleanings. In addition to being a wonderful guitarist, he had mechanic skills. On the way, we talked about college, about his undergrad experience in Arizona, about Stacey, and about other guy things. He asked me about my girlfriend (who was non-existent) and whether or not I saw myself getting married. At this point in my life, I was still 100% in the closet, so I didn't want to drop any hints about my sexuality. I let him ask his good-natured questions about my family, and I plied him with questions about growing up in South America. Since he was driving, I had more than enough time to continue to admire the easygoing way he carried on the conversation and the way that he managed the clutch and stick shift of his pride and joy. How I wanted his hand to be working my stick, but I needed to wait until we got to my grandmother's house before I subtly inquired about his interest ... if I inquired at all.
My sweet grandmother had already made up the guest room by the time that we arrived, and we both dropped our suitcases beside our respective sides of the bed and headed to the dining room for a simple supper before the next day's feast. After we ate, the Uno cards came out and we played until after dark. Soon, my grandmother said that she was heading off to bed and would see us in the morning. Brett and I adjourned into the small living room and, since TV reception wasn't much to speak of, we started to talk again.
I asked about his undergrad dorm life experience, and he responded with the fact that he never did stay in a dorm. In fact, when he came up to college from South America, he moved straight into an apartment because dorm life never appealed to him. We continued talking about college life, the intense recruiting schedule that we were both under, and trying to find ways to compare our upbringing. We had talked well into the night when, without warning, he switched to a topic that made my balls tingle: masturbation. He began to tell me how he enjoyed his privacy and how he had a stash of porn magazines in his previous apartment that he kept under his bed. I wasn't shocked to hear that he had been addicted to jacking off and would do so several times throughout each day. (I, too, had a hunger for beating off -- my record was 12 times in one overnight period.) The reason that he wasn't so aggressive with masturbation anymore was because he was so busy with school, he confessed. Then he dropped the Tsar Bomba: he had to jack off in the bathroom every night before he went to sleep, otherwise he wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all. However, that was the extent of it, he stated. I was rendered speechless, and I'm pretty sure my eyes boggled out of my sockets at his pronouncement.
After this flood of sexual information from a young man who I found adorable and highly fuckable, you can bet your boots that I was as hard as a damn rock. We had both worn sweats on our trip from college to my grandmother's house, and I was grateful that I had chosen to sit cross-legged in my grandma's recliner because my upward-pointing cock would have been a very visible bulge to him if I had sat in any other way. I had my hand resting on my bulge so that I could adjust myself a couple of times as we were talking, and I knew that I had precum filling my foreskin and soaking into my boxers. I wondered if he had managed to arouse himself with his lengthy monologue on porn and jacking off, and I began to feel a camaraderie with him that deepened as we kept talking, looking at each other. There seemed to be a connection with him that hadn't existed before that night.
The conversation continued with both of us talking about how and when we had jacked off when we were younger. He wanted to know if I thought that there was anything wrong or sinful with doing it, and I told him that I had no idea about the spiritual aspect of it but since it felt so amazing, I didn't really care. He agreed, and we laughed so hard at that comment, I thought for sure that my grandma would wake up! But she had taken out her hearing aids, apparently, and couldn't hear a thing. We even talked about the riskiest place that each of us had jacked off; mine was in the back seat of the family car when I was in high school and all of our family was returning from a trip to the beach, and his was in the stacks of bookshelves at his undergrad college. We were both still virgins due to similar strict religious upbringings, and we admitted that masturbation was both a way to relieve sexual tension and also a way to bring some pleasure to life. He yawned deeply and stretched, flexing his thick legs straight out in front of him and squeezing his thighs together. Holy shit if he didn't have a fat bulge just like I had suspected he might! He flexed it, as well, and it grew full inside his grey sweats. I tried to appear nonchalant, but I couldn't resist looking at it. As I adjusted my own cock, I shifted my gaze from his crotch to his eyes and was embarrassed to see that he had seen me looking at him. I ducked my head and looked away, caught in the act.
I was still in a crazy sexy fog that had settled upon me when he had switched the conversation topic, and I needed so bad to get off. I didn't want to stand up and head to the bathroom to relieve the pressure because I didn't want him to see that I was fully erect and had a precum spot on my grey sweats. Despite the fact that I wanted to fuck him raw right then and there or have him fuck me raw, he didn't know that I was gay and I didn't want to out myself to him and potentially ruin the living arrangement that had been working out so well for both of us in the apartment. Yet, if he had stood up and taken a step toward me, I'd have definitely had an orgasm just by shifting positing in my chair. My dick had come out of the flap of my boxers and was tingling furiously.
The conversation slowly wound down since it was past midnight and we had been awake since 6:30 the previous morning when we were getting ready for class. It was past time to go to bed. Brett, also wearing grey sweats with the logo of his undergrad college on the thigh, stood up and headed toward the bathroom. It took my breath away to see that he had a dark spot on his sweats like I had on mine! It wasn't as big a spot as mine, but still, clearly a precum spot! He didn't have a the same sizeable bulge that I had been so blessed to see earlier, but there was still a fat lump, What could his trip to the bathroom mean? Knowing that he had to masturbate in the bathroom before he fell asleep, and believing that this was the reason for his bathroom visit now, a rush of adrenaline and excitement filled my body. My head was absolutely buzzing; I couldn't think straight. I wanted so badly to get up from the chair and follow him into the bathroom, but where would my manners be? I was, after all, sort of hosting him at my grandmother's house and didn't want to be a creep. The door clicked shut and I was on tenterhooks.
Stealthily, I rose from the chair and tiptoed to the hallway to give a listen. There was nothing erotic about what I heard: he was taking a long piss. I turned as if I was going to walk down the hallway to the bedroom, but instead of walking, I stood still to hear if he would maybe make any noise that would further give away his actions. Again, there wasn't anything remarkable about the sound of water in the sink as he likely washed his hands, then the doorknob rattled as he turned it to exit the bathroom. I reached down into my sweats and boxers to put my dick back where it belonged and started to walk toward the bedroom as soon as I heard the sound of the doorknob. Brett took time to turn off the light in the living room and came into the bedroom a couple of moments later.
I was taking off my t-shirt and sweats as he came in. I've never been one for sleeping in pajamas or even shorts, and although it was a cold November that year in Kansas, I had never worn anything to bed other than boxers -- when I wore anything to bed at all. In the apartment, I always wore boxers to bed when Brett was there, and he always wore his white briefs. This night would be no different for me, so I stripped down to my dark blue boxers and pulled back the covers to get into the bed. I was aware of him taking off his clothes as well, and I glanced his way to see that he had his back to me and was pulling on a pair of basketball shorts over his briefs. This was highly irregular! I anticipated briefs like always, but perhaps he was a bit too modest to wear only underwear to bed when sleeping alongside another guy. He didn't seem at all bothered by me being in boxers, though, and we both got into bed at the same time.
A double bed doesn't offer much room for two college boys, especially two tall guys who have decently fit physiques. My job required lots of loading and unloading of boxes, so my upper body was toned. My legs were nowhere as manly as his, but all the squatting with boxes that I had to do at work had given me a thick ass and nice definition of my quads with which I was secretly pleased. His everywhere was toned; plus he had thighs for days. We were already bumping into each other in that small bed, and we laughed at the awkwardness. I turned away from him as he turned away from me, and I turned the bedside lamp off. The darkness of rural Kansas filled the room as we lay there breathing, waiting to fall asleep. I would have thought that after being awake for over 18 hours that sleep would eagerly descend upon me, but it was elusive. Who was I fooling, anyway? I was aroused by the radiant heat from Brett's body warming my own body. Further, I was trembling from the excitement of lying next to him, my mostly-naked body wanting to become one with his, and I hoped that, if he could feel it, he would just interpret it as shivering and not actual trembling out of sexual excitement.
Soon, his breathing deepened and I knew that he had fallen asleep. The thought occurred to me that I had neither gone drinking with him, nor had I shared my sexuality with him. Maybe the next day on Thanksgiving we would be able to go out and I would find my courage, but that night wasn't going to offer an opportunity for that. I don't remember falling asleep, but it finally happened. The coldness of the room didn't bother the two of us who were keeping each other warm underneath the sheet and three blankets covering us.
I woke up from a dream in a sweat; it was very warm under the covers despite the room being frosty. Why was I so warm?! I realized at that moment that Brett had rolled toward me and our bodies were pressed against each other's, and I noticed that his left arm was resting on my stomach. Also, since I had awakened from a dream, I had a stiff boner that was again protruding from the flap of my boxers. All of these realizations came upon me at once, and I started trembling again. The emotions that rushed over me with at happened next will stick with me forever. Brett whispered, "Don't move," and pressed his boner into my hip. I convulsed with the shock and excitement of being awakened into the situation that I had secretly and crazily desired for months. He said, "You've had a boner for a while." I asked, "How do you know?" He replied, "I've touched it." I was freaked out and hideously aroused by his admission, so I replied with a mouth that was so dry, "Touch it again." He slid his arm back across my stomach until his hand passed the elastic waistband of my shorts and he could take my dick in his hand. The moan that he drew from me must have emboldened him, because he began to rhythmically press his dick into my side (had he been doing this while I was asleep?) and he so gently squeezed my cock with the same rhythm. I could smell his body better than I had ever been able to in the apartment, and I wanted him to take me in any way, shape, or form that he desired. The room was pitch black, but fireworks were going off in my mind.
Brett had played soccer or "futbol" as he learned to refer to it during his elementary and high school years growing up in Chile where his parents worked as Americans overseas. He had an athlete's build above the waist, but his thighs were as thick as you might expect a footballer's to be due to all that running about the soccer field. At least, that was what I told myself whenever I would see him filling out a pair of sweats or wearing less than that. He admitted that he didn't work out, yet his body seemed to naturally maintain the tone of a man who could blame it all on great genes. At 24, he had that clean-cut look of a straight guy that you'd love to see naked but didn't know how to make that possible. I was 19 at the time and very naive when it came to love; yet, I was an expert when it came to lust. I had been lusting after manflesh since a kid and had honed my skills on seeking out the guys to whom I was attracted. Sadly, I had never actually expressed my feelings for one, nor had I complimented one's looks, and I had certainly not had any experience with another guy's dick before. I was "young, dumb, and full of cum," as we say.
One evening after rehearsals, I walked with Brett back to his apartment and brought up the topic of moving into his very small one-room studio apartment with him and splitting the rent 50/50. We discussed where my twin bed would go (perpendicular to his bed). We both commented on how small the apartment was, but we laughed that off knowing that we could make it work. I promptly wrote a check for my part of the rent and moved in the next weekend.
Through the next couple of weeks, I was absolutely in heaven. Life in the apartment was just like I had hoped it would be, and it was very different than dorm life with just a few similarities. One similarity was that we couldn't get away from each other's phone calls, so I would have to be privy to his conversations in with his parents who were still overseas and also to his conversations with his girlfriend Stacey. I would make my phone calls from the recruiting office where there was more privacy. Another similarity was that both he and I would strip down to our underwear while in the apartment for the evening or during the weekend. I wore boxers and he wore white briefs. My suspicions about his thighs were confirmed: they were thick and strong. Also, I was able to appraise the rest of his visible body: smooth and strong chest, slight treasure trail, and developed abs. He was SO easy on the eyes! Since there was just one sink in the bathroom, we swapped morning time in the shower and time using the sink. We were typically a combination of naked or toweled before we headed off to class, so we each saw each other naked every morning although never in any state of arousal.
He had a habit of not using the table at all for his work. Rather, he would spend his evenings reclined on his bed, books spread open around him, and a legal pad handy to jot notes. When I would return to the apartment at night after finishing my shift at work, it was commonplace to find him stripped to his underwear and studying his lessons. Grades were paramount to both of us, so we were diligent with our studies. Yet, after my work shift, I was ready for bed, so I would strip down and climb into bed. His lamp was bright, so I would always cover my head with my sheet and blanket then fall asleep.
One evening, and I don't know exactly what make me do this, instead of falling asleep, I lay awake looking through the small vent in the bedspread that I gave myself as a way to breathe while my head was covered up. Due to the perpendicular nature of my bed's placement with Brett's, I would either be facing a wall when lying on my right side, or I would be facing Brett's bed when lying on my left side. This night, I was lying on my left side and could see Brett studying on his bed. What I noticed caught my breath and made my heart start racing. In his left hand he was holding the book which he was reviewing. He had his right hand on his crotch (not uncommon) and his dick was an enormous bulge in his underwear (very uncommon). I had never seen Brett with a hard-on before, so this amazing development went beyond any hope or fascination I had dreamed before moving in with him. I wasn't even breathing as I watched, enthralled, as he lazily drummed his fingers on his cock, gave it a squeeze, then slid his hand down inside his briefs to cup his balls and roll them in his fingers. This entire episode lasted no more than five minutes. While he had his hand inside his briefs, he glanced over at my bed where my head was, and although he could not see my eyes and had no knowledge that I was anything other than in a deep sleep per my usual routine, he pulled his covers over himself before continuing to do something rhythmic under the covers in the area where his cock and balls would be. He still had his book in hand, but there was activity going on with his other hand.
Soon, Brett threw off his covers and, respecting my presumed sleep, quietly went to the bathroom. He was still hard. As soon as I heard the door click, I rolled over onto my back and jacked off in a frenzy. I came in seconds, and I jizzed all over my body and the sheets. I knew that I'd have to try to sleep despite the cold, slick spots of cum on the sheets, but I didn't care at all. Who wanted to sleep anyway? I had just experienced my gorgeous roommate playing with himself, and the gears of my imagination were spinning. The next morning, I was so horned up in the apartment and couldn't help jacking in the shower while he was shaving and humming on the other side of the shower curtain. Despite our rush to get dressed and head off to class, he might have noticed my post-cum bulge while I was getting dressed. We headed out for our morning of school, and I couldn't wait to get back to the apartment after work that night to see if I could catch the same show that I saw the night before. It became a nightly routine: go to work, jack off in the work bathroom due to excitement about possibly catching Brett fondling himself later that evening, then dashing home to play it cool while I was on fire inside.
Thanksgiving break was coming up in a couple of weeks, and since his parents and family lived overseas and he hadn't made plans yet to go anywhere, I invited him to come with me to my grandmother's house in Kansas. He excitedly accepted since he would have otherwise just spent Thanksgiving by himself in the apartment. This was more than satisfactory to me because I wanted to go out drinking one night with him and see if he might be interested in a blowjob as drunk straight guys often get. Also, my grandmother lived in a two-bedroom house and Brett and I would likely end up sharing the double bed in her extra bedroom -- another very satisfactory element to the trip that I hoped would pay off in spades.
We left on Wednesday after classes and drove the two hours in his 1978 Honda Civic, a car which he painstakingly nursed along with dutiful oil changes and spark plug cleanings. In addition to being a wonderful guitarist, he had mechanic skills. On the way, we talked about college, about his undergrad experience in Arizona, about Stacey, and about other guy things. He asked me about my girlfriend (who was non-existent) and whether or not I saw myself getting married. At this point in my life, I was still 100% in the closet, so I didn't want to drop any hints about my sexuality. I let him ask his good-natured questions about my family, and I plied him with questions about growing up in South America. Since he was driving, I had more than enough time to continue to admire the easygoing way he carried on the conversation and the way that he managed the clutch and stick shift of his pride and joy. How I wanted his hand to be working my stick, but I needed to wait until we got to my grandmother's house before I subtly inquired about his interest ... if I inquired at all.
My sweet grandmother had already made up the guest room by the time that we arrived, and we both dropped our suitcases beside our respective sides of the bed and headed to the dining room for a simple supper before the next day's feast. After we ate, the Uno cards came out and we played until after dark. Soon, my grandmother said that she was heading off to bed and would see us in the morning. Brett and I adjourned into the small living room and, since TV reception wasn't much to speak of, we started to talk again.
I asked about his undergrad dorm life experience, and he responded with the fact that he never did stay in a dorm. In fact, when he came up to college from South America, he moved straight into an apartment because dorm life never appealed to him. We continued talking about college life, the intense recruiting schedule that we were both under, and trying to find ways to compare our upbringing. We had talked well into the night when, without warning, he switched to a topic that made my balls tingle: masturbation. He began to tell me how he enjoyed his privacy and how he had a stash of porn magazines in his previous apartment that he kept under his bed. I wasn't shocked to hear that he had been addicted to jacking off and would do so several times throughout each day. (I, too, had a hunger for beating off -- my record was 12 times in one overnight period.) The reason that he wasn't so aggressive with masturbation anymore was because he was so busy with school, he confessed. Then he dropped the Tsar Bomba: he had to jack off in the bathroom every night before he went to sleep, otherwise he wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all. However, that was the extent of it, he stated. I was rendered speechless, and I'm pretty sure my eyes boggled out of my sockets at his pronouncement.
After this flood of sexual information from a young man who I found adorable and highly fuckable, you can bet your boots that I was as hard as a damn rock. We had both worn sweats on our trip from college to my grandmother's house, and I was grateful that I had chosen to sit cross-legged in my grandma's recliner because my upward-pointing cock would have been a very visible bulge to him if I had sat in any other way. I had my hand resting on my bulge so that I could adjust myself a couple of times as we were talking, and I knew that I had precum filling my foreskin and soaking into my boxers. I wondered if he had managed to arouse himself with his lengthy monologue on porn and jacking off, and I began to feel a camaraderie with him that deepened as we kept talking, looking at each other. There seemed to be a connection with him that hadn't existed before that night.
The conversation continued with both of us talking about how and when we had jacked off when we were younger. He wanted to know if I thought that there was anything wrong or sinful with doing it, and I told him that I had no idea about the spiritual aspect of it but since it felt so amazing, I didn't really care. He agreed, and we laughed so hard at that comment, I thought for sure that my grandma would wake up! But she had taken out her hearing aids, apparently, and couldn't hear a thing. We even talked about the riskiest place that each of us had jacked off; mine was in the back seat of the family car when I was in high school and all of our family was returning from a trip to the beach, and his was in the stacks of bookshelves at his undergrad college. We were both still virgins due to similar strict religious upbringings, and we admitted that masturbation was both a way to relieve sexual tension and also a way to bring some pleasure to life. He yawned deeply and stretched, flexing his thick legs straight out in front of him and squeezing his thighs together. Holy shit if he didn't have a fat bulge just like I had suspected he might! He flexed it, as well, and it grew full inside his grey sweats. I tried to appear nonchalant, but I couldn't resist looking at it. As I adjusted my own cock, I shifted my gaze from his crotch to his eyes and was embarrassed to see that he had seen me looking at him. I ducked my head and looked away, caught in the act.
I was still in a crazy sexy fog that had settled upon me when he had switched the conversation topic, and I needed so bad to get off. I didn't want to stand up and head to the bathroom to relieve the pressure because I didn't want him to see that I was fully erect and had a precum spot on my grey sweats. Despite the fact that I wanted to fuck him raw right then and there or have him fuck me raw, he didn't know that I was gay and I didn't want to out myself to him and potentially ruin the living arrangement that had been working out so well for both of us in the apartment. Yet, if he had stood up and taken a step toward me, I'd have definitely had an orgasm just by shifting positing in my chair. My dick had come out of the flap of my boxers and was tingling furiously.
The conversation slowly wound down since it was past midnight and we had been awake since 6:30 the previous morning when we were getting ready for class. It was past time to go to bed. Brett, also wearing grey sweats with the logo of his undergrad college on the thigh, stood up and headed toward the bathroom. It took my breath away to see that he had a dark spot on his sweats like I had on mine! It wasn't as big a spot as mine, but still, clearly a precum spot! He didn't have a the same sizeable bulge that I had been so blessed to see earlier, but there was still a fat lump, What could his trip to the bathroom mean? Knowing that he had to masturbate in the bathroom before he fell asleep, and believing that this was the reason for his bathroom visit now, a rush of adrenaline and excitement filled my body. My head was absolutely buzzing; I couldn't think straight. I wanted so badly to get up from the chair and follow him into the bathroom, but where would my manners be? I was, after all, sort of hosting him at my grandmother's house and didn't want to be a creep. The door clicked shut and I was on tenterhooks.
Stealthily, I rose from the chair and tiptoed to the hallway to give a listen. There was nothing erotic about what I heard: he was taking a long piss. I turned as if I was going to walk down the hallway to the bedroom, but instead of walking, I stood still to hear if he would maybe make any noise that would further give away his actions. Again, there wasn't anything remarkable about the sound of water in the sink as he likely washed his hands, then the doorknob rattled as he turned it to exit the bathroom. I reached down into my sweats and boxers to put my dick back where it belonged and started to walk toward the bedroom as soon as I heard the sound of the doorknob. Brett took time to turn off the light in the living room and came into the bedroom a couple of moments later.
I was taking off my t-shirt and sweats as he came in. I've never been one for sleeping in pajamas or even shorts, and although it was a cold November that year in Kansas, I had never worn anything to bed other than boxers -- when I wore anything to bed at all. In the apartment, I always wore boxers to bed when Brett was there, and he always wore his white briefs. This night would be no different for me, so I stripped down to my dark blue boxers and pulled back the covers to get into the bed. I was aware of him taking off his clothes as well, and I glanced his way to see that he had his back to me and was pulling on a pair of basketball shorts over his briefs. This was highly irregular! I anticipated briefs like always, but perhaps he was a bit too modest to wear only underwear to bed when sleeping alongside another guy. He didn't seem at all bothered by me being in boxers, though, and we both got into bed at the same time.
A double bed doesn't offer much room for two college boys, especially two tall guys who have decently fit physiques. My job required lots of loading and unloading of boxes, so my upper body was toned. My legs were nowhere as manly as his, but all the squatting with boxes that I had to do at work had given me a thick ass and nice definition of my quads with which I was secretly pleased. His everywhere was toned; plus he had thighs for days. We were already bumping into each other in that small bed, and we laughed at the awkwardness. I turned away from him as he turned away from me, and I turned the bedside lamp off. The darkness of rural Kansas filled the room as we lay there breathing, waiting to fall asleep. I would have thought that after being awake for over 18 hours that sleep would eagerly descend upon me, but it was elusive. Who was I fooling, anyway? I was aroused by the radiant heat from Brett's body warming my own body. Further, I was trembling from the excitement of lying next to him, my mostly-naked body wanting to become one with his, and I hoped that, if he could feel it, he would just interpret it as shivering and not actual trembling out of sexual excitement.
Soon, his breathing deepened and I knew that he had fallen asleep. The thought occurred to me that I had neither gone drinking with him, nor had I shared my sexuality with him. Maybe the next day on Thanksgiving we would be able to go out and I would find my courage, but that night wasn't going to offer an opportunity for that. I don't remember falling asleep, but it finally happened. The coldness of the room didn't bother the two of us who were keeping each other warm underneath the sheet and three blankets covering us.
I woke up from a dream in a sweat; it was very warm under the covers despite the room being frosty. Why was I so warm?! I realized at that moment that Brett had rolled toward me and our bodies were pressed against each other's, and I noticed that his left arm was resting on my stomach. Also, since I had awakened from a dream, I had a stiff boner that was again protruding from the flap of my boxers. All of these realizations came upon me at once, and I started trembling again. The emotions that rushed over me with at happened next will stick with me forever. Brett whispered, "Don't move," and pressed his boner into my hip. I convulsed with the shock and excitement of being awakened into the situation that I had secretly and crazily desired for months. He said, "You've had a boner for a while." I asked, "How do you know?" He replied, "I've touched it." I was freaked out and hideously aroused by his admission, so I replied with a mouth that was so dry, "Touch it again." He slid his arm back across my stomach until his hand passed the elastic waistband of my shorts and he could take my dick in his hand. The moan that he drew from me must have emboldened him, because he began to rhythmically press his dick into my side (had he been doing this while I was asleep?) and he so gently squeezed my cock with the same rhythm. I could smell his body better than I had ever been able to in the apartment, and I wanted him to take me in any way, shape, or form that he desired. The room was pitch black, but fireworks were going off in my mind.