by Harper, Lou
The crowd was still light when Jo and I arrived. As if by law, people already clustered in the kitchen, but we managed to wrangle a glass of wine each. With our booty in hand, we surveyed the crowd from the door. I didn’t see Wayne anywhere, but the night was still practically in its puberty. The other object of my interest had already shown. Bryan Grant stood by a window, chatting with Bill Hollins of all people. Well, that was an interesting turn of events—I didn’t know yet if in a good or bad way. Perhaps I’d find out later. I kept scanning the crowd and spotted young Jay from the coffee shop invading the personal space of a lanky grad student. He noticed me and winked.
Jo chuckled. “Buckle your seat belts. It’s gonna be a bumpy night.”
“I like that. Did you just make it up?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “It’s from a movie, you philistine.” And with that, she left. Jo could be such a snoot sometimes.
I set off in the direction of a safe group of girls I knew from English class. The idea was to give Bryan an opportunity to come on to me. I kept an eye on him while chatting with the girls and was glad to see him and Bill split. When Bryan looked around with an uncertain expression, I met his eyes and give him a friendly smile—as if noticing him for the first time. He took it as an encouragement and joined our group, as I’d hoped he would.
The evening progressed in a familiar pattern—people chatting with people they knew, being introduced to friends of friends, refilling wine glasses, and milling around. Topics of conversations covered a wide range, all seeming very relevant at the moment, but destined to be forgotten by the morning. I kept an eye on the assemblage out of habit. I noted Jo ushering a girl to meet Bill. A half an hour later, the two were still together and from the subtle way he leaned toward her and how he smiled while she talked, I got the impression he was genuinely interested in her, so I gave her a better look.
I didn’t notice anything exceptional. She was neither short nor tall and her ever-so-slightly plump body and oval face framed by brown bangs didn’t scream for attention. Even her clothing—loose jeans and gray sweater—were dull. Then, as she moved to illustrate whatever she said with a wide gesture, I noticed it: she went braless. The little vixen! No wonder Bill’s gaze kept slipping to her chest. I tended to judge girls on their personalities, not their physical attributes, but I could see the appeal of those particular mammary glands. They were nice and round like a couple of ripe oranges, and jiggled giddily with her every move. I was betting on Bill tracing the outlines of her nipples through the soft fabric.
On my next trip to the kitchen, I took a detour to catch Jo.
“Bill and mystery girl seem to have really hit it off,” I said.
“Yeah, haven’t they?” she replied with a tone of pride.
“She seems so plain.”
“Yeah, but I have feeling she’s a great match for Bill.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Well, when you mentioned strap-ons, something popped into my mind. Remember when I took that photo class?”
“Yeah, splashing around in chemicals and stuff.”
“Claire was in the class, too. We were friendly, but not close. One night it was only the two of us in the darkroom. I caught glimpses of her pictures and I saw some kinky stuff. So after you said Bill needed a more adventurous kind of girl, I happened to bump into Claire and strike up a conversation.”
“You’re a cunning fox.”
“I learned from you. Strangest thing is, she was keen on your affairs. She knows you by reputation.”
“I have a reputation?” It was the second time somebody had mentioned it.
“Apparently. Anyway, I invited her to the party. I hinted Bill was a close friend of yours when I introduced them. I could’ve sworn she perked up hearing it.”
“Peculiar.”
Wayne sauntered in the front door at that very moment.
I poked Jo. “Hey, look Wayne’s here.”
She turned toward the entrance with a distinct lack of interest, but her expression transformed in a second. Her eyes suddenly shimmered and she cocked her head fractionally sideways, as she did when she spotted something intriguing. I couldn’t blame her. Wayne looked good enough to walk down a catwalk. Or to eat. I swatted the latter notion away and waved Wayne over. The packaging was eye-catching—after all, I picked his clothes—but there was more to it. Wayne’s composure was different than usual, more confident. He strode up to us like the tall stranger walked into a saloon in a western. We were only missing the appropriate soundtrack.
I said hello to Wayne and left to find Bryan. He stood in front of the empty fireplace appearing lost. I reclaimed him and didn’t let him leave my side for the rest of the night.
At one point, we stood alone in a dark corner, almost but not quite intimately close. I was entertaining Bryan with only slightly embellished stories from my European travels when some queer sixth sense made me look toward the entrance. Roger stood there, smoldering dark eyes surveying the multitude as if searching for someone. Me. His eyes narrowed and he began to make his way toward us with a determined expression on his face. Shit. Whatever he had in mind, it would probably ruin my chances with Bryan.
“I need to take a trip to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere,” I said to Bryan and fled.
I ducked through the door leading to the dining room, and from there to the hallway, but instead of turning right toward the bathroom, I slipped out to the back yard. I ran around the house and sneaked back through the front door. I found Jo and Wayne having a lively conversation in the kitchen. How come at every party two-thirds of the people end up in the kitchen?
“Sorry, Wayne, I need to borrow Jo for a second,” I said and pulled her away.
“What’s going on?”
“I need you to do me a favor. In a second, Roger will come through that door. I need you to distract him for a few minutes.”
“Ha! I knew there was something between you and Roger! He’s been asking about you recently.”
“He what? Never mind. It’s not what you think. Just keep him from going to the living room for five minutes, okay?”
“Fine, fine,” she said, and set out on an intercept course.
The door was opening already, and instead of waiting to see who’d enter, I’d wormed my way through the gaggle of semi-inebriated partygoers. I knew Jo wouldn’t fail me—the girl had the tenacity of a bulldog. However, I had little time. Bryan’s eyes lit up as he saw me.
“It’s stuffy in here. I need a little fresh air,” I said with all the unhurried calm I could fake.
He nodded. “I was thinking of heading home.”
I steered him through the back door, and within a minute, we were out on the street.
“It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think?” he said, and wobbled sideways. “Oops, I think I had too much wine.”
I took his arm and pulled him close. “I think it's best if I help you home.”
“I live just a few blocks down.”
I knew already where he lived, but didn’t volunteer the information. We shuffled down the street in a more or less steady fashion. I glanced back once and thought I saw a tall figure looking after us, but it might have been merely my paranoia. I didn’t look again until we were at Bryan’s place, and saw only an empty street.
When Bryan dropped his keys for the second time, I took them from his hand and let us in. I deposited him on the couch and went in search of a clean glass. While I filled it with tap water, I weighed the situation. Bryan was sauced, but not falling down drunk. Still, I wasn’t going to make a move on him, and if he wanted me to leave, I would. I had rules.
“You should get hydrated,” I said, handing Bryan the water.
I sat down next to him. He looked at me over the rim of the glass while taking a sip. Then moving with caution, he put it on the coffee table and leaned forward. His lips were warm and hesitant. I parted mine a sliver, and his tongue darted in. As his tentative explorations gained in confidence,
I adjusted my responses to stimulate, but not overwhelm. When at last I sucked on his tongue, Bryan shuddered first, then practically climbed onto my lap. I slid my hands over his ass and pulled him closer for encouragement.
Apparently, it was all he needed because the next thing I knew his hands were everywhere, in my hair, scrambling under my shirt, fighting their way into my jeans.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered, frustrated.
He was right; we still had our jackets on.
“Slow down…we have time. C’mon, stand up,” I said, pushing him off my lap.
He complied but not without reluctance. I held him by the hips and looked up at his face. He was flushed and his eyes shone dark with desire. I kept my eyes on his as I rubbed my hand over the bulge in his jeans. Fuck, he was big.
“Yes,” he replied to my unspoken question.
It was enough for me. I unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his thighs. The head of his cock—dark red, almost purple—poked well above his tighty-whities.
“Damn, Bryan, I thought you were packing, but this baby is a monster,” I said, before giving his cockhead an experimental lick.
I took his strained grunt as approval and, tugging his briefs down, wrapped my lips around his cock. There was no way I could fit the whole thing into my mouth, but it didn’t matter; I had plenty of skills to make the experience good for him.
The sounds Bryan was making and the hand he rested on my head told me he had no problem with me sucking his cock, so I relaxed and let myself enjoy him, too. His thick shaft with its prominent veins, the coarse curls of his pubes, his heavy sac, and his musky scent wrapped around my senses. It was this masculine strength and beauty that had made my nerve endings tingle for as long as I could remember, long before I knew what it meant.
I was so lost in my reverence it took me a second to get the significance of Bryan tugging my hair. I reluctantly let go and looked up.
“I’d like to see you naked,” he said.
It was a reasonable request. I shrugged out of my clothes without getting off the couch and threw them in an untidy pile on the floor. Bryan stepped back, shucked his own clothes, but then he simply stood there staring. The hunger in his eyes told me he wasn’t having a freak-out. He probably hadn’t seen too many naked men, not ones he could take in at his own leisure. I stretched out on the couch to give him a better view, tucking my hands under my head and letting my legs fall open.
Bryan’s eyes opened even wider and a deep, desperate groan escaped his throat. He stalked up to the couch and sat down at the edge, all the while his eyes were raking over my lewdly displayed body. Nobody had ever called me bashful.
“You can touch,” I said.
And he did. Lust mixed with almost child-like curiosity in his expression, as he moved his hand over my body. I knew he was mapping the same masculinity that turned me on so much, mentally comparing it against softer, curvier female bodies. He was thorough, verging on clinical, but I didn’t mind. He was a methodological kind of guy. If he was to accept his own desires, it had to be through scientific observation first. He found my cock especially arresting. It drooled pre-cum shamelessly, thanks to his attentions.
“This is what you want.” I stated, not asked.
“Yeah.”
I kept my ears sharp, but detected no panic or fear in his voice, only acceptance and maybe resignation.
“It’ll be all right,” I said, laying a hand on his knee.
Bryan was done talking, though; he lay down on the sofa, half on top of me. We kissed and rubbed till the mood was back. I maneuvered us till we lay on our sides, facing each other. Reaching between us, I took our cocks in hand, trying not to get an inferiority complex. Fortunately, he joined his hand with mine, lacing our fingers together—the combined girths of our shafts would have been too much for me to handle alone. We began to stroke.
Release came fast for both of us, and it was a messy affair.
“Should clean up,” I said without conviction.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
And then we fell asleep glued together. I woke up feeling cold. No wonder, Bryan wasn’t lying on top of me anymore. I stretched and got up. Following the light, I found him in the bedroom folding our clothes.
“I thought it would be more comfortable here, but didn’t want to wake you,” he explained.
A thought occurred to me—Bryan’s roommate could come home any minute. I didn’t know if Bryan was ready to face the music yet. “Is Marcus—”
“Marcus has already gone to Fort Lauderdale,” Bryan explained.
The news didn’t take me by surprise. Marcus was exactly the kind of guy who’d throw himself into spring break in Fort Lauderdale in all its glory of beer, vomit, and wet T-shirt contests.
“I can leave if you want me to.”
He looked at me like he had something big on his chest, but didn’t know how to get it off.
“What?” I asked.
“Jamie, I’d like to fuck you. If it’s okay.”
Oh heck. I shouldn’t have been surprised he wanted to top; he had a take-charge type of personality once you got past the reticence. Probably a useful quality in a future doctor. And I generally didn’t mind being fucked. There was only one hefty problem. I should have said no, but he looked at me with those hopeful chocolate-brown eyes. I was fucked. Or at least, I was about to be.
“I need to take a shower first,” I said, scratching at the crusty remains of our first encounter on my stomach.
“Of course! Me, too.”
The shower-slash-foreplay went a long way to get me in the mood. Once Bryan conceded his irrefutable gayness, he threw himself into it with the same thoroughness he applied to his studies. His soap-slicked fingers made sure I was clean inside and out.
“Rule number one, ” I said, throwing myself face down on the bed, “is it’s rude to fuck a guy’s ass without offering to rim him first.”
“Rim?” he asked confused.
“Eat their ass?”
“You’re making this up.”
“No way. Especially with a cock the size of yours.”
He kept staring at my ass doubtfully.
I heaved myself up. “Fine. Lie down. I’ll show you.”
“No! It’s okay!”
“Stop arguing. Get on the bed, now.”
Reluctantly, he did as he was told, and I illustrated for him an alternate meaning of the word “rim”—the one that hadn’t make into Webster’s New World Dictionary. I knew, I’d checked.
He got the point pretty fast, and we changed places. He certainly seemed to appreciate the effect he was having on me. After a while, I talked him through the process of relaxing the sphincter muscles. It was a lesson he most definitely needed to learn. He used up most of the small bottle of lube I’d brought with me just on that part.
“Oh fuck!” I pushed myself up on my elbows remembering something.
“What? Did I hurt you?”
“No, but I just realized the condoms I have won’t be big enough for you.”
“I have big ones.”
“Oh. Okay then.” I dropped back onto the mattress.
“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“H-how do you want to do it?”
I grabbed a pillow and tucked it under my hips, staying face down. “This will work best.”
To his credit, Bryan proceeded slowly and heedful of my comfort, although it still felt like being buggered by a horse. I made it good for him, clenching and unclenching my muscles around his cock. I also knew it would make him come faster. Soon enough he was pummeling my ass in earnest. The pain was a little more than I cared for, but the old fantasy of Professor Woodford spanking me with a straight ruler helped me stay in the mood.
Bryan collapsing on top of me exhausted was enough satisfaction for me, but after catching his breath, he brought me to my own orgasm using his mouth and hands. He’d turn into an excellent top in time. I fell asleep smug
ly content.
Chapter Eight
I walked home in the crisp morning air. I preferred Sunday mornings in bed, under a warm comforter, but there was something refreshing about walking the nearly empty streets. Even the pigeons looked less like flying rats.
The smell of bacon tweaked my nose even before I stepped into our apartment. Jo and Wayne were sitting at kitchen table eating eggs and bacon with toast.
“’Morning kids!” I greeted them.
“Hi, Jamie,” Wayne replied.
Her mouth being full, Jo just waved her glass of OJ at me.
I sat down next to her and stole a slice of her toast. I winked at Wayne. “Jo made breakfast. You must be special.”
Wayne blushed slightly, and Jo swung her elbow at my ribs, but I was expecting it and blocked the jab.
“Actually, Wayne made it. How was your night?” she asked.
“Good, good.”
After a few more bites, Wayne pushed his plate away and stood. “Should get going.”
As he walked off to Jo’s room, I got a good look at his Star Wars boxers. He wore nothing else. I silently chided myself for not teaching him about the importance of wearing the right underwear. Although, it clearly didn’t matter.
“Are you checking out my boyfriend’s ass?” Jo cried out.
I smirked back. “Boyfriend, eh? Nah, I wasn’t checking out his ass. Although, if you talked him into wearing jockstraps instead of boxers, I wouldn’t complain.”
“Not on your life.”
“Briefs?”
“I’ll think about it.”
I pulled Wayne’s unfinished plate in front of me and continued where he’d left off. A few minutes later, Wayne emerged fully dressed, and there were some murmurings and kissing noises in the hallway as Jo walked him out.
I pounced on Jo—verbally, that is—as soon as we were alone. “So, you two hit it off, after all.”