Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2015 07:59:09 -0400
From: robin reed <robinreed1951@gmail.com>
Subject: Big Man on Campus- College

This is a story about the college awakening of sexual relationships.
The Standard Disclaimer applies here: this story features graphic
depictions of sexual activity between men. If such material is
inappropriate for the jurisdiction where you live, please exit immediately.
This is a work of fiction and the author strongly recommends following safe
sexual practices. This is, as I said, a work of fiction, though I sigh when
I recall how much of it is so true.

 This is copyrighted material and may not be used without explicit
permission of the author. I don't mind if you save it to your hard drive
and use the contents to enhance your own pleasure.

 Also: NIFTY has been an invaluable resource for hundreds of thousands of
GLBT folks for years. They need your support. Please consider a generous
donation to keep their vital mission of passion, equality and lust going
strong. You know how important this is.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


Big Man on Campus


It had been a fabulous summer, and now it was time to go away to school.
The University was huge, and it was going to take some time to figure out
how all the parts fit together. Alexander brought me out and taught me how
a man likes to have his cock sucked. He taught me how to fuck with abandon,
and how to take a strong hard dick up my ass and writhe in passion, panting
for more.

He *was* a man, though, and he waltzed off to his college without a
backward glance, if you could waltz in the back of a Greyhound bus heading
for Washington, DC, belching diesel fumes. Losing him made me hurt and
homesick when I went to college a few weeks after his abrupt departure.
Having found real sex I did not want to live without it, but things were so
new and so overwhelming that I was quite stunned by it all.

I saw a note on one of the bulletin boards for a Gay group on campus with a
phone number. That was the first time I saw the word capitalized, and the
first time I saw the words that seemed like there might be a way to be
proud about being a homo.

I thought it was worth a try. I called from the phone in the hall of my
dorm, and I wondered what my floor-mates would think if they knew what I
was doing.

The phone rang three times and a soft voice came on. "Hello?"

"Hi. Are you, er, ah.." I stammered as one of my three assigned roommates
from downstate walked by toward the common men's shower area.

"Part of the Gay Liberation Group? Why yes, I am. Can I be of assistance?"

"Uh, I think I am a homo and wanted to know if there was someone I could
talk to about it."

"We don't say it like that. We are Gay. But yes, in answer to your
question. You can come over and I can tell you come of the resources
available to our community."

"Gee," I said. "That would be great." He gave me an address and a time the
next day and I wrote it down on a piece of paper. I could have written it
on the wall with all the other notes next to the phone, but I didn't think
that was cool.

Once the lights were out and my roommates settled down, I thought of the
voice. I became engorged and I thought of Alexander and his proud hard cock
planted deep in me and I thought about Joe for the first time in a long
time and I came in a sweet flood all over my hand and belly. In the
darkness I licked it off my hand, and drew my index finger across the rich
viscous pool on my belly.

The next day I showered early and went to my geology lab and the big Frosh
English class. My appointment was at lunch. The address was off University
Street in an apartment on the second floor of a battered Victorian house
that had been subdivided from a single-family residence. It was not
run-down, per se, but it clearly had been used by generations of IU
students.

My heart was pounding as I knocked on the door. A voice from inside said
"Hang on, I'm coming!" I waited there with my heart in my throat. I heard
footsteps coming, and then the door opened on a chain. I saw dark eyes and
dark hair.

"Are you Rob?" asked the voice from the phone. I nodded. "OK then, come on
in."

The door closed and I heard the chain slide off and the door opened wide.

In the frame was a tall slim man who I thought might be in his early
twenties. He looked like a grad student, or maybe a teaching assistant. He
had a wispy dark beard and fair skin and dark hair that reached down to his
shoulders. He wore a T-shirt that said, "Stop the War" and faded jeans. He
looked like a guy that my football coach would have called "Sleeping Jesus"
which was his term for the hippies in town.

"Hi" he said, sticking out his hand. "My name is Steve. I am a volunteer
for the Gay Pride."

I shook his hand, thinking that his fingers were long like Alexander's had
been. I made the connection between the length and dimension of the fingers
and the penis, and would have blushed if he had not ushered me through the
door.

"It is like a Pride of lions, get it? The Gay Pride."

"Yeah," I said. "I got it." Though frankly I did not have a clue.

Steve gave me all the clues. He sat me down at a tiny table in a sun-lit
kitchenette. He gave me an instant cup of coffee and he talked like he was
on speed.

"O.K., the first thing you need to do is raise your consciousness. This is
not about sex, although of course it is, but it is mostly about the
politics of Straight Calhoun County. The pigs are out there, enforcing
antiquated sodomy laws, busting us. We have got to stop the war and we have
got to stop the war against us."

I blinked. I had thought about the war hardly at all at home, except to
register for the draft and get my 2-S student deferment. I wasn't going
anywhere, as far as I knew, and certainly not to Vietnam. I had come over
here to investigate finding other young men who liked each other. Not to
join the war on war.

But he was a fascinating man, very intense. His fingers were elegant and I
found my self watching them intently as he drew them across his cheeks and
gestured with them as he described the injustice of things.

He explained that there was a social activity at the local Unitarian Church
that Saturday, one of the first mixers of the season, and that there would
be a lot of the right people, activists, Gay thinkers and maybe some music.

I realized this was not the place to find a joint and a joint to suck. This
was a hub of activist politics. I was interested by the energy, quite swept
away by it. He told me which bathrooms on campus were hot to cruise, a
notion I found curious. Going to a public toilet to find sex? It didn't
sound very romantic, I said, and he responded that in anonymity was power,
and a way to get to the straight guys and let them experience the power of
cock-suckers and their own latent Gay sides.

He was still in mid-sentence an hour later when someone knocked at the
door. He went over and removed the chain. I realized that there was a
little paranoia in the air. A tall woman entered. She was black as night
and she wore her hair in a vast corona of an Afro. She looked at me coolly.

"Who's the frat boy?" she asked.

"Oh, this is Rob. He called me on the hot line. I think he is Gay, he just
doesn't know how yet."

"I know how it works," I said quietly.

"Honey, you don't know the half of it," she said, and gave me a thin smile.
"C'mon, Steve. We need to get to the meeting." He shrugged and looked at me.

"Listen, *that *is what is going on here. Remember the Social this week. If
you have any questions, give me a call. Maybe we can have coffee some time."

"I'd like that," I said, realizing Steve was going to be too busy stopping
the war and injustice to slow down for me. "And thanks for your time."

I walked to the door and let myself out as they began to talk about
strategy, and how the Black Lesbians needed support and how The Man would
be watching everything they were doing. They didn't pay any attention at
all to my going.

I confess I looked over my shoulder as I walked away. The Pigs could be
watching everything, after all.

Unitarians

I had been to a Unitarian service one time. I went to a nice Presbyterian
Church and one of the Sunday School activities was to go to other churches
and discuss them from a theological perspective.

I wasn't here this Saturday night to discuss secular humanism, though. I
was here to meet other homos- Gays, I corrected myself, and maybe find a
friend.

The Church was a long low building and didn't look much like a traditional
place of worship. It looked like it could be a union hall.

I had walked by the place a couple times, looking over my shoulder to be
sure I was not followed.

It was pretty crazy. I had been to fraternity Rush the night before,
visiting several of the more popular houses on campus. I liked the Lamdas
and the Dekes, and they seemed eager to hand out the beers and get me to
like them. Rush would go on for another week or so, and I thought I might
find a group of people to hang out with.

But there was this Gay thing to deal with. I was so horny, and all I wanted
was someone like Alexander to fill me up. Of course, he had been Black,
even if his skin was almost as light as mine, and the politics of that were
something I didn't fully understand in this very political campus.

The frat houses didn't even seem to be aware of the war, just the necessity
of staying in school and away from the draft.

I finally screwed up my nerve in the darkness and walked up to the double
door on the lobby. I went in and there was an easel set up that said "Gay
Pride Mixer in Activities Room" with an arrow pointing to the corridor on
the right. I walked down the hall toward the sound of voices.

There was an open door and a guy sitting at a card table. He had a coffee
can with a sign that said "Donations."

"Hi" I said. "Is this the Gay thing?"

"Yes it is," he said and smiled broadly. "I'm Greg and I suck cock," he
said with an air of self-satisfaction. "Two bucks in the recommended
donation."

I fished my wallet out of my slacks and found two wrinkled bills. "I'm Bob,
and I do, too." I said weakly. I didn't have much cash and wouldn't until I
got a bank account set up in town so I could get at my summer money. I
dropped the bills into the can and Greg smiled again. "Thanks" he said.
"Hope I see you inside." He looked me up and down and didn't seem to mind
what he saw. I swallowed and walked in.

There were about forty people standing around in little clusters. The
lights were half on, in an attempt to create an intimate atmosphere. There
was a table that had big jugs of soft drinks on it, and big bowls of potato
chips and napkins.

There didn't seem to be anything to do except stand there awkwardly, so I
went over to the table and poured a Coke and munched on a handful of chips.
I was thinking this might be one of the larger mistakes of my life when a
young man with dirty blonde hair left one of the knots of people and walked
over to me. He extended a hand and took mine and held it a second or two
longer than I was used to. His hand was soft and his skin was moist. He
cheeks were full and so were his lips.

"Glad to see you here tonight," he said. "My name is Rob. We are going to
have some music in a minute, as soon as the band gets set up, and I hope
you will save a dance for me. I'm with Student Coalition."

"Coalition for what?" I asked. "And my name is Robert, too, though they
call me Bob."

"Well, Bobby," he said, suddenly conspiratorial, "It is a coalition to
oppose just about everything." Then he laughed. "And have a little fun in
the process of overthrowing the Old Order." He grinned an infectious grin.

I smiled back a little uncertainly. I hadn't come to overthrow the
Government. I had just come to meet some others homos. But at least some of
the people here sucked cock, so that was a start. And they say the longest
journeys start with a single step.

We chatted for a moment about the latest developments on campus, the riots
elsewhere and when we might expect something to get going at IU. I heard
the squeal of an amplifier and some first brisk chords being strummed on an
electric guitar. Rob excused himself, and walked over and tapped the top of
a microphone. It went pop-pop and was live. He took it off the stand and
asked everyone to come up close.

"We want everyone to dance tonight, and we want to make some good noise.
And we want some solidarity tonight, proud that we are Gay and Lesbian!"
There was a murmur as people walked up and formed a broad semicircle around
him and the band. "Tonight we are going to do some political dancing with
The Pride Band! Get down, brothers and sisters!"

He handed the mike to an emaciated woman in a tank top. She had small
breasts with large nipples and nothing between them and the thin cotton. He
hair was straggly and she had a ring in her nose and eyes as dark as the
bottom of a coal mine. Lead guitar was a white guy with an Afro and a black
man with big hair and elephant bell pants slung low on his hips was holding
a Fender Jazz Bass. A kid with a hank of blonde hair and a blank gaze
looked like he was threatening to play rhythm.

There was a sharp rap on a snare drum and a thickset guy with sunglasses
and a ponytail started to rap out a drum riff.

The band stumbled into some muddy song, way too loud for the acoustics in
the room. The woman started into something that sounded a little like
"G-L-O-R-I-A" but the words were different. I decided I didn't care. It was
too loud to talk to anyone, and I sipped my Coke and tried to make sense
out of the crowd.

There were couples, male and female ones. Most were hippies, but there were
a couple older guys in rumpled sport coats and chinos. They were clearly
academics. I was scrutinizing the crowd and hoping to find someone who
looked like they needed a friend. The cutest was the black guy playing
bass, and I think he looked back at me with a cool gaze, but it could be
that is how he looked at everyone.

I like men of color. Alexander set me up that way, I guess. I wondered what
he would be doing later, and what it would be like if he made me his bitch
for the semester. That would cause a stir back at the dorm. Or maybe it
wouldn't. This was an altogether new world, where men just announced that
the were cock-suckers. I wondered if someday we would call ourselves
faggots and queers and take away the cruel power of those words

I felt a little flustered and then I felt someone tug on my sleeve. It was
Greg. He shouted at me over the music. I think he asked me to dance. I
nodded, since there was no point in trying to talk over the noise of the
band. I finished my Coke with a gulp, turned and began to shake with him,
not touching.

It was the first time I danced with another guy. It seemed perfectly
natural, just like the casual way he had announced that he sucked cock. I
wish Alexander and I had danced, I thought wistfully. It wouldn't have
changed anything, but it would have been a good way to warm up for a good
fucking.

Dancing in those days was mostly just standing in one place and gyrating at
one another. We did that for a while, and the band lurched into something
else, and we kept dancing through the rest of the set. When the chords rose
and crashed and ended mostly at the same time the silence was deafening.

We got something to drink, more soft drinks, from the table. "Is there
anything more fun to drink?" I asked, my voice sounding peculiarly loud.
Greg smiled and I noticed he had a dimple on his chin a little like Kirk
Douglas.

I also noticed that his hair was full and the same color as mine. He eyes
were set a little close together and his teeth were radiantly white. Maybe
that is what set my heart beating a little quicker.

"Yes there is, but we can't have it here. The cops would bust the place if
we had a keg. I have some vodka back at the apartment. I am only committed
here until the next break. Maybe we could go over to my house and smoke a
joint and have a couple drinks?"

"That sounds great," I said. And then the band was sawing at a bad
imitation of Creedence's hit "Bad Moon Rising," and we were dancing again.
They even tried a slow version of something. I honestly couldn't tell what
it was, but it gave me an opportunity to move closer to Greg and he put his
arms around me.

I felt a electricity as his arms closed around me, and I put my head on his
shoulder as we swayed on the floor of the Unitarian Assembly Room.

After the next set he took my hand and we slipped out the door, back down
the hall and out into the cool evening. We could hear those dissonant tones
for a block or more as we walked along under the green canopy of trees.

Greg lived in another one of the old houses converted to student
apartments. The stairwell smelled like cat urine and old carpet, but his
apartment on the third floor was brightly painted. There were posters on
the wall, an old tattered Oriental rug on the floor and a battered couch
that faced a small portable TV.

"It's not much" he said. "But it's home."

"I like it better than the dorm," I responded. "It is nice."

He smiled and I realized how nice that was when he showed those teeth. "The
couch doubles as a bed" he said and he smiled again and I felt a tightening
in my groin. He went into a kitchen that was about the size of a closet and
I heard the clink of glass and the opening of a refrigerator.

"Here," I said. "Let me help." There was barely room to turn around, and he
handed me an ice-cube tray. It had one of those handles that flipped up to
crack the ice loose and I pulled it. It was still frozen solid, so he took
it from me and ran some warm water over it in the little sink. The he
turned and faced me with it and I found myself kissing that handsome mouth
and touching those beautiful teeth with an eager tongue.

We made out for a while and I got as hard as a rock. He reached down and
cupped my balls through the tent in my slacks. I sighed against his mouth
and I heard the ice cube tray rattle into the sink. He put his arms around
me and drew me to him and I felt his cock hard against mine.

We never did get the drinks.

We stumbled back into the main room and we fumbled madly with our clothes.
Our eyes were locked as shirts and slacks and jeans tumbled into a heap on
the floor. He stood as watched as I skinned off my boxer shorts, and he
flipped the waistband of his Jockeys, drawing them down over a cock of
impressive size and girth. I licked my lips and drew a ragged breath. When
he kicked off the underpants he stood proudly with his cock waving toward
me. I stepped over to him and placed my eager cock next to his, side to
side. They were nearly comparable, pale flesh engorged, erupting from a
thick patch of dense pubic hair. A little trail lead up to his navel, but
otherwise he was smooth and hairless.

We caressed each other, gently stroking one another, the sides of our
arcing erections touching. It was electric. I wanted that cock in my mouth
so bad. He stopped touching me and took me by the arm and we walked to the
couch. He grabbed the front and raised it to it slid down into a flat
surface. He rose and he kissed me again, and then said:

"We both claimed to suck cock. Let's see how well we do."

And that is how I found myself on my side, head between his legs, with the
rich smell of his sex in my nose and his warm cock buried in my mouth,
tonguing him and suckling on him as he did me. It was incredible, almost
like sucking myself.

He had a wonderful taste, musky and slippery. I tried to mimic the movement
of his lips and his soft palate, and when he took me deep into his throat,
I ignored the gap reflex and impaled myself on him.

God, he tasted good. Eventually, he moaned and I knew he was going to erupt
in my mouth. I wasn't going to miss a drop, and his ecstasy made my gorge
rise and thrust and when his hot jets of jism hit the back of my throat I
shuddered and shot right back into him.

We drained each other, mouths warm and sucking on softening cocks.

It was a while before we stirred. Greg got up and got a joint and we smoked
it on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to naked thigh. Then we were
at each other again, sucking like mad.

Greg was one hell of a cocksucker. I blushed when he said the same about
me.

It made me feel as warm as his semen in my belly. When we slept, we slept
with our heads buried in each other's crotches, breathing the smell of sex
and cum.

We got hard again in the night, and I remember shooting another load into
his warm soft mouth, just as he did for me. Then there was just sleep.

When I awoke, the first thing I did, the very first thing, was take his
soft penis in my lips and gently kiss it good morning. I had a feeling I
might get lucky.

Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved