Date: Mon, 3 Jun 2002 06:41:31 -0400
From: AG
Subject: Classmate Tom

     Tom M., at University of Chicago, was one of those
sculptured, white-marble types of "living gods." A walking
Greek statue. Don't believe me. Ask anybody of either sex.
     U. of C. is very "gay" (they even have Tuition
Remission for same-gender, live-in couples).So, Tom was in
many people's "sights," as in cross-hairs. A Black friend of
mine, Quint, was particularly taken with him as was John, my
gay, but straight-acting roommate, along with many, many
others. Like some beautiful "straight" or "bi" people, Tom
was attractive to both sexes.
     OK. But what was he himself like?
           I got to know Tom after having a few beers with
him at the U-Tavern just off campus, a School hangout with
the usual atmospherics--loud talking, general hilarity,
scraping chairs, cigaret smoke, loud laughter, clinking
glass, etc. He and I talked and drank and talked and drank
and talked, and took our several leaks in the Little Boys
Room. And yes, I had THAT on my mind, his looking at me the
way he did-well, not on my mind every minute. Sex is not
everything.
           Reading Tom, all I could fathom was that he was
charming, fun to be with, and certainly great on the eyes,
especially if he had on a short-sleeved-whatever and his
shirt was unbuttoned at least three buttonholes down. You
could very easily make him out that way. The pec cleavage. A
Greek god! Not to mention the kind of curly, matted-down
dark brown hair that looked like a crown resting on his well-
shaped head. His face was finely "chiseled." Deep-blue eyes.
He looked, no exaggeration! like he would stop traffic if he
stepped out onto the street. Yet not a "pretty boy." Irish
in his blood.
     But I, nobody as far as I know, knew what kind of
"(s)experience" he had had or was having. Tom was very much
the playing-his-cards-close-to-his-chest type of person--and
what a chest to hold his cards against!
           When we met on campus again and decided to drink
together again at the Tavern, we agreed to meet on a weekend
night there. Saturday night. We stayed later than usual and
drank more than usual. Not to drunkenness-both of us can
hold our liquour-but drinking to a degree of "high
foolishness," you might say. By1 a.m., I was feeling toally
gamey as we left the bar and strode back to the campus. I
asked him if he would like to take a look at my digs in
International House, one of the nicer dorms on the U. of C.
campus and nearer the tavern than his dorm. I told him I had
a roommate but that he was away until possibly early the
next morning.
           So, we came into my very small, student's room
with the double, upper-and-lower bunks. We threw down
another can of Bud, talking about School, baseball, etc.
Finally, it became obvious that he would probably just as
soon stay the night in my room. Anyway, it seemed to be what
he wanted to do since the walk to his dorm was almost half a mile
away.
           "But we'll have to sleep together up-top," I
said. "Mark is expected home later, I think. OK?" I asked.
The bed was quite narrow.
           "Sure. We'll manage," he said somewhat dumbly and
boozily.
           So we climbed up and lay next to each other.
            For the longest time we talked slowly and
quietly. Then when it fell
Quiet, I started to make a move. I just couldn't help
myself. I started moving my thigh next to his sideways. He
just kept his leg still. So I pressed even harder.
           Suddenly, JEEZ! He reared up, looking fierce in
the dim light thru the window from the street. Facing me, he
slapped me across the side of my face! SHHHWAAAPPPP!!
           "Don't DO that, AL! DON'T!!!"
          I was in a state of shock, naturally. But I didn't
panic. I collected my wits and simply apologized though I
was shaking all over.. And believe or not, we both then fell
off to sleep, pronto. No more words.
     Next day I had the makings of a black eye-my first. and
last one, I hope! Heh heh. Gay acquaintances of mine would
titter at me, my other college friends tried to ignore it. I
said nothing.
     Next day, too, Tom was obviously almost obsequious and
apologetic toward me as we sat down to breakfast in the IH
cafeteria, sayhing nothing about the previous night, etc.
some of the gays staring surreptitiously at us.. He's a
blusher and his cheeks glowed red as he was talking to me.
In general, I felt
embarrassed and confused, and may have been bliushing
myhself..
     A few days later we even did our drinking thing againb
together. But OF COURSE, I never invited him to my room and
bed.

          OK. End of story?
     Well, but no, it isn't.

           Some two years pass by. I am now in New York, at
Columbia U. Frankly,
by then I had all but forgotten Tom McX. Well, almost.The
slapping incident I certainly remembered no matter how much
I tried to forget it. Not a Mark
of Cain but still a memory.
          At Spring Break that next Term at Columbia, I get
a message that I have a long-distance telephone call from
N.J. I go down to the dorm phone and guess who? Right. Tom.
He's very gung-ho about seeing me. He's just across the
Hudson R. What do I suggest? he asks.
           "Let's have dinner in the Village [Greenwich
Village, Manhattan]."
           "Cool!" he says. "An Italian place, OK? Do you
know any good ones, Al?"
           "Sure do," I said,. Remembering that Tom had a
liking for Italian food as I do. So, we planned to meet at
the Granada Restaurant, totally "Itie" ("eye-tie") just what
we both wanted. Plus some Chianti.
           Over our wine and pasta we reminisced like
nobody's business. He was
engaged to a girl in California and was in the East visiting
his grandparents in N.J.
     When we got to our second coffees-it was real late, the
restaurant damned near closing up on us, we had talked so
long-I asked him where he was going after this.  "No one's
in the dorm, Tom. You can sleep there tonight, if you want.
Your own bed," I said lowering my eyes to avoid eye contact
w/him (for obvious reasons).
            "Hey, that's great, AL. I'd love that. Then I
won't have to trek back to N.J."
            And it was a trek since he grandparents lived in
the boondocks there. And it was by now pushing 10 p.m. So, I
invested in a taxi to get us all the way uptopwn to the
Upper West Side of Manhattan to Columbia from the Village
from way down below 8th St. $$$$$  Thought we'd ride in
style, talk some more, which you can't do on a long subway
ride. I think I also wanted to impress him. ;-) I guess the
fare was like 7-10 smackers!
             We went up to the multiplex dorm room-three
sets of beds, all empty.
             "Take your choice," I said pointing to the beds
as we prepared to turn in.
             I stealthily watched him undress. Somehow I
could tell that he knew I was watching him-the dim light
from a single student desk-lamp illumined his ever-so-
beautiful, marble-white, defined bod. Standing there in his
white briefs and curvy, lightly-touched-with-hair thighs, it
was all I could do to keep my eyes off of him.
             "Where are YOU sleeping?" he inquired.
             "There," pointing to my bed, as a queer, funny
feeling swept over me like a soft breeze.
        He then chose one across the aisle from mine about
two yards away. Well, so I figured he wanted to chat some
more.
             We lay there chatting. I detected a certaoin
nervousness
or tension in his voice. Then the talking stopped altgother.
I could hear my own breathing.and his. I could sense that he
wasn't asleep. A sixth sense, I guess.
              So I just lay there on my back, my hands
behind my head. Naturally, that "incident" of 2 years ago
arose in my mind no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.
             Then, all of a sudden! I sense Tom turning in
my direction. I look over and he is looking at me in the dim
light, his eyes almosty putting out
beams, as they thought in medieval times eyes did. Then he
says, so softly, so intently---"AL! You awake?"
              Pause. Then he said: "Hey, can I join you over
there? Kinda lonely where I am."
              I thought, my God I'm imagining things, or
dreaming, or something. There had been no hint of this at
dinner. Saliva welled up in my mouth but I managed to
mutter, "Why, sure, man. Come on over." And I lifted up the
covers
Of my all-too-narrow bed, as narrow as the one had been at
U. of C..
            Well, incredible as it may sound, Tom not only
came into my bed, and quickly snuggled in beside me, he
proceeded right then and there to go down on me!!! I kid you
not! If ur surprised, imagine MY surprise!!
     Grasping my cock almost too hard, he took it so deep
into his mouth and throat that I thought he might choke to
death!!  My cock was more or less soft or "semi" when he
started all this. But man did it get hard fast!!
     I then started caressing every square inch of that bod
of his. He loved it, offering this or that part by moving
closer to my roaming hands. Then feeling the same parts on
me. All over. At one point he even took one of my hands and
placed it on one of his nipples-just in case I was being too
restrained. Not likely! I was all over him!!
             Then we kissed each other-deep-tonguing wildly,
"slobbering" a lot. The way excited males always do!
             I honestly thought I was dreaming. I think I
may have even pinched myself to make sure I wasn't!
             Well, we wound up 69-ing and cumming together
right on the second
With our 6-7-spurt orgasms. He tasted divine. And he
swallowed my load, too.
             Well, what next?
             Nothing. Silence. Not even a washup. Back into
his bed he went.
             Next morning, again silence about the preceding
night (of course) but pleasant, somewhat melancholic (on his
part) talk over breakfast in the campus cafeteria.
             Then he caught his train back to N.J.
              I never saw him again or wrote to him.
        But other acquaintances of his from School, the
Black guy especially, kept me informed. Tom HAD married but
had turned to drinking and was putting his marriage on the
rocks. Too bad.  I hoped that wasn't true. But I don't know.
        "It was just one of those things..." as Cole Porter
wrote in one of his best songs. Every time I play it on my
keyboard, I think of a certain person.

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