Date: Fri, 01 Feb 2002 20:52:41 +0000
From: michael keller <michaelk_69@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Curious Acquaintance

Every man has them.  A whole library of stories about `the ones that got
away':  the straight co-worker, the curious best friend, the college
roommate, all looking to experiment, but afraid to make the first move.
Looking back, the signs were all so clear, so obvious.  We would kick
ourselves for years afterwards for not making the first move, but of course
that is much easier to do in hindsight.  At the time, we were also afraid.
Afraid of ruining friendships, afraid of rejection, afraid of humiliating
ourselves.  But oh, to have some of those chances back again, how we would
do things differently.  Just imagine.



The Curious Acquaintance


22 January 2001      1.14 am

There were few guys at Collins University as sexy as Tom Lombart.  At 6 foot
2, he was a big guy, with a lean, muscular physique that he acquired
naturally from playing a wide range of college sports.  He had a thick mop
of dark blonde hair, always messy, with a tangle of tight curls on top,
shaved close at the sides and back.  At 19, he had already become a rangy
young man, with long thick arms, hanging lower than you would expect, a long
lean torso, and a slack jaw. His mouth seemed to be perpetually hanging
open, just slightly, accentuating his heavy full lips.

"Man, just look at him,' Elizabeth said, watching Tom slide his plastic tray
across the cafeteria counter, loading up his plate up with French fries.
`Imagine what he must be like in bed.  With those arms, those lips, that
bod.  Man oh man."

Mike didn't need anyone to prompt him to fantasize as he watched Tom move
across the room;  he had already spent months imaging the same thing.  He
and Tom lived in the same dorm, and Mike had the chance to appraise Tom
almost daily.  Unfortunately, the shower room wasn't an open one like in
Mike's high school;  in the dorm, each guy had a private cubicle to himself.
  Yet, lucky for him, Mike always seemed to catch Tom walking into the
bathroom wearing only his towel, his pale muscular torso as smooth as china,
with his two pink nipples the only marks on his gently rounded chest. Mike
would try not to stare, but he couldn't help it.  Tom bent over the sink,
brushing his teeth.  Tom shaving.  Tom coming out of the shower.  He would
replay all of these scenes vividly while jerking off every night.  He was
sure Tom knew, but neither boy said anything about it.  For the time being,
Mike was content to stare, and Tom seemed happy enough to be stared at.  The
two maintained a genial, if not overly friendly relationship, with just a
nod and a smile here, a quick `hi' or a breezy `seeya' there.

So, when there was a knock on Mike's door just after 1am, the last person in
the world he expected it to be was Tom Lombart.  At first he thought that he
must be dreaming.  Mike stood in the  open doorway, staring out into the
bright hall, with Tom silhouetted perfectly, looking even taller and lankier
than usual.  Mike squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the
bright light, still only half awake.

`What's going on?' Mike asked with a croaky voice, suddenly self-conscious
in his boxer shorts and grubby t-shirt, his brown hair flattened on one side
from where it had met his pillow.  He slid a hand under his t-shirt and
scratched drowsily at his flat stomach as he waited for Tom to answer.

`Nothin', Tom said.  There was an awkward silence.  Mike was unsure what to
say next.  The silence grew.

`Are you okay?' Mike asked, more to break the silence than out of any real
concern.

`Yeah,' Tom said, leaning a long arm up against the door frame to steady
himself.  `Just drunk.'

Indeed, Mike could smell the beer on Tom's breath. His stomach tightened.

What does he want?  Mike thought.  Surely not . . .

`Do you want to come in for a sec?' Mike asked shyly, wondering whether the
question would raise any alarm bells in Tom.  Wondering whether that was
what a straight guy would ask.

`Sure,' Tom slurred, and blundered past, heading straight for the bed, which
was still rumpled and warm from Mike's interrupted slumber.  He propped
himself up, so that his back was against the wall, with his feet dangling
off the side.  Mike noticed that in one quick motion, he had kicked off both
of his sneakers.

"I'm drunk as fuck," Tom said, his eyes half closed.  Mike could tell that
Tom was not exaggerating.  His eyes were read and glassy, wandering around
the cramped room, taking it all in.  It was the first time that Tom had ever
been in Mike's room.

What the fuck is he doing here? Mike thought again.  This cannot be
happening.

With nowhere else to sit, Mike went over and sat on the bed, too, feeling
awkward, but enjoying the close proximity to Tom; it was probably the
closest the two had ever been.  He could smell the scent of stale beer and
cigarettes, mixed with the faint smell of sweat and some sort of cologne,
maybe deodorant.

`Do you have any beer?' Tom asked, to Mike's surprise.

`Ummm, sure, hold on a sec.'  Mike went over to the fridge and took out two
beers.  Tom opened his quickly and took a long swig.  Mike stared at him,
nervous, not sure where this was leading, afraid even to imagine, in case he
was wrong.

`Can you do me a favor,' Tom slurred suddenly.  `Can you rub my ankle for
me?'  He wasn't looking at Mike as he said it, but instead seemed to look
around the room, at everything but Mike.  He took another long drink from
the can of beer, and let out a loud burp.  Only then did he look Mike right
in the eye.

`Sure,' Mike said, as Tom swung his legs up onto the bed, almost into his
lap.  Instantly, as soon as he had hold of Tom's giant foot, even with its
damp sweaty sock still on, Mike felt his cock spring to life.  He prayed it
wouldn't come out of the fly of his boxers.

The silence grew, until finally Tom said `I hurt my ankle today in hockey
practice.  It kills,' by way of an explanation for his unexpected request.
Mike could feel his face flush.  He suddenly felt very warm.  His erection
strained against the fabric of his boxers, and he was worried that Tom would
see it, would sense it somehow.  He could smell Tom's foot from where he
sat, a mix of sweat and soap and leather that was not entirely unpleasant.
The foot was surprisingly heavy, muscular, the grayish-white sock slightly
damp.  His cock twitched again, spreading a dark patch of pre-cum on his
boxers.  He adjusted the way he was sitting to ensure it was hidden from
view.

Mike's heart was pounding, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head.
What should I do now?  Should I move up his leg?  Should I take off his
sock?  What if I am wrong?  What if this is just innocent, if he really did
just hurt his ankle?  Wouldn't he just rub it himself?  What if he rejects
my advance, and tells everyone?  Or throws a punch?

As if he had read his thoughts, Tom suddenly said, `This is kinda queer I
guess, isn't it?'  His eyes were locked on Mike's now.  He wasn't smiling.
The silence hung between them.

Mike was unsure how to answer.  His mouth was completely dry, as if he had
eaten a fistful of crackers all at once.  He swallowed hard.  `Nah', he
managed to croak, unconvincingly, `I don't mind.'

Tom hesitated for a few seconds, then pulled his leg away, and stood up with
an exaggerated groan.  Mike thought he could see Tom's swollen cock through
his jogging pants, long and thick with excitement, but he couldn't be sure.
`Listen,' Tom said, almost sadly, "I'd better go, I'm really drunk.'  He
stood there a moment longer.  Waiting for Mike to protest?  Waiting for him
to make some sort of move?  But Mike was paralyzed.  With fear.  With
desire.  The whole thing had happened so suddenly, Mike wasn't prepared.
Damn, he thought, damn damn damn.  His own erection ached in his shorts;  he
didn't care now if Tom saw it or not.  As Tom left, Mike cursed himself
silently, and wished he has been more bold.

`Seeya `round" Tom said, and, for the first time since he got there, gave a
half smile.

`Bye,' Mike said, and slowly closed the door, frustrated that he would have
to bring himself to orgasm not with Tom, but with what might have been.




22nd January 2001       1.31 am


`Do you have any beer?' Tom asked, to Mike's surprise.

`Ummm, sure, hold on a sec.'  Mike went over to the fridge and took out two
beers.  Tom opened his quickly and took a long swig.  Mike stared at him,
nervous, not sure where this was leading, afraid even to imagine, in case he
was wrong.

`Can you do me a favor,' Tom slurred suddenly.  `Can you rub my ankle for
me?'  He wasn't looking at Mike as he said it, but instead seemed to look
around the room, at everything but Mike.  He took another long drink from
the can of beer, and let out a loud burp.  Only then did he look Mike right
in the eye.

`Sure,' Mike said, as Tom swung his legs up onto the bed, almost into his
lap.  Instantly, as soon as he had hold of Tom's giant foot, even with its
damp sweaty sock still on, Mike felt his cock spring to life.  He prayed it
wouldn't come out of the fly of his boxers.

The silence grew, until Tom said `I hurt my ankle today in hockey practice.
It kills,' by way of an explanation for his unexpected request.  Mike could
feel his face flush.  He suddenly felt very warm.  His erection strained
against the fabric of his boxers, and he was worried that Tom would see it,
would sense it somehow.  He could smell Tom's foot from where he sat, a mix
of sweat and soap and leather that was not entirely unpleasant.  The foot
was surprisingly heavy, muscular, the grayish-white sock slightly damp.  His
cock twitched again, spreading a dark patch of pre-cum on his boxers.  He
adjusted the way he was sitting to ensure it was hidden from view.

Mike's heart was pounding, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head.
What should I do now?  Should I move up his leg?  Should I take off his
sock?  What if I am wrong?  What if this is just innocent, if he really did
just hurt his ankle?  Wouldn't he just rub it himself?  What if he rejects
my advance, and tells everyone?  Or throws a punch?

As if he had read his thoughts, Tom suddenly said, `This is kinda queer I
guess, isn't it?' His eyes were locked on Mike's now.  He wasn't smiling.
The silence hung between them.

Mike was unsure how to answer.  His mouth was completely dry, as if he had
eaten a fistful of crackers all at once.  He swallowed hard.  `Nah', he
managed to croak, unconvincingly, `I don't mind.'

Feeling suddenly bold, Mike watched Tom's face carefully as he pulled off
one of the sweaty socks, and then the other, and pulled both of the
athlete's giant feet into his lap, letting them touch his aching erection.
He watched carefully for even the tiniest sign of disapproval, but Tom
merely closed his eyes and lolled his had back against the wall.  Mike
noticed that his thick lips were parted, and that he was breathing heavily
through his mouth.  With his head back, a few dark blonde bristles of hair
were visible on his chin.  His large Adam's apple rose and then fell as he
swallowed hard.  For a second, he wondered if Tom had fallen asleep, but as
if on cue, Tom rubbed his nose roughly with the back of one giant hand,
showing the broad palm, rough with calluses, before again letting it rest at
his side.

Carefully, gently, and oh so slowly, Mike began rubbing Tom's calf, pressing
and kneading the flesh firmly.  He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard
Tom groan, just slightly, almost like a sigh.  Mike's cock was so hard it
hurt, but he didn't dare let go of Tom's leg to touch himself.  He pulled up
the leg of Tom's jogging pants to reveal a muscular calf, covered with a
smattering of soft blonde hair, the same color as the few hairs on his
enormous muscular feet and toes.  Man's feet, Mike thought to himself.
These are man's feet.  Without the sock on, the smell of his foot was
stronger, acrid, like vinegar, but sexy, unmistakably masculine.

Mike's attention returned to Tom's face, scanning it relentlessly for any
sign of objection or alarm, but Tom's eyes remained closed.  Perhaps there
was even the start of a half-smile on his lips?  Mike was unsure, but he
could clearly make out the shape of Tom's erect cock now, straining through
the synthetic fabric of the jogging pants.  He edged closer towards it,
rubbing Tom's thighs, both calves, both feet.

His hands traveled higher.  This was it.  He watched Tom's face as he slid
his hand onto the bulge in his jogging pants.  If he lets me do this, Mike
thought, then I am home free.  Please God, let him just lie there, just for
10 more minutes, and I will never ask for anything ever, ever again.

Mike outlined the thick shaft with one finger, rubbing the full length of
it, seven inches at least, maybe eight.  His eyes never left Tom's face.
But now that he  had come this far, he had to see more.  His heart was
beating so hard he wondered if Tom could hear it.  The time had come.  He
reached up and grabbed at Tom's waistband, slowly pulling down his pants, an
inch at a time, noticing for the first time that Tom was not wearing any
underwear.  Please, Mike prayed silently again, please let me do this.

Tom's cock sprang up as if it were on a spring, and he lifted his hips just
slightly as Mike pulled the pants down to his knees.  His cock was enormous,
Mike could see now, at least 8 inches, with a fat mushroom head, and a long
thick shaft the width of a baby's arm.  Mike traced a long prominent vein
with the tip of one finger, and saw Tom shudder as his cock twitched and
flexed in approval.  He took Tom's sack in his hand, and lolled the balls
around gently.  They were so heavy, they hung so low.  Mike couldn't believe
how soft they were, so warm and furry.  He rocked them back and forth,
tugging on them gently, tickling the coarse honey blonde hairs with his
fingers, sliding his finger behind the sack, and in the space between his
balls and his asshole, prodding gently, massaging every inch of him.  Tom
groaned, there was no mistaking it this time, and arched his back ever so
slightly.

That was all of the prompting that Mike needed, and he leaned forward,
taking Tom's fat cockhead in his mouth.  It tasted of soap, yet slightly
salty too, and Mike was surprised at how silky smooth the skin was, how soft
and warm.  He went lower and lower, stuffing the giant rod into his hot
mouth, drooling on it, sucking as much in as his mouth would allow.  Soon,
his nose was buried in Tom's pubic hair, so soft on his nose, the smell
magnificent, like almond soap.  Tom made a sound like air escaping from a
punctured tire, his hands turned into giant fists as he grabbed hold of the
bed sheets with both hands.

Mike buried his face between Tom's muscular thighs, and lapped at his hairy
balls, pulled at the coarse blonde hairs with his teeth, tickled the sack
with the tip of his tongue.  Tom's face was contorted into a grimace, his
back arched, his t-shirt pulled up to reveal his flat stomach, as pale as
moonlight.  He wriggled and writhed, and Mike picked up the pace, stroking
the slick eight inch shaft with one hand, while teasing his ball sack with
the other, gently pulling it down, then lolling the heavy balls around
again.

He could tell Tom was getting close.  His breathing had turned ragged and
shallow, and Mike could feel that his nipples were like hard pebbles under
his t-shirt.  Mike slowed suddenly while Tom caught his breath, and then
resumed in earnest, stroking the hard shaft faster, gripping it firmer,
while he sucked both of Tom's warm hairy nuts into his mouth.  He slid one
finger behind Tom's balls, and again tickled the area between his sack and
his asshole, now damp with sweat, before gently teasing his hole with a
finger tip, tracing the opening, entering him just barely, just with the
very tip of one finger.

Tom made a gurgling sound, and grunted an anguished cry as his eyes flew
open, bulging.  That was it.  A thick rope of white cum flew from his cock
and landed on his chest, just missing his quarter-sized dark pink nipple, a
second blast landed on his stomach. He whimpered and growled, his head
thrown back, uttering only a single word:  `fffuck'.  Another blast came,
which Mike caught in his mouth, not wanting to waste another drop.  He
gently milked Tom's cock for any remaining fluid, before giving his heavy
warm balls once last gentle squeeze.  A moment later, he could hear Tom
snoring, with his pants around his knees, his shirt hiked up to his chin,
and his cock still rock hard.

He took a moment to survey the scene, ran his hands over Tom's smooth warm
chest, tight abs, and firm nipples one last time.  Feeling guilty, but too
aroused to help himself, Mike got up on his knees, pulled off his t-shirt
and boxers, and pointed his own fat cock at Tom's alabaster chest as he
jerked himself off, tickling his sack while he pumped his rock hard shaft.
It took no time at all, and in seconds he had dumped his seed all over the
sleeping man's smooth chest.  He couldn't remember ever seeing a sexier
sight:  Tom lying there so exposed, so helpless, stripped bare and covered
in spunk.  He slowly cleaned Tom up with his own discarded boxer shorts, and
gently pulled down his t-shirt.  He gave Tom's dick a gentle kiss on the
tip, and struggled to pull up the sleeping stud's pants, since he was dead
weight now, sound asleep.  Mike curled up next to him, and was asleep
himself moments later.

When we awoke, Tom, of course, was gone.  The only sign that he had been
there was the empty beer cans.  Mike smiled to himself, and knew that
neither of them would ever mention what had happened, although Tom was
certainly welcome back anytime.

<end>

I'd love to hear from you if this story helped you to get off.  Be sure to
mention the name of the story, though, since I have a few stories online
now.  Comments to michaelk_69@hotmail.com