Date: Sat, 5 Jan 2013 23:48:03 -0500 (EST)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: "Doodling" story

				 DOODLING
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     I was seated in Tolliver's Coffehouse just off campus waiting for my
next class to begin. Normally I would have been in Algebra, but this was
mid-terms, the three days before Thanksgiving were devoted to midterms,
with classes jumbled and everyone poring over their books every chance they
got. Me, I'd studied all weekend and if I didn't know enough to pass Early
American History by now, I wasn't going to learn it by a review. Instead I
was trying to destress the best way I could in the time I had, that is, I
was doodling in my notebook.
     I'd been doing it since high school, and I have to say, I was pretty
damned good, in a caricature sort of way. If I drew Angela Barrett as a
sleazy prostitute (like I had my senior year), you could both tell it was
Angela Barrett and that it was a sleazy prostitute. At this moment, the
object of my pen was the object of my current lust, Andrew Kirck. He was a
half-back for the university football team and we shared a couple of
classes (even though I was a freshman and he was a sophmore), and as
captain of his high school football team, he bore the rather inevitable
moniker of Captain Kirck. To his credit, he discouraged any use of it,
pointing out that he wasn't captain of the football team at this
university, so it wasn't appropriate. I overheard him telling a friend that
frankly, the joke had gotten way old, already! Not that I was a Trekkie
with displaced lust, my problem stemmed from the fact the beginning of my
physical education class (they required it for the first two years, four
semesters of it, then they let go of you) coincided with the end of
football practice and I was going into the lockerroom and had a locker
where I got to see the football squad walking out and going to their own
section of the lockers. Most of them wore shorts or wrapped a towel, but
not Andy Kirck! He walked right out and get everyone take a look at the
billy club he was swinging between his legs. And to top it all off (and
make me need to sketch him while I waited between classes), last Friday,
he'd stopped halfway down the short stretch where his whanger was on
display to me to stand and talk with a classmate for nearly five minutes,
in the course of which he'd pitched a half-boner, you know where it fattens
up and distends, but doesn't rise up. So I'd seen him in his full glory,
nearly, and that image had been dancing through my waking and sleeping
fantasies every since.
     So this doodling was meant to be cathartic, I'd draw out my fantasy
and get it out of my system, and that would let me concentrate on the
history of our country from John Smith to George Washington (as far as we'd
gotten in history thus far, we'd go through the Civil War by Christmas)
enough to pass the mid-term with a solid B plus.
     I'd seen Andrew naked enough in that lockerroom to be able to draw him
pretty well, and drawing myself was easy since I was drawing my back to the
viewer, down on my knees and chowing on that pud. I carefully made the
prick neither larger or smaller than real life, this was going to be as
close to the real thing as I could manage. I was having a bit of trouble
with his jawline, how to draw that raw masculine power he had which didn't
diminish his rugged good looks one damned bit. If I could capture that
jawline, I'd have half the trouble with doing his face licked. The rest
would be that nose, simple, straight, arrogant and aristocratic, but
lacking any hint of femininity or effete softness. One day a misplaced
elbow would break that nose, but that was only going to make it more
beautiful. The hair, a military flattop of super-short hair, was a cinch,
just a row of short lines across the top and I was done. The eyes, too,
were simple, on this scale I didn't have to show them as sapphire-blue
gems, just a careful couple of curves to suggest them would be fine. And
the mouth, that perpetual smile, I could do that in my sleep, he wore it
constantly.
     The hour was nearly up and I was working on the final touches of my
sketch, putting in the background (the lockerroom, naturally) and an
outline of the coach watching us in horror (he felt any guy not on the
football team was a waste of testosterone and didn't mind letting us all
know it, I was glad he wasn't my teacher this semester and would avoid him
like the plague for the other three classes I'd have to serve in that
place), and not doing so bad. I was feeling pretty good about things
otherwise, next time I had filthy thoughts about Andrew, I could pull out
the picture and add some more detail or colorize it, and keep it by my bed,
and a few stroke sessions would push Andrew right out of my brain's search
engine from a memory to a fantasy, and capable of being ignored when I had
to study. I was even spending more time right now thinking about the
history test than the drawing when I heard a voice behind me. The worst
possible voice you could imagine!
     "Hey there, Gareth, what are you doodling on? Hey, a dirty picture,
I..." And that pause was realizing who the guy in the picture was. For you
guessed it, it was Andy Kirck, looking at my porn picture of me sucking his
cock! I looked around and into his eyes and I knew right away that he not
only knew that was him in the picture, the other person in the picture was
me!
     I closed my notebook, far, far too late. "Hey, Andy!" I said.
     "So...what you up to?"
     "Just waiting to get to my history test." I said. Looked at my watch,
though I knew damned well what time it was. "I got to go now, in fact."
     I was shoving my stuff into my backpack fast as I could, but that
takes time, you know. It let Andy say, "Gareth?"
     "Yeah?" I said as casually as I could.
     "What the hell?"
     I didn't need an explanation for that! "I was just doodling,
dude. Relaxing before a test. That's all it is. Honest!"
     I finished packing my backpack and slung it and got the hell out of
there. And I totally boned my history test, and can you blame me?
     My last test and last class before Thanksgiving weekend was the test
in that Algebra class I had missed due to the changed schedule during
mid-terms. And it was a class I had with Andy. I approached that test with
a dread that had nothing to do with my worries about the test; unlike
history, Algebra was something that, once you got it (and I had), the test
wasn't a problem. My dread was that Andy would be in that class with me. He
was taking it the second time, was my guess, from things that had happened
in the class. I sat down and looked around.
     Andy was sitting in his usual desk, and for the first time, I really
noticed how he had an unobstructed view of me from there. I couldn't see
him, he was seeing me from slightly behind (two rows over and one seat
behind), and when I turned and looked, he was looking right at me, and I
couldn't tell from the look on his face whether he was mad or upset, or
cool with what I'd drawn, or what!
     I turned when the professor came in and took my test, but I felt his
eye tracks over me the entire time. If Algebra had been one whit hard for
me, I would have boned that test, too. As it was, I probably got a B
instead of an A but nothing worse. Done, I got up quietly and handed in my
test, and left.
     And Andy was right behind me, turning in his test. I left the room
with my gut churning and in the hall, I walked, knowing he was right behind
me, following me. Would he say something, was he guiding me into a trap
with some other football players waiting to beat the shit out of me, or
what?
     "Gareth?" came his voice at the most isolated section of hallway we
had, nobody else was anywhere near.
     I decided I had to tough this out, best I could. At least he wasn't
going to beat the shit out of me, unless he planned to do it all by
himself. I stopped, turned around and said, "What?"
     "That doodle of me that you drew."
     Here it comes. "Yeah? I'm sorry about that, it was just a doodle, I
was killing time."
     "Yeah, but, can you do a bigger one for me?"
     "Huh?"
     "Can you draw a full-sized sketch of me nude?"
     "What would you want with that?" I asked. "Never mind. I don't want to
know." Hell, this wasn't anything like I was expecting him to be
saying. "I'm not very good of an artist, Andy. That sort of caricature of
you I did was about the best I can do."
     "Yeah, but that's okay, that's what I want. A sort of caricature of
me. I want it for a Christmas present."
     "Sure, I guess I can do that." I said. "Sure."
     "Great." Andy paused. "Do you need me to pose for it?"
     "Uh." I gulped, and told the truth. "I wouldn't just have to have you
pose for me, but I could do a better job of it for you if you did, yeah."
     "So, great." Andy said. Another pause. "You have any more classes this
week?"
     "No."
     "Me, either. Can we go ahead and do it now, then?"
     "Sure." I agreed. "That'll give me a bit of time to work it over
before I do the final before Christmas."
     "We can do it at your place?" Andy lived at one of the dorms.
     I lived alone, a studio so tiny it must have violated a few building
codes, but it was cheap. "Sure."
     "Then let's go."
     Andy got into my car, a subcompact, which forced him to fold his large
body up even more than I did. He did it, laughing easily at his
discomfort. Back at my place, I started setting up a drafting station with
my table and a chair. Andy would have to take the bed.
     I sat at the table and looked over at Andy. He was naked and using an
oil on his body. "Thought I ought to grease up a bit for this." he
explained to my stupefied expression. "Want to make sure you can see my
body to its best advantage, okay?"
     "Okay." I gulped. Shit, this was insane! Why had I agreed to this?
This was going to be worse than my looking at him standing in the
lockerroom talking and getting a semi-woody!
     Andy stretched out on the bed. "Can you see okay?" he asked me from
there.
     God, the lighting was making that oiled body glisten and outline every
curve on his form! "I can see you fine!" I said and my voice was a
strangled sort of squeak when I said it. That was an understatement, I
could see the indentations on his abs, the way his chest was softly divided
in the center with a dimpled area, the way his throat had a deep oval right
at the top of that, and I wanted to nibble that soft oval more than any
other part of his body!
     Andy turned and rested his upper body and head on one hand, elbow on
the bed, his lower body turned slightly my way. "I figured on this pose,
will this be okay?"
     "It'll be fine."
     "I figured for my cock, it'd be better if I could get it hard." Andy
reached down and began to work his prick. "When I'm soft, it's pretty
small." That wasn't what I saw when he got out of the shower, but I just
nodded dumbly. He fondled himself as I watched him, saying, "Isn't it funny
about how your cock seems to get hard when you don't want it to, but when
you want it to, it just sort of shrivels up. Mine isn't wanting to get hard
here and normally I walk about with a boner half the time. You ever have
that problem?"
     "Huh?"
     "You ever walk around with a boner for no good reason?"
     "Sometimes."
     "I hate when that happens. I figure, what's the use of having a boner
when you don't want it? Shouldn't you only have one when you want to, like
now?"
     I was keeping my face fixed on the paper, sketching his body out, just
rough lines now. I was going to do my best on this drawing. I figured I
could work it out in pencil, do the final in ink, erase the pencil and give
him that.
     "Gareth? Gareth?" I looked up. He had a full-on hardon in his
hand. "How's this? You like it like this?"
     "Yah. Yah. That'll be fine."
     "You can draw it like this?"
     "Sure." I turned my face back firmly to the paper. My heart was
pounding. Shit, I had to be crazy, trying to draw him nude, even as a way
of making up for my pornographic picture of him.
     "Gareth?"
     "Yeah?" I looked up again. He was stroking it slowly.
     "We never talked about what I was going to pay you for this."
     "Oh. Oh! That's okay. Me sketching that image of you, I figure doing
this is the least I can do."
     "No, I think you deserve more than just that for drawing me. What
would you like for it?"
     I couldn't say what I really wanted. "No, really, I couldn't take your
money for this, honest!"
     "I wasn't thinking of money."
     I looked back up again, and this time I looked at his face. "Huh?"
     "I wasn't thinking about money. But you deserve something for drawing
me, and I think you ought to get it. Don't you?" His eyes gestured me
downwards in a way that made everything crystal clear.
     My eyes stayed fixed on his. "You're right." I heard myself say. "I
think I should."
     "So get over here and do like you do-do-doodle!" He laughed harder at
his joke than it deserved. But so did I.
     I got up from that table and around it and over to my bed in no time,
knelt down beside it and leaned over to grab that pud and follow my hand up
with my mouth. His dick was clean, pink, and tasted a clean as a fresh hot
dog right out of the water on the stove, and just as warm and luscious!
     "Ahhh, yeahhhh!" Andy groaned as I licked his prick, slathering my
saliva all over it. "Shit, man, yeahhhh! Come on, do me like you did me in
your doodle! Do me like that!"
     His hands grabbed my head and thrust it down over his cock. I had
worked up quite a bit of spit on it, so it wasn't an impossible deep-throat
swallow, but it was pretty damned peremptory. I gagged but controlled it,
and he shoved about two-thirds of that massively long prong into my throat
and down a ways.
     "Ahhh, yeahh, come on, suck me, man, suck my cock! Come on, you know
you want to, I know you want to, you drew yourself sucking me and I'm going
to fucking collect on it!"
     God, the arrogance of this guy! I ought to bite his cock instead of
sucking it...ah, hell, who was I kidding! His arrogance was a part of the
appeal, the raw assurance that he could take anything he wanted from me
because I wanted it, too, and after all, didn't he deserve it? You can't
argue with that sort of sense of total self-worth, you just have to work
with it.
     So I went to town on his pud and he let go once he realized I was
going to do the job right on my own without his hands forcing me down. I
was slurping away, figuring that I could siphon off a load and he'd
probably make some excuse about the sketch he'd asked for (it had only been
a pretext after all, hadn't it?), and that would be the end of it. I'd have
a memory instead of a fantasy and that's better than a caricature to jerk
off to.
     So he surprised me when he said, "Hey, Gareth?
     I let go long enough to say one word. "Huh?"
     "Get your clothes off and get up on the bed with me. This position is
getting boring. If I'm going to be sucked off by you, I want to do it every
which way."
     That was even better! "Sure, Andy." I stood up and began to
strip. Looking at his body while I did it, he was such a beautiful stud
there. His gorgeously handsome face was fixed in a slight smirk as he
watched me, the eager neophyte, making myself naked for him. With that
disdain beaming at me, I got unclothed and climbed onto the bed. Andy
didn't move, he was right near the edge so I had to clamber over him. The
only way for me to suck on him, since he wasn't moving, was to put my feet
up on the pillows and scrunch upwards that way, and I got back a hold of
him.
     And my prick was resting right on his shoulder. I felt that intimate
contact (unintentional, really, I wasn't thinking in terms of him doing a
damned thing for me in that bed) and my cock hardened up. I was touching
his body, in more places than that, though that was the most stimulating
focus of the touching we were doing. My naked body against his, warm and
soft and he was so very much there, and I was sucking on him and it was all
real, so very real.
     I felt his hand moving and when it touched my ass, I damned near
creamed. I groaned and my cock surged harder than ever and then his hand
was up and between my legs and he had hold of my dick.
     Shit, was Andy going to jerk my dick for me while I sucked him? I
couldn't be that lucky, could I? Could I?
     I groaned again and I slurped and his cock was getting so warm, the
kind of warmth that's accompanied by the balls crawling up to plastering
themselves against the shaft. Shit, at this rate, I could let my passion
control me, and we'd come together. Right freaking together! The thought of
that hot come spraying into my mouth while I squirted was just so fucking
hot that... Jesus H. Christ, I felt something wet and moist on my cock! Was
it, could it be?
     It was! Andy Kirck was sucking on my cock! We were sixty-nining,
fucking sixty-nining! I didn't try to analyze any of this, I just let
myself enjoy it! I sucked and got sucked and my passion was raging in my
brain while Andy's prick heated up to a nearly painful degree in my mouth.
     He was moaning and so was I and I don't quite know which one of us hit
orgasm first. I was hearing his groans of ecstasy while I was having my own
senses blasted by my own climax, and when I ejaculated my load down his
throat, his own flood was jetting into my own. Andy jammed his prick as far
down my throat as he could when he came, I did the same thing to him, and
we both ended up gulping down each other's wad-packs as they squirted
out. It was like my entire world was one enormous orgasm, and nothing else
existed, my prick deep within Andy's body and his deep within me.
     Done, I rolled off and onto my back, my blanket was wadded up in a
near-roll underneath me, making my position lumped up and awkward, but I
wasn't in any mood to complain.
     "Man, that was awesome!" Andy breathed. "I can't believe you shot in
my mouth! And let me shoot in yours."
     I laughed feebly. "I was kind of lost in the moment."
     "I can believe that." he said with feeling. "Well, anyway, that was
damned good payment, you have to admit."
     "It sure was."
     "So, let's get to it."
     "Okay." I said dreamily. Then, "Get to what?"
     "Your sketching of me nude." he reminded me. "You said you'd do it,
and I need it for my Christmas present."
     I looked at him, surprised. "You mean you really want me to do it?"
     "Yeah, doofus!" He said. "That was the deal. You suck my cock, you
draw me naked, so I can give it as a present."
     What else was there to do? I got up from the bed, Andy posed himself
again and I sat back at the table and started drawing him.
     I got the basic drawing done and said, "Well, that ought to be
enough. I can finish this up over the holiday and have it ready for you by
next Monday."
     "Let me see that." Andy said to me.
     I showed him the image. "This is just in pencil, I'm going to do it
over in ink and erase and...."
     "No, no, this is all wrong, all wrong!" Andy complained.
     "What's wrong with it? I did the best I could, I said I wasn't a very
good artist...."
     "No, no, it's not that. The pose is all wrong."
     "Oh." I said. "So, what do you want to do?"
     "You got plans for Thanksgiving?"
     "Not really." My parents weren't high on my list of favorites, nothing
hostile, but there you go, I didn't particularly want to go home for
Thanksgiving.
     "Good. You come home with me. Tomorrow morning, you can try drawing me
again, this time in my own bed back home."
     "All right." I said. Then, a flash of inspiration. "Uh, given this is
a totally new drawing I'm doing, I'll have to be paid all over again."
     Andy looked at me without an expression. "Well of course. That goes
without saying. We'll just keep doing it over until we get something I
want."
     "Yeah." I said, smiling a lot broader than I probably should
have. "We'll just have to keep on doodling, won't we?"
     Andy did smile then. "Yeah. Just keep on doodling."

				  THE END
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		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM