Date: Sun, 2 Nov 2008 12:53:10 -0500
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: Memoirs of a Grad Student, Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Brandon

*This is the tale of the last two years, and the various sexual and/or
romantic adventures I've experienced in this extremely liberating period of
my life. This is a true story, not a fantasy. The things in it really
happened to me. The dialogue is based on my memory, and where it is
invented its based on what was very likely to have been said.*

Being raised in a very conservative and religious environment, I finally
embraced my sexuality at the age of 23. That's another story. Suffice it to
say that at 25 I was living secretly with my first boyfriend and wondering
what was next in my life. The relationship was great, I supposed, but then
I had nothing to compare it to. I had never dated anybody before that, of
either gender. Eventually I got into a graduate program on the other side
of the country and suddenly my life changed forever. My decision to go to
graduate school effectively ended my relationship, and I found myself alone
and single in an unfamiliar place. Being far away from my family and the
religion of my youth, I could now of the first time live as a comfortably
open gay man. My classmates were more than supportive of this - I had never
in my life been around so many people who were so accepting of what I had
always had to keep to secret. I looked forward to being able to date under
somewhat more normal circumstances.

I'm convinced "normal" is a meaningless phrase; everything is relative.

Nothing went exactly according to my expectations. For instance, my eyes
were immediately drawn to Ian, another grad student in my department. He
looked, dressed, and acted like New York City, where he grew up, which was
unlike everything I had known before. While not religious, he was deeply
spiritual and philosophical by nature and defied rigid categorization. He
was a self-identified bisexual, and while that often is considered only a
stepping stone on the way to gay, I was quickly convinced that in his case
it was absolutely true. He fascinated me, and I resolved to ask him out on
a date, but before I could he happily informed me he had just started
dating this rather attractive red-headed undergraduate girl in our
department.  After that, I decided to put a hold on dating or hooking up
and just focus on school. Jerking off had served me well the first 23 years
of my life, it could keep me alive now. It didn't help that my roommate,
while a hopeless tool, was extremely attractive and not particularly shy
about walking around undressed in front of his roommate. I had at the time
never told him I was gay. I wanted to but he was from the same religious
background as me and I thought it might make things weird (as it turns out,
he was totally comfortable with it, didn't change a thing). One weekend
early on our air conditioning went out and the ridiculous heat and humidity
kept us both permanently down to our underwear, which was both blissful and
torturous. It would have been less arousing if he had just gone totally
naked and shown it all, but with the hint, the suggestion, the occasional
outline or bulge working on the imagination, it was constant torment. I
spent the whole weekend bottled up in my room whenever possible,
frantically masturbating until I was near to chafing.

Due to this and other factors, I was restless and impatient and seriously
sexually frustrated. I'm too busy for a relationship, I reasoned to myself,
I just need to get laid. That should be easy enough, even given my relative
inexperience and shyness, right?

Not sure where or how to meet men, I turned to the only resource I had ever
known: the internet. I started talking to a guy named Brandon who seemed
nice and was eager to meet me. We agreed to meet in this trendy commercial
area near my place and go for a walk. When he pulled up in a big pickup
truck blasting heavy metal, I rolled my eyes and thought to myself that
this was not going to go well. He got out of the truck and I got my first
good look at him. He was at least three or four inches taller than me,
making him somewhere near six feet, with a nice stocky build, a strong
chin, broad shoulders, and a t-shirt just tight enough to show off some
decent muscle mass. I felt a flutter deep in my stomach - I'd always liked
stockier guys over the skinny, beanpole types.

This guy is out of my league in all sorts of ways, I thought to myself,
already beginning to compare my body to his. I was always the scrawny kid,
and that was still my mental image of myself, even though I had put on a
little weight living with that first boyfriend (who was a great cook). The
active life of grad school was already melting that away, but I had been
too lazy to go the gym.

As he got closer I noticed with surprise that he was pierced, on his
eyebrow and just under his bottom lip. Piercings and tattoos are heavily
discouraged in my religion, and I wasn't used to seeing such things,
especially when he showed me his tongue was pierced too. It was off-putting
at first, but the more I looked at him the more it seemed to suit him.
Within ten minutes I thought it might be the hottest thing I'd ever seen in
my life. We walked around, watching the drunks stumble from bar to bar, and
getting to know each other. He was a few years younger than me and from a
little rural town a little ways away where he had played football in a tiny
little high school and been in a secret sexual relationship with his best
buddy for years. That had recently come to an emotional end, with his buddy
dating a woman and trying to pretend it had all never happened, and Brandon
was pretty upset about it. I felt bad for him, but I was in a state of
continual disbelief. This guy should be walking around with a blonde bimbo
on his arm, or with another macho dude talking about boobs or whatever
straight guys talk about, not describing to me with gleeful detail the
first time he kissed his buddy, or fucked him. Nobody would ever guess he
was into guys, and I was already sorely tempted to take Brandon to meet all
my friends just to see their jaws drop open. However, I was certain that
having seen me he would realize that I was not what he was looking for - I
just couldn't be. He certainly wasn't my type, I couldn't possibly be
his. I told him my story, my long struggle, the various stages of sexual
experimentation, the long-term relationship that just recently ended. It
was very polite and cordial, and after an hour or so he said he had to get
home and said goodbye.

I never thought I'd hear from him again, but within half an hour he called
me.

"Just wanted you to know that I thought you were really cute and nice and
I'd love to hang out again," he said, with his light southern drawl.

"Sure, I'd like that," I said, finding speaking difficult.

Fortunately for us, my roommate, the tool, had just started dating this
girl in our class and was now sleeping over at her house nearly every
night. This left the apartment empty for Brandon's visits. A few days after
that first meeting he came over again, and we sat on the couch and talked
some more. He told me even more details about his sexual past, and I hung
on every word.

"I can't believe he's dating that bitch!" Brandon said. Fresh hurt still
sounding in his voice whenever he talked about his ex. "I'm tempted to call
her up and let her know how much her `boyfriend' likes it up the ass."

"Oh, so it went that way, did it?" I said, curious.

"Almost always, yeah. I'm a total top. What about you?"

I took a deep breath, trying to slow heart from beating. "Well, in my
previous relationship I was generally on the receiving end of things, so I
guess that's what I like."

He seemed quite satisfied with that answer.

"I'm sick of the selfish, stuck up jock types I usually go for," he said at
one point, "I just want to have some fun with a nice, normal guy. Somebody
I feel comfortable with." He looked at me, leaving no ambiguity to who he
was referring. "I'm glad you're shorter than me," he added for good
measure, "I'm always turned on by guys who are shorter than me."

Well, I'm not stupid. I can take a hint. I leaned in and kissed him.

When his shirt came off, I was surprised by the tattoo on his back, which I
found surprisingly hot, and at all the little curly chest hairs he had,
which I found even hotter. I was usually into smooth, hairless guys, but
when Brandon apologized because he'd been meaning to shave or wax, I said
honestly I wouldn't want him any other way. I was a little shy about
getting undressed in front of him at first. I have no problem with nudity,
I used to go skinny dipping with my buddies back home all the time, but he
was giving me body image problems just by being the same room. By the time
he had removed everything but my underwear, I was feeling a little
self-conscious.

"You got a nice frame," he said, maybe sensing my feelings, "No,
really. It's really nice. If you just worked out a little bit, you could
have a fucking great body. I think you look great." And then he kissed me
again. That helped a lot.

My confidence was further boosted once our nakedness was complete. His dick
was really nice, but not as long or thick as mine. At six and half inches,
I had never thought of myself as particularly large, but Brandon grinned
and told me mine was even bigger than his high school buddy's. He
complimented it at he gently touched and explored it. I've been with a few
people before and since Brandon, but few who were as genuinely curious
about the details of my body the first time we were together.

My apartment was on the fourth floor and over looked the commercial area
where we had met a few days earlier. The large windows were open and the
lights from the bars and clubs filtered in with some stars, providing just
enough light to see while still creating the right mood. We kissed and
explored with our hands and jerked each other off. I have a particular
curse in which it is often difficult for me to orgasm when I'm with
somebody. I guess I get nervous or feel pressure to perform. I'll get very
very close, but it just won't happen. I could tell Brandon was very close,
and had been for a while but was holding off for me, and this put even more
pressure on me.

"Don't wait for me, I take forever sometimes," I explained, "It might be
easier if I can see you go."

He didn't need any more encouragement. Within a minute he let out a low,
gravelly grunt and two or three jets of cum shot onto his stomach, pooling
into his belly button. It was the thick, milky kind that I had always been
envious of - mine was usually runnier and more clear. Not that I would ever
complain. Difficult orgasms and runny semen aside, I had a gift for having
intense, powerful ejaculations and I was and still am very grateful for it.

As I predicted, seeing Brandon in the throws of orgasm was a great help in
my own progress. My hand picked up speed until it was almost a blur, as I
often masturbate with great speed. Finally, after sitting on the cusp of it
for what felt like forever, I felt the mechanism of my body take control
and the swelling of pleasure that meant the end was near. I let some gasps
and moans and unloaded all over my stomach, chest, and face.

"Holy shit!" Brandon said, grinning from ear to ear as it just kept coming
and coming. Most people say something similar the first time they see me
shoot.

"It always takes a while," I said, "but its always worth the wait." I'm so
cheesy. I don't know how many times I've used that line.

Our first experience together having gone fairly well, I felt confident
that I would been seeing a lot more of Brandon. I liked him, and he liked
me, and we had some kind of chemistry, but there was no risk of deeper or
more complicated emotions getting in the way. I had stumbled onto my very
first fuck buddy. Later that night Brandon called me on his way home and
thanked me again. He looked forward to meeting again and going further, and
I must say I agreed.

The next week at school I spent a lot of time being distracted from my work
as I imagined how my next encounter with him would play out. It didn't help
that I kept receiving flirty and sometimes outright dirty text messages
from him throughout the day.  In my head I pictured him, the macho former
jock, throwing me onto the bed, lifting my legs in the air, and ravishing
me while I, the more passive intellectual type, laid there and took it like
a pro. I mean, considering our relative personalities, that seemed the most
likely way for things to go, right?  Finally Friday night came around, and
the tool was out of the house, and everything was set for him to come
over. He had just arrived, and we were on the bed making out and had just
got undressed when suddenly I heard the front door open. The tool was home.

"Matt, are you home?" he said loudly.

 Now, if this sort of thing happened to me today I would act very
differently than I did back then. I would open the door to my room and
announce to my roommate, "Hey. I'm home, but I'm about to have sex in here
with a totally hot guy so don't bother me, ok?"

Needless to say, that's not how it went. Like I said, I was scared about
how the tool would take it if he found out, so I panicked. I threw on some
clothes and with great effort left Brandon naked on the bed while I slipped
out of my room and closed the door behind me. I had to figure out why the
roommate was here and get him away as soon as possible.

Turns out he was just home to grab a few things and then he would be off
again to his girlfriend's. He began complaining about her, I guess they had
had an argument again, and like a good friend I tried to listen and be
sympathetic but all I could think about was the naked guy in my
bedroom. Finally, I wiggled out of the conversation and said I was going
back to my room.

Once I had safely locked the door behind me, I turned to Brandon. He was
laughing quietly, and gave me a look that said What now? The adrenaline was
shooting through my body and my heart was beating madly, and the sight of
Brandon's body sent me over the edge. I shoved him onto the bed, not
lightly, and straddled him. We began making out like crazy. I could tell
that by taking a bit more of an aggressive attitude I was really turning
him on.

I think he was in the middle of blowing me when the tool knocked on my door
and said, "Hey, I'm leaving now. Okay?"

"Okay!" I squeaked, "See you tomorrow!"

Things progressed quickly after that. I didn't recognize myself. After
sucking each other for a bit, I flipped him over on his stomach and pulled
his butt up in the air. I began rubbing my cock along his crack and he
moaned appreciatively. This was not at all how things were supposed to be
going. The positions were all reversed. But he was laying there, wiggling
his ass against me and loving every second of it, while I thrust
aggressively against him, kissing and nibbling on his neck and grabbing at
his hair with my hands.

"Fuck me, please," he said at last.

"What happened to the total top, huh?" I said, smiling, reaching for lube.

"Gently, gently!" he said as I slid a finger in, "I'm not really used to
this."

I was patient, and eventually my entire dick was sliding into him. He
moaned uncontrollably and kept muttering obscenities, but when I asked if I
should take it out he commanded me not to go anywhere. As we lay there,
frozen in time except for our rapidly beating hearts, I admired the shape
of his back and the gentle curve to his butt where I could see myself
buried inside of him. He was warm and very tight. He kept squeezing and
releasing his glutes, and I trembled at the pressure of it. At last he gave
me just the tiniest of nods and I knew he was ready. I went to town.

I'm not sure how long we were at it. I was feeling the most amazing
sensations, particularly since I hadn't topped in what felt like years and
was rediscovering everything. Brandon was, I can only assume, having a
similar experience. Despite the intensity of the sensations, or perhaps
because of them, I found myself again having difficulty getting past the
point of no return, that moment of inevitability. My body would swell and I
would feel certain that I was about to reach climax, only to have those
feelings suddenly disappear, or freeze without going any further. The
upshot was, I fucked him for a good long time, totally enthralled with the
sense of power that came from taking control and making him squeal. Finally
he couldn't take it anymore.

"Dude," he said, turning his head to the side to look at me out of the
corner of his eye, "you are going to make me cum! Are you even close?"

I felt a little flustered and said I wasn't sure.

"How can I help? Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?"

"Well..." I said, breathing heavily, "I never have any problems when there
is pressure on my prostate."

Brandon responded in a flash. He pushed me up, off and out of him, and
flipped around to face me. With another gentle push, I was laying flat on
my back with my legs in the air, while he stood on the floor next to the
bed and guided himself into me. It had been a little while, but I found I
accommodated him fairly easily and quickly and soon he was pumping into me
like a champ, fully returning the favor I had just given to him. This
wasn't going to take long. All that time inside of him combined with the
amazing feeling of him rubbing against my special spot was going to make
what had been difficulty suddenly all too easy.

"Oh God, I can't... here it comes."

"Yeah, fucking shoot!" he said, whooping with encouragement.

My cumshot had been impressive when we had jerked off together, but this
one put that to shame. It just kept coming and coming, one shot clearing
the top of my head and splattering onto the bed and the wall. Like a pro,
Brandon kept himself inside me, keeping up the stimulation until my orgasm
was finally, finally coming to an end and he could hold back no longer. In
one smooth motion, he pulled out and positioned himself above me. He came
onto my stomach and chest, adding to the mess I had already made
there. Looking down, I could see it all glistening in the moonlight. Though
it was kind of dark, I could tell easily which was his and which was mine.

"Damn, boy." he said, "Nobody ever gets to fuck me like that."

I blushed. "Guess I'm special."

"Guess so," he said, giving me a little kiss.

"You want to go meet my friends?"

I cleaned myself off before we went, of course, but once we were surrounded
by my college friends I could tell I reeked of semen. My friends had no
idea what to make of Brandon, he was completely different than anybody in
my social circle. They warmed up to him, eventually, but none them could
figure how I had gotten a guy like that. I couldn't either. Ian, the
bisexual, told me I had made a fucking catch.

Brandon and I meet up about once a week for most of the rest of that
semester.  The difference in our personalities got more and more clear, but
we usually regarded that difference affectionately. For instance, once he
opened my closet and looked at my wardrobe.

"It's like a fuckin' Easter egg basket in here," he said, shaking his
head. I had a lot of brightly patterned shirts back then, and Brandon
always wore dark solid colors. He was similarly shocked when he looked at
my iTunes and found no metal music. I would always tease him back, and soon
we'd be naked again.

We always stayed friendly and enjoyed each other's company, but as he began
to recover from the pain of being dumped he changed. He became less
affectionate, less grateful to have me around, and I could tell that our
fling together was coming to a close. He was ready to start dating again,
and to start looking for the kind of guy he would consider as a
boyfriend. I was not that kind of guy, which was okay. He was definitely
not what I was looking for in a mate, either. But we had been there for
each other in a time of our lives when we both needed somebody, and I would
never go back and change anything about that. Eventually, he moved about an
hour north to go to school and, when I heard from him now and then, he
seemed to be doing really well for himself.

Two more little stories about Brandon. About four or five months after he
moved north, I found myself needing to take a flight to the northeast, and
found that airfare was much cheaper out of the city Brandon had moved to
than from my own. I called him up and asked if it would be possible to stay
at his place the night before my flight so I could be there when it left
early the next morning, and he said that would be just fine.

I went up there and he showed me around his new city, where he went to
school, where he lived. He caught me up on the guy he had dated for a
little while, but it hadn't lasted very long. When it was finally time for
sleep, he invited me just to crawl into bed with him. We had been laying
there quietly in the dark for just a few minutes when suddenly Brandon
reached over and put his hand on my crotch. I had a huge erection, of
course, being near him again.

"I thought so," he said, smiling, and we went at it again, just like old
times. When I slid my dick in him, he turned to me and whispered, "You're
still the only guy I let do this to me."  I melted.

I had a little trouble again, so Brandon stuck his finger in my ass. "I
remember how to get you," he said, smiling. And with moments I was spraying
down the room like a fire hose.

"I remember that, too," he grinned.

When it was over, Brandon sprayed some Febreeze in his room. "Smells like
fuckin' ass in here, now!" he said. Same old Brandon.

The last story happened quite recently. He got in touch with me out of
nowhere one day and said he was coming down to my city for a little while
and asked if he could visit while he was there. By this time I had started
dating my current boyfriend (the identity of which will be revealed in a
later chapter) and it had been over a year since I last heard from
Brandon. He hadn't changed too much. Still confident, almost cocky, still a
Republican (God help me), and still totally hot. My friends were delighted
to see him again ("Oh, yeah, that guy!") and my boyfriend happened to find
him especially attractive.

We don't do stuff like that as a rule, but it just happened so easily with
Brandon. The three of us had a great time. We all jerked off together, and
then Brandon watched my boyfriend fuck me. As he left he gave us both a
hug.

"What a nice guy," my boyfriend said.

"Yeah," I said, remembering all our times together, "He is."