You know how I always watched you, as you walked into my room, still slightly wet on your return from the shower down the hall. My senior year in college, fourth year in the dorm, and I had never seen a boy as beautiful as you, one whose firm pecs taunted me as your cock strained against the work-out shorts you lounged around in, the tip pressing against the fabric, right in front of my face on the days I would look up from reading a book on my bed.
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Whoever thought it was a good idea to celebrate the holidays in a cabin on a mountain is an idiot. I keep telling my parents that, and every other person who decided to attend too. Sure enough I'm joking most of the time, but there's a core of truth here: I really don't want to freeze my ass off during Christmas. And as it so happens, I'm going to.
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It was a brisk Thursday in January and, despite the breezy cold, the sun was shining. The contrast of the glimmering, melting snow against the radiant sunshine was a paradox of reality that I seemed to grapple with in my own daily life. I paused getting ready and my mind began racing, torturing my ability to focus. I snapped out of my lingering gaze and finished buttoning my trench coat.
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There was a storm that went through my development a few days ago. Some siding came off the house, so I phoned a local guy to stop out and replace the pieces that had blown off. When I got home around 2 pm, Ray the siding guy, was still at it. He was up on the ladder placing the last of the siding back where it belonged.
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We'd met only a few hours before as we stood in the Sex Shop browsing over the assorted sex aids, magazines, videos and other interesting things. She was about 30 to 35, tall, blond and very, very attractive. Her breasts pushed attentively forward into her tight sweater and she obviously wasn't wearing a bra because her nipples were clearly visible. He was perhaps a few years older (about my age), slim, dark haired and, as blokes go, pretty good looking too.
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As I stated in my earlier story, I had lived a relatively average, suburban, heterosexual lifestyle. My detailed fantasy life, however, had significant homosexual activity. Fantasy and reality had remained separated, until the fateful day when I entered a gloryhole in a Manhattan video store and gotten a blowjob. While I felt ashamed / confused about having received oral from another man, the blow job itself was quite exceptional.
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Peter Grandon sat moodily in his dorm room staring at his literature textbook and studying for finals. He had read the same passage four times and he still couldn't tell what the paragraph meant. His mind was elsewhere.
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Derek leaned against the metal railing as his grey eyes passed over the crowded cafeteria. With the entire population wearing the same uniform he had to focus on faces in order to differentiate each inmate.
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Miles stared intently at the Sharpie pen clenched so tightly in his grip that his knuckles were blanched white, at the lined notebook opened to a fresh, new page. It was college ruled, perforated, with exactly thirty-three blue lines running horizontally across each page. He'd studied it with such intensity, such scrutiny, noting every detail about it that his vision was beginning to blur.
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Last winter I decided to get back into snowboarding on a more regular basis. It was something I did a lot when I was younger and thought it would be better that sitting on my ass all winter. I got a season pass to the small resort that was close to my home and started riding a couple of time a week, that is, if you can call it a "resort", it's really just a small group of hills.
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