Boy Story: The Road Taken - 47. Promise Not to Get Mad

Promise Not to Get Mad

School started in September and everything was going as well as could be expected. I never witnessed before how Parker was as a student, except for the high school report card I saw with two A’s and three B’s. He became very popular on our dorm floor and developed a fondness for extracurricular activities, but when he put his mind to it, he was a very good student. Ginny did impress upon me that sometimes Parker needed a little kick in the butt to get focused on his school work, so I managed to keep a watchful eye on his activities without being intrusive. This was fairly easy because, other than time spent in class, we were almost always together. We even had one class together – World Regional Geography, which Parker mentioned was fitting since we knew each other’s regional geography oh so well.

Our college was originally opened in the 1830s, when most colleges were all male, and had been expanding ever since. Since our dorm building was constructed in the 1960s, before the college was coed, the floors were originally outfitted with bathrooms equipped with gang showers (facilities that nearly all young men have come to despise). When the college became coed in the 1970s, our building kept the gang showers for boys and took a few dorm rooms away on each floor to build facilities for the girls. Since then, according to old photos hanging in the lobby, our dorm building also went through major renovations every decade or so.

With each new semester, our floor would take a vote on whether to make all restrooms coed. It was always voted in favor of. Once that was decided, almost everybody used the girls’ restrooms because: 1) they were closer to the dorm rooms, and 2) you could shower in a private stall. Private yes, but I did find it a bit disconcerting when I would be showering right next to a girl from the floor with just a stall wall between us…a stall wall over which I could see the other person’s head or face if they were tall enough. I eventually just used the male bathrooms and showers because it was a much larger space and was usually empty or nearly empty. Oddly enough, even though all restrooms were voted to be coed, I never once saw a girl in the boys’ restroom…probably the potential of seeing a boy’s privates fresh out of the shower kept them away. In typical counterpoint, if a guy saw the flash of a girl's privates in the co-ed shower area, it would be considered a bonus.

The boys’ showers weren’t the usual full on gang showers that I'd seen in gyms and such. Here we had eight pods (basically big tiled rooms) each with four showerheads (two on the left wall and two on the right wall) and a drain in the middle. Each pod began with a curtain behind which we had a little changing area with shelves, hooks, and a bench. Behind a second curtain, we entered the tiled shower area. Then we had the opportunity to carry on a nude face to face conversation with whoever happened to be in there showering with us. Seems pretty awkward, right? Apparently, this used to be the norm. Back in the day, I guess you just got used to hanging out and taking showers with your friends, and eventually nudity became a nonissue. It does seem a foreign concept in today's world.

Thankfully, in my college days, if multiple people were showering at the same time in the boys’ showers, they just showered in different pods. Since most boys showered in the girls’ bathroom, I never saw more than five of the eight pods in the boys’ showers being used at one time. I was never faced with the occasion of showering with another boy, unless I chose to.

Of course, if you are a guy living in the dorm with your boyfriend, this is the perfect setup. Parker and I would shower together every day our schedules coincided. And for us, that occurred four out of five school days plus all weekends. It got to the point that when I showered alone, it felt weird. I would think, “Who’s going to do my back?” The only disadvantage, if you see it that way, was the need to dispatch the boners before leaving the shower. Unless we already had sex, I found it nearly impossible to get through a shower with Parker without becoming aroused. If he got a boner first, I would get turned on seeing it and—schwing! When he washed my genitals—and he was always meticulous—boing! When our warm nude, wet bodies rubbed against one another—bonerama! So you get the basic idea.

And a note to the female readers out there…it is nearly impossible (especially in one’s teens) for a guy to control his erections. Sure it’s a natural state of affairs, but we guys occasionally get them when we don’t even want them. Sometimes girls think guys get erections simply to be disgusting. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re doing that!” We really aren’t doing anything. It’s doing it on its own. Some people seem to think it’s like a bad dog, where the owner is to blame. But where you can train a dog to behave, penises do not respond to voice commands or treats. Anything can set off an erection at any given time for no apparent reason. If you are a guy, you know what I mean.

Of course when it came to Parker, I was well aware of what was setting me off. And there are two tried and true ways to rid one of a boner: a cold shower or an orgasm. You can pretty much guess which was our method of choice. We undoubtedly left a lot of DNA in that shower room.

Now we flash forward to one afternoon in late October when I was in the dorm room lying on the bed trying to catch up on some reading for my English classes. Yes, I had two of them: one language class and one literature class, both of which required a good amount of reading. Before long, the door opened and Parker walked into the room with his gym bag.

“Hey!” I said greeting him.

“Hi,” Parker shot back.

“You have a good workout?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied.

He put his bag away and sat in his desk chair. He spun around so he was staring at me, but he remained silent. After a minute of feeling his eyes upon me, I looked up at him from my book.

“OK, what’s up?”

“Um. Well, I do have something to tell you, but I want you to promise you won't get mad,” Parker opened with.

Uh oh, this did not bode well.

“How can I promise not to get mad if I don’t know what it is yet?” I countered.

I mean, really…how could I get mad at the boy sitting across the room with the spiked blondish hair still wet from a recent shower at the gym, expectant blue eyes, smoking hot, skinny body, and the face that launched a thousand ships? How would it be possible for him to piss me off?

“Well, OK, could you promise to just think about what I’m about to tell you before you respond,” Parker tried.

“Alright, I can do that.”

“Well, you know how I was on the swim team in high school?”

“Yeah…”

“And I got pretty good at it, right?”

“Yes, I've seen the trophies.”

“Um, well, I’d been seeing flyers all over campus that the college swim team was holding open tryouts on such and such a date. Now, I never in a million years thought I was good enough to be on a college swim team, especially since I haven’t done any competitive swimming since last winter. But I was curious to see how far off I was and figured I had nothing to lose in simply trying out. I showed up two weeks ago and swam the drills they set out. At the end of the session, the coach read off the names of the students he was interested in seeing more of. My name was on that list. But that still doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s great! What’s wrong with that?”

“Well wait, there’s more. So today I participated in workouts with the team and we had heats to swim as a whole team. I swam in three heats and I did really well. At the end of the workout, the coach told me I made the team.”

“Parker, that’s fantastic! So what's the bad part?”

“Well, if I decide to be on the team, swimming is a huge time commitment. I’d be in one pool or another almost every day. I didn’t even expect to make the cut, so now I’m conflicted. I want to be on the team, but I don’t want to alienate you because I’m swimming all the time.”

“Parker, that’s crazy! I will be your biggest fan! I’ll go to all the matches to cheer you on. Are they even called matches?”

“That’s close. They’re actually called swim meets. But you don’t mind?” he asked.

“Of course not! Parker, you only go to college once in your life. It’s up to you what you make of it. I’ll support you in any sport or activity in which you choose to participate,” I declared.

“So you’re not mad?”

“No, I think it’s wonderful!” I said. I got up and walked across the room. I motioned him to stand up and I gave him a long hug. “You are going to be a swimming star on that team! I just know it!” And I gave him another long hug. Then he wriggled loose to kiss me full on the lips. I kissed back and then I seem to remember a short tongue fight.

Then I added, “C’mon, Parker, when have I ever been mad at you?”

“Well there was one time…”

“When?”

“Remember when Nick was over and I told him you had nine inches? And you got mad.”

“Huh? I wasn’t mad. I was just…exasperated. I mean, Nick certainly didn’t need to know… didn’t want to know something like that,” I explained.

“Why? What did he say?”

“Nick just said, ‘Good for you!’”

“Oh. Was he saying that to you or to me?”

“To me, of course. Why would he be saying that to you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was complimenting me.”

I had to laugh. I never even considered that when Nick said "Good for you!" he was complimenting his brother on taking such a big dick. Obviously Nick had said that to me, but Parker’s odd twist on the episode made it absurdly funny.

It was a banner day for Parker. He went to a swim practice earlier and made the team. Well, I guess this was cause to celebrate. And since we were still too young to buy champagne, we had to find another way to celebrate.

He whispered in my ear, “Since you’re not mad, do you wanna fuck?”

Gee, nothing like beating around the bush. That’s one thing I loved about that boy—no wasting time.

I sat back down on the bed. “OK, do you want to bottom?”

“Do you even need to ask?” he answered.

“I didn’t want to assume,” I replied. I was hoping he would bottom because I hadn’t been that vigilant about cleaning my insides as of late. “OK, but on one condition…you have to get me worked up a bit first, OK?” I requested.

“Worked up? Well, I don’t know…” he said hesitantly.

He thought for a minute and then got up and put a CD in his portable stereo. Then to the song “American Beat (84)” by the Fleshtones, an unlikely song if there ever was one, Parker performed a strip tease. The clothes didn’t stay on for long. I watched open mouthed as pieces of clothing flew in every direction while a semi-erect Parker was undulating perfectly to the music. I shouldn’t have second guessed his choice of songs. It was perfect. He summoned me to join him out on the floor. It was like an X-rated out of body experience. I felt myself getting up off the bed to meet him in the middle of the room. He began removing my clothing piece by piece, and I suddenly found myself nude with a massive hard on. We were soon dancing close and rubbing our swords together.

As pre-cum started dripping from the tip of my pole, I couldn’t take it any longer and grabbed him by the wrist and led him to the bed. I sat down on the edge of the bed and he immediately knelt in front of me and used his mouth on my swollen appendage. I reached down and stroked his head while he worked. I had to stop him because his enthusiasm was about to get me off, but there was much more we needed to do. This was the first sex of the day, so why sell it short? Oh believe me, it was a struggle to not let him finish me off, but I promised him a fuck and that's exactly what he was going to get.

I slid over to the middle of the bed and grabbed the tube of lube. He unexpectedly lay down on top of me and slid his body toward my head until his pelvis and erection were in front of my face. He began playfully slapping me in the face with his cock. There was no question what he wanted from me, so I opened up and took him in my mouth. I guess I was doing a good job because he went from sort of hard to stiff in about a 20 seconds.

Parker changed his position and I used the break in the action to lube my cock while he lubed his butt hole. Then he stood on the bed above me with his feet planted on either side of me just above my hips. It seemed today we were going for the bottom boy on top position to start. As the final chorus of the Fleshtones song faded, he slowly lowered himself into a squatting position right onto my pole as I held it pointing upward.

My cock went right up into him and I felt that familiar warm squeeze from inside. That forced a guttural groan from deep within him. “Oh yeah, fuck!” I found that this squatting position opened him up more than usual. The rest was an impromptu choreography of him riding me up and down with periodic rest periods where I would take over pumping my pelvis upward. Grunts and moans were escaping his control. I kept my eyes glued to his face so I could see the expressions I was forcing on him. He began riding me hard. “Oh yeah, give it to me!” he pleaded. He was stroking his cock in unison as we streaked toward the finish line. I looked up and his mouth was open wide and his eyes were nearly rolling back into his head. Then his warm cream suddenly spilled across my chest, accompanied by a very long “Fuuuuuuuck!”

I grabbed him and forced him backward into the missionary position. As I pushed my cock in deep, I could feel that little muscle inside gripping on me. I announced I was going to come and he voiced his approval. “Oh, yeah! I want your cum inside me!” And seconds later, I exploded into him with five beefy shots. And just like that we returned to a panting mass of flesh and bones.

After a few seconds passed, I heard, “Dude, that was the best fuck ever! I thought I was going to pass out!”

“Well that’s your reward for making the swim team!” I explained. “And for having a magic butt!”

After a quick cleanup session, we returned to the bed. We lay down beside one another, and I gently caressed his smooth chest.

“Hey Parker.”

“Mmmm?” he purred.

“Something just popped into my head that I've been meaning to ask you,” I began.

“What's that?”

“Remember that weird talk you had with your mom?”

“You mean the one about personal safety after she saw your sausage?” he queried with a chuckle.

“Yes, that one.”

“Let me guess: You want to know if we've talked about your equipment since?” he joked.

“Noooooo! I hope you haven't...but I remember you said something about not wanting to wear a condom and that she wouldn't understand because she's not a gay boy. What did you mean exactly?”

Parker explained, “I don't know, I just feel that when I'm...banging...I want to be able to complete the act in its entirety. If I love someone completely, as I love you, I want to take your load...your DNA...so it becomes part of me. It's like we become one, and I feel so close to you. I think that feeling of closeness would diminish if everything was done through a wall of latex.”

“Mmmm. Yeah, when we do it, and I release into you, I feel so close to you as well.”

“So that's what I meant when I said that to my mother. She's not a gay boy, so it would be impossible to explain those feelings to her,” he added. “But you...you would understand...even though you're not a gay boy!”

“Ha ha, but I'm fucking one...I guess that counts for something, right?”

“Oh, that makes all the difference!” Parker shot back.

As we lay there, I pondered to myself if Ginny would indeed understand. I mean, she had kids, so maybe she did feel the same way at one time with her vagina and her husband. I mean, it's only different body parts, right? But I quickly put that thought away. Boys—gay or straight—never want to think about their mothers—or their boyfriend's mothers—having a sex life. But, I suppose a mom doesn't want to hear that her son takes it up the butt either. Best to steer clear of that can of worms.

On the surface it may seem like we were having a lot of sex in college. And if you consider a usual occurrence of twice a day a lot, then we were guilty as charged. Of course there were rare days when we didn’t have any sex, but we more than made up for that on other days with multiple sessions.

In talking to other people willing to discuss it, I was surprised to find that “sex” was often an event that is planned… you know like once or twice a week or once a month or whatever. Then it becomes the point where everything stops and then OK, it’s time, let’s do it. And then you press PAUSE on everything else until you finish. Then you clean up and life resumes again. Well, geez, doesn't that take some of the fun out of it?

With Parker and me, it was different. Sex wasn’t something that we planned our week around or made time for. Sex was something that was woven into the fabric of our relationship. At first I felt the more sex I had with him, the more he’d be into me. But when I finally realized that our relationship was secure, the sex was much more satisfying because there were no “state of the relationship” issues involved. There was just me wanting to please him and him wanting to please me. That’s why I’ve said before that our sexual endeavors were organic. They just happened. We didn’t keep count or predetermine what we were going to do beforehand. Sure, there were times—like in the showers or in bed—when we could pretty much count on something happening because we were naked and in close proximity, so it was easy to get our daily allotment...once in the morning shower and once at night in bed.

Also, “Do you want to fuck?” has a lot of variations at our disposal. We could go missionary, doggy style, spooning, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, a combination of these, heck there were positions we employed that I didn’t even have names for.

Of course, the two parties involved have to be willing at the same time (and that’s not always easy with couples), but once the will is there, what more does it take? One improvement in my life was that I didn’t need to masturbate any more. I now had someone who desired to have sex as much as I did—an element that I was never able to realize in my previous boy/girl relationships.

Before meeting Parker, my intimate relationships were all about me, me, me fulfilling my needs. How can I get what I want? And who can I get it from? Being in a relationship with Parker taught me that a relationship is about more than me and getting sex. For the first time, I found myself wanting to please the other person first without even thinking about it. In Parker, I learned how to truly love…and the making love part came along for the ride.

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