BE ADVISED: This story contains gay sexual situations, graphic depictions of oral and anal sex, profanity, references to alcohol and drug consumption, mild violence, and threats of violence.
Coming Out - 1. The Roommate from Hell
Welcome back to the life story of a gay man. At the end of his senior year in high school, Bruce Hutton struggled to understand and accept his sexuality. Upon embracing it, he and his best friend, Craig Johnston, enjoyed rollicking sex that quickly blossomed into first love. But Bruce also suffered a heart-breaking loss when Craig left him after their first semester of college. Now, near the completion of his freshmen year, he’s allowing himself to explore all the possibilities that life offers him. We pick up our story on a Sunday morning in the spring of 1982 in the Freshman Dorm at Stanford University outside Palo Alto, California, where Bruce shares a room with a total asshole (and not in any sexual sense!).
“Wake up, shithead! Get your goddamn lazy butt the fuck out of bed!”
The raspy voice of my roommate Carl Baker bespoke the fact he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, plus who knows how many joints. He roughly shook my shoulder as he exhaled his ashtray breath close to my face.
“Wha-What the fuck?” I groaned, barely awake.
“You said you’d have your stinkin’ ass outta the room by noon. The bitch I met last night is coming over, and I wanna fuck the shit out of her. You need to go to the library or wherever the fuck you shithead nerds hang out.”
I vaguely recalled a promise to that effect the night before, when Carl stumbled into our room at three AM, making enough noise to wake the whole freshman dorm. He bragged about some woman at a party who blew him in front of a room full of drunken stoners. He had invited her over for an “afternoon delight” today.
“OK. Gimme some goddamn time, and the room’s all yours.”
“Well, hurry the fuck up! She’ll be here any minute, and I don’t want your sorry ass around when she gets here.”
I glared at Carl in disgust, but as usual, he was oblivious to my aversion to him. Nothing about him was the slightest bit clean, decent, or attractive. He was five-three or -four, 180 pounds, with dirty brown hair pulled back into a ponytail I suspect he washed every leap year at best. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks—I supposed he was going for the new “grunge” look or, more likely, he was just plain gross.
He was built like a brick shithouse and usually smelled like he bathed in one. I was not aware he ever worked out. As far as I could tell, the only exercise he got was fucking women who weren’t too particular. He had on an athletic undershirt and ragged cut-off jeans. A quick glance at his waistband revealed he was wearing a jockstrap.
I thought to myself, What the fuck? Why the hell would an asshole like Carl need a jockstrap? He never plays sports or exercises. I bet he’s into some kind of kinky sex.
A mental image of Carl naked except for the jock, with some butt-ugly woman fucking his ass with a dildo nearly made me gag. I turned back to straightening my bed, although I doubted it would make any impression on the partner whose arrival was imminent.
“Come on, goddammit, Rich Boy. Hurry the fuck up.”
He calls me that to piss me off. Carl resents the fact that I come from a wealthy family, whereas he’s here on student loans he’ll be paying back for the next twenty years.
Both of us were engineering undergrads at Stanford. He was studying something new and exciting called “Computer Science,” and I was in plain old, boring Civil Engineering. While I could look forward to a future building bridges and dams, Carl planned to become an overnight millionaire like Bill Gates or Steve Jobs.
I doubt there’s a snowball’s chance in hell he’ll graduate!
I pulled on my pants, added an Izod polo shirt from my dresser, and slipped on sandals. I picked up my backpack and saluted my repulsive roommate “Morituri te saluant.”
“Whatever. Fuck you, asshole,” he glared at me as I made my exit.
As I approached the elevator at the end of the hall, the doors opened. A woman of at least forty stepped out. She was wearing knee-high boots with stiletto heels, a black leather miniskirt several sizes too small, and her torn blouse barely constrained her mega-titties. Her hair was dyed mustard yellow with streaks of purple.
I would bet she’s a hooker, except Carl couldn’t afford to pay for sex if his life depended on it. What she sees in him escapes me.
I gallantly bowed and moved aside to let her exit, saying, “Room 304, Madam, third on the left.” I gestured up the hall.
She glared at me and growled, “Fuck you, asshole!”
Perfect couple. I hope they’re happy together—NOT!
I smiled, “Have a nice day.” She stormed toward our room.
Reaching the ground-floor lobby, I headed out into the daylight, more or less awake by now. The brilliant spring sunshine dazzled my eyes.
I’m no night owl, but I work so goddamn hard Monday through Saturday that I cherish my one fucking day a week to sleep in. My good-for-nothing roommate has interrupted my needed rest yet again, the bastard!
I made my way to the cantina to pick up a strong coffee and crossed the quad to the library to see if I could find any of my classmates. I also thought I’d perform my morning ritual—.
With my steaming 20-ounce cup of java in hand, I entered the Lathrop Library and located an empty study carrel. Dropping my book bag, I took a long drag on the caffeine and opened the textbook to a chapter I was supposed to read by Monday.
I couldn’t concentrate. My head was spinning with meaningless, unconnected ideas. I pictured Carl, naked with his hairy ass pumping up and down as he fucked the ugly woman. Afterward, they would probably smoke a cigarette together (something forbidden in our dorm) and do the whole disgusting thing all over again a couple more times.
My thoughts drifted to Craig. I missed him so much it hurt.
I can’t stop thinking I should have said or done something to keep the door open for him to come back to me after he and Phil—or whatever the fuck his name is—get tired of each other.
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my mind from taking me back to pleasant memories...
We headed up to The Hide on a sunny day late in August when we were both off from work. As usual, we raced up the hill to the cabin and tore off our clothes. We fell into the bottom bunk naked, kissing, cuddling, and whispering affectionate names to each other.
I rolled over on my side and pressed my ass into the curve of Craig’s warm body. His cock, already erect, began sliding up and down my crack.
He teased, “Do you want it, Bruce? I mean really, goddamn fuckin want it?”
In response, I squirmed tighter against him. “I want you to fuck the shit outta me, Craig.”
“Say no more. Here I come!”
He pulled away from my back slightly and I waited in eager anticipation as he applied lube to his dick and my asshole. He pressed forward, slid into me easily, and filled me with the heat of his manhood. I shuddered with delight at the familiar sensation of Craig’s hardness inside me.
I remembered how our first time was. There had been some pain but also a rush of pleasure, knowing the man I loved was making love to me. Now, it was second nature for my body to welcome his penetration.
Craig began to pump in and out, alternating fast and slow, deep and shallow, rough and gentle. He knew how to satisfy both of us at the same time and how to make sex last.
After a while, I rolled onto my stomach, pulling him on top of me. After missionary, this was my all-time favorite position. He lifted his ass into the air and inserted his penis downward into me. Rising on elbows and pointed toes, he floated above me like he was doing push-ups, not touching me with any part of his body except his cock.
In this position, he rammed straight down, deep into my hole, and picked up his pace. He began to hit my G-spot, and every contact with it sent a shiver of sexual electricity coursing through me. My cock was hard as a rock and crushed beneath me on the bed.
Sensing that his stimulation of my prostate would make me come soon, Craig sat back onto his knees and drew me toward him, up into doggy position. He gripped my hips with his hands and rammed into me with loud slapping sounds.
It’s a damn good thing we’re all alone up here, far from the house. We couldn’t get away with this kind of noise-making in my bedroom.
As he entered me, I responded to his vigorous thrusts by rocking back against him as he entered me. Now we were both in control.
Fifteen minutes into our fucking, my lover became more determined, pounding harder and beginning to breathe hoarsely. I sensed he was getting close to coming, and I wanted to climax at the same time he did. I changed the angle of my backward lunges, making sure his hard-on hit my G-spot repeatedly, bringing me right to the edge. I realized I couldn’t hold back any longer.
Suddenly, Craig moaned, “Oh, fuck! I’m coming!”
As gushes of his hot semen filled me, I cried, “Shiiiit!” and shot my load onto the bedspread. My ass muscles contracted rhythmically against his erection, squeezing every drop of cum out of him.
Spent, with our hearts pounding, we held the position for a minute. I collapsed forward with him on top of me. Both of us were breathing hard. We lay there in silence, savoring the release of our pent-up desire.
I love being the bottom because I’m giving myself to Craig or letting him take what he wants from me. When he’s inside me, we are one. I want to keep him like this forever, with his handsome, manly body pinning me down.
But he eased his soft cock out of me, and we turned to lie facing each other, entwined our legs, and kissed with affection.
He pulled away. “I’m so gonna fuckin miss this, Bruce.” His voice broke as he spoke the words.
That was all it took to bring a tear to my eye. “Me, too, Lover.”
He pulled me close and comforted me with kisses and hugs. Soon, we were hard again, and this time I topped him.
I can’t think about how this could be the last time we have together for the next three months. I won’t only miss Craig. I’ll be lost without him. I’m going to cry myself to sleep every fucking night, and think about him every goddamn time I jack off.
After we both came again, we got up and sat, naked, in the rockers on the porch, looking out the clearing at the late summer afternoon.
“I wish we didn’t have to go to different colleges—” I began.
“Me, too, but we can’t do shit about it now. Your dad went to Stanford, so you gotta go there, too. I got a scholarship to Yale, and my parents can’t afford to send me anyplace else.”
We talked back and forth for a while until I turned to face Craig. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Of course. And you know I love you back, right?”
“So why the fuck don’t we run away together and start a life that doesn’t tear us apart?”
He was silent for a time. “It sounds fuckin fantastic, Bruce, but it would never work. You have a goddamn family business to take over some day, and I need a college education so I can make a shitload of money and help my parents when they’re old.”
He leaned over and hugged me. “Listen to me. You’re going to be all right. In fact, you’re going to be fine. Hell, you’re gonna be fuckin famous some day.”
He gave me his drop-dead sexy grin that melted my heart every time. “We’ll always remember the fun time we had this summer. And I swear, Christmas break and next summer when we’re both back home, we’ll come back up here and fuck our brains out the whole time.”
I hoped against hope he was telling the truth, so I forced a smile. “Sounds OK. I guess I’ll have to keep remembering until then.”
He nodded solemnly, and I said no more.
I shook my head to banish the painful reminiscence. As my thoughts cleared, I realized sadly that I was alone and lonely in a goddamn library on a Sunday afternoon.
I’m so fucking glad Craig didn’t agree when I foolishly suggested we should run away together. He’s not the person I believed he was, and I’m lucky I found out before it was too late.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away.
Like Mom said, he’ll always be a part of who I am, but I have to do something to get him out of my mind and fantasies—and I know what that something is.
I picked up my coffee and headed down the stairs to the sub-basement where, amid musty volumes and a century of dust, I entered the Men’s Room.
True to form, all three stalls were occupied. Everything went quiet when I opened the door, but after I stood silently for a few moments, I heard soft whispers and other sounds start up again. I knew exactly what was going on. This restroom was a known haven for gay men seeking anonymous sex.
I set my coffee on the sink and stepped over to the urinal next to the first stall in the row. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my dick. A deep sigh of relief escaped as I rid myself of the coffee’s diuretic effects.
After I finished pissing, I massaged myself til I was hard. I could hear heavy breathing on my right, so I peered down at a round hole that was cut out waist-high in the wooden partition. Peering through the glory hole, I saw an open mouth surmounted by a bristly mustache.
Damn! I hate the grating of whiskers on my cock, but I guess this is what fate has in store for me this morning.
I was sure no one else was in the restroom except the men in the stalls, so I stuck my hard cock through the hole. A warm, wet mouth surrounded my erection and started sucking for all it was worth.
This guy isn’t half bad. I have become a connoisseur of blowjobs at college—at least the receiving part. His fucking mustache even keeps mostly out of the way.
I rocked my cock in and out of his throat, seeking a rhythm we could both enjoy.
After gagging at first, he accommodated my motions and soon I got the familiar sensation of imminent release down in my balls. Letting out a breathy sigh, I emptied my first load of semen for the day into the man’s rapidly swallowing mouth.
After five or six pumps, my knees sagged as I finished. I often liked to leave my dick in place, enjoying the afterglow as it softened. Some guys let me do it, but others turned and spit into the toilet. This one was a swallower, and he savored every last drop of my cum, licking my cock to remove most of his saliva.
Satiated, I pulled back, zipped up my pants, and adjusted my shirt. Leaning down to the hole, I whispered, “Thanks. Fine job, Randy.”
After a stunned silence, an eye appeared and peeked up at me. “Oh. You’re welcome, Bruce. Any time.”
I left the restroom and returned to my study carrel, ready to open the fluid mechanics chapter I needed to master for the test on Monday. As I picked up the heavy textbook, I mused to myself.
What a sex fiend I’ve become! I never imagined casual and anonymous encounters would be such a big part of my life. I guess a combination of Craig and Carl has rubbed off on me. Oh, well, that’s who I am now, and I’m not fucking sorry.
A little after five PM, I figured my disgusting roommate had fucked his brains out, so I headed back to our dorm. No one was in my room, but when I turned on the light and gazed around, my blood boiled. I was instantly furious.
Carl’s filthy bed was in its usual state of disarray. But mine, which I had hastily made while he was rushing me out of the room, looked like it had been through a fucking war—which was an accurate way to describe his sex life. The blanket and sheets were halfway on the floor, and the pillowcase had come off. The pillow itself was in the center of the mattress and appeared damp.
“The motherfucking son of a bitch!”
It was obvious Carl had screwed his lady friend on my bed and left it that way to make sure I knew. I didn’t dare let my imagination run wild as to what the wet spot on my pillow was. I growled with frustration as I stripped the linens off and lugged everything down to the basement.
I’ve gotta ask for a different room or a better roommate. I’m gonna call my father and beg him again for the money to move to an off-campus apartment. The university requires freshmen to live in the dorm, but Dad can be persuasive when he wants to be.
As I rounded the corner in the hall, I saw the light was already on in the laundry room.
Shit! Since this is Sunday night, I was hoping for privacy. I don’t want to have to explain why I needed to wash my goddamn bedding this late in the day.
As I entered, I was relieved that only one washer and one dryer were in use.
Excellent. I don’t have to sit and wait for some asshole to finish whatever he’s washing.
A masculine voice came from the other side of the room. “Hi. I’m only using one set.”
I turned in the speaker’s direction and froze with a mixture of relief and amazement at my luck. The other guy doing his laundry was hot-looking and about my age. I had seen him entering and leaving the building many times and always felt a little stir of interest.
He was shorter than me by an inch or so, around 175 pounds, with ginger hair. He was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt, and his jeans hugged the contours of his firm ass and muscular legs.
His gave off a serious “I was made for sex” expression, but the look in his eyes reminded me of a little boy facing a stranger in a dark alley. Everything about his bearing made me want to know him better—much better.
He was sitting in a small corner alcove, where chairs had been provided for people to wait for their washing and drying. If I joined him, we would be out of sight of the door and most of the machines. Thanking my lucky stars, I stuffed all my dirty bedclothes into an extra-large machine, added the detergent, inserted the quarters, and sat in a chair across from the handsome dude.
He leaned over toward me, extending his hand. “Hi. I’m Pete Waters.” He gave me a friendly smile, revealing perfect teeth and a kissable mouth.
I can’t put my finger on what attracts me to him. I guess he has a kind of stuck-in-the-middle air about him—like he’s an adolescent who has found himself in a man’s body and isn’t sure how it happened or what to do about it.
I shook his hand. It was warm and his grip was firm, but I couldn’t tell what he was trying to communicate with it.
He’s giving off vibes of “please fuck me” and “don’t touch me,” at the same time. This is driving me fucking crazy. His friendly greeting already has me halfway hard.
“Bruce Hobson,” I smiled back at him. “What’re you studying?”
I grimaced. “Oh, I bet you’ve met my roommate, Carl Baker.”
He regarded me with a blank expression, not sure how to respond.
I added with a wink, “Or, as I like to refer to him, ‘the fucking asshole.’ ”
He laughed and relaxed. “I don’t envy you. He’s a jerk and a slob.”
“That he is. That he is.” I nodded sagely.
We sat in silence for a while until I took the first step in the pas-de-deux I hoped was about to unfold. “So, Pete, what are you doing down here on a Sunday night? No date or kegger to go to?”
“I’m kind of shy, so I don’t get invited to a lot of things—” he hesitated before adding, “and I’m not into dating much.”
He gazed at me with sincere eyes, and I answered with a most encouraging smile. “Me neither. When I’m stir-crazy from studying, I go look for a frat party.”
“I thought you couldn’t pledge until sophomore year.”
“You can’t, but the frats like to size up prospective members.”
“So you go to the party, but you’re not ‘with’ anybody?”
“Exactly. My goal is to get shit-faced and hope I find somebody to fuck me in the ass a couple of times.”
He went pale.
Dammit, there I go pushing too hard. Sometimes I wonder who the hell I am now. I never used to be such a goddamn sex fiend.
I apologized, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you.”
“Uh. No. You didn’t. I-I wasn’t expecting such candor from someone I just met.”
“Again, my bad. I kinda lost my filters after a semester here. Everybody is so open about sex—straight and gay.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s true. I don’t go out much. I’m kind of a bookworm, and I spend all my time reading or working in the lab when I’m not in class. That’s not much of a social life, I guess.”
“I know what you’re saying. My courses are so fuckin hard I sometimes think I’m gonna explode.” I winked at him, “I find it helps if I jack off a couple of times a day.”
We both laughed.
At least that didn’t shock the shit out of him. I think he’s relaxing and opening up a bit. I hope he “opens up” a lot more!
Pete leaned toward me. “How do you manage it—I mean masturbating—with a roommate like Carl?”
I bent so close to him that our faces were barely a foot apart. I could smell his sweet breath and feel the heat of his body. “Oh, the fuckwad’s hardly ever around. He sleeps till noon or later, then disappears until one or two in the morning.”
I moved forward in my chair and whispered in his ear like I was revealing a dark secret. “He’s a stoner, and likely into all kinds of drugs and shit, maybe even dealing, but he doesn’t do it in our room. Or at least, not when I’m there.”
Cocking my head to the side, I inquired, “What about you? Got a nosy roommate?”
He sat up straight and sighed. “No, not nosy, but he makes it clear he doesn’t like me or even want me in the room with him.”
I was shocked such a hunky guy would be treated that way. “You’re shitting me! What’s the matter with the asshole?”
Pete hesitated again for a few seconds. “Um, well...the day we moved in, I told him I’m gay, and that was the end of the relationship.”
“You’re gay?” I sounded a little too enthusiastic, not believing my luck.
My new friend lowered his head and replied hesitantly, “Yes, I am...or at least, I think I am.”
I gave him the biggest, friendliest, sexiest smile I could muster. “No shit. Imagine the chances—two gay dudes doing their laundry at the same time on a Sunday evening, when everybody else is out partying their ass off or getting laid.”
He chuckled uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess it is a coincidence.”
“Or kismet,” I suggested.
We sat and stared at each other for what seemed like minutes. I broke the ice by standing up and moving two steps toward him. I took his hand and guided him to his feet.
Man, this dude is super shy!
I pulled him close, put both hands on his shoulders, and leaned in to kiss him. He jerked his head back.
“What’s wrong? Do I have bad breath?”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. You just surprised me, is all.”
He gathered his thoughts, “You see, my roommate was the first person I ever told I was gay.”
He swallowed hard. “I think—I mean I know—I’m gay, but I’ve never had sex with anybody, male or female.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to pressure you or anything.”
We both sat back down. I was curious. “So, what makes you so sure you’re gay if you haven’t actually done it with a guy?”
“I guess I kind of always knew. I never feel turned on by a girl, even if I look at naked pictures, but I pop a boner in a split-second if I see a good-looking man—” Pete hesitated, regarding me with puppy-dog eyes, “like you.”
Either this is a first-class seduction, or he’s as innocent as a fucking lamb. No matter—I’m dying to have him tonight, right here in this laundry room, and you can bet your ass he’s gonna enjoy it!
I spoke as seductively as I knew how. “Well, Pete, we’ll have to do something about this. I’m not the least bit shy about having a guy check me out and sport a hard-on. In fact, knowing he’s hard helps me get going, too.”
He paused a moment before shyly inquiring, “What do you...wanna do?”
“Let’s start with something basic. Can you suck a cock?”
“I guess so, but I’ve never actually done it.”
“In that case, I’d better go first.”
I went over to him again, lifted him to his feet, and kissed his perfect lips.
I don’t want to rush things, so I’ll go easy on him this time. If my intuition is right, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to initiate Pete into the pleasures of man-sex.
I knelt in front of him and reached for his belt buckle. He stiffened, so I looked up at him. “We don’t have to do this—”
“No, I want to. Honest. But I-I don’t know...what to expect.”
“Well, how about this? You set your expectations to enjoy it without me putting any pressure on you or you feeling obligated to do anything in return. Would that work for you?”
Blushing, he agreed, “Sure, Bruce. I didn’t mean I don’t want to do this.”
I got his pants down around his ankles and took my time admiring Pete’s manhood, dangling before my eyes. I made a mental note to appreciate his full nudity on our next encounter.
His cock was semi-hard and already about six inches long. Under it, he had a pair of fat round balls surrounded by a thick nest of ginger pubic hair.
So the saying is true—red on top means red down below!
I opened my mouth and brought it close to his pecker. He shied away, thought better, and pressed his dick toward my face.
I circled his cock-head with my tongue, teasing him. He groaned with pleasure.
“Keep telling me what you like—what you want me to do.”
I closed my lips around his head and began to suck it in and push it out across my lips, sliding it down my wet tongue.
Much better—more like seven inches now. I can’t wait to welcome the fucker into my ass.
“Oh, fuck! Blow me, Bruce.”
That’s more like it, Pete. Cuss all you want. You know, I’m beginning to doubt that you’ve never done this before.
I pulled his cock all the way into my mouth and massaged it deep in the back of my throat. I could hear him making little sensual gurgles, so I didn’t interrupt my ministrations by talking to him.
Pete moved his hips, fucking my face with increasing intensity and speed. He rested his hands on my head, uncertainly at first, and then used them to force my face into his pubes with every thrust.
After a minute or two, he groaned, “Shit! I’m coming! Oh, fuck!”
And he shot an enormous load of jizz across my tongue. I repeatedly swallowed, which made him come even harder. As soon as he stopped coming, he let go of my head and stepped back. His softening cock popped out of my mouth with a slurping sound.
I glanced up at him, not sure what to expect. Breathing hard, he sighed. “Man, that was fucking fantastic! I never did anything like this before!”
Something makes me think he’s not telling the whole truth, but I guess I’ll have to take him at his word.
Wiping my lips and swallowing the last drops of his salty-sweet sperm, I stood and helped him pull his pants back up. “Are you sure you’ve never done this?”
“Well, never with someone else.”
Seeing my quizzical expression, he added, “I’ve been watching pornos in a movie theater in town, so I knew what it would look like but not how it would feel.”
“Petie, my boy, you don’t have to go there anymore. Whenever you think you need to watch a porno, you tell me, and I’ll give you a private show that’ll blow your fuckin mind!”
We both laughed, but I could tell Pete was doubtful.
Seated again, we talked while our laundry was in the dryers.
I want nothing more than to get his sweet ass up in my bed, where I can properly introduce him to the delights of gay sex, but I have to proceed with caution. He’s like a little bunny who might spook and bolt if I move too fast or press him too hard.
After I blew him, he didn’t say or do anything about taking care of me. I decided I’d have to hold off on that, too.
Some things are all the better because you have to wait for them!
As we folded our laundry, we made a date to have lunch in a little coffee shop off campus the following day.
Pete’s the kind of guy who needs to trust you before he’s comfortable moving to the next level, and it’s fine with me. I smiled in anticipation of future encounters with the gorgeous redhead.
I would never toy with a man or tease him for fun. I’m happy to take things at his pace and enjoy whatever happens, whenever it happens.
Returning to my dorm room, I made my bed, hoping Carl would stay out all night so that I could catch some much-needed rest.
But first, I headed down to the common room, to a bank of phones in little cubicles. Sitting down at one of them, I took out my AT&T Calling Card and dialed the number on the back. I keyed in my account number and PIN, followed by my home telephone number.
Mom answered on the second ring, which was not surprising since we spoke every Sunday evening around this time. “Hello, Darling. How are you?”
“I’m OK, Mom. How are things in Denver?”
“Oh, they’re fine, Dear. Your father is away on the trip to the Far East I told you about, and Natalie called about half an hour ago. Everyone is doing well.”
We talked for another ten minutes or so. I didn’t want to use up the minutes on my card, although my father’s company replenished it whenever it got too low. The only long-distance calls I ever made were to home, almost always to Mom.
As I said goodbye, she repeated her familiar words, “Bye, Bruce. I love you. I’ll look forward to our call next Sunday. Until then, be safe, be careful, and don’t study too hard.” This last part was a little joke between us because my father always told me I was here to study and shouldn’t waste my time doing anything else.
Back in my room in bed for the night, I thought about the day—and my life here at college.
Mom knows I’m gay though we’ve never said a word about it. I’m comfortable with that, but I sometimes think I’m letting her down. I kinda believe she wishes I would find someone who loves me and settle down with him.
I’m not ready to settle down, and more importantly, I don’t know anybody who’d want to either. I’m fine with casual sex, quick blowjobs, and going for the fun instead of commitment. I’m sure it’ll all change someday, but I’m in no hurry.
My lunch date with Pete on Monday went well, and I learned a lot more about him. Peter Francis Waters was from Chicago. He was 19 and had played lacrosse in high school. He was at Stanford on a scholarship, and unlike Carl, he had a full ride to study Computer Science.
I still wasn’t sure if he was bullshitting me about never having sex with a man or anybody, but I was willing to take him at his word for now.
Wednesday afternoons were when faculty members held office hours, so there were no classes. Pete and I agreed to meet up and “do something” in two days. The something turned out to be a trip to the “adult” theater where he liked to hang out.
As I got dressed that morning, I was feeling an itch for sex, and I would do my best to scratch it later in the day.
Now that I know him better, I realize he feels comfortable and safe in anonymous, dimly lighted places. I much prefer to make love in bed with the lights on, so we can be naked, stretch out, roll around, and generally relax with each other—and fuck our brains out!
I reminded myself to be realistic and take my time.
I hope I can wean the guy off doing it in the dark and coax him into a nicer place to have sex. But I’m gonna have to go slowly, and if the next step with Pete means spending time with him in the goddamn porno theater, it’ll be worth it.
I stopped cold.
Shit. Have I gotten over Craig that fast? He broke my heart Only a couple of months ago. Back then I would have done anything to get him back. Now, I’m ready to go full steam ahead with a total stranger.
I shook my head in disbelief.
Is it possible to recover from a broken heart so soon? Or does this mean what Craig and I had wasn’t gonna last, and we both kinda realized it? Fuck! I have to move on. I can’t spend my life pining away for lost love.
If I needed any proof that I was over Craig, I guess I fucking had it now.
One thing is clear: Bruce is not pining away for love of Craig, which is a good thing. He has come to see that he is a sexual creature and that there are countless ways to enjoy his sexuality as a gay man. He’s a bit surprised at how he has been influenced by Craig and Carl, but he accepts that’s who he is now.
College can be a place where inhibitions fade and opportunities to try just about anything abound—I know that was true for me. We have met Carl, the roommate from hell, and we hope Bruce can survive living with him until the end of the semester, knowing that he can move out of the freshman dorm for his sophomore year. And we have met Pete. Will he become Bruce’s new love? Or is Bruce going to use him for fun and cast him aside? Plenty of options lie before us.
Hang on for the ride and always #weargreenonthursday!
As a writer, I live for reader responses—the reaction emojis and especially the comments. I also welcome direct messages (DMs) on the GA website. If you like (or hate) what you’re reading, let me know. If you have hopes for the direction that the story—and Bruce’s life—might take, please share them. And if you want to reminisce about your own experiences at that age, I bet we’d all enjoy hearing them!
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