The Beatles - 1. Chapter 1

The Beatles

Chapter 1

First class of the first day of college. Calculus.

I stood at the classroom door. Butterflies dancing in my stomach. I wasn’t worried about the class. Hell, I figured I could ace Calculus. I was worried about where to sit. I was racked with indecision. I was early, so I pretty much had my choice of seats. If I sat in the front I’d look like a keener. If I sat at the back I’d look like I wasn’t interested. No, better to sit in the middle. Choose a nice neutral spot. Just like high school. Keep my head down, stay anonymous and avoid drawing attention to myself at all cost.

I thought college was going to be a new start. Time to come out of my shell. Meet new people. Sow a few wild oats. But here I was, within seconds, reverting to my old, safe, quiet, loner self.

I picked a seat three rows back from the front and sat at the end of the row nearest the door. I busied myself getting out my textbook and note paper. Soon the class began to fill up. Students arrived in groups, in pairs and sometimes alone like me. Nobody, however, chose the seat beside me. Soon the room was full. Full that is, except for the seat beside me. I squirmed with embarrassment. It was like junior high school and being picked last for the basketball team. I was turning red with shame. Was there a big, red, neon ‘L’ on my forehead? Why was no one choosing that seat? Oh God!

At the last minute, the professor arrived, closed the door and took his place at the front of the class. On first glance he seemed OK. Young, a little geeky looking, but then what could you expect for a math prof? He looked around the class, and his glance landed on me. Was that pity in his eyes? Jesus, God! This was going to be the longest hour of my life! He began to introduce himself.

Just then the door flew open, and a tall, lanky guy burst in the room. He hesitated briefly as he scanned the room for a seat. I almost felt sorry for him, he had no choice but to sit beside the biggest loser in the class. He headed my way. My first impression of him was that he was good looking. Dark hair, nicely proportioned body, good face structure, but I didn’t really have time to get a good look.

I moved my knees to let him in the row, and he scooted by me facing toward the front. As he passed I felt his warmth and smelled the fresh scent of his clean shirt. I glanced at his incredible ass. One of those lean, tight teenage asses, like each cheek was an extension of his leg. I wanted to reach up and grab his slim waist and pull him to me and bury my face in that beautiful ass. But wait, I am not gay. Oh sure, I’ve had the odd fantasy about guys, but that’s a natural adolescent thing, isn’t it? And I dated Sandra a bit in high school, and although we never did the nasty I still enjoyed kissing her and felt sexually excited. What the hell was happening? But of course all this happened in just a few short seconds...

He flopped into his seat and turned to face me.

“Hi, my name’s Paul.”

I was stunned! He was speaking to me!

“Uh.....J..john,”

“Hey, cool, all we need now is George and Ringo!”

“Huh?”

“You know, the Beatles!”

“Oh, yeah, he he." Oh Christ! This guy must think I’m a complete moron!“

The prof cleared his throat, and our attention turned, once again, to the front of the class. He introduced himself, told us how the class would be graded and some other administrative details. I could hardly concentrate I was so aware of Paul beside me. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his presence, as if the sun was shining on me from that side.

The prof then announced he was going to do a roll call. Even though all the seats were occupied he wanted to make sure he had all the students he expected to have, and that no one was here that shouldn’t be here. He started calling names out in alphabetical order.

“Adams!”

“Here,” I croaked.

And so on. The list went on and on, and Paul’s name wasn’t called. What if he was in the wrong class? Then he’d have to get up and leave! I’d be alone again. I wanted to get to know this beautiful stranger. I was starting to bargain with God.

“Wilson!”

“Here,” Paul said.

I nearly fainted from relief.

The class passed by quickly, and I was relieved that the prof was good, and I was able to understand most of the subject matter. For much of the class I was distracted by the knowledge that good looking Paul was sitting beside me. I stole a couple of surreptitious glances his way but couldn’t see much because I didn’t want to get caught obviously looking.

As the class ended, I was packing up my notes, when Paul turned to me and asked out of the blue, “So, you wanna grab a coffee or anything?”

“Yeah....yeah, that would be great.” I blushed with pride and pleasure. This guy doesn’t think I’m a complete dork!

The next hour passed in a blur. We talked non-stop. It turned out we are both from small towns and were excited to finally be in the big city. He was very outgoing and drew me out of my shell until we were laughing, and I was more relaxed than I could remember. It turned out the only class we had in common was Calculus. The one thing he seemed to lack confidence in was his math skills, so I promised I’d help him when he needed it.

I’ve got to say that he was pretty easy on the eyes. About my height, around 5-10 or so. Thin, but with broad shoulders and a wiry build. Black hair and big brown eyes. “Bedroom eyes,” I believe the girls call them. His skin had a swarthy complexion. I wondered if he had Italian heritage. And he had a prominent but narrow nose and a bit of a five o’clock shadow which emphasized the Mediterranean look. I was mesmerized.

At one point in our conversation he surprised me by stating, “A good looking guy like you should be able to get a lot of tail here at the college.”

I felt comfortable enough to give him at least a partly honest answer. “I don’t know, Paul, I’m a little shy around girls. Maybe I’m too dweeby looking or something. They don’t seem to be attracted to me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? A good looking stud like you! Come on, take a look at yourself. Great head of blond hair, fairly big blue eyes, straight nose, good cheekbones, full lips, strong chin. Jesus, John, any chick would be crazy not to like you!”

That really made me blush. “Well, gosh, thanks. And right back at ya too.”

“OK, so we got a mutual admiration society going here. But now I think it’s time to get our asses off to our next class.”

My next two classes passed in a blur. I couldn’t get Paul off my mind. I don’t know if it was his good looks, his genuine warmth and kindness or a combination of both. But whatever it was, I was smitten. I kept reminding myself I was straight, that I liked girls, and I'd had a high school girlfriend. OK, we didn’t get beyond first base, but I enjoyed kissing her, and it excited me. I got erections, so I must be straight. Right?

When I got back to my dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there. He had told me he had a late class that day, so I knew I had a few minutes of privacy. My thoughts centered on Paul. The dark curly hair, the brown eyes, the broad shoulders. Christ! I was getting hard. My hand drifted south, and I rubbed my swelling cock. That wasn’t good enough, so I opened my fly, pushed down my pants and got it out. Without even sitting down I started slowly stroking it. I didn’t have the biggest dick in the world, but at about 6 ½ inches and fairly thick, I figured it was respectable enough. Images of Paul danced in my head. I imagined him reaching out to touch my face then leaning forward to kiss me. In just a few strokes I could feel the jizz in my balls boiling, and an intense pleasure spread through my groin. I came suddenly and intensely, spewing endless streams of cum onto the dorm room floor. I was so drained I couldn’t stand, and I slumped onto my bed breathing hard like I’d just completed a long run. Man it was unreal. As much as I’d jerked off, I don’t think I’d ever had such an intense orgasm. What was happening to me? I got off thinking about Paul. Did that mean I was gay? No I couldn’t be. I needed to repress those feelings. I slowly got up and grabbed a towel to wipe up the floor. Then I collapsed on my bed and drifted off into a deep sleep, as the events of the day took their toll.

Paul and I developed a close friendship quickly. So I guess you could say we “bonded,” and, over the next few weeks, we developed a routine of meeting regularly in math class and afterwards to work on homework. I picked up things pretty quick, so I’d help him with homework, but once he understood something he had a memory like a steel trap, so academically we were pretty evenly matched.

We began to joke around a lot. He really pulled me out of my shyness. One day I teased him about being dumb as a post for not understanding something in class, and he responded by calling me a fuckwit. In fact he said, “For a smart guy, you really are a fuckwit!” And so the moniker stuck, and Fuckwit became his private nickname for me. I didn’t mind. He only ever called me that in private, and there was always an affectionate tone to his voice. I thought it made us close.

So the year rolled on in a never ending cycle of homework, mid-terms and finals. Paul and I only ever hung out after math class during the school week. But because we lived in separate dorms, we didn’t interact on the weekend. He didn’t talk much about his weekends. I wondered if he was dating someone, but I believed in the principal that one should never ask a question that one doesn’t want to hear the answer to. He didn’t ask me about my personal life either, and although we were close, we maintained those boundaries.

I didn’t have much of a social life that year. I wanted to date, but all the good looking girls seemed taken, and I wasn’t willing to settle for the dogs. Sorry, but I’ve got more self-respect than that. Fact was I wasn’t really interested in getting laid. My right hand was my steady date. Mostly I fantasized about guys and often about Paul. I was not experienced, and my fantasy usually consisted of Paul and I having an intimate moment. Maybe just a touch or a look. I came pretty fast whenever I thought about him. I still considered myself straight, but as the year went on, and my fantasies became almost exclusively male based, I began to wonder.

Just before Christmas break I asked Paul how his family celebrated the holidays. He said they didn’t do much because his mother was Jewish

Without thinking I blurted out, “Does that mean you’re circumcised?” What an idiot! That’s it, I thought, I’ve just fucked our friendship. Paul didn’t reply right away, and I spent the next few moments in agony, as my face turned as red as a tomato.

Finally, in a quiet voice, Paul said, “Maybe if you play your cards right you’ll get a chance to find out.”

What the hell did that mean? Was Paul flirting with me? Why did I feel like I’d been kicked in the belly? I wanted to put my hand behind his head and pull him into a mind-blowing kiss. Instead I stood there paralyzed in longing and fear. My heart was pounding, and I could feel myself growing hard. I needed to get out of there fast, but I was rooted to the spot looking into those brown eyes. I swear to God, sparks flew between us. After what seemed to be an eternity Paul smiled. But it wasn’t a happy smile. His expression looked almost sad. And in that same, quiet voice came, “You really are a fuckwit.”

“Moron.”

The tension broke, and we both laughed and turned again to our homework assignment.

He told me that his dad was in the RCMP, and they had moved around a lot when he was a kid. He said he wanted to major in Criminology and become a cop too, but that he would work in a municipal force, so he didn’t have to get transferred around. He said I should major in Criminology too, that I had a good analytical mind, and that I could become a “profiler” and help catch the bad guys. I said I’d think about it.

I felt as close to Paul as I’d ever felt to anyone. Perhaps he was the brother I never had. If we were gay, maybe we’d be lovers. Often I felt I could read Paul’s mind, and he could read mine. We developed a verbal shorthand. One key word from a shared experience could convey a complex message. I longed to be close to him. Physically close. But, alas, as friendly as we were we rarely touched.

Soon, the year was over, and we were scrambling to study for finals and getting ready to head to our respective homes for summer jobs. Finally, it was our last hour together before break. I was miserable and dreaded the thought of not seeing Paul for the next few months. But I put on a good face and was determined to be upbeat and not let my real feelings show. As usual we talked about math class and joked around. Soon it was time to say goodbye. It was an awkward moment. Both of us, it seemed, were reluctant to leave.

Finally I broke the silence, “Well, Paul, I guess it’s goodbye for a while, eh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” There was a pause and then Paul reached his arms out and pulled me into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Really tight. I put my arms around his shoulders and held him tight too. It was a “man hug” with only our upper bodies touching, but I felt his heat, and for the first time in a long time, I felt somehow safe. I guess in reality the hug only lasted for few seconds, but it was longer than a normal goodbye hug, and I wished it could have lasted forever. Suddenly Paul turned his head and kissed my neck. Not just a little peck, but nice wet, full lips kiss. And then he released me, and I reluctantly let go of him too.

“Bye Fuckwit.”

“Bye Moron.”

And so we parted for the summer...