who dreams about other guys and sucking their dicks, who steals glances in the locker room.
“Remember all those wrestling matches we’ve had?” he goes on in a low voice, like I haven’t said a word.
“Um, yeah.” Like I could ever forget them? Every time I’d spent the night at his house, or he’d stayed at mine, we’d had a wrestling match in our underwear. We pretended like we were WWE superstars, but not doing any of the crazier stuff—wrestling around like boys. We talked trash to each other before, after, and during. Kevin, being bigger and stronger, almost always won. I didn’t care so much about winning—although he seemed to enjoy it when he won. He’d jump up and flex his arms, talk about what a stud he was, and all that kind of stuff.
Of course, I was never really trying to win. I was more interested in the closeness of our sweating bodies, the way his muscles felt against mine, the way he smelled, while at the same time hoping against hope he’d never notice that my cock was hard. I sometimes wondered if his was as well—but never dared to look. I certainly never dared to actually touch him there. Even though I knew deep down Kevin and I would never be together, I liked being around him. I didn’t want to lose that. And those wrestling matches were prime jack-off memories for me. Generally after one of them I’d go straight into the bathroom and remember the highlights as I jacked off—which didn’t take long anyway. I was so turned on by the wrestling it’s a wonder I didn’t come during the match. There was one time he’d wrapped his legs around my head and squeezed, my face going right into his crotch. Even though it hurt, I hadn’t wanted to give up. I wanted my face to stay there all night. That was my favorite memory—but he’d never done that to me again.
I always wondered why.
“Those always turned me on.” He puts his right hand on his cock. “Man, I always wanted to suck your dick, bro.”
Gulp. “Um, seriously?” I feel like a crushing dork. The boy I love just told me he wants to suck my dick and that’s all I can think of to say? I can feel my face turning redder, and my own dick is straining against the fly of my jeans.
“Oh, yeah, man. I’ve always thought you were sexy, you know.” He grins and leans forward, and his lips press against mine. Electricity rushes through my body; I can feel a tingling all the way to the tips of my toes and fingers. My lips part and his tongue enters my mouth, and I stroke the bottom of it with my own. My hands come up and touch his chest, my fingertips brushing against his nipples. I can feel his entire body stiffen and a low moan begins in his throat. I open my eyes as he pulls his head back from mine, and he whispers, “I love you so much, Jeff—”
“Dude, class is over.”
Startled, I jumped and opened my eyes, somehow managing to knock my notebook and pen onto the floor. “Fuck!” Embarrassed, I looked around. The classroom was empty, and the clock on the wall showed that class had been over for a few minutes.
“You were having one hell of a daydream, though.” The voice continued, a note of amusement evident. As I slowly became more aware that I was, indeed, still seated at my desk, I turned to get a look at the guy talking to me. He was standing to my left in the aisle, a backpack slung over his left shoulder and expensive looking mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes. His hair was bluish black and gelled so it stood up in every which way. He was wearing a pale blue T-shirt that said Stiff Competition Wrestling on it, with the graphic of two guys in singlets on a mat in the center of the lettering. The shirt fit him tightly, and veins showed in his tanned forearms. He was wearing a matching pair of long shorts that stopped just below his knees, and a pair of leather sandals. His calves were also well-defined and covered in thick, black curly hair. His arms were crossed, and there was a huge smile on his handsome face. Dimples danced in his cheeks, and his lips were thick. There was a slight bluish black stubble under his nose. “Can’t say as I blame you. Is there anything more boring in this life than Macro Economics?” He tilted his head to one side. “Maybe Micro Economics, or Biology, or pretty much any required class at this stupid school.” He stuck his right hand out. “Blair Blanchard.”
Uncomfortably aware of both my hard-on and how tight my jean shorts were, I stayed in my seat. “Um, Jeff Morgan.” I shook his hand. His hand was dry, the grip firm, even though my hand was a lot bigger than his.
“Nice to meet ya, Jeff.” As I stayed in my seat, he cocked his head to one side again. “Your next class in this room?”
“Um. No.” I could feel my cheeks starting to turn red again. My cock was still hard. I am never wearing tight shorts in public again, I decided.
He knelt down and handed me my notebook and my pen. “Then someone is going to be needing your seat, don’t you think?”
“Um, yeah. I guess.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “So, you had an erotic daydream and got a big ol’ boner, Jeff. It’s no big deal. I read somewhere that the wind can give guys our age a hard-on if it blows on us just right—and I think that’s true. Besides, probably half the guys walking around on campus right now have one. Get over it.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, bud, if you don’t have another class, I’ll buy you a soda at the Pit.”
“Okay.” I adjusted myself a bit before standing up and slipping my notebook and pen into my backpack. My mind was spinning. No one before in my life had ever so casually talked about anyone else’s boner before—at least not in front of me, at least not without referencing slipping it to a girl—you know, the typical locker room I’m-such-a-stud bullshit. All through high school I’d wondered if my teammates really were getting as much action as they claimed when they were undressed. As I stood up, he walked up the aisle and I couldn’t help but stare at his ass. The shorts rode low on his hips, and there was a line of tanned skin where the T-shirt rode up on his back. His ass, like Kevin’s, was round and hard, but his was more compact. He was a lot more slender and lean than Kevin, who had a football player’s thick body. Blair looked more like one of those guys who maybe ran a middle distance on the track team. Or maybe a swimmer—he did have pretty broad shoulders for his size.
I followed him out. Polk, California, I thought, sure is a long way from Kewanee, Kansas.
Kewanee was where I’d graduated from high school barely a month earlier.
I’d been born and raised in Newton, Kansas, where my father worked for the Great Plains Pacific railroad as an engineer. No, he didn’t drive trains; he was a structural engineer, building bridges and buildings. I was an only child, and after my sophomore year at Newton High my father was transferred to Emporia. Mom and Dad decided to buy a house in the nearby town of Kewanee because it was cheaper, not realizing I was going to have to go to a small, consolidated rural high school called Southern Heights High rather than Emporia High until it was too late. They’d been very apologetic, and with good reason it turned out. Southern Heights was tiny; one hundred and eighty students drawn from seven small towns scattered throughout the southern part of the county. All the kids there had been going to school together since they started school; they didn’t get many new kids and I stood out. But I was also lucky—as a football player, I had instant status in the school, especially since I’d lettered at the much bigger Newton High. I was a fullback, and became instant friends with Kevin Hansen, the starting halfback. My two years at Southern Heights wound up being pretty cool—I made a lot of friends, got invited to parties, and there was always a girl who had a crush on me. It would have been perfect if not for the fact that I was madly in love with my best friend. It was so weird. At Newton High there were guys I’d get a crush on for a while, but nothing like the way I felt about Kevin.
And Kevin was a really cool guy. Even if I hadn’t fallen in love with him, I think we’d have been good friends anyway. We had the same sense of humor, we took the same classes, we liked the same kind of movies. We’d made a lot of plans together—we were both going to go to Kansas State, be roommates in the dorm, maybe join the same fraternity.
I was never sure if Kevin’s feelings for me went deeper than friendship, and was too much of a coward to ever make the first move on him. But he never really seemed that interested in the girls he dated,