My Phantom Lover

Warning: I write love stories with graphic sex. Sometimes the lovers are of the same gender. So if love offends you, you'd best move on. MJL

*****

As I sat in the unknown room, blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I was apprehensive, but not really scared. While it’s true there had been stories around for years about hazing stunts gone terribly wrong, resulting in serious injuries and even deaths, nothing like that had ever happened at my university. Also, the fraternity I was pledging was probably the last one where such a thing ever would happen. It was known for the achievements of its alum members, not for being a party frat. So I waited for whatever the hazing committee had planned for me with more curiosity than concern. I had no idea that the next few minutes would change my life forever.

I heard the door open and close and then a sliding sound like something heavy being pushed in front of the door. I could tell someone was approaching me as I sat on the uncarpeted floor. It felt like it was one person rather than a group. Then I sensed the heat of another body nearby.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” It was said in a low, raspy whisper, seemingly to disguise his voice.

I nodded to indicate I understood and wasn’t fearful.

“It’s just the two of us,” the voice went on. “I’ve told them I’m going to scare you by lighting some fires, putting a lighter close to your face and crap like that. I warned them we could be arrested for assault if you decided to be a prick about it so they won’t come in and nobody will tell you afterward who I am, to protect me from being sued. But that’s not what I want to do.”

“What do you want?”

“Brian, I’ll make a little smoke and walk out of here without touching you if you tell me to, but what I want to do is give you a blow job.”

I gasped at the words, too shocked to say anything.

“I’ll make you cum, nobody will ever know, and you can pretend I’m the prettiest cheerleader in the school, if you want to. Will you let me?”

I’m sure both of us were aware that, tied up as I was, he could probably do what he wanted without my permission. He could probably count on my being too embarrassed to report it afterward, too.

“Why do you want to do it to me?” I asked. “There aren’t any guys in the fraternity so ugly that they couldn’t find a partner at Wilde Oscar’s (the most prominent local gay bar). Why me?”

“I’ve never been as attracted to anyone as I am to you. You’ve been in my thoughts everyday since I first saw you. But I’ll leave you alone if you tell me to. Will you let me give you pleasure, Brian? Nothing will be expected in return.”

I liked to think that I hid it completely, but at least half of my sexual fantasies involved other men. I usually pictured a group scene, involving both sexes, but as I played with myself and got close to cumming, it was the guys I was thinking about. This event was my every wet dream come true! All of my actual activities had been with girls, however, and I was frightened by the idea of acting out my erotic thoughts about men. Frightened - but so excited my cock was already about to explode!

I couldn’t bring myself to speak, so I just nodded.

Immediately he pushed me onto my back on the floor and I felt his hands undoing my jeans and pulling them down to my knees. He pulled my jockey shorts down and I heard him gasp.

“Your cock is gorgeous! Just like the rest of you,” he rasped. His mouth was on me so fast I didn’t have time to breathe. He took me right to the hilt in one plunge, making a moaning sound in his throat that that vibrated against my cock. It seemed as if all the blood in my body was engorging my sex organs and I felt faint. My God, what he was doing felt wonderful! He devoured me like a starving man at a banquet. He gobbled every inch of my prick, then pulled his lips the length of my shaft, licking and nibbling to the end. Just as I began to crave the heat of his mouth again, he would plunge down and swallow me to the balls. I didn’t want this amazing feeling to ever stop!

“Oh, God, suck my cock! It’s so good, so good!” I was moaning. He was grunting as he orally stimulated me and I could feel his stubbly cheek against my groin when he was at he base of my prick. I couldn’t have pretended it was a girl doing this to me if I wanted to. This was a man, all man, and it made me so hot thinking about it that I was ready to explode. I tried to hold back my orgasm, not wanting this to be over too fast, but I was so swept away by the pleasure I couldn’t hold out. “I’m cumming!” I groaned. He sucked hard then and I could feel him swallowing as my semen pumped into his throat.

I was lost in a fog of ecstasy for a few moments. When I became aware again, he was licking my prick in gentle strokes. It struck me as such a tender gesture that something welled up in me I’d never experienced before. I felt a connection to this unseen, unknown man, who had given me such pleasure, that I had never felt with anyone before. All too soon he was pulling my shorts and jeans back up, doing up the zipper and the waist snap. His large, slightly rough hands lingered a few seconds just above my waistband and I unconsciously pressed my stomach up against them. I felt a rush of disappointment when he moved away.

“I’m going to burn some things in a wastebasket now, to back up the cover story. Don’t worry. Nothing will get out of control. The guys outside may have heard something, but these doors are thick, so they wouldn’t have made out any words. I’ll tell them you got a little jumpy when you felt the heat and yelped a little.”

I didn’t remember yelping, but in the moment of explosion I could have hooted like an owl and I wouldn’t remember it.

“Why don’t you singe a little of my hair to make it look good?” I suggested. I really just wanted him close to me again. I wanted any clues I could get about who my phantom lover was. One way or another I was going to make sure this happened again!

“All right, but be very still. I don’t want to burn you.”

I was sitting up by this time and I sensed him squatting down next to me. I heard his cigarette lighter snap and felt a little warmth, then smelled the acrid odor of burning hair. I was pissed at myself for not taking a deep whiff of him before that, because any scent that might give me a clue about his identity was covered by the burnt smell.

“There, just a little fried at the ends to make it look good.”

Suddenly there were warm lips on mine and just as suddenly they were gone.

“Thank you, Brian. You’ve made me happier than you’ll ever know.”

I was too filled with emotion to say anything as he moved whatever he’d put in front of the door.

“The escorts will come for you in ten minutes,” he told me, and I heard him open the door and leave. I could hear a little buzz from outside the room as he shut the door behind him. Whoever had stationed themselves out there, asking how I’d reacted to my “torture,” I supposed.

I sat there in a daze, trying to collect myself before the hazing committee escorts came to get me. I’d never been so sexually sated and so utterly confused in my life. Did my intense enjoyment of what had happened mean I was gay? Girls had gone down on me a few times in my young life and I’d enjoyed it, but I’d never come close to anything so mind-blowingly powerful before. I think I had myself convinced that it was just the whole exotic nature of the experience, being bound and blindfolded and all, that had made it so overwhelming. Until I realized I wanted to find my phantom so I could do the same thing to HIM!

Thank God the next day was Saturday and I didn’t have any classes. The hazing, known as Hell Night, followed the official acceptance of the new pledges and I had already moved into the frat house. My roommate had, too, but he’d gone home for the weekend so I had the room to myself. Which was a good thing, since I couldn’t seem to keep my hands out of my pants. I would start to think about what had happened and I would have to jerk off again. By noon my cock was beginning to get sore, but my horniness was as acute as it had been all day.

I tried to get myself under control. “I’ll never figure out who he was if I don’t start thinking logically,” I told myself. Last night, after the escorts had brought everybody into the main room of the house, I looked around carefully. All through the speeches of welcome and laughter about the guys whose hazing left them with paint on their faces or weird patterns shaved into their hair, I was watching the older frat brothers for any sign that would tip the identity of my phantom. Nobody stared at me (except for some notice of my burnt hair) or said anything that revealed they knew who had come into that room or that they were the one person besides myself who knew what really happened in there. I had gone to bed without a single clue to identify my mystery lover.

Saturday, when I was finally too exhausted to play with myself anymore, I began to analyze what I knew. He had to be one of the frat leaders, most likely a senior. They were the ones who planned and controlled the hazing activities, on the supposition that they were mature enough to keep things from getting dangerous. He must have major persuasive skills to talk the others into letting him “haze” me by himself. After all, watching some freshman get embarrassed was the point of the ritual. It was unlikely he was one of the four “out” gay guys in the frat. Only one of them was a senior and he was a true nerd type. I couldn’t picture him having the nerve to do something like that or being able to talk the others into letting him go alone into a room where a pledge was tied up and blindfolded. Besides, his hands were too small. I remembered the big, rough, masculine hands on my stomach. I resisted the urge to jerk off again and went on with my analysis.

I didn’t have much to go on as far as height or weight were concerned. My position on the floor didn’t give me much perspective. I didn’t feel any long hair brushing against me, so he probably had it cut regularly. He had a lighter, but I didn’t remember the smell of cigarettes on him, or pot, or booze, for that matter. I knew some of the guys had been involved in one or more of those activities earlier in the evening, so I mentally took them off my list of suspects.

I thought about the men who remained on the list and I really couldn’t think of any true criteria for removing any of them. Some had steady girl friends, but that wasn’t proof they weren’t gay or bi-sexual. I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling trying to sort through all the possibilities. Finally I asked myself, “So who do you WANT it to be?” That answer came easily: Steve Vernon. If someone asked me to describe the ideal man I would have painted them a word picture of Steve. He exuded an easy-going confidence that I envied. He seemed to effortlessly make everyone he talked to feel like they were fascinating to him. He could have sold eyeglasses to a blind man and left him feeling grateful to have encountered Steve.

Someone with vision would have enjoyed him even more, because the guy was great looking. Someone in the frat had mentioned that Steve was a triathelete. I’d seen him biking around campus and when I struggled over to the pool a couple of mornings to get some laps in, Steve was always there. His body in a Speedo was a sight to behold. He had wide shoulders, a perfect six-pack, and a lean, tight ass. (He was featured in all of my orgy fantasies of late.) His face wasn’t classically handsome. It was little too rugged for that, but his dark eyes sparkled and his lop-sided grin drew you in and made you smile back. His dark brown hair always seemed to be slightly windblown. The whole package added up to a very attractive man.

“God, it would be wonderful if Steve was my phantom lover,” I thought. If I could prove it, I was definitely going to be all over the guy. I’d make him pay. I force him to have sex with me until he passed out from exhaustion. That thought, of course, resulted in my dropping trou and taking care of business AGAIN.

By Monday I’d pulled myself together enough to get to my classes. I was pre-med and enrolled in a couple of the tough courses that the university used to weed-out those who wouldn’t be able to cut it in medical school. I needed to focus on my work, but it took all the will I had. I did OK during the day and when I studied in the evening, but after I got into bed at night the hot memories and fantasies would overwhelm me. Steve was no longer just one of the players in my sexual thoughts. He was the whole show. I had no idea if he was my phantom lover or not, but he was firmly established as the object of my lust. I got up to go to the bathroom and jerk off so often my roommate asked me if I had a bladder infection.

As casually as I could manage, I stayed close to Steve. I made sure I swam every morning at the same time he did and when I found out he ran around the track for an hour most nights, I took that up as my habit as well. I was an emotional basket case, but, damn, I was getting into good shape!

I often saw a pretty redheaded girl with Steve and they seemed very close, but somehow it didn’t look sexual. He seemed affectionate and protective of her, like I am with my sisters, but I didn’t see any lingering kisses or ass-grabbing. I saw the same redhead with a girl from my chem class quite often, so I asked about her.

“That’s Bree, my roommate,” Jenny told me. “Are you interested in meeting her? She’s a great girl, but I don’t think she’s ready for a boyfriend right now.”

“Oh, I thought she was going with one of my frat brothers, Steve Vernon. I’ve seen them around together. I just mentioned her because she looked like a nice person.”

“Oh, you know Mr. Wonderful? He’s not her boyfriend, but he sort of takes care of her.” Jenny’s eyes clouded over.

“Does she need taking care of for some reason?” I asked.

“Listen, Brian, I’ve only known you a couple of months, but I get the impression you’re a decent guy. Can you keep your mouth shut if I tell you something?”

I assured Jenny that I could be trusted.

“Well, last year Bree and I were freshmen, and the older guys really swooped down on us. I’ve got four brothers who talk about their friends so I’m kind of jaded about men. I like to think I can spot the predators, but Bree grew up with only her Mom, and she was just too trusting. One of the seniors asked her out and talked her into coming to his off-campus apartment so he could pick something up and before she knew what was happening he was all over her. When she resisted he smacked her around and raped her.”

“Jesus, the poor kid,” I said. I was horrified. I could just picture some asshole doing that to one of my sisters. “I’d have hunted him down and ripped his cock off.”

“Well,” said Jenny, smiling at me, “we may have to start calling you the OTHER Mr. Wonderful. That’s pretty much what your friend Steve set out to do when he saw Bree all bruised and dazed, trying to make her way back to our dorm afterward. He and Bree barely knew each other then, but he stopped her and asked what was wrong and when she blurted it out, he got out his cell phone, called me to come take care of her, and when I got there he went looking for the guy. An hour later the two of them showed up at the campus police station where the rapist turned himself in for ‘going too far with a young lady who hadn’t given full permission.’ He explained the fact that he had a bleeding nose, bruises all over his upper body, and a dislocated shoulder by saying he ‘tripped’ on the way over. The fact that Steve had swollen, bleeding knuckles was ignored.”

“Did the prick get convicted?”

“Bree agreed to let him plead guilty to assault and battery and attempted rape, so she wouldn’t have to testify. She was in no shape to do it at the time. He got a five year sentence and he has to register as a sex-offender when he gets out. Steve encouraged her all the way and he’s kind of appointed himself her big brother ever since. I’m not sure she would have stayed in school if he hadn’t been here. He really is a great guy.”

Hearing that story added respect for Steve to the lust I was already feeling. “Shit,” I thought, “I’m falling in love with a guy who is probably as straight as they come and would beat up my phantom if he knew what he did to me.”

I made a point of talking to Steve every chance I got. I’m embarrassed to admit I read the same novels I saw him reading, just so I’d have something to say. We seemed to just fall into being pals. One of the things we discovered we had in common is that both of us are skiers. I was overjoyed when he asked me if I’d like to join a bunch of the older frat brothers on a ski trip during Christmas break. My folks were visiting my oldest sister in California, so I had no problem getting away. I eagerly agreed to go. It seemed to me that his eyes lit up when I accepted, but I quickly convinced myself that it was wishful thinking.

The snow-pack was a little low that year and consequently business was down at the lodge so Steve charmed the management into giving us such a good rate we were able to stay for a whole week. Several of us drove up to the mountain together in a huge old van. I managed to sit next to Steve all the way. I realized I was behaving like a giddy schoolgirl with a first crush, but I couldn’t help it. When we arrived at the lodge Steve checked everybody in and I was thrilled out of my mind when he handed around the room keys and said, “You’re in with me, Brian. That OK?”

I managed a casual, “Sure,” but inside I was screaming, “Yes, yes, yes!”

When we got to the room there was a sofa facing a TV set, some tables and lamps, and a king-sized bed. Steve said, “I think the sofa pulls out into a bed.”

“Even if it doesn’t, I could sleep on it like that. It’s long enough,” I told him. Of course, if I had my horny way with him, we could both use the bed.

We dumped our luggage, changed into our ski wear, and went out to meet the others on the slopes. We had a blast all afternoon. Steve was by far the best skier in the group. I was probably the second-best. We raced each other several times and kind of showed off for each other. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

We grabbed a bite of dinner with the other guys and then Steve said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got muscles that are reminding me I overworked them today. I think I’ll go soak in the hot tub and hit the sack early.” We agreed on what time we’d meet for breakfast. Just as Steve was leaving, I said, “I think I’ll go up, too. I want to finish the book I’m reading before I go to sleep.”

Each of the rooms in the lodge had their own hot tub on a small private deck. I was trying to figure out a way to get myself into the tub along with Steve when he brought the subject up. “You’ll be less achy tomorrow if you soak, Brian. Why don’t you come in before you settle down with your book?”

“Sounds good,” I managed to say, around the lump in my throat. “I didn’t remember to bring a swimsuit, though.”

“Me neither,” he said and proceeded to strip his clothes off.

I’d thought he looked awesome in a Speedo, but he was magnificent without one! Every inch of his body was trim, hard, and all male. His chest was moderately hairy with a thicker patch at the base of his prick. A prick that was standing at full attention. It wasn’t porno movie huge, but he’d have bragging rights in any locker room in America. Damn, the sight of it had me absolutely salivating.

He went out and climbed into the hot tub and I took my clothes off with shaky hands and went to join him. I had a rock-hard erection, too, of course. I looked at everything except him, trying to tamp-down my excitement, so I didn’t know if he was watching me as I approached the tub. I climbed in and settled back on the opposite side of the tub, facing Steve. The water felt great and I found my tired muscles getting more and more relaxed. We chatted about all kinds of stuff, none of it sexual, yet a knot of tension in my groin never relaxed at all.