One Summer at Stevens Point Ch. 04

"Alan," he says once. He reaches down with one hand, grasps my cock and begins to jack it rapidly, using my precum as lube. I can only take a few moments of this before I feel the cum boiling up in me.

"Oh, fuck," I say, as my cock expels its hot white load, some of it hitting Mike's chest, the rest spattering over my stomach. Mike's eyes are screwed tightly shut, his teeth gritted and bared in a snarl of desire. He's thrusting into me at machine-gun pace. A low animal growl issues from his throat and erupts into a shout of triumph as he empties himself into me.

Finally his head drops, his chest heaving with release. He lets his body sag onto mine. It's a long time before his breathing slows to anywhere near normal. At last he raises his head and looks into my face. His eyes glitter in the dim light of the one lamp we've left on.

Mike says, "I'm sorry I got so rough."

I shrug, still trapped underneath him. "I'm still alive."

"I'll let you have your revenge later, if you want."

"What do you mean?"

Mike gestures toward the end table. "I have more rubbers." He shakes a finger playfully in my face. "And you're not the only versatile one in this room."

"Where do you get the energy?" I say, only half joking. "No Viagra for you, I can tell."

Mike recoils in mock horror. "No way. Not ever, hopefully." He kisses me. "I don't know, must be the environment."

"Please, no Suzuki jokes," I groan. "Now let me up, so I can figure out whether I'm still in one piece."

"Okay. But only if you promise you'll fuck me."

He withdraws and releases me. I unfold my stiff limbs. "I don't know. I don't suppose you have a cock ring with you."

Mike grins wickedly. "I didn't bring one, no. But there are some extra strings in Jared's violin case."

I have to laugh at that one.

As it turns out, I don't need any mechanical aids, thanks to Mike's talented mouth. Soon I'm fucking him standing up while he lies on his back at the edge of the mattress, a pillow underneath his butt. I hold his legs apart and watch my penis, safely covered in latex, slide in and out between his buns of steel. It's surprising enough that I've gotten it up again, but I even cum after a while, groaning at the exquisite, unfamiliar pain of a second climax.

I keep my softening cock inside Mike afterward and watch him masturbate, pulling his balls downward with his free hand. He makes no sound when he cums other than quickened breath, and he doesn't close his eyes, but keeps them locked on mine as the few small spurts fall from his cock onto his taut belly. His mouth curls in a slight smile.

We lie entwined afterward, two men who've definitively exhausted their sexual reserves.

"So," Mike says, then stops.

I look at him inquiringly.

"Are we okay now?"

I know what he's trying to say. "Yeah, we're okay."

He snuggles against me. "The best is yet to come. I get to sleep with you, finally."

I'm really touched by that, but my perverse self has to spoil the sweetness of the moment. "But I don't get to go to breakfast with you all, do I?"

Mike looks at me and sighs. "I'm being a coward, I know, Alan."

I decide to let him off the hook. "Actually, I think you're right. You can explain sleeping with me to George a lot easier than you can explain me at breakfast to Molly and Jared."

He looks at me gratefully.

"I hope she'll come around about Jared seeing George. Really."

"I hope so too."

"You WILL let me know how that goes, right, Mike?" I tease him, shoving his shoulder a bit rougher than necessary.

Mike stays serious. "Yes, I will. Promise."

In the early morning light he lets me out of his car near campus. Holding my violin case, that appendage that goes wherever I go, I turn back to him on the sidewalk. Mike's smile is tight, and his blue eyes even more vivid than usual.

"Goodbye, Mike Wagner, and safe journey," I say, squeezing his shoulder through the open window.

"We'll stay in touch," he says.

"You damn well better." I look around to make sure no one's nearby, then lean down and touch my lips to his.

He drives off. I watch the car disappear, and draw a long sigh. There he goes, my lover? My friend? My--?

How inadequate words are to describe the ways in which men's lives come together, fly apart, and touch once more.

I start walking and soon reach the dorm where I've been staying during the week. It's a beehive, its fickle occupants busily moving themselves out. In the midst of the noise and bustle I hear, inexplicably, the sound of a violin through an open window on one of the upper floors. Why would anyone be practicing now? Whoever it is plays well--the tone is sweet, the intonation true.

I recognize the piece. It's Pugnani's Largo, one of my favorites. I start to hum a snatch of it as I enter the building.

END