Remembering Rick

You think that might have anything to do with why a guy doesn't bring a guy back to his dorm room?

We didn't go to my room or his. We did stop at the grape arbor. Being in the middle of the campus, the grape arbor was not a make-out locale. Perhaps in the 1920's it was a good place for a straight couple to steal a quick kiss, but a straight couple could French each other in church nowadays. It was, for us, a discrete place to share a first kiss.

Once again, Rick was the initiator. As he let his book bag fall off his shoulder, he turned, and kissed me. In my own defense, I was considering doing the same. It was a very nice kiss. It was strange, and extremely exciting, to feel his stubble on my lips as we kissed. That was a first for me, having never dated a hirsute woman. I let one hand rest on his arm. I probed softly with my tongue and he parted his lips. And that was it. We both broke the kiss at the same time. It had been a very nice kiss but we had reached our risk taking limit, for the moment anyway.

We sat on one of the wood benches that ran along either side of the arbor. The paint was peeling. Most of the leaves had fallen but the entwisted vines offered a semblance of privacy. I had no idea how old the grape vines were. The main trunks were as big around as my arm, twisted and hairy. I reached between us and intertwined my fingers with his. That was the first time I risked initiating contact. Thank God he did not pull away. The risk was not high. To a casual observer we were just sitting there. A casual observer would have no idea how hard my heart was beating.

I cleared my throat. "I've never done anything like this before. I mean not with a guy."

"Neither have I."

"Have you dated girls?" I probed. After a moment, Rick nodded.

"A few." He paused before continuing. "My parents are very strict, very religious. The girls I dated where from church. My folks would have insisted on a background check if I dated someone outside of our church." He chuckled but there was little humor in the sound. "If they knew how hard it was to fight off those 'good' girls they'd have shit a brick."

"I think my parents will be okay with the fact that I'm gay."

I surprised myself. I had never said that aloud before. I ran the phrase back and forth in my head, trying to decide if I was ready to say it again.

"Shitting a brick would be about the mildest response my parents would have. My mom would wail, or faint, maybe both. My old man would probably rend his shirt. I've always imagined he regretted the lack of good rending of clothes moments in modern society. This would be his golden opportunity. Buttons would fly, he'd pull at his hair and fall to his knees and beseech God to delivery me from sin, or kill me. He'd go for deliverance first but in a pinch he'd settle for death. A dead son would be a chance for him to demonstrate his willingness to accept God's will. Later, he would realize he could have demonstrated his righteousness by exiling me from his life but there would always be the risk I'd show up and ask for money."

I had no idea what to say to that, so I said nothing.

He turned to me. "What do you think we should do?"

I smiled. "I take it you mean other than study chemistry."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Duh."

"I want to kiss you some more, that's for sure." I shrugged. "I want to touch you. I want to see you naked. I want to..."

He interrupted me. "Do you want to touch my dick?" I nodded. "You want to put it in your mouth, suck it?"

I nodded again. "Yeah, actually I do. What about you?"

He grinned. "Sure, I'd love for you to suck my dick." He cut off my protest. "I know what you meant, dude. I want to do those things too." We were both quiet for a time. "You've never done anything like this, seriously?" he asked finally.

"No, nothing. I've dreamed about it a lot but I've never had the chance to do anything about it. I was," I paused. "In high school I was never completely sure. I dated a few girls, waiting to see, if thinking about other guys would fade away. It sounds stupid I guess but I wondered if maybe it really was just a 'phase' that I'd wake up one morning, laugh about it, and go have wild sex with a posse of cheer leaders."

Rick looked at me with interest. "Really? Not me. I dated because it would have seemed weird not to but I never enjoyed it." He cocked his head. "Did you get excited, making-out with girls? I mean get a boner?"

It was my turn to look surprised. "Yeah, sure. You didn't?"

Rick shook his head. "Never. I would always have to act like it was going too far to let a girl touch between my legs. I didn't stop them because I thought it was a sin. I had already decided I didn't believe in God. I just didn't want them to find out I was limp as a spaghetti noodle. Kissing was okay, that would start to get me excited but as soon as they'd want me to touch their boob, instant buzz kill. A squishy sweaty ball of fat in my hand held zero interest to me. Worse, negative interest. I could hardly wait to escape and wash my hand."

"Cool. I mean that's fine, I think. It never bothered me to make out with a girl but it was always sort of 'okay'. I mean if all there is for dessert is vanilla ice cream, okay. I'd prefer chocolate chocolate chip but vanilla is okay. Same with girls. The difference is, I've had chocolate chocolate chip. Until now the idea I would enjoy making out with another guy was an untested hypothesis."

"Oh, so I'm a science experiment now?"

"Yup. I have hypothesized that I would like to have your dick in my mouth. I have further hypothesized I would like to have my dick in your mouth. Now that I have a hypothesis, I need to design an experiment to test the hypothesis. Jesus dude, you've never read Bacon? This is how science works."

"And if the hypothesis is disproved?"

I shook my head. "Unlikely."

"Bias? You don't sound like a very good scientist to me."

"Maybe not." We fell silent again.

"So, what kind of experiment are you thinking of?" Rick asked, standing as he spoke.

I stood with him and risked another kiss. This time I put my hand behind his head and our tongues began to play against each other immediately.

"Mike, my roommate, is gone this weekend. He's taking off tomorrow after his 10 o'clock class. I can blow off my afternoon class. What do you have?"

"Calc but I'm done at 2:00. Should I come by after that?"

"Sure." I pick up my pack. "Bring your chem stuff, we do need to study, in between experiments."

We walked back to the dorm. Rick was on the ground floor. We arranged to meet to walk over to the cafeteria for supper, which was hardly unusual. The cafeteria was crowded. I listened half-heartedly to Rick banter with our tablemates over their respective NFL teams prospects for the rest of the season. My parents never watched sports, except tennis and even then only the US Open. I had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

As we were walking, en masse, back to the dorm, Rick asked casually, "So, tomorrow after calc, your room, acid-base problems?"

I nodded. We walked into the dorm and went our separate ways.

I had calc the next day as well, just in a different section. I might as well have slept in. The symbols and numbers transformed from old friends into dark hieroglyphics that if translated, would unleash the most hideous of curses. Sociology and Modern Society, which followed, was its usual joke. The topic of the day, had nothing to do with the assigned reading, which didn't bother me because I read the entire text the first weekend of the semester, was the proposition put forth by a very dykey professor that there could never ever be consensual sex between a man and a woman because of the inherent societal power imbalance between male and female. Sex between a man and a woman was therefore uniformly and unequivocally always rape. I thought the whole argument portrayed women in a pathetic light but having recently decided I no longer had a dog in the fight, I spent the time trying to build a visual image of Rick's cock based on the outline I had seen in his jeans.

Class, finally over, the guys walking away confused by the glares most of the gals seemed to be directing at them, I stopped at the cafeteria and tried to eat. A bowl of watery, over-salted chicken noodle soup and piece of carrot cake were all my churning stomach would accept. I went back to my room, brushed my teeth twice, Scoped once, did the huff and sniff test in my hands, and Scoped again. That still left me with almost two hours before Rick would arrive. Mike stopped in long enough to brush his own teeth, pick up his dirty clothes and say, "See ya."

I went over the calc sections covered that morning and, amazingly, was able to focus enough to make sense of it. Like most of the semester so far, it was review of concepts I had already covered in high school. Feeling relieved, I allowed myself to drift into fantasies about the afternoon, telling myself that was a bad idea. Rarely, if ever, did my fantasies survive running into reality.

By quarter till 2:00 I was pacing, unable to sit or lay still. I rinsed again with Scope, trying to laugh at myself and failing. At ten till, I panicked about my clothes. How could I have not thought of that? My jeans were okay. What about my feet? Did they stink? I quickly shed my socks, sniffing them. What about my tee shirt? Should I change into a button up? Having Rick slowly unbutton my shirt might be pretty hot. Fuck, what about my underwear? I knew it was clean but should I have any on at all? I was reaching for the button of my jeans when there was a knock on the door.

I shot a glance at the clock, five minutes till 2:00. What the fuck? I hurried to the door and could not stop myself from sniffing my armpits. I was a total basket case.

Rick stood there when I opened the door, looking totally chill, totally normal. I couldn't help thinking, "What a dick," out of jealousy. How dare he not be nervous?

I stepped aside and he entered the room.

"I'm so nervous I could barely eat." He chuckled as I closed the door.

"Really? You look chill dude. I was sort of hating on you for not looking nervous," I confessed.

Jacket still on, back pack over one shoulder, he took my face in both hands and kissed me. He kissed me much harder than the two times under the arbor. His tongue pushed deep into my mouth. He pushed his crotch against mine for a moment before breaking the kiss, but did not step back.

"Forgive me?" He whispered.

I answered with a kiss. After that, things got a little crazy. Not to sound like an old fart, I'm only twenty-six, but I've begun to mistrust my own memories. I catch myself remembering some event and wondering, "Wait a sec, did that really happen or have I re-played this in my head so many times I've forgotten which parts I may have embellished a bit?"

Be that as it may, this is what I remember.

Rick let his pack drop to the floor. I slipped my hands under his jacket and eased it off his shoulders and tossed it onto the desk and then we were in a full body embrace.

His hands still clutched at my face. My arms went around his back and pulled him close. Our crotches pressed against each other as our dicks raced to see which could get hard the fastest. He still had not shaved. He had at least a four-day growth of whiskers. As our heads turned, swapping positions, I could feel his whiskers rub against my face.

I freed my mouth from his and kissed the side of his neck, right where it joined his shoulder. He shivered. I kissed my way up the side of his neck, loving the feel of his stubble on my lips. I nipped at his skin, not hard, not sucking, I had no intention, or desire, to mark him with a hickey. When I kissed behind his ear, a spasm pushed his body against mine and he groaned.

Only Shakespeare could describe how glorious that soft groan in my ear sounded. I've heard many since and some were nearly as special, nearly as hot but none is ever as special as that first true groan or moan or hiss of passion and desire one elicits from a lover.

We shuffled together, me backward, and sat on the bed. Ever the one with the weakness for drama, I considered falling backward on the bed with him. The picture of one of his teeth breaking off in my scalp killed the idea. I scooted back in the bed and we sat, cross-legged, facing each other.

When we leaned into each other, it was Rick's turn to tease my neck. His technique was similar but distinctive, employing more tongue and less nipping as I recall. We quickly realized that sitting, knee to knee, was not the most comfortable position for making-out. We stretched out on my bed. I found myself, leaning over him, supporting myself on one elbow. I had one leg nestled between his. I made no attempt to avoid pressing my hardon into his thigh.

We resumed our kissing. My tee shirt hung away from my body. It was only natural that Rick's hand found its way underneath it. The sensation of his warm fingers trailing up and down my back made me shiver. I shifted, lying now on my side beside him. My tongue continued to play around in his mouth. My lips kissed along his neck and behind his other ear. I worked my way toward the middle of his neck and tongued the hollow of his throat, before working my way back to his mouth.

Rick had been the bold one earlier in the week. He had been the one to press his leg against mine. He had been the one to drop his hand into my lap and he'd been the one to initiate our first kiss. That afternoon, the roles were reversed. He had opened the gate and I had tentatively tested the feel of the grass under my feet, that afternoon I wanted to run.

My hand found its way to his shirt. I was pleased that his was tucked in. I wanted him to know I was untucking it so that I might get to his body. I wanted there to be no mistake. I was not content to simply make do with what was available to me. I wanted it clear I would be opening some doors myself. I would create my own openings. I tugged the tail of his shirt out of his jeans and began to stroke his belly.

I reveled in the feel of the scant hair below his belly button. His chest was smooth. He was right about one thing, boobs. Cupping the firm muscles of his chest was much better than squeezing a boob. As I trailed a finger around his nipple, it grew firm, just like a chick's. Amazing. I caressed it and in a moment of inspiration, having never felt a girl's breast to this extent, pinched his nipple ever so gently. As his moan filled my mouth, I tugged on it and his back arched. His erection pushed against my leg, still cradled between his.

With a reluctance born out of the fear that this was all just a dream, I broke our kiss, pulled my hand from under his shirt and managed to almost sit without kneeing him in the balls. Using my one free hand, I pulled my shirt off and tossed it to the floor. I considered my new, my first, lover's body and then slid over him to stand beside the bed. I urged him up with one hand and then pulled his shirt off. I gestured for him to lie back and he did. I turned and pulled his shoes off, then his socks, before climbing back onto the bed.

I straddled his waist. When I leaned over him, our crotches pressed together, then the naked skin of our bellies, followed by our chests, and then our mouths reunited. His hands, both of them now, began to stroke my back and play along the waist band of my jeans. I willed him to cup my ass and he did. As his fingers squeezed and kneaded my ass, I ground my dick as hard as I could, without actual pain, into his hardon.

It seemed like we held this position for hours but realistically, allowing for my youthful lust, it was probably only a couple minutes. I do know that this is a true memory. I had known exactly what I intended to do as I had stood beside the bed and relieved my lover of his shirt and shoes.

I inched lower, regretting the loss of contact with his hardon, but desperate to proceed. I had intended to kiss his nipples but his collarbones and shadowed swales above them distracted me. They simply demanded to be kissed, so kiss them I did. I kissed all along them, from shoulder to sternum and then switching to the opposite side. I lingered for a time in the hollow of his throat before kissing my way down his sternum.

My hands had crept up his sides. They now pressed his arms above his head. My fingers encountered the soft tickle of his armpit hair. Yet again, circumstances forced me to reconsider my plan. I kissed across his chest, skirting his nipple at the last moment and savored the way he twisted beneath me, trying to force his nipple into my mouth. His squirms were accompanied by the most delightful mewl of disappointment. I willed him to be patient. We had all weekend.

I kissed my way along his lats, jealous of their definition. When I pressed my nose into his armpit his back arched and he moaned. Jesus, how to describe the scent? It was mostly but not entirely deodorant, Old Spice. Beneath that was his smell. I would become more familiar with it over time after begging him to skip the deodorant for a few hours. It never got into actual stink but his smell, the smell of fresh sweat and, for lack of any better description, the smell of MAN, was a huge turn-on. I nuzzled his pit for a while and then, tentatively, began to kiss it. That, I as was to discover, was another reason to skip deodorant before making out. Some deodorants contain a type of aluminum compound, and they are all very pucker inducing. If you've ever tasted pickling alum you'll know exactly what I mean.

I didn't care. He was wiggling and bucking and moaning; that's all that mattered at the time. I moved to his left. This time, knowing he liked it, I moved more slowly, dragging out the anticipation. I spent more time sniffing and nuzzling before, giving into his increasingly desperate moans, I opened my mouth to kiss and lick. The thrusting of his crotch against my leg became so intense I was afraid he was about to cum. The thought of making him cum in his pants, using nothing but the pressure of my leg and the teasing of my tongue, was so entrancing I almost altered my plans. But I resisted.

I shifted so that my body hovered over his. I let my hair, uncut since arriving at college, brush across his chest. His hands reached for my head and I let him tug my head towards his mouth. Instead of kissing, he pulled my face against the side of his.

"Please." He whispered. I kissed him, trying to put only tenderness in the kiss, and whispered my reply.

"Soon." I kissed the hollow of his throat. "Soon. I promise."

I kissed my way to the middle of his chest, swept my hair back and forth over it and at long last, took one of his nipples between my lips. In the abstract, I might have thought them too small. The nipples themselves were smaller than a pencil eraser. Their sides, dark brown, the tips almost white, little frosted candies. The areolas were the same dark brown and also quite small, hardly larger than the nipples that rose from their embrace. As I said, in a photo, or on a random guy, I might have found them disconcertingly small, out of proportion to the nicely developed pectoral muscles they guarded. But they were Rick's, and for a moment they were also mine, so they were perfect.

I circled first one nipple, then the other, with my tongue, circling and flicking and nipping with my lips, until his body writhed beneath me. I gave each a final, harder nip, more a bite than a nip and his hands clutched at my hair. I paused and put his hands above his head, pressing them gently into the mattress, willing them to stay.

Rick did not have washboard abs but I could feel a hard narrow valley as I kissed my way from his chest to his belly button. I picked a tiny bit of lint from it and then laved it with my tongue. I too was growing impatient and my mouth lingered only a moment before moving lower, moving to play in the small tuft of soft black hair that was beginning to crawl down his belly.