The Human Condition Ch. 01

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Romantic story of two college students who fall in love.
7.4k words
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Part 1 of the 11 part series

Updated 10/08/2022
Created 08/08/2002
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jfinn
jfinn
770 Followers

Chapter One

Joe pulled out with a sigh and rolled away from me. His legs splayed and his cock lay limply on his right hip. He lazily moved one arm up over his head and grasped the brass rail of the bedpost stroking it in much the same way he had done to me only minutes before.

I stayed put, my left leg tucked up to my chest, my right stretched out in the same position I'd fallen into as my orgasm hit. My cock was trapped between the damp sheets and my wet belly, but I was too content to move.

I felt his hand move to my ass, gently stroking the same object he had just taken. I murmured something but I was too exhausted to actually form any words.

"You okay?" Joe asked quietly.

He knew the answer, but he always asked the question. It was tradition now, the expected end to our lovemaking.

"Well fucked," I said the words slowly. He couldn't see my face, but I was smiling.

He laughed softly then pulled me into his arms. I stretched out on his chest and yawned. He reached across me and down his fingers gathering up a glob of cum on my ass. He raised his hand to my face and offered it to me. I accepted his bounty along with his fingers that I suckled like a newborn babe. I felt his cock twitch against my leg and he murmured in contentment.

We stayed that way for some time. I felt my hole closing up after it's invasion and I squeezed my ass muscles in an attempt to help it in its quest to keep Joe's essence inside me forever.

Eventually, reluctantly, I gave him back his fingers and spoke. "What time are they going to be here?"

I played with his chest hair, hoping his answer would give me the space to fully recover. I always need quiet time after one of our early morning sessions. They always seemed more intense; the transition from sleep to passion to daily life was difficult for me. Not that I was complaining.

"About 10," he answered half asleep.

We were going to a double header at Wrigley. Baseball has never really been my thing, but I have to admit, I love the atmosphere at a ballpark, the sun, the hot dogs, and the corny organ music. Joe had been raised in a family whose love of the game seemed genetic. I had accepted that as part of the price of loving him. At least, that's how it was in the beginning. I'd never tell him, but I think that now, I almost enjoy the boys of summer, as much as he does.

It hadn't always been this easy with us. I had accepted that I was gay from puberty. Growing up had been difficult, but at least I'd never been conflicted about what I'd wanted.

Not so Joe. He had been the quintessential jock in high school, Homecoming King, captain of the football team, boyfriend of the head cheerleader. It had been his twin, Josh, who'd been the quiet, studious one who'd never dated much and was still a virgin when they'd walked down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance at graduation. Joe had been sexually active, with girls, since he was 14.

I met him at college our freshman year. We were living in the same dorm, but we didn't know each other. He was rushing the jocks fraternity; I was the fag down the hall. It might have stayed that way if I hadn't been flunking chemistry...


October 29, 1985

Ironically, it was the labs, not the bookwork that were killing me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the experiments to come out right. My professor knew I was trying, so he took pity on me and let me come to the lab late at night when I could make my mistakes in private. It was on one of those nights that I met Joe.

I'd been attempting, again, to get some reaction right, when my hand slipped and a beaker of acid flew across the counter. To this day I swear it was a poltergeist that made it do that, or maybe it was my guardian angel. At any rate, it spilled into a hissing pool in front of me. I swore loudly and tried to stop the flow with paper towels only managing to spread the slop onto my shirt and pants and right hand.

It burned. The pain was immediate and searing and all the safety regulations, I'd been taught, were forgotten as I stared at the red angry bubbles that were forming on my palm.

"For God's sake, move!" A deep male voice yelled at my paralyzed back.

I hadn't noticed anyone come into the lab, but now I felt a hand on the back of my neck pushing me up and propelling me to the emergency shower in the corner. The next thing I knew, cool water was rushing over me, taking away the fire and leaving me so weak with relief that my knees sagged. I would have fallen if strong hands hadn't caught me at my pits and kept me upright.

"It's okay, you're going to be fine," the voice murmured over and over hypnotically as thumbs circled and stroked my shoulder blades while the rest of his fingers kept a grip on my armpits, keeping me upright, letting the cold water do its job on the burning acid.

Gradually, I came back to myself. I stood a little more steadily and the hands removed themselves. I missed them immediately and was grateful when they returned to rub my shoulders and the back of my neck in the same steady comforting way as they had held me before.

Finally, curious, I turned to look to see who my savior was, expecting my professor or a stray TA who'd been slaving away grading papers. I was shocked to find Joe Lassiter instead.

"You?" I asked stupidly.

I knew who he was of course. The University of Michigan was, and is, a football school, Joe was a high school All American and the youngest starting quarterback the school had ever had. The fact that we were winning had a lot to do with it too. Three months into the school year and it looked like we were not only Rose Bowl bound, but even had a chance of winning the damn thing. The football players were Gods and everybody knew their names even those who professed to hate the sport.

I loved the game, so of course I was up on the team. Hey, I might be gay, but I'm still a guy. And as I mentioned, I lived down the hall from Joe. I'd have had to be an invertebrate not to have known who he was.

"Hey dude," Joe chose to ignore my comment. "I think we can get you out of here now." He reached up and pulled the chain on the shower but he still kept one hand on my shoulder, still worried I might collapse on him. "Turn around so I can see how bad the damage is."

I obeyed him, in too much shock to put on a macho front and insist I was okay. He stared critically at the front of me and I followed his eyes half dreading to find out just how stupid I had been.

My shirt was shredded and ended in tatters halfway up my chest. Where the acid had touched me were big red angry streaks and a huge blister had already formed. It looked like the top of a question mark and stretched from the waistband of my jeans to just around my naval. The liquid had also sloshed down my left hip, burning a hole through my pocket and down my thigh. Fiery skin could be seen through the gaps.

Joe looked up at me quizzically.

"Those are going to have to come off," he said matter of factly. When I didn't respond he went on to explain like he was talking to child. "We need to see how bad the burn is."

I nodded mutely in agreement. He stared at me and I realized that some sort of action on my part was called for. I tried to undo the button at my waist but the movement of my right hand made me wince. Joe took my arm gently and turned my palm up.

"Oh fuck!" He whistled softly at what he saw.

There had been no material there to protect me and the paper towels I had foolishly tried to use had worked as a wick soaking my hand with the acid. The blisters I had watched forming just a few minutes ago had grown and ruptured, and my hand, which looked normal topside, was bloody meat underneath.

I looked at the mess dispassionately. Funny, it didn't hurt as much as the rest of me. Joe snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention.

"Do you have a car?" He asked.

I shook my head. Freshman weren't allowed such luxuries in the traffic-glutted city of Ann Arbor.

"Me neither," he said unnecessarily. He thought a moment. "Well, let's see the rest of this first before we worry about how to get out of here."

He was thinking out loud, not really expecting a response. It was a good thing because I seemed to have lost the ability to speak. He reached for my waistband and dispassionately undid my jeans and slid them surprisingly gently down my burning legs. I winced in spite of his care and he noticed.

"Sorry," he muttered and then squatted to take a good look at marks on my legs.

I suppose in a story like this I'm supposed to tell you that, in spite of my pain, my lust took over and I forgot everything else but the stud that was kneeling in front of me. Get over yourselves, it didn't happen.

Oh, I was thinking about my sex life, but in a more abstract way. My body had settled into a one huge throb of pain. I could not distinguish exactly where the source of that pain was and I was half afraid it was coming from a place I valued above all others, if you get my drift.

I forced myself to glance down once my pants were around my ankles. It wasn't a reassuring sight. The acid had not only eaten through my jeans but had also taken a very large hole out of my BVD's. A very, large, hole. The entire left side of my bush seemed to be missing and loose hair had seared off and stuck to the raggedy ends of my shorts. I gulped.

Joe looked up at me seriously. "This is nothing personal, but I'm going to have to strip you," trying to put me at my ease with his lame joke.

I smiled feebly and he carefully went to work peeling the wet sticking mass from my sore skin.

This time I couldn't look. I felt the cool air on my naked skin. It caused a momentary relief from the fire but that ended and the pain came back worse than ever.

Joe expelled a whoosh of hot hair from his lungs as he looked and it hit me like a flamethrower. I moaned involuntarily and stepped back into the wall. Instantly he was on his feet and he grabbed my shoulders to keep me from banging my head.

"Oh Jesus buddy!" he said, real regret in his voice. "I'm sorry, that must hurt like hell!"

My heart sank. It must be worse than I'd imagined and believe me; I have a vivid imagination.

Suck it up, I told myself. You did this to yourself asshole; now deal with it. I took a deep breath and spoke my first full sentence to my savior.

"How bad is it?" It came out as a croak, but a legible one. I even managed a smile.

Joe smiled back. Okay, I admit I did notice how gorgeous he was. I was damaged, not dead. A big tall, All American boy was young Mr. Lassiter and some of my wildest fantasies since coming to college had starred a character that looked just like him.

"You want the good news or the bad news?"

"There's good news?" Hope sprang up in my chest.

"Yup," he nodded, then perversely gave me the bad news first.

"You've got second degree burns on your left thigh and hip and it extends into your, ah, pelvic region. A lot of your, ah, hair..." His face reddened as he said this. "Is gone, but..." It was too much for him. "Oh hell," he turned away, "see for yourself."

I looked down. He was right, a lot of hair was missing and, where it had been, were scarlet streaks though no blisters. My shaft was a little red but my knob and my balls seemed undamaged. I thanked every deity I could think of and finally looked up to find Joe staring at me trying to hold in his laughter at the look of abject relief on my face.

"Really dodged a bullet this time," he finally managed and with that we both burst out laughing.

I couldn't believe it. Here I was burned, in incredible pain, naked, soaking wet, with my pants around my ankles and standing in front of the best looking guy on campus and all I could do was laugh. What can I say; men really are their cocks.

But it went on too long and what had started as laughter turned into hysteria. The tears that I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't cry dripped down my cheeks and off my chin.

Once again Joe was at my side. He grabbed me and shook me firmly but without malice. "Knock it off," he ordered.

With a hiccup, I did.

He nodded abruptly, then his face gentled. "We have to get you to the hospital."

My male posturing suddenly kicked in. The way my moods were swinging made me slightly less stable than Robin Williams on coke.

"No, I'll be fine," I protested.

"Oh bullshit."

Joe pushed me away and walked over to the phone on the far wall. He dug in his pocket and came out with, I swear to God, a little black book. He flipped through it until he found the number he wanted. I couldn't hear the conversation, but it didn't take very long and he hung up and came back to me.

"I called my girlfriend. She lives off campus," as if that explained everything.

Which I suddenly realized, it did. Off campus students usually had some form of transportation. I was back to nodding, it had become my normal form of communication with this guy.

"She's going to meet us out front," he continued, "do you think you can walk that far or do you need me to carry you?"

Now I think I need to stop right here and explain a few things. First, I'm half Italian and half German, an Axis alliance you might say but with me the Italian came out on top with my dark hair and eyes and olive complexion. But I did inherit something from my Aryan uncles; I'm a big guy, 6'4" and then some, and I weigh 210 on my best days though usually, due to my love of junk food, it's closer to 220.

Joe may have been the football hero, but I top him by two inches and 30 pounds. He was only a quarterback for Christ's sake. I was a linebacker in high school and pretty successful though nowhere good enough to play big time college ball. The thought of Joe carrying me was almost enough to start me laughing again. I settled for a small smile instead and shook my head.

He knew what I was thinking. "Don't think I could do it?" He grinned back at me.

"No, that's not it," I said lying. "I just meant I could walk." What the hell, to my way of thinking the guy had just saved my life; he could keep his illusions if he wanted to.

"Good," he wisely decided to let the matter drop. "But we gotta another problem."

"What's that?" The pain was making me stupid. At least that's the excuse I always give myself for not realizing what he was about to say.

"Well," he grinned. "You're nude and I think Ann Arbor has laws about that sort of thing in public."

His words hit me like a blow. I felt the blood rushing to my face. I realized that I had been standing there for at least 15 minutes stark naked in front of this guy without even realizing it.

"'Course," he went on ignoring my embarrassment. "I could be wrong, this is a pretty wide open town."

"Oh God," I groaned and closed my eyes.

I wondered if this night could possibly get any worse? And how was I ever going to face this guy when I saw him in the dorm halls? Maybe I'd move, I decided.

"Here."

In my distress I hadn't noticed that he'd left the room, but he must have because now he was holding a backpack and giving me a pair of sweat pants out of the bag.

"Hold these for a minute while I get the rest of your stuff off you."

I protested but he wouldn't take no for an answer. The funny thing was he completely misread my motivation.

"Look," he said patiently. "You don't have to worry, I'm not gay or anything." Like that would be a problem, I thought. "...and you obviously are in no condition to do this on your own." He started to untie the laces on my sneakers. "I have a twin brother and I guess I've always thought it was no big deal to see another guy naked."

Sorry to hear that, I thought to myself. But I wasn't so far gone as to let it slip out of my mouth. I let him finish undressing me then he took the sweats from my hand and held them open. I balanced myself with my good hand on his shoulder and carefully stepped into the pants. Joe slowly pulled them up.

"Let me know if this hurts too much," he said.

I held my breath but the material was soft and although there was some added discomfort it wasn't too bad. I sighed though when he was finished, and realized that sweat had mixed with the water on my wet head.

Joe noticed too and looked hard at me. "Okay?"

I nodded shakily.

"You don't talk much do you buddy? Hey, what is your name?"

"Mike, Mike Ross," I managed.

"I'm Joe Lassiter. Nice to meet you, Mike."

"You too," I said lamely.

The next 45 minutes are ones I'd like to forget. I managed, just, to make it out the door to the car but the act of sitting defeated me and I finally had to slid in with the help of Joe and lay on my back in the rear of the vehicle. Luckily it was a big station wagon and there was enough room for my long frame.

Jenny was the name of Joe's girl and she was all sympathy and wide eyes, but she didn't fool me. She didn't give a damn about me, not really. She was doing this all for Joe's benefit. I couldn't blame her, I'd probably do a lot of stupid things myself just to see the grin that lit up that handsome face when she leaned over and cooed at me. But I still didn't like her. Her smile was big and wide, but her eyes were cold.

She drove us to the hospital and made a production out of dropping us off and parking the car all by her lonesome so Joe could help me in. While she was gone, an attendant came out to meet us and realizing my predicament, fetched a gurney so I could lie down.

Jenny reappeared and she ran to Joe and grabbed his arm and asked, with concern dripping from her voice, how I was doing. Nice sentiment, but I noticed she never bothered to look at me.

I didn't hear his answer because they came and wisked me away through big double doors. Joe yelled something at me and I raised my hand weakly but I don't know if he saw before the doors closed.

The rest of that night is a kaleidoscope of hot lights and pain and faces hovering over mine asking me how I felt. I felt like shit and I'm pretty sure I told them so, over and over, at least until they started an IV and shot some pain meds into me.

From then on I floated, complaining only occasionally when the exam got so painful that even my narcotic induced numbness was no defense. Eventually they admitted me and I settled back into one of the waterbeds they used in the burn unit. I was hoping for a stretch of uninterrupted unconsciousness. It wasn't to be.

"Hey Mike. Dude. Wake up."

I opened one eye warily. Then the other as it registered who was standing in front of me, Joe Lassiter. My groggy mind wasn't working very well and I couldn't figure out why the quarterback of the Wolverines was standing in front of me, wearing a paper gown and a face mask and calling me dude.

Joe noticed I was awake and leaned over me grinning.

"So how's it hanging?" He laughed out loud. "Oops, maybe that was a poor choice of words."

I groaned. Now, I remembered. All of it. But oddly enough, with all the things that had happened that night, the one thing that concerned me the most was that I had never thanked him. I tried to make up for it, but he waved my gratitude aside.

"I'm just glad I was there," he said simply.

"Why were you?" I asked suddenly curious.

It was his turn to get embarrassed. I could see the color stain his fair cheeks. It made him look about six years old.

"I'm a freak of nature," he admitted. "I'm a jock with a 4 Point and I love of chemistry, well, anything to do with science actually." He shrugged. "I'm pre-med."

"So you were studying?" I prodded.

"Nah," he shook his head. "More like fooling around. There's a project the department is doing on Auto Immune Deficiency research and I was doing a little reading up." He looked at me assessing.

"I haven't told anybody else about this, except my brother," he said the last as if that were to be expected. "But there's an assistant's job opening up on the project and I think I have a shot."

jfinn
jfinn
770 Followers
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