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An Experience from My Past

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When I was in my mid-twenties I shared an apartment with another guy while I was working my way through college. College hadn't been an option after high school, and it wasn't until I got out of the Army that I made up my mind to get an education. But even with VA benefits it was a struggle to stay afloat, and I could barely make ends meet working a variety of low-skill, low-pay jobs, usually more than one at a time and many of them physically demanding. So I teamed up with a guy I'd known for a long time who was also trying to live cheaply, and we rented a place together.

One time, a friend of my roommate's came to stay with us for a week or so. We'll call him 'X.' My roommate and X had been in Vietnam together. That should give you an idea of the time frame.

We were pretty casual around the apartment. One morning X came out of the bathroom after a shower with nothing but a towel slung over his shoulder. He was in top physical shape (we all were back then). He was trim and athletic, and he was well-endowed.

He must have sensed me looking at him, because his eye caught mine and he shot back at me what I interpreted as a dirty look. I immediately looked away and I must have turned beet red. I was positive X thought I was eyeballing him. I worried that he would say something about me to my roommate and I'd have to go off in search of new living arrangements.

But I had to go off to class and then work. When I got back to the apartment that night after a shift at an all-night filling station, it was nearly one. My roommate and X had been drinking, and they were ready to hit the sack. They went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Our apartment had just one very small bedroom. We had installed a bunk bed, but I sometimes slept on the living room couch to avoid disturbing my roommate when I came back from work after he had gone to bed. He was a construction worker and usually had to get up very early, and I often stayed up studying into the morning hours. When X come to stay with us, I had volunteered to let him have my bunk, and I took the couch.

I wasn't quite ready to crash when I got home that night. I was hungry-I hadn't eaten since breakfast-and I rummaged around the kitchen area until I found a can of something or other. I heated it on the stove, wolfed it and washed it down with a beer. Then I took a shit and a shower, turned out the light, lay down on the couch and started masturbating.

That was another reason for choosing the couch. Between school and work, I didn't have the time, money or sheer energy for an active sex life. It had been a long time since I'd had sex-real sex, that is, with a real, live girl. But I still needed an outlet on a regular basis. If you've ever tried beating off in a bunk bed without letting the guy in the other bunk know what you're up to-and believe me, I'd had plenty of opportunity to perfect this survival skill in the Army-you'll know why I preferred the couch when I had the chance. I kept an old tattered T-shirt stashed under the cushions.

That night, I let my guard down. At a moment when I was completely exposed, the bedroom door opened and X stepped out. I quickly covered myself with a blanket but he couldn't have helped seeing what I was doing. He closed the bedroom door behind him and went in the bathroom. I saw the light come on under the bathroom door and heard him piss and then heard the toilet flush.

The light was still on when the bathroom door opened, and I shut my dark-adapted eyes. When I opened them, X was standing over me, looking down at me. He was naked, and so was I under the blanket.

I caught my breath, I had a knot in the pit of my stomach, and my asshole tightened. I knew that something was about to happen-what exactly, I wasn't sure. One part of me wanted to put a stop to it right then and there. But his dick was dangling above my face and I wondered what it would be like to reach up and take it in my hand. The only dick I'd never felt was my own. I was paralyzed by my conflicted impulses, and I lay passively as he sat down on the edge of the couch and slowly lifted the blanket.

Once I was uncovered, he stared at my groin for a moment-I would say he examined me-and then placed his hand on my thigh. He looked at me with arched eyebrows as if questioning me, but I couldn't look him in the eye and stared straight ahead. When I didn't react one way or the other, he started massaging my thigh slowly and then his hand moved to my dick. He let it sit there for a few seconds.

At that point, I gave in. I reached out and felt his dick. It was slippery, and I realized that while he was in the bathroom he'd slathered it with vaseline.

The next thing I knew, he was on top of me and we were pawing at one another ferociously, running our hands over every part of each other's body-our shoulders, our chests, our abdomens and our crotches. Then he reared up on his knees, straddling me. He took my dick in his fist and started masturbating me. He fondled my balls with his free hand and fingered that special spot at the root of my scrotum. I let go of him and lay back and let him work me over while I strained to reach a climax. When he forced his free hand under my butt and poked a finger up my asshole, I released myself in massive waves of ejaculation. I couldn't catch much of my semen in the T-shirt.

He sat back on his heels for a moment while I recovered my breath. Then he leaned over, grabbed my shoulders and rather roughly forced me to flip over onto my belly. His finger had whetted my appetite for anal stimulation, and when he lowered himself onto me and I felt his dick between my butt-cheeks, I was almost hoping he would go all the way.

But that's not what he did. He just pressed my cheeks together with his palms and bucked his hips against my butt, so that his dick slid up and down my butt-crack-at first in short bursts punctuated by moments of relaxation, then in longer bursts. Finally I felt him tense up and release his warm, moist semen in a series of vigorous thrusts.

He rolled off of me and I rolled over on my back. There was barely enough room for both of us to lie side by side on the couch and we were almost on top of one another, but we lay there, both of us exhausted, for maybe five minutes. Then he picked himself up and went in the bathroom.

He didn't close the door, and I could see him take a piss and wipe himself off, and then he washed his hands and his dick in the sink. After he went back in the bedroom, I took another shower and then mopped up the couch with moistened paper towels. Fortunately, the couch was covered with some sort of synthetic material that wiped off easily. When I lay back down on the couch, I was in a state of arousal, and I had to masturbate one more time before drifting off to sleep.

The day after, it was like nothing had happened. It was strange and actually kind of exciting in a perverse way to talk to X casually in front of my roommate without giving any hint of our encounter the night before or the change in our relationship. But even when X and I happened to find ourselves alone together, we didn't let down the façade.

As soon as it occurred to me, I rejected out of hand the thought that maybe something could be going on between X and my roommate-my roommate had shared with me the details of his active sex life. Later on, though, the flaw in my thinking dawned on me when I considered my own sexual history. But I still find it implausible that anything occurred between my roommate and X, either during his visit or when they were in the military. Of course, I never asked him about it.

At least I could be comfortable that X would never reveal my secret to my roommate. But the incident still threw me into anxiety. Over the years I've become acutely aware of how little I understand about the mystery of sex, but back then I subscribed to the prevailing belief that guys were either normal or queers (that was the word we would have used), and there was no in between. Any guy who at any time in his life had the slightest, most casual sexual contact with another guy was queer. Up to that point all of my sexual experience had been with the opposite sex, but I had crossed the line. And, worse yet, I hadn't found my encounter with X disgusting or repulsive-I couldn't escape the fact that it had given me intense pleasure. I had even been ready to submit my body to the ultimate degradation any man could endure. Words like 'homo,' 'pervert' and 'fag' echoed over and over again in my brain like a broken record.

And yet, I was hungry for more. The next two nights I masturbated on the couch in the hope that it would somehow magically summon X out of the bedroom again. And my masturbation magic actually worked, only not the way I intended. On the second night, as I was going at it like crazy, the bedroom door opened. But it wasn't X who stepped out-it was my roommate. I covered myself and mumbled a lame excuse, but my roommate just laughed and told me not to worry about it.

The next day, X was gone.



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