‘Owen’

Owen trailed his fingers over the red sandstone walls of the bank as he

walked past, the intense late-summer sunlight casting a sharp-edge shadow

which nipped at his heels. A stray breeze stirred up a lazy whirlwind of

dust, tousling his short blond hair, causing the red-striped t-shirt

hanging from his back pocket to tease his legs. The brief gust of wind

caused the faded sign of Al’s Barber Shop to squeak as it swung back andMore…

forth on its rusty hinges, the only sound to be heard in the shimmering

heat.

‘The sign’s almost as old as Al,’ Owen thought, grinning to himself as he

glanced through the open door of the barbershop and returned Al and Harvey

Greene’s greetings. The two men sat opposite one another, fanning

themselves under a slowly moving ceiling fan which did little to stir the

heavy air.

“Are ya ’bout ready to head out Owen?” Al asked in his gravelly voice.

Owen nodded in response, his smile brightening as he stepped into the shade

of the barbershop. It was always good to visit Al. He was the only person

other than a high school teacher, who not only listened to, but nurtured

Owen’s dreams of becoming something other than a farmer, like his father.

One of Al’s beefy hands engulfed Owen’s in a handshake before he turned

back to his good friend. “You prob’ly already heard Harvey, but Owen’s

heading off to the big city to go to school. He earned himself one of

those scholarships, for bein’ so smart.” He turned back to Owen and smiled

broadly. “Good luck son; do us proud. We’re gonna miss you.”

Owen ducked his head and smiled as he sat on the shop’s single barber chair

and automatically began swinging to and fro, just as he’d done since he was

a child. His father had always tried to stop his restlessness, telling him

to sit still. One time, Al told Owen’s father to leave the boy alone; he

just needed to work off some of his extra energy.

His father had muttered a disgusted response, drawing a sharp and

disapproving look from the barber and others in the barbershop. “If he’d

put some of that energy to good use around the farm instead of dreamin’

about the big city, we’d all be better for it.”

After a moment’s thought, Al’s response had been a quiet, “hmmmm.”

“Thanks.” Owen responded to Al’s good wishes. “I’ll do my best.” He

looked around the familiar surroundings and inhaled the distinctive odors

of a shop his father told him was old when *he* was a boy. It seemed as if

he was seeing the place for the first time, on this, the day before he was

scheduled to leave. Owen grinned at the pile of dog-eared magazines

sitting on a table, dividing an optimistic row of faded red leather chairs,

and told himself he couldn’t be homesick *already*.

For as long as he could remember he’d studied those magazines, wondering

aloud what it would be like to visit the places described in their pages.

As he got older, he secretly suspected Al of buying magazines which would

stimulate his imagination. That was one of the reasons he loved this place

and its owner so much. He felt free to dream, here.

Al quietly studied the young man as he appeared to say goodbye to a place

where he had once spent much of his time. Other than the days following an

argument with his father, Owen had always been a laughing boy, always

curious about where Al’s customers were from, what they did, and where they

were going. The boy had become a young man, grey-eyed, broad shouldered

and fair-skinned, with a ready smile and a bubbling, carefree laugh.

Owen looked up and blushed slightly when he realized Al had been watching

him. He laughed at Al’s wink, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his

blush deepening. “Ya seen Sam around?”

“Saw ‘im earlier t’day,” Mr. Greene volunteered, speaking for the first

time. “Said he was goin’ fishin’.” Mr. Greene inhaled deeply and puffed a

cloud of blue-grey cigar smoke into the still air. Al wrinkled his nose

and waved a hand in front of his face.

“Wish you’d buy a better brand’a cigar,” he groused, using a folded

newspaper to blow the smoke back to its source. “Th’smoke smell’s just

like m’wife’s pot roast, it does.” He shuddered. “Whole house smells like

this every Sunday.” He shuddered and raised a hand in farewell as Owen

heaved himself out of the chair, waving over his shoulder as he left the

shop and headed down the abandoned street.

“There goes a good boy,” he heard Al say, before the voices from the

barbershop faded to be replaced by the half-hearted chirping of crickets

taking shelter in the trees of the town’s small park.

Today, the whitewashed bandstand in the center of the park stood empty,

surrounded by a small patch of grass. Only a month ago the park had teemed

with townsfolk celebrating Independence Day.

Owen grinned, remembering how he and Sam had spent the day sitting

shoulder-to-shoulder, eating barbecued hamburgers and watermelon as they

listened to the six-piece brass band play patriotic tunes, each song

followed by a smattering of applause.

‘Life was good,’ he remembered thinking, losing himself in Sam’s boyish

grin and dark eyes. He recalled the heat of a blush on his cheeks when Sam

winked at him and silently mouthed the words, “I love you.”

He’d leaned closer, playfully nudging his friend, drinking in the heat from

Sam’s body. He wanted to remember that day, the feeling of Sam sitting

close by, the way he would smile, and how his eyes would twinkle in

suppressed mischief. They both knew a time would soon come when they would

no longer be together. The thought of their imminent parting had caused

his smile to fade. He and Sam had never been apart, and he found it almost

impossible to imagine the day when he would have to leave for school.

Sam sensed his disquiet and had cajoled him into posing for a photograph,

teasing him until he smiled for the camera.

Later that night, they sat side by side on the sidewalk curb and watched

the mayor light fireworks, laughing and oohing and aahing, along with

everyone else at the mayor’s antics and the glittering display. He was

sure there must be bigger and more impressive celebrations, but sitting by

Sam’s side was reason enough to be happy. From time to time they would

glance at one another, catching the other’s smile of contentment in the

brief flashes of light.

Now, the park stood empty, and his departure, a distant future only a month

ago, was imminent. The dry hot breeze brought him back to the present. If

Mr. Greene was correct, Sam would probably be fishing from the cool shaded

bank of the river.

He wiped a hand over his forehead. ‘Sam always did know how to spend an

afternoon,’ he thought, as he waved to Gracie Miller, who languidly waved

back from behind the counter of the Hardware and Feed Store.

“Good luck Owen.” She puffed out her ample cheeks and exhaled a tired

breath as she fanned herself with an old magazine. She pushed away from

the counter where she had been leaning, and slowly walked towards the back

room of the store where an antique air conditioner heaved and gasped. Owen

waved to her retreating back.

‘My entire world,’ he thought to himself. ‘The four dusty blocks of

Riverton. The old timers speak of a time when the town was gleaming with

hope. The summers weren’t as hot; the river was full of enormous fish

which practically jumped onto the shore at your feet; the rains always came

on time . . . and everything was plentiful.’

His lips twisted into a crooked grin. ‘Everyone recalls a golden past.

They’ve stopped imagining a future which is better than today. Just like

Ma’ma and Pops; they can’t conceive of anything better than Riverton.

Their view of the world centers on worry. Will the rains come to water the

land? Will there be too much rain . . . or not enough? Or . . . maybe

this will be another year like ‘63, when locusts descended one summer

evening and ate everything in sight before morning. They don’t have time

to do much more than worry . . . about the crops, the bills, about

. . . everything. There is no time in their life for dreams.’

He returned another well-wisher’s wave, and felt guilty for feeling the way

he did. ‘I can’t be like everyone else. I have to get away. I don’t want

to live consumed by worry. I want something . . . more. As much as I love

them, I can’t be like my folks.’

Owen came to the last building on this side of the street and turned toward

the row of dusty green trees lining the river. He paused a moment in the

shadow cast by the bulbous water tower, the dry grass making crunching

noises beneath his feet. At one time the town’s name had shown proudly,

painted in big blocky black letters over the tower’s pristine white

surface. Through the years the paint had faded, just like the dreams of

the town’s people.

He thought about Sam as he scrambled down the embankment to the river,

listening to the murmur of the water and late afternoon sound of crickets

in the trees. He and Sam had often lain at each other’s side in the

dappled shade cast by the oaks lining the river, and dreamt of what their

life would be like when they were ‘grown up.’ There was never a doubt that

they would always be together. “Best friends, to the end,” Sam once

confidently proclaimed, his thick black hair ruffling in the breeze as an

infectious smile split his tanned face.

Owen stopped to remove his sneakers, tying the laces together and draping

the shoes over his shoulder before scrambling through the low hanging

branches. Each step was a balancing act as he stepped on the shoulders of

slippery stones and headed for his and Sam’s special spot.

Sam had once awakened him by trailing a long blade of grass over his bare

chest. He had slowly opened his eyes, and there was his best friend, naked

and propped up on an elbow, smiling brightly. Sparkling droplets of water

from their recent swim still glistened from his shoulders.

Sam’s eyes twinkled a moment before he leaned close and they kissed. Sam’s

tongue had battled with his as he rolled on top of Owen, trapping their

erections between their bodies. He had lain beneath Sam and thought that

*maybe* he could stay. That was four years ago. He loved Sam; but neither

his love . . . nor anything Sam might do, was enough to keep him from

leaving Riverton.

His dreams of his future were vague. After all, he had never been more

than sixty miles from home. All he knew of the world came from books he

had read, people he had spoken to, and the brief times he had taken his

turn on one of the few computers at his school.

His father scoffed at the idea of buying a television . . . or a computer,

claiming that a person who had time enough to wile away the hours on those

machines, had time enough to be working. There had been no point in

arguing. So, Owen dreamed and studied, aware that knowledge was the only

thing which would help him escape.

He paused, perched on a boulder at the river’s edge. Sam was sitting in a

circle of sunshine, seeming so alone . . . so vulnerable. Sam’s knees were

drawn back to his chest, supporting his chin. Owen watched in silence as

Sam sniffed and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand, before once

again resting his chin on his flexed knees.

Sam looked up and tried to smile when Owen had made some slight noise..

“Hi’ya, Owen.” The voice was like a caress, a familiar touch that sent

erotic chills of anticipation over his body whenever he heard it. A puff

of breeze ruffled Sam’s thick hair, causing the butter-yellow meadow

flowers to bow. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ like you’re not sure of a

welcome.” He held an arm out in a silent invitation, his crooked smile

taking any sting out of his words. “Y’know, you’ll always be welcome.”

Owen leapt from the rock to the bank, his arms extended as he sought to

remain balanced. Even so, his bare feet slipped slightly on the wet grass

at the river’s edge. The abrupt movement caused a nearby bullfrog to fling

itself off a flat stone, landing in the sluggish river with a plop. As

Owen approached his friend and sat down with a sigh, the cricket’s song

resumed.

Owen scooted close and tenderly laid an arm over Sam’s bare shoulders. He

drank in his surroundings, memorizing them to be brought out and enjoyed at

some future time. Tomorrow he would leave everything he had known behind.

Sam wouldn’t be nearby. They wouldn’t be able to laugh, or touch . . . or

love. He’d miss the meadow’s yellow blooms on their wiry stems, the leafy

green canopy of oaks, and new-mown hay smell of the grass where he and Sam

now sat. He’d miss the wide expanses of sky and quiet murmur of the river.

He would miss it all.

Sam’s lips curled into a sad smile as he leaned into Owen’s one-armed

embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You know I love you,

don’t you?” A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead and ruffled his

hair. “You leavin’s not gonna make me stop.”

Owen tightened his arm around Sam’s shoulders and spoke, his own voice

rough with suppressed emotion. “I’ve got to go Sam; you know that. I

. . . I wasn’t made to live in a place like Riverton. I’m a square peg

tryin’ to fit inta a round hole. I . . .” He struggled to find words

which would make Sam understand. “It’s like I’m a musician, or a painter,

or somethin’. Those guys need to make music or paint in order to feel like

they’re truly living. If they can’t do what they were meant to do they’d

just wither on the vine. I’d never be happy if I stayed here and didn’t

try and discover what *I* need to be. You mean the world to me Sam, but

. . .” His voice trailed off.

“I’m not enough.” Sam’s voice was flat.

Owen tried to pull his friend closer. “Ahhhh, you know that’s not the

case. You are the only person other than my folks that I’ve ever loved. I

expect you’ll be the only man I ever *will* love. But, don’t you see? I

need more than love. I need to grow, and learn how to do all the things

that will make me happy. I’ll never know what I could be if I don’t

leave.” He leaned close and kissed Sam’s cheek. “I *do* love you Sam.

More than anything.

“You could come with me.” Owen’s voice was soft . . . inviting. He

grasped Sam’s warm hand, feeling the work-roughened skin beneath his own

fingers.

“I . . . I can’t, Owen.” Sam managed to choke out the words. “You know

that. Ma and Dad . . . I can’t leave ‘em alone. Dad’s not in the best of

health. I’m their only son and they’re dependin’ on me, even though we

have the neighbors working our land . . . I still can’t. Don’t go, Owen.

Stay with me.”

Owen felt Sam tremble as he finished speaking.

He whispered, not trusting his voice enough to speak aloud. “I can’t. I

just . . . can’t.” He closed his eyes as Sam linked fingers with him.

“I know, Owen,” he murmured, taking a stuttering breath. “I just had to

ask.” There was a long pause. “Y’know?”

———-

Lucas closed the book and scowled at his persistent sister. “No, Allison.

Bailey doesn’t love me. He’s in love with the *idea* of loving me.

Surely, you can see the difference.”

Allison flopped back onto the large chair in the family’s expansive living

room, and crossed her arms.

“He says he loves you. In fact, sometimes that’s all he talks about. I’ve

never seen a man so full of drama in my life.” Allison’s voice changed as

she parodied a person presenting an award. “And the award for an actor in

the best dramatic role . . .” She made a sound like an envelope being

ripped open, and then paused, as if she had an audience, hanging on her

every word, all silently cheering for their own favorite candidate.

“Bailey Wilkins,” she shouted, waving the imaginary card containing the

name in the air. “For the tenth-year straight, Bailey Wilkins wins the

award!”

Allison threw herself back in the chair and joined her brother’s laughter.

“The trouble is,” she continued, when the laughter had subsided. “Drama,

can be a bad thing. One never knows what a person like Bailey’s going to

do if he doesn’t get what he wants. He may be nice looking, but beneath

that pretty exterior is someone who will stop at nothing to achieve his

goals. He collects conquests like so many trophies. He doesn’t really

*care* for anyone other than himself. Even you must be aware of that

. . . if you can see beyond the pretty exterior, that is.”

He tiredly rubbed his eyes. “You’re right, of course; but what should I

do?” Lucas inwardly cringed. It was too late to call the words back.

He’d already asked for his sister’s opinion; now, all he could do was sit

back and endure whatever she had to say.

Allison jumped out of her seat, only too ready to tell her brother exactly

what she thought. “It’s not so much what you should *do*, Lucas. It’s

what you’ve already *done*! There’s nothing you can do to change that.

You’re already trapped in Bailey’s web.” He raised his eyebrows, wondering

what she could possibly mean.

“You should never have taken the man to bed in the first place!” Her voice

rose, just like her arms . . . both exclamation points to her delivery.

“Men!” She pivoted to face him, standing across the large, wood paneled

room with her hands on her hips.

“You see something sexy strutting their stuff and your brain shuts down.”

She pointed to her head, then to her groin as she continued. “Then, your

animal brain takes over and the rest of the world could go to hell in a

hand basket, for all you care. You’re no good until you get your rocks

off. Personally,” she said, standing in front of him and nudging his foot

with the toe of her shoe.

“Personally,” she repeated, “I think that’s your problem, Lucas. You don’t

jack off nearly enough! If you did it more often, you wouldn’t be so

all-fire anxious to hop into bed with anyone who wiggles their dick in

front of your face!” She flopped back into her favorite chair and crossed

her arms, giving him a knowing nod. “It’s either my

masturbation-as-a-means-of-self-preservation theory, or you’re incredibly

stupid.” She shifted position, throwing a leg over the arm of the chair

and kicking off a shoe. “I decided to be charitable and opt for the belief

that you’re not having enough orgasms, rather than call my dear brother

stupid.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head back, staring at the

ceiling and tapping her other foot on the plush oriental rug in

aggravation.

“Hormones,” she huffed. “We women don’t have them.”

Lucas laughed. “That must be why I enjoy men, big sister.” He licked his

lips. “Hormones . . . yum. I can taste ‘em.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Wiggling dicks are even better.” She grinned at his playful response to

her theory. Lucas was sometimes too serious for his own good. Today, he

seemed to be in a playful mood. He sniffed the air. “Testosterone . . .”

He gave his sister a lewd look, and abruptly stood, playfully covering his

crotch with his hand. “I think I’ll go to my room and masturbate . . .”

He raised a finger. “Just so I can think straight, mind you.”

“Straight?” She crowed in question. He ducked the pillow she threw at him.

“See,” Lucas teased, flashing a bright smile, standing at the bottom of the

curving stairway. “I’m so horned-up, I can’t even choose appropriate

words. I need to masturbate . . . bad. If you happen to encounter anyone

who wants to wiggle their thing in front of my face, send them right up.

They don’t have to knock.” He took the steps, two at a time as he stripped

out of his t-shirt, followed by her laughter.

———-

Owen climbed out of the back of the old pick up and helped his two sisters

to the ground. His brother handed him his bags. ‘My whole life in these

two bags,’ he thought as his brother, Jonah, jumped from the bed of the

pickup with a quiet grunt. It was only then, Owen realized how many people

had shown up to see him off.

‘It must be the whole town!’ He looked from side to side in

astonishment. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday-best clothes, and were

silently smiling at his surprise.

Al, the barber, approached and shook Owen’s hand. He cleared his throat

and spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Owen, I’ve been

asked to speak for all of us.” He made a slight hand gesture including

everyone standing close by. “We all want to wish you the best of luck at

school. You’re a wonderful young man, and we’re gonna miss your smile and

laughter . . . and your endless questions.” He smiled and cleared his

throat as a few people chuckled causing Owen to bow his head in

embarrassment. “We wish you weren’t leaving us,” Al continued,” and hope

you’ll be back when you’ve completed what you need to do.” Owen bit his

lip and blinked back the moisture threatening to overflow his eyes.

Al’s wife nudged him with her elbow. “Uh?” He glanced in her direction.

“Oh yes. I almost forgot.” There was a sprinkling of laughter from the

crowd. Al reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “We took up a

collection so you could get some of the things you’re sure to need. Every

single person in town gave something to help you out.” He grinned. “Well,

not the babies, but you know what I mean.” He extended a hand with the

envelope.

“Here, Owen. With our best wishes. As I said the other day; do us proud,

son.” First Al, then his wife, and almost all other onlookers either

embraced him, shook his hand, or kissed him on the cheek. It was too much.

He had not believed these people were capable of dreaming. Now, he

realized, they were sharing *his* dream.

He sniffed and accepted a handkerchief from his brother, along with the

whispered assurance, “It’s clean.” Jonah grinned and Owen wiped his eyes,

taking a moment to bring his voice under control.

“Thank you all for showing up here today, for your gift, ‘n your good

wishes. They mean the world to me.” He bowed his head for a moment and

then sniffed once more and smiled. “You all are making me homesick before

I’ve even left town.” There was a smattering of chuckles and then everyone

began drifting away, many taking another opportunity to wish him luck and

shake his hand as they passed.

Soon, only a few people remained. His mother looked up at him with

red-rimmed eyes. “Be a good boy, Owen.” She hugged him tightly and kissed

him on the cheek, and then stepped closer to her husband who gave his son a

grim closed-mouth nod.”

Owen studied his father a moment and the nodded back, surprised he’d even

been able to get *that* much recognition from his father. The man had even

told him once that he would refuse to let him go to college because he was

needed on the farm. Owen had made the mistake of laughing in his face.

“I’m eighteen years old, Pops. Whether you like it or not, I’m an adult,

and can go any place I wish, whenever I wish.” His father had told him the

family wouldn’t provide a penny of support, and that if he left, he might

as well not ever come back, because he wouldn’t be welcome.

Those words had hurt, but had not changed his mind to leave. The nod his

father had just given him was his way of saying goodbye for good.

Owen had never told his mother of his father’s words. He knew she made

every effort to keep peace within the family, and the words would most

likely hurt her more than him. He pitied his mother. She never knew of

the beatings he’d been given by his father, since they always occurred out

in the fields. She *had* however, heard the frequent shouting matches, as

had his sisters and brother.

Jonah had been wonderful, doing his best to comfort Owen after each

beating, sneaking him food when it had been forbidden him, andholding him

until he had stopped crying. He’d never cried in his father’s presence

though, and he wouldn’t today.

He turned his back on his father. His sister Abigail, shyly hugged him.

“I’ll miss you, Owen.” She lowered her voice. “Write and tell me about

all your adventures.” Abigail was more like him than anyone else in his

family. She, if no one else, understood his need to leave. She bit her

lower lip and then threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him

tightly, before joining her parents.

His youngest sister, ‘Opie’, or Ophelia, stepped close and took his hand.

He squatted down to her height. “I don’t want you to leave me, Owen,” she

murmured in a tiny voice, wiping her eyes. “I won’t ever see you again.”

“Sure you will, Opie. I’ll be back, and I’ll be sure’n bring you a

present, too.” Her eyes brightened.

“When?”

He laughed. “I have to leave before I can come back, now, don’t I?” She

nodded, her head bowed, not at all sure a present was worth the pain of her

big brother leaving.

“Owen, what’s it mean when Pops says your head is in the clouds? I heard

him say that last night.” Owen looked over his shoulder at his father, who

had the grace to look embarrassed.

“It means I can see further than he can, Opie,” he murmured. “It’s a good

thing to dream and have your head in the clouds.” He hugged her once more.

“You remember that for me, okay? That it’s a good thing to dream.” She

nodded and then flung her arms around his shoulders.

“I’ll miss you, Owen.” He sniffed and tried to control his breathing.

“I’ll miss you too, Opie. Now, go stand with Ma’ma, I have to say bye to

Jonah.” Ophelia slowly walked to her parents, and then buried her face in

her mother’s dress and silently cried as her mother tenderly stroked her

hair.

“Good luck, Owen.” Jonah, hugged him. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

‘When’d he grow so tall?” Owen wondered.

“Keep the handkerchief,” Jonah chuckled, and murmured in a low voice.

“You’re gonna need it.” He nodded toward the lonely figure standing in the

shade of a large nearby tree. Owen nodded his understanding, and his

thanks.

Jonah joined his parents who were quietly visiting with the town doctor,

the person who had volunteered to drive Owen to the train station, two

towns away. He could hear the murmur of their voices, but his entire

attention was on Sam, standing disconsolate, near the tree.

“Oh, Sam,” he said, as he approached. “Don’t look so sad. You’re tearin’

me up inside.” He reached out and rested his hand on his friend’s

shoulder, intensely conscious of his parents nearby.

“Can’t help it,” Sam choked. “I’ve not been sleepin’ or nothin’, I’m

missing you so much already.” He took a ragged breath, and thrust

something into Owen’s hand.

“Here, this is for you.” It was a small framed picture of the two of them

at last month’s Independence Day celebration, the one he’d so much wanted

to have taken. They had their arms around one another’s shoulders, and

were smiling at the camera.

Owen studied the photograph, running his thumb over Sam’s image. He bit

his lip, doing his best not to break down. This . . . parting . . . was so

much more difficult than he had imagined.

“It’s . . . it’s so you won’t forget me,” Sam choked out. “You won’t, will

you?” He seemed to swallow with difficulty. “Forget me, I mean?”

“Never, Sam,” Owen murmured, pulling Sam close and burying his face in his

friend’s hair. “Never.”

Drunken Seduction

At the beginning of my sophomore year in college, a guy I hung around with

during our freshman year, Ray, approached me and said that since we got

along so well, we should room together this semester. I had such a hardon

for Ray that I didn’t know if I should take him up on the offer to room

together. I wasn’t sure I could handle it, being that close to him all the

time. I always sprang a boner whenever we were together. Thank god for

baggy pants. I don’t think he was ever aware of his affect on me. But,

eventually, I said OK and once I got used to being around him so much, it

was OK. Ray and I knew each other well enough and had been friends long

enough that it was easy for us to get along, provided, of course, if I just

ignored his naked body parading around our room after his shower each

night, I could handle it. Right before Christmas break, the guys down the

hall from us had a party, and Ray and I went. There was lots of beer and

several guys were passing around bottles of harder stuff, so a lot of us

got pretty shit-faced. I don’t like to drink hard stuff because I’m afraid

of what I might do, for one thing, so I had a couple of beers, then

stretched out on a couch to relax. After I’d been on the couch for a few

minutes with my eyes closed, I felt the couch bounce, then felt someone

slide onto it next to me, felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard Ray’s

voice. “Hey Bob, move over so I can sit next to you.” For some reason I did

nothing, just pretended I was asleep. Ray poked me harder. I didn’t

respond. I heard someone else say, “He’s passed out man, better get him out

of here before he hurls all over the place.” Ray swore. “How about helping

me”, he said, and the next thing I knew there were hands all over me, and I

was being carried out of the room and down the hall to our room. I got an

erection almost right away because Ray was helping to carry me and then

felt a hand in my crotch, feeling me up pretty good. Another guy had his

hand on my ass, probing my crack. I’d have cum if the groping had lasted

longer. I sure wanted to know whose hands those were, but I kept my eyes

closed and pretended I really was out cold. I felt myself being dumped on a

bed, and heard laughing and joking as the guys left. I heard the door

close. I was about to get up and turn on the light when I heard someone in

the room. Then the bed shook and I heard Ray’s voice. “Hey Bob, wake up.”

He shook me gently. I remained motionless. He shook me again. “Fuck, man,

you never get drunk.” I was about to leap up and grab him and wrestle him

to submission when I heard him say, “Maybe I’d better undress you.” I

couldn’t believe he meant it, but I decided to wait and see. The next thing

I knew he was taking my shoes off. I was lying across the bed, with my feet

hanging off the side, so that was easy. “Shit man, you’re faking it”, Ray

said. “Let’s find out.” He reached inside my shirt and started tickling

me. Normally I am very ticklish, but this time I just lay there like a

log. ” You had a nice tight body, I guess from working out so much” he

whispered. He moved his hands over my chest and pinched my nipples. It was

then that my cock started to swell up again and as he continued to undress

me I soon had a full hardon. His hands got bolder and went lower and lower

and soon he was groping my crotch through my pants, feeling my

hardon. “Fuck yeah man,” he breathed, “you’re digging this”. He was groping

my cock with one hand while he worked my pecs with the other. Then his hand

left my crotch and I heard a zipper go down. I squinted from behind closed

eyelids so I could sneak a look at him and saw my buddy Ray with his tee

shirt pushed up and his pants open holding his hard cock in his hand. He

was jerking off while he felt my body and played with my hard cock. I

couldn’t believe this was happening - my best buddy Ray was groping my hard

cock and digging it. My boner throbbed and twitched as he squeezed it. Then

he said, “Shit, dude, I can’t stop now, I’ve got to have you”, and he undid

the waistband of my pants and unbuttoned the fly and moved off the bed so

he could pull my pants off. I didn’t help, I still didn’t want him to know

I was awake, so he had to struggle a bit, but soon he had my pants all the

way off. He moved onto the bed next to me again unbuttoned and pushed my

shirt out of the way and then resumed his exploration of my now nearly

naked body with his hands. I just had on my briefs. I could hear him

breathing heavily. He was really turned on by what he was doing to me. I

figured he was probably not looking at my face so I let my eyes open a bit

again, just enough to see him. He had his tee shirt all the way off now and

his pants pushed partway down and was working his hard cock with one hand

while with the other he explored my body. He was really paying a lot of

attention to my pecs rubbing and squeezing them and when he started working

my big hard nipples I couldn’t help moaning because it felt so good. He

froze. So did I. “What the fuck”, he muttered. I guess he figured at this

point if I was awake bit he’d gone too far to turn back off so slowly his

hand started working my nipples again. My cock was throbbing and swelling

and oozing fuck juice like crazy, I was so turned on by having Ray feel me

up. Ray’s hand moved down my abs, tracing the cuts of my six-pack. Then he

slid his hand inside the waistband of my briefs and gently explored my

crotch slowly wrapping his hand around my huge hard cock. “Shit yeah,

dude”, he breathed. I have a big one, about nine inches, and thick. Most

guys look envious when they see it hard. It’s pretty awesome even I have to

say so myself. Ray is pretty well equipped too, I’d seen him hard lots of

times, but I was bigger than he was; bigger than most guys I’ve seen hard,

which is not that many. Then Ray spread my legs apart as far as they would

go and explored my thighs with his hands, rubbing his hot horny hands up

into my crack. He was making sounds that told me he was really turned on

and getting to the point where he didn’t care what happened. I felt both of

his hands on me, one rubbing my pecs and abs, the other stroking my

cock. If he kept that up I was going to cum and I was thinking it was time

to wake up. Then just as I was about to let him know I wasn’t passed out I

heard Ray say “Shit, Bob, I can’t help it I gotta have you” and the next

thing I knew I felt his warm wet mouth on my cock. He was sucking my huge

hard cock! I moaned involuntarily and he just kept it up. He had one hand

on my balls and the other on my pecs and was sucking my cock for all he was

worth. I don’t think he’d ever done it to anyone before, because he was

having trouble taking it and I could feel his teeth a couple of times but I

was still in heaven. I’d never dared dream such a thing; that Ray was as

queer for me as I was for him and now he was sucking me off. I started

cumming, my balls churned and my cock swelled and spurted huge gobs of hot

sticky fuck juice all over me and Ray moaned and panted but he kept on

sucking, taking it all and swallowing it. I opened my eyes a little again

and saw him grab his own cock and start pumping it as he continued to suck

mine and right away he started erupting in huge spurts of cum all over me

and the bed. When he finished shooting he released my still-oozing cock and

fell onto the bed beside me, panting and moaning. He was still rubbing his

hands all over my naked body, enjoying my muscles. “Shit, yeah, fuck, oh

Bob, dude, I love you.” He crawled up beside me then and I felt his lips

touch mine and then he was kissing me. I was so stunned by what he had just

done that I didn’t know what to do. If I kissed him back the way I wanted

to, he’d know I had been faking it and that might make him stop. So I just

lay there and let him hug me and rub his naked body against my naked

body. My cock was still hard and oozing cum and he was playing with it and

his own cock was still hard too and poking me in the leg all wet and

slippery. Finally Ray got up from my bed. I realized I was stuck now, I had

to lay there and fall asleep and wake up in the morning and act as though I

had no idea what had happened. But I really had to piss. I opened my eyes a

little and saw Ray open the door and go out. He was wearing just his

briefs, but that was OK, some guys walked down the halls buck-naked. Maybe

he was going back to the party. Naw, he wouldn’t do that, dressed like

that. Did I dare get up and go down the hall to the can? I was feeling

almost like I was really as drunk as I had pretended, what had happened was

so awesome. I lay there for a couple of minutes then sat up on the side of

the bed. My cock was still hard. I reached down and stroked it idly as I

tried to decide what to do. That’s when Ray came back in. “Dude! You’re

awake!” Ray said in surprise. I looked at him with as much of a pretense of

bleary-eyed drunkenness as I could manage. “Gotta piss,” I said, slurring

my words, and lurched to my feet and pulled my briefs back over my dick. I

stumbled against the wall and stood shakily, looking at my roommate, my

best buddy who had just sucked my cock. He had a wet cloth in his hands and

I realized he’d been intending to clean me up. I started towards him,

lurching around as much as I could without hurting myself. “I really gotta

piss,” I said, heading for the door. I managed to lurch up against Ray, and

he caught me. I looked blearily into his eyes and mumbled “I’m drunk,

buddy, I’m drunk.” “No shit, dude!” he replied clutching my near naked body

to his. We were both still wearing nothing but our briefs, and mine were

wet and cummy. I reached down and groped myself releasing my cock.

“Gotta hardon,” I slurred. “Yeah, Bob, you’ve got a hardon. Here, let’s get

that thing back in your shorts,” he said and reached down and pulled my

briefs up and managed to work my big hardon back inside. My cock almost

spurted another load of hot cum all over the two of us when he grabbed it

and pushed it down into my briefs. “Good old Ray,’ I slurred. “My buddy

Ray.” I lurched towards the door again. I was starting to formulate a

plan. “Gotta piss, can you help me to the john?”, I asked. Ray helped me

stagger down the hall to the bathroom. We shared a giant bathroom with all

the other rooms on the floor. At this hour on a Saturday night it was

usually empty, aside from some drunken college boy taking a piss to get rid

of all the beer he had drunk, so Ray and I had the giant room to

ourselves. I let him guide me to a urinal and I managed to get my cock out

and fortunately it had gone soft enough that I was able to piss. That was

real at least, and I gratefully emptied my bladder. I swayed so Ray tried

to support me without looking too much like he was interested in what I was

doing. When I had finished pissing, I broke from my buddy and staggered

away from the urinals and looked around. “Gotta take a shower,” I

announced, and headed towards the shower stalls. That caught Ray off guard,

and I was through the doorway by the time he caught up with me. I wanted

him in the shower with me though, so I staggered even more, and let myself

slam into a wall. It hurt enough that I wasn’t faking it when I recoiled

and stood there moaning. Ray grabbed me to keep me from hurting myself

further. “Gotta take a shower,” I slurred, stripping my briefs off and

leaving them on the floor as I staggered around looking for a shower

stall. “Jesus!” Ray swore softly. “OK, come on, here’s a shower.” I think

he expected to just shove me into one and then leave me while I sobered up,

but I grabbed him and pulled him in with me. I reached for the faucets and

turned them on before he could get out of the way and the two of us were

showered with ice cold water. “Fuck! That’s cold!” Ray yelled, and reached

to adjust the spray. He got it to a more comfortable temperature and by

that time I had some soap in my hands. Someone had left his soap when he

was through washing. Usually I would have avoided even touching one of

those bars, but I grabbed it and reached out and started soaping up my

buddy’s almost naked body. Ray fought me briefly, then decided to give in

and go along with my drunken antics. I soaped him clumsily, in keeping with

my supposed drunkenness, and when I encountered his wet briefs I let out a

whoop of discovery. “Hey! My buddy isn’t naked, gotta get naked to take a

shower!” and I sank to my knees and pulled his shorts down before he could

do more than make a brief protest. His cock flopped out, half hard, and I

reached up with my soapy hands and started lathering up Ray’s cock and

balls. He was hard right away and fell back against the wall of the shower

stall, obviously loving what I was doing to him. I tried to maintain the

pretense that I was drunk and continued to feel him up real good, play with

his hard cock and churning balls until he was moaning and panting with

passion. Then I stumbled to my feet and fell against my naked buddy. My

hands were rubbing his hard pecs and rippled abs just as he had done to me

when he thought I was passed out on the bed. Ray is a really hot stud. “My

buddy Ray has a boner,” I mumbled as I felt him up, letting my hands slide

down into his crotch. I got one hand on his balls and the other wrapped

around his huge hardon and started stroking him as I nuzzled his neck with

my mouth and started licking his neck and cheek. Ray was making ineffectual

efforts to stop me, pushing me away very feebly, but when I put my mouth to

his and started kissing him he stopped resisting and kissed me back. We

parted from that kiss finally, and I put my lips to Ray’s ear and in my

normal, sober voice I said “I’ll return the favor and give you a blow job

even better than the one you just gave me when we get back to our room.”

This was the beginning of an exciting college experience.

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