REVENGE ON RYAN - Gay Sex Stories

Gay Sex Stories presents "Revenge on Ryan - A Hot Gay Sex Story".

     After my freshman semester at college, I was on a Greyhound bus to go home for the Christmas break.  It had been a very difficult semester. Not only did I have to adjust to college life and become relatively independent but I found class work far more demanding than I had ever experienced.  I felt relieved to pull a low B average even after all the sleepless nights studying.  I was more than ready for a break.

     Ryan sat next to me, in the aisle seat.   I had met him casually in an English class and, by coincidence, we were on the same bus.  Ryan lived on a farm about 20 miles from the county seat where I grew up. Ryan was not particularly attractive--short, very thin, but with an almost chubby face that made him look much younger than his years.  Nor was he very personable; he was painfully shy and seemed to find conversation difficult.  We had talked for several miles after boarding the  bus but I soon tired of carrying the conversation.  When I stopped talking, he seemed to welcome the silence.  Trying to be sociable with someone so unresponsive was irritating.  So we now rode along quietly. I was staring out the window at a bleak landscape; Ryan was engrossed in a book by some obscure dead philosopher.

     As the bus cruised along in the waning daylight, I drifted off to sleep reflecting on the previous months.  The course work was not the only burden I had experienced.  There was also the blatant homophobia in faculty and student body at a fundamentalist Christian college.  Sitting in boring lectures, I found myself scanning the class and finding many of the guys quite attractive.  Mentally undressing them and fantasizing about being in bed with them often got me hard.  Still worse was the compulsory physical education classes and the inevitable shower room distractions.  It took an act of shear will power to avoid getting hard at the sight of twenty or so naked guys showering, horsing around, and rarely being shy about being seen in the buff.  I noticed in the shower room that some guys were enviably endowed.  But there was no particular correlation to how they appeared in clothes.  Therefore, my fantasizing about who I was with in bed and what it would be like was influenced as much by their equipment as by their attractiveness when clothed.

 

     Life in the all-male dorm was also frustrating.  In contrast to their ultra-modest attire and behavior on campus, the guys were surprisingly unconcerned about appearing in their room or in the hallway with nothing on but their briefs, sometimes less.  There was one shower room with five shower stalls on each floor of the dorm.  They were nearly always crowded morning and night so I saw a lot of flesh daily.   I stole many glances, which gave me more fodder for fantasizing as I sat in my room doing my homework. I should have been trying to understand the assigned readings but images of a bare ass or dangling cock were constantly intruding on my thoughts.  It aroused me but gave no real satisfaction.

     Of course, I had to be very discrete about what I looked at and what I thought.  The late sixties were not a time of tolerance for "abnormal"  sexual preferences and the environment at my college was particularly toxic to homosexuals.  (The term, gay, still meant happy.)  As cover for my secret longings, I would join in occasional conversations about the 'sin' of 'deviant homosexual behavior.'  There were also occasional raunchy discussions about screwing girls among a few of the guys.  As hypocritical as that was, I had felt I had to join in to mask my real interests.  My inner life as a self-admitted but unrevealed homosexual was always conflicting with my need to be socially acceptable.  It was more of a strain than the arduous course work.

     In spite of my compulsive habit of mentally undressing other guys, Ryan was easy to ignore.  Imagining him naked was more humorous than exciting.  He had a whisper thin frame and even normal clothes seemed baggy.  His almost chubby baby face on that frame was almost grotesque.  And he was a bookish little shit.  If you couldn't debate free will or existentialism with him, there was no hope of any conversation.  It would be a long trip.

     Close to midnight, the bus pulled of the highway for a scheduled comfort stop.  I awoke to find it snowing heavily. Lights in the parking lot revealed a considerable accumulation of snow on the ground.  In spite of the snow on the ground and blowing all around, I got off the bus. I had to piss.  Ryan followed.  I bought a Coke and bag of Fritos and got back on the bus.  Ryan was already back in his seat.  We exchanged a few words about the weather but I knew conversation was futile.  I began to think that traveling alone would be better than the effort it took trying to be friendly with this turd.

     Long after the bus was to have left, the driver announced that the highway ahead was impassable.  It would be morning before the storm subsided and the plows would be able to clear the road.  He apologized, emphasized that there was nothing he could do about it, and then said that there was a Motel just 50 yards away.  It was recently built, not yet open for business, but had agreed to make some rooms available if anyone wanted to stay the night there.  We would be called in the morning at least 45 minutes before the bus departed.  Ryan and I looked at each other with exasperated expressions.

     I took the initiative.  "Want to share a room?" I asked.  "If we split the cost, it shouldn't be too much."  I didn't fancy being with him more than I had to but money was tight and I sure as hell didn't want to spend the night in a truck stop.

     Ryan hesitated, looking worried.  I pressed my case.  "What's the alternative?" I asked, "Hanging out in that dingy truck stop.   With no place to get any shut-eye?" 

     Ryan still gave no answer but pulled out his wallet.  "I've only got five bucks but I have a credit card.  We could put the room on my card and you could give my half in cash.  Would that be OK?"

     "Done," I said, "Let's go before the rooms are gone."

     We left the bus as the driver was still apologizing and catching all kinds of hell from two half-drunk slobs in the back.  It was a long 50 yards, made longer by the drifts and driving snow.  In the motel, the owner checked us in while going on at length about how he was not ready for guests yet.  There was no staff yet so we would have to make up our own bed.  The TV was not connected, and there was a phone but no long distance calling yet.  I was in no mood for his sob story although grateful that he took us in.

     Ryan pissed me off again by insisting that I give him the cash for my half of the room as soon as we checked in.  As if I would cheat him or something.  I was in a foul mood as we made our way to the room, which, to my dismay, had just one queen-size bed.  How I wished that I could share it with someone--anyone other than Ryan--who shared my interests.  Instead, I would be spending the night with somebody who I disliked more and more.

     Once in the room, Ryan asked to shower first.  I agreed, put sheets

and blankets on the bed and then sat there waiting.  For the first time,

knowing he was naked in the shower, I wondered how he was fixed ...

and what he did with it when he was alone.  The thoughts were not

enough to really arouse me, however.  He was a far cry from my ideal

kind of guy.

     When he came out, he was wearing baggy boxer briefs that revealed

nothing.  His baby face, scrawny torso and spindly legs, bare of any real

hair, made him look like a poster child for some Feed the Hungry group.

He thanked me for making up the bed and quickly crawled under the

covers.  It was my turn to shower which I completed quickly--the hot

water soon ran out.  I blamed Ryan for staying too long in the shower

and depleting the hot water supply.  Of course, the problem was more

due to the motel's plumbing than Ryan's shower but it was yet another

reason to dislike him.   While I prefer to sleep nude, I chose to be more

discrete and slipped on my briefs before getting into bed next to Ryan.  I

said, "Good night" and rolled over to put my back toward him.  I fell

asleep thinking how great it would be if only I were in bed with a better

looking guy who shared my sexual tendencies.

     Some time later, while just half awake, I sensed that my cock was

stiffening.  That was not at all unusual for me but there would be no

chance of jerking off with Ryan next to me.  I was lying on my back.

Then, slightly more awake, I sensed something else--a slight pressure

on my cock--not a steady pressure but one that was moving around.

Waking a little more, puzzled by the feeling, I realized that the pressure

was Ryan's hand.  He was ever so softly massaging my cock through my

briefs.  By now, I was fully awake but I pretended to be sleeping so I

could be sure of my impression.  There was no doubt; Ryan was feeling

me up.  I had no idea how long he had been doing that but it must have

been a while because my cock was almost fully erect.  As my cock

continued to swell in response to his massaging, I wondered what to do.

My surprise at his fondling me gradually turned to irritation that he would

take advantage of me while he thought I was asleep.  I thought about angrily

telling the little turd to keep his friggin hands to himself but then decided that

what he was doing felt good.  For the time being, I decided, I'd wait to see

just how far he would go.

     In no time at all, I felt his hand begin to slip under the waistband

of my briefs.  He was being very slow, very deliberate, and very gentle so

as not to wake me.  If only he knew that I was fully awake.  My hardening

cock was beginning to be very painful, cramped at a downward angle

when it wanted to point upward.  The pain was getting intense when

Ryan apparently got a little bolder.  My steady breathing no doubt

convinced him that I was soundly asleep.  He gently maneuvered my

cock to a more comfortable, upright position.  Then he began to circle

the head of my cock with his fingers, which I thoroughly enjoyed but

which made me want all the more to jerk and shoot a load.

     I continued the pretense of sleeping soundly.  That made Ryan bolder

and, to tell the truth, more careless.  He was now lowering my briefs, not

realizing that anything like that would wake nearly anyone.  Eventually,

my briefs were down low enough that my cock was completely free.

Ryan took more and more liberties with my throbbing member.  He was

fondling it, running his fingers through my pubes, and caressing my

balls.  The stimulation was almost more than I could bear.  I decided that

something had to be done; my balls and cock were screaming for relief.

     The whole situation was ridiculous.  This scrawny, baby-faced kid

who was as socially responsive as a rag doll, who had been worse than

no company at all on the bus, was irritating me more and more . . . this

twerp had the nerve to sneak a secret feel of my cock when I was

asleep.  While I could have been thinking of the chance for sensual and

sexual satisfaction with another guy, I got mad instead.    My

mischievous side took over.

     Ryan was on my left, lying on his side facing me.  With my right hand,

in one lightening move, I grabbed the wrist of the hand that was playing

with my cock.  I heard Ryan inhale quickly and felt him try to pull back

his hand.  But I held it in a tight grip.  Ryan didn't move.  I could only

imagine the fright--and maybe shame--he was feeling.  He had been

caught and now, he was probably thinking, would have to suffer the

terrible consequences.  I delighted in the misery he must be feeling.

     Mostly to prolong his agony, I let him stew for just a few moments.

During that time, however, I guess I felt a little sorry for the guy and

thought that he was just as frustrated as I was over being gay but not

being allowed to be gay.  Perhaps he was simply unable to control his

longing for sexual contact and siezed the opportunity.  That made a

weird sort of sense because he was socially immature.  He didn't have

the skills or the courage to attempt a consensual contact yet he craved

sexual stimulation.

In the meantime, my cock was telling me, "Keep it up, I like the attention."

Without loosening my firm grip on his hand, I began to slowly move his

hand up and down my stiff rod.  At the same time, I reached with my

free hand down toward his crotch where I found a woodie under his

baggy briefs.  As I began to rub his cock, I kept a firm enough grip

on his wrist that he couldn't pull away.  But I continued to guide his

hand across my bare boner.  I was still feeling resentment that he

had taken advantage of me while I was sleeping, still mad, but I was

increasingly excited about the opportunity for sex that it gave me.

     Little by little, I loosened my grip on his wrist.  His hand wrapped

around my cock and he was making no effort to withdraw.  My hand

continued stroking his rock-hard cock.  His hand wrapped more tightly

around my cock and squeezed.  I squeezed his in reply.  He made a few

stroking movements on my aching cock.  I did the same to his,

astonished at what seemed to be the length of the monster.  I had to see

it.  I threw back the covers and moved quickly to straddle his legs.   Ryan

didn't move,  He couldn't anyway because I was sitting on his legs and my

hands were on his shoulders pinning him to the mattress.  He must have

been startled at my quick movements . . . and maybe still suffering from

the fear of being caught while feeling me up in my sleep.

     "Don't move," I growled, surprising myself with the unaccustomed

assertiveness.  I reached over and turned on the light before he could

figure out what was happening.  I jerked his boxers down his legs more

violently than I should have and threw them across the room.  Ryan was

frozen with either surprise or fear. I pulled off my own briefs and

forcibly spread his legs to crouch on my knees between his spindly legs.

Seeing his erect cock confirmed my earlier suspicion: it was huge.  Ryan

packed the longest pecker I had ever seen.  It was uncut and the foreskin

was stretched tightly over the head with only the piss slit peeking out from

underneath.  In contrast to his hairless chest and only slightly fuzzy legs,

his pubic hair was a thicket of curly black hair.  Two very large balls hung

loosely below in an ample sack.  For a scrawny, baby-faced kid he carried

an abnormally sized organ.  The size of it, wasted on such a miserable

body, made me angrier.  Why should some random combination of genes

bestow such admirable genitalia on such a wretched male body?

     In spite of my anger--at the wasteful combination of very manly

genitals on a very unmanly body but mostly at Ryan's selfish invasion of

my body while I was asleep--I found the situation very arousing.  The

reason was that this was my first sexual encounter--the first time I had

ever been close to or put my hands on another guy's cock.  Lust began

to consume me.

     Ryan suddenly became both shy and remorseful.  He covered his

crotch with his hands and began apologizing for fondling me.  He started

it but was now whimpering to call it off.  That infuriated me and told him

to shut up.  My short temper and growing lust was temporarily ruling my

actions.  I was going to "get even" while satisfying my sexual energies.

     I played with that massive cock for a while.  I tugged at Ryan's

balls.  I forced the foreskin back to reveal the bulbous head on top of the

long shaft.  I could see the precum glistening at his piss slit.  I got

harder.  Ryan just laid there, neither resisting nor cooperating; there was

no sign that he enjoyed or resented what I was doing to him.  How like him,

I thought--passive and compliant through and through.  But it was Ryan who

started all this.  It was he who made a sneak attack on me while he thought

I was asleep.

     I growled at him again.  "Roll over.  I'm going to fuck you."   I

surprised myself at the command but, having said it, I was determined

to do it.

     Ryan showed his first response since I had surprised him.  His eyes

opened wide and he mumbled, "No.  Please don't."  The words were

more of a whimper than a plea.  His previously expressionless face now

showed fear.  There was no doubt he wanted to end what he had started

but there was also no doubt that I was going to have my revenge.

     "Roll over," I demanded. "You started this, you little twerp, and

I'm going to finish it."

     "Please," he whimpered.  "Don't do this to me."

     He was trembling and tears appeared in his eyes, which only

inflamed my anger.  "Lost your courage, twerp?" I asked.  "You're only

courageous when you think I'm asleep?  You had your fun with me and

now I'm going to have my fun with you."  The tone of my voice evidently

convinced him that resistance was not an option.  Obediently, he rolled

over, exposing his lily-white and juvenile-sized ass cheeks.  "Don't

move," I growled as I got up to get some shampoo from the bathroom.

     Returning to the quivering form on the bed, I spread his legs and

knelt between them.  As I spread his cheeks, I saw the tight pucker of

his undoubtedly virgin ass.  It seemed to be clenched tight against the

inevitable invasion of my aching cock.  I slathered shampoo on his hole

and on my raging cock.

     It was my first time at fucking somebody.  I had read enough stories

to know how to loosen up somebody's hole, but I was too horny and too

angry to bother about preliminaries.  Moreover, Ryan was no doubt a

virgin and my forceful entry would cause considerable pain.  I should

have been gentler entering that dark alley but I forced my way in.

     Ryan cried out in pain as the head of my cock plunged through the

formerly closed pucker of his ass.  He continued to moan loudly and

begged me to stop as I shoved more of my cock into him.  I should have

felt guilty because I was, in effect, raping the guy.  But dammit, he had it

coming, I told myself.

     My cock was inserted within a minute and I felt the tight sphincter

almost strangling my rod.  Ryan's screams of pain subsided to crying

whimpers as I pushed my cock more deeply.  I didn't pump long before I

shot a load of hot cum up his asshole.  It was an immensely intense and

satisfying orgasm.  I kept my cock in his ass while I felt another load of

cum squirt into his darkness.  I kept it in his ass while the sensations

ebbed away.

     It was then, after satisfying my urge for revenge and my stronger urge

to cum, that I felt remorse for what I had done.  This poor kid had

violated me by stealing a feel but I had done far worse to him.  I withdrew

my cock and released my grip on his waist.  I gently rolled him over onto

his back.  What I saw surprised me.  The sheet under him had a very

large wet spot with an unmistakable pool of cum in the middle.  His

stomach was wet and sticky.  He had cum while I was fucking him.  One

of his cries must have been when he shot his load.

     But there was a bigger surprise in store for me.  Just as I was about

to apologize for the forced fucking--the rape, if you will--I looked at his

face and he was smiling broadly.  "That was great," he said.

     I thought it was too, but I just stared at him in disbelief.  Any guilt I

felt was gone.  The little shit had enjoyed it!  I had set out to punish the

obnoxious twerp but he appreciated it.  I was furious.

     Saying nothing, I went into the bathroom to clean up.  I came out of

the bathroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed.  He looked up at

me and smiled.  I noticed his cock hanging down between his legs,

which he held slightly open as if to give me a better view.  His cock was

soft but it was still massive.  But that scrawny body and baby face was

still there, too.  And I knew that his zero personality would not change.

I was not aroused.

     Ryan cleaned up and got back into bed, this time as nude as I was.

He put his arm across my chest and said, "Thanks."

     I forcefully pushed his arm away and angrily said, "Keep your hands

off me, creep!  Touch me again and I"ll beat you bloody!"

     We rolled over on our sides, facing away from each other. My thoughts

about the experience kept me awake for some time.  I could have been

grateful for the storm, having to share a bed, and even his fondling me,

which led to my first gay sex experience.  But every time I think of it,

it just seemed dirty.  I don't regret raping him because he deserved it but

I wish that it hadn't happened.

     We spoke only a dozen words for the rest of the trip.  Neither of us

ever mentioned what had happened the night before but he tried hard,

in his awkward way, to be friendly and make conversation.  I ignored it

as long as I could but finally told him to shut up and leave me alone.  We

spent the last hundred miles of the trip without a word to each other for

which I was grateful.

     Fortunately, we took separate busses back to campus following the

Christmas break.  By that time, I had come to the conclusion that what

he did was wrong but what I did was also wrong.  Still, as unfortunate as

it was, I resolved to put it behind me and get on with my life as a

frustrated gay struggling to get through college and hoping that, one day,

I could find someone with whom to forge a caring relationship.

     I saw Ryan on campus a few times during the first three weeks back

at school but each time he avoided me by turning and walking away.  That

suited me just fine.  It surprised me, therefore, when I answered a knock

on my dorm room door late one night to find Ryan standing in the hall.

     "I want to apologize to you," he began, "For what I did in the motel.

I let my urges take over.  I shouldn't have done what I did and I'm sorry."

    "You should be sorry," I replied curtly but stopping short of

apologizing for what I had done to him.

     "I really am," he said.  "I just wanted to apologize to you and ask for

your foregiveness before I leave."

     "Leave?" I asked.  "What do you mean? Are you dropping out of school?"

     "Out of school.  Out of everything."

     "Out of everything?" I asked.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

      "I can't go on as a misfit," he mumbled as tears welled up in his

eyes.  "I can't control my urges.  I let them control me that night in the

motel.  I've tried for years but the urges only get stronger.  I can't let

that happen again.  If it does, I'll hate myself even more.  I had to

apologize to you before I go."

     "Go?  Where are you going?"

     Ryan began to tremble as he fought, unsuccessfully, to hold back his

tears.  "I can't live like this," he blurted out.  "It can't go on.  There's only

one way to put an end to my misery."

     Slowly, the picture began to be clear.  The repressive sanctions of

his homophobic environment tormented him.  My discomfort and frustrations

were nothing compared to the torture that he apparently suffered. I

suspected that his ambiguous comments about 'leaving' and 'dropping out

of everything' and 'only one way to end his misery' could mean that he was

suicidal.  "Whoa," I said.  "Come in.  We need to talk."

     Reluctantly, he came into the room.  I invited him to sit on the desk

chair and I sat on the edge of my bed facing him.  "Talk to me," I said.

"Tell me what the trouble is."

     An awkward silence ensued in which Ryan was either gathering his

thoughts or the courage to tell me about the real problem he had.  Staring

at the floor and still trembling and crying, he said, "I'm a sick queer.

I fight the evil urges but they don't go away.  I've prayed about it but it

doesn't help.  I've researched homosexuality and concluded that there's

no cure.  I can pretend to be straight but inside I know I'm not.  I'll never

lose the desire for sex with a guy.  It's worse than a terminal disease.

At least that wouldn't last long.  But it's an affliction that I'll have

to suffer through for the rest of my life.  It's not worth it.  I can't go

on hating myself.  And I can't trust myself to leave other guys alone."

     It was abundantly clear that Ryan needed skilled counseling but it

also seemed clear that he needed help immediately so I would have to do

what I could to delay or avoid a very serious situation.

     For quite some time, we talked.  I learned that Ryan had been fighting

and concealing his urges since puberty.  His deeply religious parents never

talked about sex except for thinly veiled condemnation of premarital sex

and, worse, 'deviant' sexual behavior.  His only friends growing up were

from similarly religious families who avoided any mere suggestion of

sexuality.  Ryan was increasingly attracted to other guys, especially in

the shower and locker room after gym class in high school.  Although he

had been reluctant to talk initially, I found that he was pouring out his

thoughts and emotions in a veritable torrent as though doing so would

dispel the demon that haunted him.

     His self image was abysmal.  In addition to what he felt were sick

and evil cravings, he was embarrassed over his physique.  In fact, he was

painfully ashamed of his looks.  He was convinced that no boy or girl would

ever find him attractive enough to be more than a casual acquaintance.  He

had worked himself into a severe depression of despair and self-loathing.

     More disturbing was that he finally revealed - whether he intended to

or not, I couldn't be sure - that he was going to end his misery by ending

his life.  It was abundantly clear that I would have to say something - do

something - to counter his suicidal thoughts.  But what?  I barely passed

Psych in high school!  I was not qualified to give him the help he needed

but I didn't dare let him leave and risk the disasterous consequence.

     At that point, he was sobbing and unable to speak.

     I placed my hand on his knee in an attempt to signal my sympathy and

support but he jerked back as though he had been burned with a red-hot

poker.  I withdrew my hand and said, "Ryan, I understand how you feel.

It's hell to be attracted to guys when everyone around you thinks it's

abnormal.  But it isn't abnormal.  It's unusual, yes, but there are lots of

guys who feel the same way.  You're not sick.  You're not evil.  You are

who you are."

     "No," he countered as he struggled to speak between his sobs.  "You

can't know how I feel.  You can't understand how those thoughts torment

me."

     "Yes I can."  I had concealed my homosexuality for years out of fear

of the consequences of being honest.  I was nowhere near ready to come out

of the closet but it seemed doing so was perhaps the only chance to help

Ryan.  "I have the same thoughts, Ryan.  I've faced the same dilemma.  I'm

homosexual, too."  Knowing the religious persecution that Ryan faced, I

added, "It's the way God made me.  And thousands of other guys just like

you and me."

     Ryan at least made eye contact with me - a good sign, I thought.

I continued talking as Ryan listened intently although without any

discernable expression.  I repeated, in various ways, that homosexuality

was relatively rare but not abnormal.  I emphasized that being homosexual

was difficult but still manageable.  I even dared to say that religious

dogma was not always right, especially when it denounced homosexual

behavior and persecuted queers.  I tried to convince him that, more

important that sex, love between two men can be as deep and rewarding

as between a man and a woman.

     Ryan had stopped crying and exhibited the first faint signs of real

interest when I talked about a caring, nurturing, and satisfying

relationship between two men.  I decided to capitalize on that.  "Look,

Ryan.  What happened in the motel was just sex.  You made a mistake by

fondling me while I was asleep.  I made a bigger mistake by getting revenge

on you.  Lust got the better of both of us and I apologize for my

inexcusable reaction.  But sex between two guys who are willing and who

respect each other and who just want to show their affection is all right.

I can't speak from experience, but I'm convinced that it can be beautiful.

I hope one day to find the right guy and I believe that you, too, will find

the right guy.  You don't have to be celibate and fight to contain your

urges all your life."

     I was relieved to see that Ryan had stopped crying and even begun

asking questions that I thought were headed in the right direction.

     "How do you control your urges?"

     "You don't; you control your behavior."

     "So it isn't sick?"

     "No, it's just different."

     "And you don't think it's a sin?"

     "Not at all; a lot of bigots think it is but I don't and virtually all

psychologists don't."

     "How do you find someone to love and have sex with?"

     "That's not easy," I had to admit.  "I've been trying for years and

I haven't found the right way.  I'm not sure there is a 'right' way.  But

I think that one day I'll find somebody.  I don't know how, but the hope

that I will keeps me going."

     "You might...but look at me.  Who would want me?"

     That question seemed to take him in the wrong direction and I felt I

must somehow boost his damaged ego.  "I think you're selling yourself

short.  You have a keen mind and that can take you a long way in life.

You're thin but that's better than being fat, isn't it."  I took a chance

by adding,  "And moreover, you've got equipment between your legs

that a lot of men will admire."

     Ryan blushed and replied, "Sometimes I think it's too big, almost

grotesque."

     "Yes, it is big but not too big and certainly not grotesque.  I really

think that you're too sensitive about how well you are endowed."

     Ryan grew quiet and appeared to be digesting what I had said.  I let

him think through our conversation and tried to assess what else I could do

to help him.  Listening to him seemed to help.  I hoped that countering the

notion that homosexuality was deviant would also help.  Assuring him that

he was a worthy individual might also help.  Those were the tactics I used

for the next hour and a half of amateurish counseling.  Gratefully, they

seemed to work.  Ryan settled down and began to think rationally about

his sexuality.  He was still troubled by his religion's prohibition against

homosexuality but he was no longer considering suicide.

     My attitude toward Ryan was gradually changing.  I had earlier thought

of him as an obnoxious jerk.  As we talked, however, I began to see that

his appearance and behavior were masking a sensitive and perceptive

intelligence.  I still didn't like  him but I began to understand him.

     During our conversation, a bizarre idea came to mind.  Initially, I

dismissed it but as as I weighed the possibilities of my idea, I concluded

that it might help Ryan.

     "Ryan, remember when I said that sex between men was not abnormal?"

He nodded. I didn't know whether he agreed with my assertion or was only

acknowledging that I had said it.  I pressed on.  "And remember that I

said that sex between two men who were willing and respected each

other could be quite beautiful?"  He nodded again, this time with a quizzical

expression.  I knew that his sharp mind was trying to determine what I was

leading up to but I was not yet ready to tell him of my idea.

     "That incident in the hotel room was wrong.  I was not willing to be

fondled and I'm sure you were not willing for me to fuck you so

mercilessly.  But let's put that behind us.  It happened.  We both regret

it.  But it's over.  We have to move on."  I could tell that I had his

undivided attention but I was not at all sure of his reaction to what I

planned to say next.  "Let's start from square one.  Would you like to go

to bed with me?  I'm willing...no, let me say I would like it very much.

We would be doing it as friends, not as two horny guys that were just

taking unfair advantage of a situation."

     Ryan's eyes widened as he absorbed what I had offered.  Then his eyes

dropped to the floor and he said, "You're just saying that because you're

sorry for me.  I don't want sympathy."

    "Yes, I'm sorry for the torment you've been going through but I'm not

suggesting it out of sympathy.  I have needs, too...needs that I haven't

been able to satisfy.  I really would like to have you in my bed.  That is,

if you also want it and if you're comfortable doing it."

     "I...I would...I would like that." he stuttered.

     I got up off the edge of the bed and stood in front of him.  I thought

about gently lifting him up out of the chair but remembered his earlier

reaction when I touched him.  "I would like it, too," I said softly.  "Would

you undress me?  Please?"

     Slowly, he stood.  After an awkward pause, he began to remove my

tee shirt.  I could feel his hands trembling against my torso, I could

feel my cock begin to inflate, and I noticed the tent in his trousers grow.

He pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it onto the chair.  "This is

going to be wonderful," I assured him.  Taking a chance, I put my hands

on his shoulders.  He did not recoil at my touch.  Softly, I said, "Now

pull down my shorts.  Please."  I pressed down on his shoulders.  He got

the message and kneeled in front of me so that his eyes would be closer to

my rapidly swelling cock when he pulled down my shorts.

     I wore no underwear under my gym shorts so when he tugged them

down, my cock sprang to fully upright position.  He gasped quietly and

I wondered what thoughts were boiling up in his mind.  He stared at my

rigid cock for a few minutes before I said, "You can touch it if you want."

     Tentatively at first, he felt the heat and firmness of my cock and I

gave him time to fully absorb the sight and feel of it to an extent that

had not been possible in that miserable hotel room.  Eventually, I reached

under his arms and lifted him to a standing position.  "May I undress you?"

I asked.

     Perhaps unable to speak, he nodded.  As I removed his shirt, I could

feel that his heart was beating as fast as mine.  I moved quickly - not

too quickly, I hoped - to drop his pants to his ankles and then his boxers.

His very long cock was quite erect and his balls hung pendulously below. I

caressed them and he welcomed my touch with a moan of delight.  I led

him over to my bed and gently maneuvered him to lay down on his back.

     "Are you all right with this?" I asked.  "Are you sure you want to

do this?"

     "Oh, yes," he mumured.  "More than anything."

     "If you tell me to stop, I will.  If I do anything you don't like, tell me."

     He didn't reply so I laid down next to him.  Two on a single bed is

a bit crowded but in this situation, it didn't matter.  I began by

massaging his chest with particular attention to his nipples.  Although I

could see and feel every rib, I found that it was particularly erotic to be

naked with someone in my bed.  I moved my hand down toward his

stomach and noticed that his precum was dripping profusely and

puddling in his navel.  I decided to leave it alone; I would use it later.

     I then moved so I could reach his thighs. Spreading his legs slightly,

I massaged his inner thighs getting slowly closer to his balls.  Ryan's

moans seemed to change from mere delight to ecstasy.  With a very

light touch, I ran my finger from the base of his cock to the tip. His cock

began to twitch wildly.  I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked

it up and down a few times.  By this time, his whole body was thrashing

about and he was clutching the bed covers.

     Reluctantly, I let go of his cock and asked, "Are you all right?"

     "Yes.  Please don't stop!"

     I scooped up some of his precum from his navel and spread it

liberally over his swolen cock head, which, as I expected, brought an

intense reaction from Ryan who was by now instinctively bucking his

hips.  I grabbed the base of his cock with my hand and took the first

few inches into my mouth.  Stimulating him with both my hand and my

mouth brought him to the point of orgasm remarkably quickly.  He

yelled, his body stiffened, his cock throbbed, and he shot several

blasts of cum into my mouth faster than I could swallow so that much

of it ran down his cock, onto my hand, and into his pubes.

     I continued to suck out the remaining dribbles of cum until he pushed

my head away because his cock was too sensitive.  I then laid down

beside him and let him recover while playing with his nipples.

     When his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, he gushed,

"That was wonderful.  Much better than I dared to imagine."

     "I'm glad you liked it," I replied.  "No regrets?  No guilt?"

     "On the contrary, I'm grateful.  I can't remember being this happy."

     After several minutes of quiet bliss, he suddenly jerked and said,

"What about you?  I've been very selfish."

     I grinned and said, "Do whatever you want.  But you don't have to

do anything you don't want to."  I added the last part to let him know

he didn't have to take my cum in his mouth.

     My cock had begun to deflate but he quickly restored it to a full

erection by duplicating what I had done to him.  My orgasm was the

most intense that I'd ever had.

     With our arms around each other and our legs entwined, we fell

asleep.  At about four in the morning, I awoke with an intense need

to piss.  I was initially surprised to find someone in bed with me but

quickly recalled what had happened.  Very carefully, I disengaged

myself from Ryan's arm and legs, slipped quietly out of bed, and

went to the bathroom to empty my bladder.  Returning to the bed,

I found Ryan had moved, leaving me no room to lay down.  I sat on

the desk chair and pondered what had happened.  I had just had

sex - and quite satisfying sex at that - with a guy who I once thought

was a royal pain.  While I complimented myself on talking him through

his potentially tragic crisis, I now wondered what to do next.  Both of

us had had our first consensual sex with another guy.  I decided that

I wanted to do it again and I was certain that Ryan would want the

same.  But continuing such a relationship was problematic because,

in spite of my efforts to boost his ego, he was still an unlikable

person.  After considerable thought, I resolved the dilemma and

hoped Ryan would agree.

   I crawled back in bed by being very careful to move Ryan over

just enough for me to lay down.  Thankfully, he didn't wake up.

My alarm went off at 9:00 for my 10:00 class; it woke us both.  He

spoke first.  "Thanks.  For listening to me, for helping me, and for...

well...the fantastic time with you in bed."

     Having no time for another prolonged conversation, I replied,

"My pleasure.  Listen.  I have to get to class but I think we need to

talk some more.  My last class is over at 3:00.  When can we get

together to talk about what happened?"

     "I've got a lab today from 2:00 to 3:30.  I'm free after that."

     "Good," I replied as cheerfully as I could.  "Could you stop by

after your lab?  We need to talk some more."

     "Sure," he replied.

     We got dressed and were out the door by 9:45.  By the time I

returned to my dorm room at 3:15, I had worked out at least the

general outline of what I wanted to say to Ryan but I wasn't at all

sure how he would respond.

     At 3:45, he knocked on my door and I invited him in.  He was

considerably more animated and cheerful than when he arrived

unexpectedly at my door the night before.  I hoped that after our

conversation, he would leave in at least as good a mood.

     We sat - Ryan again on my desk chair and me on the edge of

the bed.  "First of all, Ryan," I began, "I want to emphasize how

much I enjoyed what we did last night.  It was wonderful.  I have

no regrets.  How about you?"

    He gave me a broad smile and said, "It was beyond wonderful.

It was my wildest dream come true.  And I want you to know how

grateful I am."

     "I'm glad you enjoyed it." I replied.  "We both had an experience

that we both wanted and needed.  Some day, when you find a

partner to love and share you life with, I'm sure the sex will be even

more satisfying."

     His smile faded as he began to realize the underlying message

in my words: that I was not the one who would be his life partner.

Before his disappointment triggered depression, I continued.  "But

until you find that special someone, I'd like very much to share my

bed with you from time to time.  I admit it would be just for the sex

but as long as we both want and need sex, I see no problem with

getting together once in a while.  Do you?"

     There was a long pause that seemed like an eternity as Ryan

absorbed my offer and, no doubt, wieghed the implications.  I was

dying to know what he was thinking but had to wait for him to respond.

     "Let's be clear," he said.  "You want sex with me but not love...not

even friendship."

     "Sex, yes.  Especially after last night with you, I want that a lot

and I suspect you do too.  Friendship, yes.  We can be friends even though

we have very different interests...except in man to man sex," I joked.

"But realistically, love takes a long time to develop.  It's althogether

too soon to think about love between us.  In the meantime, we satisfy each

other's needs for sexual pleasure.  Would you be comfortable with that?"

     Another long pause.  I grew impatient for his reponse and was about

to say more when he said, "I thought a lot about what you said last night

and what we did.  I hardly thought of anything else.  In fact, I really

screwed up my lab assignment today because I keep thinking about

how I felt about being homosexual.  Bottom line: I've changed my mind.

You convinced me that it's not a defect but just a difference.  You

showed me how extraordinarily satisfying it is to be with another guy.

You literally saved my life and I'll always be grateful to you for that.

Would I like to continue having sex with you?  Absolutely.  I would

like that very much."

    Needless to say, I was relieved that he accepted my offer and

delighted that he seemed to have come to terms with his sexuality.

"Splendid," I said.  "We'll be doing a favor for each other."  Then,

just to emphasize a critical part of the agreement, I added, "without

the burden of any long term committment."

     "Like 'at-will' employment," he said with a smile.

     "Huh?

     "You know, you take a job with the understanding that the company

can fire you at any time without a specific reason.  While you're working,

the company has the benefit of your work and you have a salary.  But

there's no guarantee of having a job forever."

     "Oh, I see.  I guess that's it exactly.  We're 'at-will' partners.  Which,

of course, means that either one of us can terminate the partnership

at any time."  My last comment was an unexpected and very welcome

result of the conversation.  I had worried about an 'escape clause' in

the agreement but Ryan had provided it.

     We then spent some time working out the details of getting together.

In the end, we agreed that every Friday night we would sleep together

and one other night of the week depending on our schedules and need.

That arrangement worked out wonderfully.  We both had our sexual

needs satisfied, remained friends, but never gave any thought to

committing to a long-term relationship.

     Nearing the end of our Junior year, we were snuggling together

after our regular Friday night sex when Ryan said, "I've enjoyed

getting together with you.  It's been marvelous.  But remember that

we agreed it was an 'at-will' arrangement?"

     I suspected what he was leading up to but said only, "It has been

great.  And I do remember our agreement."

     "This is difficult for me to say but I have to tell you that I've

found somebody else.   I've been friends with him for quite a while and

we got along together better all the time.  I like him a lot and he says he

likes me.  About a month ago, we had sex for the first time and a few

times since.  He has an apartment off campus and asked me to move

in with him.  I said I would.  I'll get a summer job here and live with him

instead of going home .  I'm sorry because I owe you so much and I've

enjoyed being with you.  But I'm not sorry because I think I've found

Mr. Right."

      In spite of my disappointment over losing a bedmate, I said, "Ryan,

I'm very happy for you.  Really, I am.  I wish the best for both of you."

     "You're not angry?"

     "Angry?  No way!  I have to be honest and say that I'll miss you but

I'm genuinely happy for you."

     That was the last night that Ryan and I were together.  We remained

casual friends but for a long time when I would see him on campus, I

couldn't help visualizing him in the nude with his ample cock stiff and

ready for action.  Perhaps, I consoled myself, I would also find someone

as Ryan had.