You know what? Even in these assimilationist, queer-eye, botox'n'crystal days, it's possible to find one of those gay boys who has no idea how gorgeous he is.
Not that it's easy - I mean, I'm in New York, at the gayest Ivy college there is, and all around me I'm surrounded by these kids who were president of their GSAs (or just Mr Secularly Fabulous) in high school; gorgeous and glittery, who know what color of Armani goes with their highlights and can't stand going to clubs because, you know, everyone hits on them.
It's no joke for a nerdy, fumbling, Confucianist-work-ethic boi like me to survive in gay Mecca. Let's call me Joseph Wu; I'm a junior, 5'7" and extremely Asian, thank you very much. Through freshman and sophomore year I've been figuring out the power of regular haircuts and strategic accessorizing, with the result that, under the right lighting, I can be more than acceptably good-looking. Fortunately I'm also lean with pecs and 6-pack; having a gym five minutes from your dorm is an advantage not to be taken lightly, :-).
The problem is, of course, getting oneself into a position in which someone actually wants to sample the 6-pack. Recently, this was resolved in the following manner.
D aVeIncicode19: hey there josephiroth7: hello josephiroth7: who's this? D aVeIncicode19: i am david, i saw your profile on xy.com
David claimed to be a closeted senior in my university. He'd seen me around campus, then finally found out my IM online. We chatted for a while, but he didn't have a pic, so I let it hang in the air. For all I knew, he could be a 90-year-old serial killer on crack, and with all due respect, that's not my type.
D aVeIncicode19: so what's a hottie like you doing online on a sautrday night?
How terribly charming, though.
We left it off till reading week, one of those warm spring nights close to summer, when idle young men stray from the work of knowledge and spend their money on booze and pretzels. Being virtuous, I was making notes for Queer Studies on my laptop when we got chatting again.
D aVeIncicode19: are you normally really super picky and only hook up with the hottest guys? josephiroth7: nope D aVeIncicode19: that's cool josephiroth7: i'm not that hot, remember josephiroth7: and a lotta hot gay boys ahve attitutude D aVeIncicode19: i think you're really cute D aVeIncicode19: and i have absolutely zero attitude when it comes to sex josephiroth7: :-) josephiroth7: arg hey i've gotta study josephiroth7: all this electronic flirtation is fun, but it's reading week D aVeIncicode19: what time is good for you tonight?
At 11pm, he knocked on my door.
"Hey," he said. His voice was hesitant, faltering.
I opened the door.
Shit, he was gorgeous. Tall at 5'10", lean, with straight, combed dark hair crowning his glasses, a sharp, sweet face and a dark blue hoodie over khaki Bermudas, with thin, hairy legs leading to his sports shoes. And that prominent nose -- David was Jewish! And I guess I'm guilty of fetishization, but I love Jewish boys.
"You want something to drink?" I asked, trying to hide my nervousness.
"I'm fine. Um. So am I your type?"
I swallowed. "You are *so* my type." A cute, fumbling, Mosaic-work-ethic boi. I wanted to eat him right up.
"How's studying?"
"It's okay. You?" I stepped forward, almost imperceptibly.
"I'm making progress."
I stood in front of him, turning the awkward silence into something pregnant with tension.
Then we couldn't take it anymore. Our mouths found each other, kissing softly, like awkward teenagers, his soft lips against mine, my tongue found its way through his cheeks, the back of his neck, the whorls of his ear.
I maneouvred him back towards the chair and took off his hoodie. We climbed on top of my double-decker bed, and pressed our bodies against each other. Through the thin fabric of his shirt I felt for his warmth, shifting my feet so every part of his body would be feel the pressure of mine.
Taking off his glasses, I asked, "So am I your type?"
He giggled. "I told you before. I already saw you on campus."
"I think I saw you before too."
"Really?" He shut his deep brown eyes as I let my hand travel between the fabric of his shirt and his chest.
I kissed him and told him, "I thought you were really hot."
He looked almost scared. "No-one's ever said that to me before," he said.
I couldn't believe it. This hot a boy? I caressed his body and removed his shirt, making sure he knew how much I was enjoying him. Delicately, I let my tongue linger across his collarbone, his nipples, the edges of his pelvis, the wonderful concave angle at the level of the bellybutton that lean guys have on their sides instead of love handles. Taking off my shirt, he treated me to a similar, inexpert licking, letting the fringe of his hair tickle my torso, making me gasp in pleasure. I took him by the chin and kissed him on the lips again.
Gradually our socks fell away, then with a little more persuasion, our pants. I remembered a detail from a porn movie I'd watched, and gave him the pleasure of watching me remove his white cotton briefs with my teeth, pulling them down his legs to his well-shaped feet to reveal a monster of a cock, maybe 9 inches, wide at the sides like the edges of a spoon. I lowered myself onto his body, to feel my cock against his, the mirror of male-male missionary, eyes over eyes, kissing him, then angling my head to the right to moisten the sensitive spot in the nape of his neck.
"You are so hot," I told him again.
The same look of fear and pleasure crossed his face.
"You don't know how good it feels to hear you say that," he said.
I cradled his slim waist and with a light touch let my fingers trail against his body, opening the way for my tongue to lick him in crevices he'd never been licked before. Working on his scrotum, the panels of the legs between the groin and the thigh, the navel, I moved over and sucked his cock as far as I could take it in. Using my fingers to stimulate the base, I sucked on his glans, moving my head at angles so that sometimes my tongue tickled the mouth of his urethra, sometimes the edge of his foreskin, sometimes that thin line of skin that trails down to the suture of his balls.
"Have you ever been rimmed?" I asked him.
I gave him his first rimming, working my tongue into the cheeks of his ass, as he sighed in delight. But mostly it was an evening of licking; his tongue against my breast, my lips around his cock, his hand and my hand, fondling each other's soft hair.
He came as I kissed him, my hand pumping away at his huge wanger, shooting cum all over my clean bedsheets. I came as he licked my nipples with his clean tongue and jacked me off the same way, ending with the same tender kiss. And we collapsed on the bedsheets, the pale orange of my skin held fast to the blanched white of his own, holding, barely betraying wakefulness except in soft, lingering movements across each other.
The warm fuzzy lasted for maybe only two minutes before I said, "We've got finals. I've gotta study some more."
"You can study after this???"
The first rule about gay boys I've learnt is: you can't be clingy.
We dressed slowly, climbing down from the double-decker, kissing now and again, only lingering a moment in the doorway in case someone else saw him with a guy whom everyone on campus knows is gay. He's an Economics major, hey, maybe he's got a big future ahead of him, crunching numbers, powerpointing flowcharts and wreaking oligopoly against the ovine masses. Me? I'm in Creative Writing. All I can do is record a fuck story to get you off.
But it's more than fuck story, even though writing it made me so horny I had to beat off again. There was something uplifting about that night on the upper bunk, our tongues gliding against each other's skin. Holding each other as if to reassure ourselves of beauty.
Maybe it's the death of innocence, but I feel it's almost a sacred act, to tell a beautiful boy how beautiful, how lovely he is.