Main Character Energy Ch. 02

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Double Handjob


I couldn’t decide if finding Ryan Hall at orientation was a good thing or a tragedy. I wanted a new start, which was pretty pathetic when you end up going to college practically at home. Still, it could have been worse. Ryan was cool. We weren’t friends, exactly, but he was nice. He was quiet and an introvert but had never been cruel or rude or racist towards me. It seems like a low bar but when you’ve been flamboyantly gay all your life and black on top of it, it’s better than you might think. So when I found out he was going to be my roommate, I put that firmly in the positive side of things.

When you are the “great” Leon Gatwa of legend, you put on a brave face, you know. And you get strong against the world, even if you are born in a loving and accepting family and a progressive community. Oh, you still get the sideways looks, the name calling. Freak, fagot, queer, or your fun pack variety of racial slurs. Even being prom king I know damn well that at least half of those votes were ironical, cast to see the freak show of the football god and the pansy black boy. To the gays and the girls I was a prince, to the activists and social warriors I was a cause, to the rest I was this social butterfly, at ease wherever I went. What I was, and still am was cracked, the deep fault lines in myself widening way before my first love dumped me to the curb right after prom and shut the closet door firmly behind him.

When orientation came around, I was all fucked up, I had collapsed completely under the weight of the shit thrown at me. DeAndre’s last words to me still echoing in my mind all this time after “That’s just it , Leon, you don’t get it. You never get it. You’re just an Oreo, all lily white inside. You don’t get my struggle. You can’t be discreet and I’m not going to risk it. Have you got any idea how hard I’ve worked to risk it all on a skirt wearing freak? They’re going to drop me; they’re going to laugh at me. It was bad enough in high school, I’m done. We’re done”.

I knew he resented my middle class family, my liberal and accepting friends, but this was cruel even for him. As he walked away, I went through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining and depression. Acceptance I had to work on yet.

Our break-up wasn’t a total surprise, you see. Have you ever been loved but not quite the right amount? Like you keep falling short, being almost there but not quite right? Like you can’t help but disappoint the one who loves you best and he lets you know time and again what a fuck up you are? That was us. I loved him with all my heart, that’s the only way I know how. His love, however, was always fleeting and conditional.

When we started hooking up, he wasn’t out yet. I had never been in the closet myself. You know that really feminine kid that plays with barbies and loves tutus and does ballet since he’s three years old? Yeah, that’s me. When his strong hand grabbed my shoulder during a party in the beginning of senior year, I almost jumped out of my skin. Huge football player plus myself? Recipe for tragedy right there. That’s how a PSA for gay kids would go if there were one. Still his words in my ear made me shiver: “So Leon… are you any good at sucking cock? Wanna suck mine?”

I was half terrified, half aroused, which I would come to discover was my default when it came to him. “Are you serious right now, De Andre?” My voice was tentative, soft. Getting my ass kicked by him was not out of the question just yet.

“Sure” he laughed quietly. “Why don’t we go upstairs and find out?”

In a daze, I followed him through the room full of drunk and horny people until we eventually found an empty room. Who wouldn’t follow this piece of perfection? I never even checked if we were being watched. When the door closed behind us and he undid his fly buttons, I marvelled at his gorgeous body, his hard six pack, his deep V, his lean hips. I just knelt before him, taking in the work of art of his firm body. He was deliciously hard. My tongue traced a line from the tip of his thick, heavy dick. I traced his fraenulum slowly. I tasted a little drop of precum. It was sweet and delicious and manly all at once. I wanted to worship his cock , savour it all night long. He was right, I loved sucking dick and I did think I was pretty good at it myself. He had other ideas, though. He pushed against my throat and I tried to accommodate his girth as he grabbed my hair and fucked my face hard. I was hard as a rock now, trying to rut against his legs as I knelt before him. Tears fell as he pushed harder and my nose was against his somewhat unkempt bush.

As Pendik Escort I said before, I was terrified as well as excited as he fucked my face. I liked this little edge, though, this element of uncertainty and danger. Though we were both eighteen, I felt much younger and vulnerable than him. This was a man, not a boy, a hard, demanding man. I jerked off furiously as his strokes against my throat became more erratic. I could feel his orgasm nearer and nearer. His head was thrown back, his thick neck thrown back exposing his delicious Adam’s apple, lost in sensation. I felt the weight of his perfect balls, not daring to play with his hole; I was too scared to go there. Then, without warning, he came inside my mouth and I almost chocked. I coughed a little as he withdrew and tried to swallow as much as I could as he continued to come all over my face. My face was covered in tears and spit and come. It was exhilarating and terrifying and humiliating and hot. He buttoned his fly again. He turned to leave as I was still kneeling before him, messy and unfulfilled. “See you around, ok?” he said nonchalantly.

“Yeah” I said dumbly. “See you around”. He left and I was left behind with my cock in hand, not knowing what that was about. Well, there goes another DL jock, I thought, seeking a willing mouth. I enjoyed this first blow job, don’t get me wrong, but it was such a random thing I thought that was it and De Andre wouldn’t look at me again. I was wrong.

If you ask someone from my old high school, our love story is one for the ages, how he came out to his very Christian parents for me and was almost kicked out of their home, how he followed me around wherever I went, always attentive, always protective. If I’m being honest with myself, however, I know that’s just a myth, glossing over the ugliness that was behind the scenes. He came out because a teammate found out we were sleeping together and threatened to out him. Being a stubborn bastard he opted to do it himself. He was always near me because he was jealous, irrationally so a lot of the times. His attentiveness was always on this side of overbearing. He was also conflicted about me. Our sex was usually a little too rough for me, leaving behind bruises, bite marks, scratches and not always in the fun way. And then there was the “Can’t you just, I don’t know, tone it down?” He wanted me butch, and that wasn’t me. His little remarks always left me anxious, on edge. Was he leaving me, was I good enough for him? But I wasn’t, I could never reach his goals for me because he kept changing the goal posts on me. I was the if only guy. If only I was quieter, if only I was more discreet, if only I didn’t wear so much makeup, if only I didn’t flirt so much with other guys, if only I wasn’t so flamboyant. I just couldn’t be what he wanted, how he wanted me to be. It was my dream to channel the fabulousness of Billy Porter and wear a fabulous dress at prom. I ended up in a black tux like him, with matching cummerbunds and boutonnieres, very… romantic, I guess?

Then the college scouts came for him and he gleefully went back inside the closet, leaving me behind. I hadn’t committed to a college yet, because it was implied we would go together, or so I naively thought. But after I was dumped, I just looked at my options and chose the nearest college I was accepted to, which also happened to be the cheapest. The dance programme was decent and that was good enough for my parents.

DeAndre was my first, but I was so angry at him for leaving, that I spent my summer fucking other guys as if that was my job. Online, clubs, random hook-ups, I was up for anything. I wanted to fuck the pain away. Of course if you try, you know that’s really not possible. Pain hovers above all else like a fucking black cloud, raining on you constantly. My parents made me go to therapy after they found out what happened, and it helped, but by the time I went to college I had moved past the anger and was firmly in the depression phase. The therapist suggested a fresh start, doing something new just for me, and I reinvented myself. The new Leon was strong and quiet and silent and streamlined. The new Leon didn’t wear his heart on a sleeve, vulnerable and open. The new Leon would be better. And would never, ever again let himself being vulnerable to love. The new Leon still cried himself to sleep sometimes, but no one would know.

Ryan knew I cried, of course, how could he not? But he was such a nice guy he never mentioned it or asked me the painful questions. He was really a good person; good looking too, in a clean cut wholesome Kurtköy Escort way. He had no vanity, to speak of, his clothes simple, worn and comfortable. His chestnut brown hair was cut short and simple, his chocolate brown eyes made a very nice contrast against his pale, luminous skin, and he had these adorable freckles across his nose he was secretly ashamed of. He was also adorably shy. As a dancer, I was pretty comfortable with my own body and had no modesty to speak of. I was totally used to undress in front of other people. Ryan blushed any time he caught me changing, turning away quickly so as not to embarrass me. I, on the other hand, looked my fill every time I was able to watch him change. I was no gentleman, you see, and had been attracted to him for quite some time. The old Leon wouldn’t look at Ryan twice. In fact, I didn’t for our whole school years. But now, now that my life was upside down and had depression on my heels, Ryan was a bright light. He was my lighthouse in the fog of pain and confusion and heartbreak.

At first I just needed his quiet and calm. I was used to noise and people in my old life, but I just couldn’t be as social as I once was. I was hurt and ashamed and sad. Then we started to speak more, having meals together and I tentatively considered him my friend. I liked him, trusted him and enjoyed his company. I also wanted to fuck him, but that was neither here, not there. I couldn’t see the conflict in the two very different roles I wanted him to play in my life.

Ryan complained college was kicking his ass, and I tried to help, at least to give him confidence when he studied. We started studying together and I quizzed him if needed, reassured him he was doing great. I liked him better for not being arrogant or overbearing. His humility and honesty made me like him very much. Then the leaves of grass incident happened and nothing was ever the same.

It was late September and Ryan was reading and taking notes. He was flushed and frustrated.

“Hey Ryan, what are you reading? Why are you so frustrated?” I’m a dancer and a drama kid, so I usually do well with complex texts, maybe I could help.

“I’m not frustrated, just…I don’t know. It’s just this poem messing with me.” Honestly, he seemed a little embarrassed.

“So, what are you reading?

“Leaves of grass, for my Contemporary Poetry class”.

“Really? I don’t think I know it, wanna read it and discuss it with me? I love poetry.” He turned beet red and then looked at me.

“Ugh.. Ok then. ” And then he started.

“Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them”

He stopped abruptly, looking down. He read poetry beautifully, with a very musical cadence. I was listening to him without paying too much attention thinking of how great it was to listen to another great poem about a straight people getting it on when something caught my attention.

“Hey, Ryan, wait. Did you just say young men? Are you reading a poem about two men and a blow job?” I was delighted with Ryan, pleased and turned on at the same time. There was something deeply erotic about listening to his innocent mouth speaking such erotic words. I was pretty sure he was straight and a virgin to boot. I was queen bee of gossip in high school and I think I would have heard the rumours if he had been sleeping around. But either he was very, very discreet, or there was not much to tell. I bet on the latter.

“Kind of?” Ryan said stammering.

“Oh, that’s so cool, can you read some more?”

“Right. Ok.” He was having a hard time fighting the shyness. I lay on my bed and closed my eyes.

“Please read a little more, I love poetry.” I said, which was true. I also loved him talking poetically about blow jobs and mansex. That was the best. Those words seemed to convince him and he started reading again. I was listening dreamily now, to his sweet, calm voice.

“Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding.

I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.

You Kartal Escort my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!

Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Hands I have taken, face I have kiss’d, mortal I have ever touch’d, it shall be you.”

He kept on reading and I savoured his words, milky stream indeed. I was getting harder and harder as the poem progressed. Jesus, I was almost panting with Ryan reading Walt Whitman to me. Was it normal to get this turned on by listening to Ryan’s quiet voice? This was like ASMR and porn all at the same time, and it was very sexy. I was used to clear desire, to DeAndre’s possessiveness and dominance in sex. Even though I was pretty sure I was vers, there was no way he would let me be anything other than a submissive bottom for him. This was different, but better. Clean and hot and understated. I dug that. I lay on my stomach and tried to will my hard on away. I’m sure Ryan thought I had fallen asleep. He stopped reading and started taking notes. I lay there for quite a while, judging the possibility of Ryan being just a little gay, or, at least, curious. That was good enough for me. It was not looking probable, but I was going to try and judge that for myself.

I dreamt of Ryan a few days after that. We were doing this beautiful, but very, very difficult piece of contemporary dance called Orpheus and Eurydice, by Pina Bausch and I was dancing the opening duet. My dance partner was a sweetheart, really, but she was having a hard time and the piece was in my mind constantly, I guess. In my dream, it was Ryan I was holding, his slim, shorter frame I was lifting and touching and caressing. I felt his soft, supple skin under my grasp, his body against me as I held him and we danced. In real life, I’m very sure Ryan has two left feet. Lifting books and wondering about the book stacks is the only regular exercise he gets. But dream Ryan? Dream Ryan was a dance god. He matched my movements perfectly; we were perfect in our dance. I embraced him from behind, rubbing my erection against his perfect butt. I ran my fingertips through his chest, grazing his erect nipples and he shivered. I nipped his earlobe and he sighed softly. I grabbed his bulge through his leggings and pressed my other hand to his naked torso. I was very, very turned on. I woke up suddenly for no reason, pissed at myself. I was really enjoying my dream. But then I looked over to Ryan, who was facing the wall and panting. Oh, I knew that noise. Ryan was jerking off. I was already hard, but listening to real life Ryan making sex noises? It was even better than I could imagine.

If life was a porn movie, I would approach him and fuck him right there and then, not caring about anything other than getting off as many times and in as many positions as possible. But real life wasn’t porn. There were these pesky things like consent and respect for others and sexual preferences of our intended partners. And as strong as I was making myself to be, I was not used to being the pursuer. This was quite new for me. So, in these circumstances, I did the most logical, safe thing I could do: I grabbed my cock and started to jerk off myself to the sweet, low sounds coming from Ryan’s side. I came even before he did, with a strong, heady release biting the pillow hard so as to not make a sound and out myself as the perv I was being. I smiled wryly to myself as I was forced to roll away from the wet spot. Oh well. This was the most satisfying orgasm I had had in a very long time.

The next morning, at breakfast, I mentioned my dance piece to Ryan. He was a good listener and it amused me to think about how I dreamt about him the nigh before. He was slightly flushed and a little squirmy. Was he turned on? Nah, I didn’t think that. Still, that possibility made me grin. I left for dance class in a very good mood. Ryan always had this effect on me. He made me get out of my own head and centred me.

When I got to dance class, I was annoyed when I found out I had packed a pair of ripped dance tights instead of the new ones I had bought. I had to go back to the dorm room to get the new ones because looking unkempt was a huge no-no for a dancer. I opened the door without thinking twice and found Ryan naked from the waist down, jerking what I just found out was a very nice, very thick cock. And the sound of the porn he was watching echoed in the quiet dorm room. Were those male voices? Ryan closed his laptop with a hard thud, so red he was almost puce.

I closed my eyes and paused for a while. The word serendipity came to mind. Was this a cosmic joke? Was the universe trying to tell me something? I was sure the gods were looking down on me with a bucket of popcorn enjoying the show. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

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