Transparency and Rebellion

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the dorm room

I was in a relatively horny state my sophomore and junior years of uni. I don't really think they subsided much my senior year, either—the thoughts I mean.

I spent a lot of time at the bar closest to school. Just this little hotel-esque family-type lounge in an old college town.

I had a couple friends, this one kid who liked to call himself Mercutio because he was a Puerto Rican guy with curly hair and the bluest eyes you've ever seen, and he knew how attractive he was, too. There was another guy—this really pretty white guy with light brown hair that had been bleached and dyed so many times you could see the little gray hairs swimming all around the front and back underlay of his hairline.

He was the one I was more fond of, to be honest, because he had this great movie actor voice that made me overly-excited when he laughed, and threw his head back and nearly fell off his damn bed anytime anyone cracked a joke a bit too funny for him.

No kidding—I was head over heels for the guy. He was a little older than me, but a junior, also a former football player—think he was kicked out because his ex, a girl named Brit, used to tell me vaguely about his experiences of getting hit in the balls when on the field. I'm pretty sure she also had a thing for the guy-on-guy shit, which I didn't mind at all.

One time Mercutio made us—me and Dylan (that was his name) and Brit and a couple of our mutuals I didn't know too well come down to the common room on our floor so he could toss the shit with us. Apparently he wanted to recite some nonsense one of his teachers had written down on his transcript, but he never got to it because he was so hammered. He wanted us to pregame with him, for what I Don't Know, but he was sweet and fruitful so I joined in a bit. I was not a big drinker, but Dylan was, and in our tiny—Mercutio and I's—dorm room, we drank Pepsi and bud light. Four months prior I had told Dylan I was gay, and nonchalantly in fear of him running away or whatever guys like that do when they find out something that startles them. He didn't run, so I don't take him for one of those guys—I probably never should have because he doesn't particularly look like one of those guys; tall, a bit bulky, but he always replaced the beer weight with muscle. Anyway, he drank with me in the room, and called his girlfriend to come join us. I liked Brit enough to hold an hour-long conversation with her. She was definitely not too much of an intellectual, and had bright-blond hair. Dylan used to have blue hair, I learned from when he showed me his highschool picture day photo circa around 2014. We must have left to see what the hell Mercutio was complaining about in the common area—he told us to meet at, about ten hours later. People, in like the thousands it seemed, kept coming into my dorm without knocking, and talking to Dylan, then to Brit, then maybe to me. Maybe I was actually too blazed to notice. Tell me something, though, and I'll remember it, no matter how drunk.

We got to the commons and Mercutio was laughing about this little letter, if you could even call it that, left on his transcript. He was talking as if he had just been punched in the face a million times. I kept looking at Dylan because for some reason he looked really good under the artificial LED lights; his hair was pushed back and his skin was really clear, as if it wasn't normally. He was wearing a light blue crew with the words "portland marathon" in black and white on the front. His eyes were really pale, but his face was a bit flushed, I presume it from the alcohol. He was not at all a lightweight—as one might suspect. He was my height, give or take three inches. His girlfriend was wrapped around him tighter her hot pink tube crop.

I looked at her face when she stared up at his sweet smile. She was smitten—and hammered.

Mercutio kept going on about this little note he had on his transcript. Something about needing to work harder on certain writing material and whatnot. I didn't blame his teachers—if his test scores Freshman year were anything like his test scores now.

I went outside about a half-hour in, because Mercutio had stopped talking and I found this to be the only time to catch a smoke.

Dylan saw me, and asked me to wait up, but I told him I needed to take a call because I really needed this one hit apparently. I left and went out through the worst stairs in the whole building. They smelled like piss and old concrete. You know the malted o-zone layer smell. A disgusting petrichor and bean-soup smell. I think one of the janitorial staff liked to come back here and jizz on the walls, too, because they were always filthy.

I had this little white zippo I stole from my dad when I was fifteen or sixteen. I wasn't depressed or anything—just frustrated a bit.

Dylan came out during my second drag.

"You did not wait up"

"I needed to take a call"

"Addict—hand it" he took the joint from me and a drag, I watched him press his soft lips against the paper and breath in slowly as I blew smoke out my own nose.

"I've really been feeling it tonight, yknow?"

I nodded. I didn't know.

"Sunday morning I have this meet at my uncle's house. He's really big on personal hygiene, even though—I mean you know my family is kind of hippy crazy or whatever. Keruak shit, but he doesn't like kids who smoke, or he calls it burning wood, which is the gayest shit ever—sorry. I can't wait until I get out of here man, after college I'm getting the hell out this little town. You said something about farming? My dad was a farmer before he fell in love with my mom and all the Keruak bull. Not that I-you know. It's no big. It's like his escape or whatever. I need a—what's that Christian shit called?,"

"Great Friday"

He nodded. Took a really long drag and kept talking. I was listening really intently, but sometimes just looked up at the side of his face instead of really really listening. I wanted to watch his mouth move is all.

"I'm right, I think it's a good thing to celebrate shit before you let go of it so quickly. though, I think if I were to drink and drink and then drink a million drinks in one day, the day before I stop drinking forever, I'd die. Emotionally too—you saw that documentary in LA last year, about the guy who wanted to rewrite Of Mice and Men? It's like, the world is changing entirely,"

I looked at him.

"What?"

"Yeah, what, man."

I looked at him for a real long time. He was really dragging on my joint. I could hear this music from the dorm above our heads. I recognized the music and realized it was probably not from a party but just a sad kid alone in his room. I think a lot of time about the kids in this university, living alone and not even going out to parties, or bars, or hanging out with people like Dylan and Mercutio. I can have a million crushes on a million different people and of course, they'd still be there, in the same building. I was really high. I was very much a lightweight.

"Do you feel like you're moving away from it all, like literally starting to go somewhere else?" I asked him while staring at the floor. I felt the brink of my neck with my right hand.

"What?"

"Like, I'm here now, but a lot of the time my mind is completely somewhere else"

"Like you're daydreaming. Yeah."

"Kind of."

"I don't remember most of my daydreams. It's like I see a person-think about something, and I come back to whatever-reality, and they're staring back at me"

We didn't say anything else. I smoked and blew smoke into the wind, that just blew it right back in my face. I think I was getting too cold, because Dylan asked if I wanted to go back in, even though he followed me out here.

I went with him, though. He told me about the last time he played football, which was a story I'd heard half a million times. I asked if he liked the idea of a bunch of guys playing together, but not in a sexy way, more in an interested way. I told him that I did.

He was kind of interested in that—he really liked hearing other people talk about sex, I think—partly because I once asked him if he liked other people talking about sex and he laughed and said yes, and partially because he was always asking everyone, girls and boys. It's weird that he didn't like Jack Keruak in that sense.

We sat down at one point. I think the music stopped around then, and it was so dark that the school was locking up for the night. He put a rock in between the door and the pavement. I asked him questions about his sexuality, and he seemed kind of nervous talking about it so I didn't pressure him at all. He kept asking me personal shit, though. He asked what my favorite feature on a guy was, my first experience. I told him, my first experience, that I was fourteen. I wasn't fourteen. I wanted to seem more educated and experienced that I assumed he was.

He told me about his first time. He said it was with a girl he only knew the first name of. He said she was not from the states and that her mom had the same name as his mom. I didn't like the way he talked about it, because it seemed like he was more interested in something else. I wasn't looking at him, but one point I looked at the ground between my legs, and next to me his hand was really close to me. That startled me a little bit because he was so non-touchy around anyone, much less me, I guess. Maybe it was only a placebo after hearing about all the gay guys losing their straight friends after coming out.

He looked up at me, and told me he wanted to go back in. He asked if we could talk in the downstairs commons. That was the big hallway in the school. I didn't recognize it at all because I didn't have friends that lived downstairs, plus our hall light was off. He took me by the wrist and led me down the hall. I kept giggling, and trying not to because I knew how gay it made me seem. He was smiling though, I knew because when we got downstairs his face was a little pink and his mouth was moving a lot up and down like you do when you're trying to suppress a laugh.

The hall downstairs had its light on. There were two kids in the library next to the main common room with the tables and vending machines. We sat down and talked kind of quickly and quietly. I was sort of out of breath and my heart was beating pretty fast from him half-running me down the hall, and touching me on my arm. He put both his hands on the table and then behind his back. He kept moving like that, I remember very clearly because he never seemed nervous. He always seemed cool and calm-collected.

He got serious as hell after a few minutes. He began shaking his head and rubbing his forehead and asking me if I loved him. He did that sometimes. I thought it ironic, again because he didn't like the touching stuff but he did things like that when he drank. He would ask you stuff like "do you love me" or about mental health or liking girls or guys, and I'd answer pretty sincerely, kind of because I knew he wouldn't remember half of it in the morning.

I said I did love him, and he reached over to my end of the table and gently tapped the wood. I put my hand out slowly and he grabbed my wrist.

He started talking about me having really thin wrists, then we just started shooting the shit about stuff like how feminine features are typically looked at as gay on guys and masculine features on girls as lesbian. He kept touching my wrists.

Eventually, I asked if he wanted to go to sleep. He told me he didn't. I asked if he wanted to go see Brit. He was a lot worse off than me, I could really tell, because it was around three, and he had almost an entire joint. He told me he really didn't want to go to sleep, or see Brit, because he didn't want to think of going back to seeing his family. I asked him a little bit about that, but he wasn't really into talking about it. I moved a little close to him and he put his head on my shoulder, comfortably, not sexually and I didn't sexualize it then.

Finally, he told me it was too cold in the commons. It was, kind of. He was wearing his old marathon crewneck I'd seen a million times, with this massive goddamn hole in the collar and armpit. The amount of times Brit told him it was gross when he lifted his arm and she could smell his armpit, boy.

He started walking down the hall pretty slowly, and I followed him. He kept looking behind me to see if I was still behind him, then he stopped and I bumped into him. He made me stand in front of him, then. He actually smelled good, like, really masculine, like deodorant and kind of like weed but it wasn't discrediting to his natural smell. He started to lean on me again, and touch my arm, again. We got to my dorm in the dark, and I walked in and didn't turn on the light, but he did when he walked in, and I saw Mercutio wasn't asleep in his bed.

He walked over and sat right on my bed. I told him he could sleep there, if he wanted, and he nodded and layed down on his back, kind of spread out, so that I could see his stomach. He was spending a lot of time on the weights this year, you could tell. He kept telling Brit that it was his new thing; he was going to be able to bench some super high millstone by the end of the semester.

I walked over to him. His eyes were wide open, and he sat up a little when I sat on the end of the bed. I don't even know why, he just started taking my shirt off. It was so slowly, and I wasn't even startled by it, like at all. He kissed the side of my arm, really lightly. I didn't face him, he just sort of touched my torso. My right arm, shoulder then down to my elbow. My left arm next. My left arm had this awful scab on the forearm, and his drove his fingers over it awfully slow. Man, I felt kind of like I was going to throw up. I was really excited and it was really nerve-wracking, also.

He started touching my pecks, then moved one hand up to my neck. He whispered something really softly in my ear. I told him I really liked it when guys touched my neck like he did, that was the first thing I said, and so he kept one hand over my adam's apple. He trailed one hand down to my stomach, and just touched around my belly button, down to the waistband of my sweatpants. I asked him if he was alright, he didn't say anything, but he turned my head to face him and kissed the side of my mouth really gently. Then I touched the side of his face, and turned even more to face him. He smelled like weed very aggressively when he opened his mouth, and I kissed him really lightly, because I didn't want him to back away so suddenly. He kept staring me directly in the eyes as he touched me. I noticed he was trying to untie my drawstring. Once he got it, I kissed him again, just on the side of the face. He pulled my pants down a little, and I pulled them down farther when I stood up. He took the chance to pull his shirt off over his head, too. His body was very smooth, he had this small amount of hair around his stomach, and almost a light dusting on his pecks. His build was fantastic, too. He had these great arms, I kept taking advantage of every chance I got to grab them, and try to wrap my hands around his big biceps. He would giggle a bit whenever I kissed his giant arms. I would ask him "what?" And he would shake his head and touch my face or stomach again.

His hands were about the same size as mine, and he would move them directly above my boxers. It was really obvious how hard I was at this point.

He finally touched my boxers when I kept touching his. His pants were still on, but his fly was unzipped. I think he was still nervous of Mercutio walking in on us.

I pet the back of his head and messed up his hair just a little bit. He took my wrists and gently pressed them against his crotch. I touched him more, and took a painful while before pulling his dick out. He was pretty hard. I was probably definitely harder. He pet around my shaft, and finally took mine out, too. It was insane, I could barely look at him as he stroked me. He moved in between my legs, and kept looking up at me. He moved a hand from my dick to my mouth, and then moved my face to make me stare at him.

I really got off to the fact that he wanted me to stare at him as he jerked me off.

It only took a few minutes, too. In college I didn't masturbate too frequently, so I suppose that was why.

He kissed around my thighs a bit when he noticed my breathing speed up. I didn't say anything, so I suppose that's how he knew. I came on his chin. He tasted some of my cum, too.

I noticed he was pretty hard when he came up and sat next to me. I kissed his chin, and around his face, anywhere but his lips, though then I did kiss his mouth and he pulled me in a bit. I really liked that he was able to kiss me, and touch me like he did, without freaking out or whatever—those guys—did. He really did smell like weed. I kissed a bit around his torso, then focused my attention to his dick. He was bigger than me, and pretty hairy around the balls. Thick thighs, and thicker dick. He pushed me a bit, so I went down on him pretty quickly. The first time, he pushed a lot, and I choked a bit, because he pushed me all the way down my throat, then made a sound, which made me put my hand over his mouth a bit. I kissed around his head, then went down a little slower than first, and he seemed to calm down a bit when I went slower like that. I sped up, gradually though. He seemed to like it a lot, because his feet would clench up, then unclench whenever I came back up. I saw the movement in his chest pretty clearly, too.

He finally came on my mouth, without warning, he just sort of gasped, and pulled me off of his dick. He then laughed and apologized, but I kissed his stomach, then licked him off my lips, and kissed his lips when he leaned in a bit.

He stayed in my bed, we talked a little bit about practically nothing, and only for about a minute, because he fell asleep almost immediately after. I did get him to buckle back up, though.

The rest of the night was alright. I cleaned up a bit, and went to bed. The next morning we laughed a bit about this picture his nephew drew. It was entirely nonsensical, but he seemed fine, pretty much just the same. I don't know exactly how it would have been if we had just talked the whole time, though. I mean, if I was jerking him off and asking him how it felt—not like about the weather, or some shit. That's about it. His girlfriend slept through practically the entire day, too, so I talked a bit to Mercutio, and we were going to go to some museum downtown, but Dylan decided to stay home, and not necessarily because of his girlfriend, but I kind of took the hint and went with Mercutio. He seemed alright after that, because we talked like normal.

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