Alice My Uncle & Me

Part 10

This continues the account of the five days and nights that studly 18 year old Mikey spends together with Mike, the 24-year old uncle he idolizes, and Mike's fascinating and beautiful 22-year old fiancée Alice. The beginning of their story is told in "Cross-Country with My Uncle," and continued by "Alice, My Uncle, and Me," day 1 and day 2, and Day 3, parts 1 and 2, and "My Uncle's Bachelor Party," parts 1 and 2, wherein Jeff, Mike's old college roommate and lover, is introduced. This is part of Day 4.

Jeff and I arrived at Alice's house, and let ourselves in. We had anywhere up to three hours to kill before the wine dealer's delivery would arrive. I said to Jeff, "Hey, guy, pick up the story where you left off on campus, how you met Mike and how you guys like, got together."

Jeff said, "Sure, Mikey. But it's a kind of long story, so let's get comfortable," and he flopped onto the big king-sized bed, and rolled onto his stomach.

I sat down on the bed beside him, and I thought I'd pick up where I'd left off too. As Jeff resumed his narration, I idly stroked his big, broad shoulders.

Jeff started:

"Until I arrived, I didn't even know who my roommate would be. At Stanford, the coaches decide who's going to room with whom in the first year, and there had been somebody who had at the last minute not shown up, so all I got was a call from the coach's office the day before I left telling me that I had been switched from one room to another. When my taxi dropped me off at the dorm, I was issued my key, I went upstairs, and I saw a label on the door, "Mike Burlington, Jeff Jackson," and I walked in. Nobody was there, but Mike had already moved in. I only had a couple of suitcases of stuff to unpack, and it was a couple of hours until the first team meeting.

"So after I'd settled in, I kinda looked through Mike's stuff. He'd brought about half a dozen books with him, just a few inches on a bookshelf, and even today I remember what an impression these few volumes made on me. There was a handsome translation of Vitruvius, inscribed by his father; volume one of the Bury edition of The Rise and Fall; a small edition of The Prince; a Java manual; a well-thumbed cheap edition of the Phaedrus; Gensler's classic Symbolic Logic; and two things that deeply surprised me: Michel Foucault's The Use of Pleasure, and, in the original German, Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. Not even 12 inches of books, but boy, did they impress me. I had to figger this Burlington guy, whoever he was, was not the typical freshman jock. He had to be someone pretty interesting. I mean, reading Goethe for pleasure in German. That is, if you can judge a kid by his books, which I'm sure you can't. All I'd brought with me was a small collection of 'graphic novels,' – comix if you will – and a German dictionary.

"He had brought about 30 CD's too. I wasn't surprised at The Cure, Blues Traveler, The White Album, a Stones catalog album, and a bunch of Indie groups I'd never heard of. And I was gratified to see Ten Strait Hits. I wasn't particularly surprised to see Mozart's Gran Partida and Purcell's Trumpet Voluntary, but what really pleased me – hell, it charmed me! I gave a little whoop to myself – was Widor's Symphonie gothique. It's not every 18-year old kid who has a taste for French organ music! During my stay in the Suisse-Romand I'd become addicted, but I knew it wasn't a widely shared teen craze, to say the least! But even so, there are ten Saint-Saens fan for every Widor fancier. So again, I figgered, hey this kid could be interesting."

(As Jeff was saying this, I was thinking, "Hey, I love Widor too! Even more than Cesar Franck and Louis Vierne." But I didn't want to interrupt Jeff's narrative.)

"I snooped in his closet too. He had an axe case and a trumpet case. As for me, I loved music, but I never played anything. There was a bunch of brand-new designer clothes, too, most of it with the tags still on them. And there was some fancy electronics gear. Hell, his fuckin' clock radio was one of those Bose things. So I figgered that this kid might be interesting, but he could well be a really stuck-up rich kid who'd just be a pain in the butt.

"Well, of course, I couldn't have been wronger if I'd tried. It was Mike's mom who'd bought all that designer stuff (and most of it he never wore, sticking with jeans and shorts most of the time); and Mike couldn't have been more sweet natured and generous of spirit. In fact, one thing that I had noticed was that this kid (whom I hadn't met yet) might be book-smart, but I sniggered to myself that he couldn't be too smart after all. At first glance, the room seemed symmetrical: each side of the room was identical, or almost. But because of the placement of the main stairs on the floor, however, the closet on the side he'd picked was easily two feet shorter than on other side. Of course, you and I both know that it was just Mike's way to pick the worse side for himself, leaving the better one for his as yet unknown roommate. He was the most considerate kid you could imagine, the most generous."

As Jeff said this, I pulled up the bottom of his shirt, and pushed it up to his shoulders, exposing Jeff's remarkably well-muscled, smooth back, and I systematically stroked it in fairly large circles. It was deeply satisfying to me just to touch his skin.

Jeff continued:

"And on his desk he had two pictures. One was of his mom and pop, and the other was of this cute 12-year old blond kid, who I assumed was his brother. Of course it was you. You may or may not know this, but all through our years together he kept a picture of his parents and you on his desk, yours replaced each year as you grew and changed."

When Jeff told me that, it warmed my heart. Of course I had kept a picture of him on my desk too, and one in my wallet, too. And I took every chance I could to tell my friends about Mike and show off his picture. They all had met him and knew I wasn't lying about what a wonderful guy he was.

Jeff continued his story. "So in about an hour I showed up at the first team meeting. It was a get-to-know-one-another thing. I scanned the room wondering which one was this Burlington guy. We were all wearing name tags, but I didn't spot anybody sporting that name. I do remember, however, in the crowd of good-looking, athletic kids, one guy who caught my eye across the room, who was particularly striking-looking, who moved with unusual grace, blond, with deep, deep blue eyes and a persistent smile. And after several of the coaches introduced themselves and gave their usual speeches, they eventually asked us new guys to stand up in turn, and one of the coaches read out a potted biography of each one, and that's how I finally found out that the blond beauty was in fact Mike Burlington.

"And that he was a second baseman -- for a short-stop like me, by far the most important teammate. It's not too much to say that the way the short and second baseman work together is the most critical element in baseball defense.

"From the team meeting we immediately changed and hit the field for a practice, and instead of a lot of drills, we had an intersquad game, just for fun. Believe me, bringing together so many kids from all over, we were really a fucked up mess. But there was something almost miraculous about the way Mike and I worked together, right from the first. It takes a lot of drills and practice for an infield to come together as a team, to make plays work halfway smoothly. But with Mike and me, we never needed to say a word, it was just something unexplainable, ineffable. He was always at just the right spot at the right time; and he could fire the ball over my way and somehow I'd just be in position. It wasn't something we had to work at, to practice, it just happened. As I said, it was, like unexplainable. But we both knew that something very special was happening when we were on the field together. It was as if we were looking at the field of play with the same eyes. And it started before we hardly even knew each other's name.

"I admired his defensive play enormously. And of course I could tell just from his grin that he liked my action too. And when I got in a lucky swat and whacked a fastball right out of the park he was there at the plate to high-five me with a real wide smile. It was the first time we'd ever touched. We hadn't even shaken hands before."

I tugged at Jeff's shirt, and he held his arms up over his head to facilitate my pulling it off, and I straddled Jeff's middle, and I begin a more orderly massage. It was even more satisfying to me to be in more extensive contact with him, such that my bare legs lay alongside his hips.

Jeff went on: "My hit was the game winner, and despite our multiple errors our team was thrilled, whooping and shouting as we filed into the locker room. My locker was on the same row as Mike's and as we undressed I noted what a really great body Mike had. Big shoulders, beautifully balanced musculature, rippling abs, all that golden hair on his belly and chest and his big arms and legs, that big fat cock, those swinging balls. (By the way, Son, it's amazing how much you remind me of an 18-year old Mike.)

"Billy Pelham, the captain of the team, and huge star in right field, strode into the locker room, whacked a bat against a locker a couple of times and said, 'Lissen up, you new guys. We have an old and honored tradition on this baseball club. It has two parts and they are both important. You don't even want to think of breaking either one. The first part is that nobody, get that, NOBODY who is not on the varsity will ever beat off in the shower here. Ever. Any time, whether you are alone, or otherwise. If you ever try it and you're found out, believe you you'll be very sorry, and we're not kidding here. The other part is that if you do win a spot on the varsity, you will be issued an invitation, which you will accept, to be initiated. And thereafter, you will not only be permitted to jack off in the team shower, you will have the solemn responsibility to do so on every occasion. (Way it works is that the tradition permits guys with a hot date within three hours to take a pass, but otherwise, the tradition is absolutely honored. Iron clad.) Now we know that we cannot stop guys from getting boners; but any fancy stuff, like excessive soaping up, or standing so that a the shower is focused on a boner, that's the sort of trick that can get you in big trouble. I don't need to tell you what happens when a guy tries to break this rule, but I can tell you that nobody who's tried it has made the varsity here in as long as anybody can remember.'"

Jeff went on: "All of us new guys had been on ball teams for years, and we had never heard of anything like this, but it was obvious that Pelham wasn't hoaxing us. As we filed into the gang showers, it was, like, a very strange experience. The varsity guys were remarkably, amazingly, unselfconscious. Habituated from months, if not years of following the tradition, quite as a matter of course as soon as they'd gotten wet, they soaped up and got hard and whacked off."

But of course it wasn't as simple as that. As it happened Mike and I were showering side by side when Billy Pelham himself came in and took the spot right next to us. Pelham was fucking awesome. He was six-four, perfectly built, and frankly gorgeous. His torso was a fucking amazing thing, with chiseled musculature: big, defined pecs, incredibly cut abs – eight-packed, I'd guess you'd say – and his arms and legs were perfect. Big round biceps, imposing quads, ropy forearms and his calves were really defined. Big veins popped up along his arms, and one along each side of his lower belly, framing his perfect abs. His fine blond hair was full and longish, cascading over his forehead, so that his golden eyebrows were almost obscured. His deep-set eyes were china blue. His features were a rare combination of feral and refined. It wasn't just us who were impressed by Pelham. He was a part time model already, and he'd been featured in an A & F catalog, in a Lord & Taylor newspaper ad that had run wherever they had stores, and his biggest coup was actually in France: He had been featured in an "Eminence" underwear ad. The previous season you could have actually gone to Paris or Bordeaux and see a dozen posters one after another pasted up in a row in Metro passages or along walls featuring him and his incredible body in quite astonishingly skimpy briefs. He would soon be elected "Mr Stanford," and when he graduated he was recruited for the Dodger organization. But after two seasons in Triple-A ball at Vegas, he sustained some sort of injury, though he did get 'a cup of coffee' in the Bigs for about 4 games. Anyway, he's the same Bill Pelham whom you may have seen in a couple of films recently, playing small roles opposite Paltrow and McGuire.

"Well, with Billy in the shower, jacking wasn't just a by the numbers kind of thing. He very definitely took his time. And yes, he knew full well that he could draw the attention of a crowd. He stood under the nozzle and got himself wet all over. This had the effect of dramatically changing the look of his prolific body hair. The dense golden hair of his arms and legs, once wet, lay flat against his skin, darker and denser-seeming than ever. And likewise his chest hair, which grew in great whorls over each pec, and extended up onto his upper chest as far as, and even beyond, his collarbones, and somewhat up his powerful neck, wettened, it too seemed darker and denser. From either side of the middle of his belly somewhat darker hair – still blondish, but darker – grew together into a thick track that ran from the point of his sternum down across his abs; only below his navel did it widen out more and more until it seamlessly melded with his pubic hair."

Jeff's story was getting me really, really hot. I got up and unlaced Jeff's Nikes and then tugged off his little Cardinal shorts, leaving him absolutely nude. From the rear he was astonishingly good looking. His legs were so exceptionally well formed and muscular, and covered in that dark silky hair. It ran thickly right up onto his butt. I quickly pulled off my own shirt and shoes and shorts, and I too was nude, and I resumed my position straddling Jeff's thighs. This time, though, my cock was absolutely erect, nearly cleaving to my belly, and I continued to rub Jeff's back. Now, however, every time I reached up to his shoulders, my balls dragged over his powerful butt, covered with silky dark hair, stimulating me almost beyond bearing. I took care that when I stroked down onto his butt I also ran the edge of my hand along my cock, too.

"Ahhhh," said Jeff. "Man, does that feel great, Mikey," and shortly, Jeff returned to his narration:

"When Billy turned under the spray, he exposed his broad back. In general, he was economically built, for all his perfection, but his back was a bit more heavily muscled. It narrowed down dramatically to the boyish waist that so dramatized the tiny Eminence briefs on so many posters in France. His butt was proportionate to his big thighs and his upper back, and like his thighs, well-provided with hair, though finer there than on his legs.

"As I said before, Pelham was fucking awesome, quite intimidatingly, astonishingly good-looking.

"He soaped up, under his arms, between his legs, up his crack, over his arms and legs, across his broad chest. And rinsed off. In no haste, he took a squirt of shampoo and worked it into his thick golden hair, and thoroughly rinsed. And only then did he again take the soap to his genitals. Under the warm spray, his large balls were relaxed and hung low; but his big cock was neither relaxed nor low-hanging, for almost as soon as he had entered the shower, his cock had begun to thicken and lengthen. And by the time that he had first soaped up between his legs, his cock was fully erect, and stood at attention at like a 45-degree angle from his powerful lower belly. He knew full well that we new freshman players were watching him with awe, and at only a casual glance he could tell that he had our full attention. As soon as Billy's cock began to expand, Mike's cock and mine did likewise, and when his was absolutely erect, so were ours, under his direct influence. All the upperclassmen knew the kind of effect they had on the new kids; that was a large part of the fun."

Meanwhile, as Jeff was relating his story, I was getting hotter and hotter, and dragging my balls over his hairy butt, and touching my cock intermittently as I stroked him, just wasn't enough. I was stoked. Actually it was almost a torment being so intimate with this beautiful man. I thought how odd it was that only yesterday I thought I hated and feared Jeff, and now, only about 24 hours after he arrived, I knew he liked and respected me, and, as for me, I thought maybe I actually loved him. Certainly I admired him excessively, and it was infinitely pleasurable to touch him, even in the least way. And now there I was, naked, athwart his bare body, slowly and sensuously massaging him, and every point of tangency was intensely pleasurable, but also produced in me an anxiety, an impatience, an inward demand for more, more, more.

Jeff continued his story:

"But when Billy finally turned all his attention to his cock, we were helpless to do anything about our own erections, as our attention, too, was riveted on him and his action. He luxuriated in our gawking amazement as he slowly, generously, began to stroke himself. Cupping his big balls in his left hand, he grasped his soapy shaft in his right, and gave himself a few very slow and deliberate strokes. Then removing his left hand from his balls, the Apollonian beauty let it wander over his chest, as he closed his eyes and tilted back his head somewhat, in a rather languid display of careless luxury, as he continued to stroke slowly, slowly, his big balls loosely dancing up and down between his wide-spread beautiful legs.

"Despite the absolutely mesmerizing display that Billy was putting on, I could not avoid looking over to Mike, like me, absolutely erect, but totally prohibited from so much as touching himself. As striking as Pelham was, I was thinking to myself, God, is this Burlington kid incredibly good looking! He wasn't as tall as Pelham, nor as broad across the shoulders, and maybe not yet quite so cut as Pelham, but he was close. And if anything, his arms and legs were even hairier, his face absolutely as beautiful, even more so. He had a certain softness that his frequently displayed dimples only emphasized that made his face never seem hard-edged like Pelham: his face was always warm and friendly, a perfect field to represent to the world the kindness and sweet nature that I would come to learn were his essential qualities.

"Mike's cock, standing there untouched, throbbing, was, if anything, bigger than Pelham's, and his balls just as impressive. I had already been amazingly impressed by Mike, first from his possessions that I had inspected in our room; then his general aspect and mien in the meeting room; then by the near-magical qualities of his play at second-base, coordinating so eerily with my own play; and now, this amazing body revealed in all its glory.

"But fundamental to my future life as my appreciation of Mike would prove to be, right then and right there, it was Pelham who engrossed almost all of our attention, with his now quite sybaritic masturbation. Up and down his veiny shaft he ran his big hand, slowly and patiently; now with a bit of a twist, now with something more rococo. For instance, for a while, he grasped his shaft with his left hand, and used the specially soaped palm of his right hand to smooth and tease his cockhead.

"Finally – I don't know if Mike and I could have stood it a minute longer – but we damn sure weren't going to leave either! – Billy proceeded to a somewhat steadier stroking, then steadier and faster and then faster and harder, and finally to almost brutal final strokes, and suddenly, with a great shout of "Oh, yeah, guys!" he shot a long stream of cum onto the shower wall; and, with a broad smile upon his preternaturally handsome face, finished up with half a dozen concluding strokes, squeezing out still more semen.