A text from Brett, "hahaha. Worst nightmare: I went to the wrong Frat and couldn't say your last name. Meet me outside?"
I groaned and showed D the text who was confused, "He stammers really badly" D gave the 'oh no' face and we went outside. I looked up and down the block but didn't spot his copper hair. D said, "That him?" Across the street with a cap and hoodie on was Brett: I called his name and waved.
He was a bundle of fleece covered nerves. I gripped his bicep after the usual, 'bro hug.' "Dustin, this is Brett." Dustin rough hugged him too. Brett got out a mumbled, "Hey." D said, "Good to meet you, off to Skype the gal pal." Brett's eyes tracked him as he walked away.
"Sorry I didn't give you the house address, my bad, c'mon inside." He had his hands in is fleece pockets, almost on his toes swaying a bit. His ear buds dangled down his front. He hadn't stepped towards the house and looked up at it with fear.
"N-n-n-not t-t-too many g-g-guys a-a-a-ro-ro-round, k?" He didn't look at me but was looking at the house like he was tracing exit routes.
"Nope most guys are out after the house meeting and my floor is usually empty. We can go right to my room if ya want."
He nodded and braced himself. Fortunately we met no one. Voices were raised in the grand room and on the first floor back wing, but that was it. "Nice nice h-h-house." Was what he said as we passed the fourth floor landing. Cory's door was closed next to my room. I stopped and pointed out a tour. "Bathrooms here." Just to the right of the landing. "M's room, Mike. We've got four Mikes. This one is 'M" he spends most of his time at his girl's, rarely in the house longer than a few hours. This room is my friend Carl's. He's away for a conference until Tuesday. Great guy. This one is Elliot's. Don't really know him, he's a senior and basically lives with his girl too; I think they're getting married soon. Next to me is Cory. He's real quiet, rugby player, seems to almost never leave his room. He works all the time on finishing double major. Here's me..."
I realized I was being chatty. I leaned on the door frame and couldn't see his eyes under the cap rim. "B-b-ba-ba-bathroom." And he was gone. I stood there arms straight hands in pockets. He had at least opened his fleece when he came back. He poked his head around the door, "b-b-big-big-bigger than than I-I-I thought..."
"Hey, Brett, would you rather go and do something...I don't want you to be uncomfortable....what do you need, buddy?"
"A-a-a l-l-lit-little ti-ti-time to un-un—unwi-unwind. Th-th-th-th-at w-w-wa-was bad." His stammer was pretty drawn out. He still hadn't unhunched himself.
"C'mon in....did you see coach's email about practices? We get into the small gym starting tomorrow! No more open gym, and I hear they've redone the old locker room so it's attached to the wrestling room and only team members and athletic majors have access."
He leaned against my desk as I sat in my chair. He did set his bag on the floor. "Y-y-yeah, s-s-s-saw it last w-w-week. I work f-f-for co-co-coach."
"Nice! I just got the email about switching lockers today; I'll do it tomorrow when I'm on campus."
"C-c-c-cool," he took off his fleece. He had on only a tight white T-shirt. Like me he was showing nipples and abs. He glanced at the door a couple of times. He was wearing thick dark jeans and a sturdy belt. "C-c-c-can we-we-we close-close the door? I-i-i-wi-wish we were at-at the s-s-s-stu-studio."
"Familiar territory and all that?" I nodded and he closed the door. His shoulders went down a bit. "Just talk to me, tell me what's what, ok?" I put on that Moby album from the other day; that got a tight smile.
"C-c-c-an w-w-we do yo-yo yoga h-h-here?"
"Hell yeah!" I stood and put the chair on my desk and moved his bag to my bed and reached for my mat under my bed. He took off his ear buds finally and kicked off his running shoes.
"M-m-may I?" pointing to my laptop. I thought he was gonna change music, but he logged on to a yoga website and chose a practice. "G-g-g-good s-s-s-stuff."
"Change into gear here? Or do you want..."
"Not-not-not th-that shy, not th-th-that w-w-aay...." He popped off his belt and jeans, he was wearing black yoga shorts under his jeans, and he peeled off his socks and unrolled a fabric yoga mat from his backpack. I could see he was free balling this time under his yoga shorts. He looked at me still in my jeans and polo, "Or are-are-are- y-y-you th-th-that sh-sh-shy?"
I dropped trou right there; my cock released so suddenly it made a small slap on my thigh, stood digging thru my dresser in my polo and bare ass. I remembered my yoga shorts were in the drier. Without a blink I opened the door and walked across the hall to the laundry closet. Brett's fish face was classic. I pulled out my gear from the laundry. Took off my polo and said, "I gotta piss first." My strut felt so good. He was watching me the whole way, his head leaning out my door.
I piled my laundry under one arm and holding my lengthening cock in the other closed the door. I put the shorts on and said, "Shy, what's that?"
He shook his head and touched his brow in salute. Our mats were side by side, it was a tight fit; we'd have to alternate directions a lot to do poses, but it'd work. He saw my space heater and turned it on. Without a word he started streaming the yoga practice. With a few bumps and laughs, once knocking each other totally off balance, we got thru the 75 minute session.
It was one of the memorable sessions of my life. I felt every nuance of every pose. We didn't really speak at all. I felt horny; but I was feeling I think nearly every other emotion and sensation too. Looking back at it the combination of sexiness, friendliness, the comfort of home, my rising confidence and openness added to the intensity. Brett's face was shining like mine. He took a deep breath; we were laying head to toe, "The. Best. Ever," those three words were slow and spaced apart.
