I didn't go to the gym to work out after my class as I'd told my roommate, Trent, I was going to do. I don't really know why I didn't do that. I was just so nervous and frustrated and jumpy that a good workout was probably just what I needed, but my mind wasn't on that sort of workout. My mind was on Trent, and I was just so embarrassed and confused and, yes, scared about this that I didn't know what to do. Although I had avoided the thought for weeks, I was beginning to accept that I was in love, or at least in lust, with my college roommate.
I'd never had these feelings for another man before I'd arrived at this university, but I hadn't been rooming with Trent more than a week before the feelings of desire began to build up in my body. It was all I could do not to let him see the physical evidence of his effect on me. I was sure that he'd be disgusted; he'd probably scream my infatuation throughout the dorm, and I'd be marked and laughed off campus.
Maybe it was forgetfulness that caused me to return to the room earlier than Trent thought I would rather than going to the gym. But maybe it was some sort of fate. I was deep in thought when I opened the door to the room. I could see that the shades were drawn and it was dark in the room, so I moved quietly, assuming that Trent was taking a nap on his bed. And at first I thought that was exactly what he was doing. He was stretched out on the bed on his belly, naked as usual. He always slept in the nude, which had been part of what had driven me crazy with lust. He had a deeply tanned, perfect body.
But when I looked closer, I could see that he wasn't asleep. He was moving. And he wasn't belly to the mattress either. There was another deeply tanned, male body under his. Trent was stretched out over another man, who also was belly to mattress under him, and Trent's arms stretched up and out wide with the other man's, the fingers of their hands entwined; their legs also were entwined. Trent's chest was close into the other man's shoulder blades, and his chin was hooked on the crook of the man's shoulder. The two faces were glued at the lips. The movement I'd discerned was focused on the hips of both men. Trent's cock was buried to the hilt in the other man's ass, and both were moving at the hips, Trent in a slow circular motion and the man underneath him in an equally languid rising and falling motion. I could see the underside of the hard cock of the skewered man rubbing back and forth against the mattress. As I stopped breathing, the shock of what was happening sinking in, sinking in to the very center of me where I felt my own cock coming to life, I could hear their soft moaning and sighing.
I turned and exited the room, quietly clicking the door behind me, and walked swiftly to my car and sat there trying to compose myself. Although I'd lusted after Trent in a way that was new and frightening to me, I'd had no inkling that he fucked other men. I was being consumed with a combination of joy at the possibilities and a visceral desire to be the man under Trent, being fucked by Trent, and of self-disgust at having these feelings and a horror of what sort of edge I was walking along here.
I had to get away. I had to think and reason this out. And, I had to fight with my instincts, fight not to go over that edge. The edge scared me. My whole life would change if I went over that edge. I couldn't just walk into our room and tell my roommate I wanted him to fuck me, could I? And, then what, even if I did? I had no idea what to do and how it would feel. I just knew that when I saw those two together just now, I ached to be the man writhing under Trent.
I needed to get away to some place entirely not here. I needed to think this out. I turned the key in the ignition and drove away from the university toward the outskirts of the college town. There was a historical house on a hill overlooking the town, and it had a mile-long hiking trail up to it in a national park area from the bottom, where there was a parking lot. I woke up from something of a trance to find myself parked in that lot. I'd never visited the historical house, and I knew I could use the hike up through the woods to it, so I got out of the car and started walking. I was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and good sturdy running shoes, as I had intended on going to the gym after class; I hoped they'd let me in to the house tour. However, I was a college student, so I guess they'd become accustomed to young guys dressed like this.
I couldn't get the image of Trent so closely and intimately fucking that other guy out of my mind as I hiked up the hill, and it was giving me a raging hard on. About half way up the hill, I slipped off the trail and far enough into the woods that I couldn't be seen from the trail. I leaned up against a tree, pulled my cock out over my waistband, and began stroking myself off. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Trent's lovely cock entering me and pumping me. But the image had no sensation to it, and I was cooling off. My cock was not engorging; this wasn't giving me any relief or release. I thought I heard a sound nearby in the underbrush, and I quickly pushed my cock back inside my shorts and turned back to the trail. The frustration was absorbing me. I didn't want to cross the edge, but I wanted Trent to fuck me. The idea of that was driving me wild, but I was numb from having absolutely no experience in what males did with males.
Two thirds of the way up the trail, I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that there was a man in khaki uniform and a wide-brimmed hat pacing my walk up the mountain. As I turned, he took his hat off and wiped his arm across his face and then put the hat back on. He was tall, thin, and sinewy looking, with powerful-looking arms. He had a buzz cut, and my first impression was of a former marine who kept up with his routine. He kept his pace gauged to mine, and he didn't pass me by until I reached the building where tickets were sold to tour the house and gardens.
When I entered the house and gave my ticket to the guide, I saw that the man from the trail was standing there with her and talking in friendly tones with another guide. I could see now that he was a park ranger. He turned hazel eyes and a friendly smile to me, and I felt myself turning red for some reason. It seemed like he was looking right into my mind, discerning that I was all messed up, and why.
Without thinking, I gave him a shy smile and quickly turned and entered the house's parlor, where I joined five or six others who were on the same tour.
Three rooms later I was standing at the back of the group, lost in an explanation on eighteenth-century life in the house of a Revolutionary War notable when I realized that someone was touching me. It wasn't just that someone had brushed by me; someone had a hand firmly on one of my butt cheeks and was definitely copping a feel. I quickly pulled away and moved to another part of the group, no longer on the back row. When I looked around, I saw that the park ranger was now with the group. He gave me another one of those smiles, and my cheeks burned. I don't know if it was because of what I was going through, but I hadn't been repelled by the encounter. I had enjoyed it. But, again, I was frustrated by not knowing what it meant or where it might be headed, or how it might get there.
Shortly thereafter we found ourselves in the dimly lit kitchen in the slaves quarter area in the gardens away from the main house. We were all packed pretty close together, and once again I found myself on the back row listening to the guide's description of the kitchen and how activity here fit into the rhythm of the plantation life.
The hand was on my butt again. I didn't move away this time, even when the hand had squeezed my butt cheek. And then I felt the hand come up and go under the waistband and squeeze the butt cheek, skin on skin. It moved over, centered on the small of my back, and I felt a long, strong finger slowly pushing down through my crack. This scared me, and my knees began to tremble uncontrollably. I did move away this time, moving around the edge of the group and then swirling out of the kitchen door with them, into the sunlight, as the tour ended.
I didn't follow the others into the garden but stumbled quickly in the directionof the entrance—toward the path back down the hillside. This was all just too overwhelming. I'd teetered there on the edge, and it had disturbed me deeply; I hadn't had any idea where to go from there.
I was moving quickly, blindly down the path. I heard him behind me. The park ranger was following me down the path, moving more quickly than I was.
