Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.
Chapter 1: Water Polo
I didn’t expect some fellow freshman’s butt to shock me so much. I walked into my first water polo practice of my college career armed with a superiority complex and four years of shoulder gains, and they were spiritually deleted by a wet, freshman butt while he was looking for a towel.
I had spent my high school years steadily becoming the biggest guy in almost every room, and I had gotten used to it. I lifted before school and after practice. I ate for it, slept for it, planned my whole week around loading and recovery. By senior year I had “mogging shoulders” (I’m sorry) that made people step aside in hallways. I chased girls. I got a few of them. I started to believe that I was better than the smaller, softer guys, who I believed just didn’t know what to do with their bodies’ potential. I believed that the way a Christian believes in Jesus: He either lives in your heart or he doesn’t.
So the locker room after the first day of college water polo should have been my home turf. I expected a bit of sizing up, some crude jokes, and wordlessly comparing pecs and arms to decide where I stood in the new pecking order. But I got a surprise.
Where I came from, nobody changed naked. We did the towel change, the whole ritual of carefully wrapping yourself for dick-level modesty while changing out of your speedo, one hand pinning the towel at the hip while the other worked the suit off underneath. We showered in our Speedos. I had gone eighteen years without standing bare in front of another guy, and I had never once thought that was strange, because everyone I knew did the exact same thing.
Most of the rest of the guys were still standing around the pool, bullshitting about this and that, when Josh walked in first. It was just me and him in there. I did not know his name yet. He was a freshman like me, on the team like me, and that was where the similarity stopped. He was smaller than I was by a good deal, lean, and athletic, but completely uncompetitive in the arms, shoulders, pecs. He carried himself with a lot of confidence though, and he still had the swimmer's toned back and body. He also had sort of a baby-face. Whereas I had always been confused for being a couple years older than I was, he seemed like the opposite. He had a sharp, narrow jawline and big eyes, and sort of “big lips” as weird as it was to notice that. He looked kind. He had been fast in the water during practice, and I had clocked his versatility in both offensive and defensive plays.
I was sitting on the bench in my speedo, still wet from practice when Josh dropped his bag at the locker directly across from me. Then he hooked his thumbs into his speedo suit and took them down to his ankles in one motion, facing his locker, and stood there completely bare while he dug for his towel.
The unabashed nudity struck me, knocking me off of my steady sense of bravado, and the unsettling was amplified by the carefree nature of the situation. We were the only two in this area, and his perky little ass was like a foot from my face.
I tried to look away, but my constitution failed me. He was still bent forward into the bottom of his locker, digging around for the towel, and the angle put all of him right there in front of me. His cheeks were firm and high and set close together, with a clean line down the middle, and there was not a hair anywhere on him, not on the skin and not in the crease. He was still damp from the pool and the fluorescent light caught the water on him. There was a faint pale band low on his hips where the speedo had sat all afternoon. I had spent years ranking other guys by their arms and their shoulders and their chests and usually coming out on top of the ranking, or else having a good excuse in my head. But no part of my system had a single thing to say about what I was looking at now. I just looked. My mouth had gone dry at some point, and I found myself trying to make spit, swallowing to no effect.
He talked to me over his shoulder while he searched, his taut butt paradoxically jiggling deceptively in my face when he moved from one side to the other, casual and completely unbothered. He asked how I thought the first practice had gone, and whether coach was always going to run the team that hard. I heard the question and it took me an extra beat to answer. He looked over his shoulder at me and I realized.
“Yeah,” I said, “I mean… no. He’s trying to weed out the whiners.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning back and shuffling his things around, somehow incredibly messy already on just the first day. “Makes sense.”
Then he found the towel and threw it over his shoulder as he stood up, turning to face me, and I saw the rest of him.
My eyes stuck to the form in front of me.
He had a long, pink, heavy piece on him that would humble a horse. He was carrying a size of manhood that I would never be able to compete with, and I’d be surprised if anyone could. It was pure genetics. It was a pecker-pecking order, and he stood at the top of it.
He caught me looking, or at least he noticed that I was a little dazed. He tilted his head.
“You ok?” he asked, not sounding suspicious, just checking. The question pulled me up out of wherever I had gone.
“Um, yeah,” I said with a little hesitation as I looked up.
And when I looked at his face, it was like he was a different guy than I had briefly noticed during practice. There was a warmth to his smile that matched the heat low in my stomach, which was spreading. I felt sort of frozen, until a door banged somewhere behind me and another guy came in loud and laughing, and the noise snapped me out of it.
“I’m Ty, by the way… Tyler,” I said.
“Hey, Josh,” he replied, wrapping the towel on the wall hook and stepping into the empty shower by himself. I watched one last time as his form moved into the space, turning on a shower head at the far end, before I caught myself staring once again.
I turned back to my locker, my face was hot and my heart pounding as the bulk of the rest of the guys swarmed in. The college locker room did not have the unspoken rules of modesty that I had grown up with. It was older and settled, the tile worn smooth in the middle of the floor from a hundred teams walking on it before us, and guys dropped their bags on the benches and started stripping down with a comfort I did not have. Still, it felt like something I was already numb to, after Josh.
He had broken a seal.
I stripped down with the rest of them, and walked into the shower room as part of a group, hip to hip with the boys, thinking about Josh and trying not to look at him. It seemed like he was the first at everything. First into the room, first out. I wondered what other firsts he would be interested in.
····[]····
The showering itself was uneventful after that, a bunch of guys, many of which had known each other for years now, and the freshman like me, just learning who everyone was, soaped ourselves up and telling jokes. There was only one comment about Josh’s big hog, and it was basically in passing. I don’t even remember the joke, but Josh played along, wiggling his hips, and the jokes moved on.
No one else seemed phased, but I found it hard to even join the conversation. I laughed at the right parts, but my mind was elsewhere. Josh was on the opposite corner of the shower room from me, and I fought hard not to glance at him every five seconds. But every time I lost focus, I was looking at Josh. I was looking at the small of his back and the two dimples above his butt, and the pale cheeks under the tanline where a suit had likely sat all Summer, and I could not stop.
No one else noticed what was going on in my head. And no one else seemed to notice how magnificent Josh was.
He had an understated confidence, a natural way of carrying himself. He didn’t have to try hard. Maybe he was nothing special to the average guy, but there was some quality in him I couldn’t pinpoint, and couldn’t stop thinking about.
····[]····
I did not think much about why I wanted to hang out with Josh with such urgency. I only knew that I wanted to be around him more, and it wasn't exactly familiar to me.
I had tried to catch up with him, but true to his nature, he was the first out of the showers, and he was gone before I was even dried off.
After the first practice I thought about him nearly constantly. It was like I wanted to be best friends with him. I had never felt so needy in my life. With “the boys” everything was low key, and loud, and funny, and forgettable. With Josh I noticed things. I noticed when he showed up to practice and when he did not. I noticed the half smile and the soft voice and the way he talked to everyone as though he already trusted them, which somehow made him seem more trustworthy by default as well. I started angling to be near him in the pool, sharing a lane, resting on the same wall. I thought maybe I just wanted to be close to a good teammate, a “good dude”.
We got friendly the honest way, so I thought. I was able to push down my weird fascination and find little excuses to hang out with him a lot over the next few weeks, and he never seemed to say he was busy or not feeling it. He was always “down”. We bonded over stupid conversations that ran long, sometimes late into the night in or near one of our dorms, a random roommate usually nearby. He was funny and confident. He let me talk more than I should have sometimes, and he seemed to actually listen, which nobody my size is used to.
Practices became normal, team nudity was easy to get used to, but my attraction to Josh never dulled, and all I wanted to do in my free time was see if he was busy.
I found reasons. A team dinner became a walk back the long way. A walk back became sitting on a wall for an hour. Every reason was real and every reason was also an excuse, and I only understood the second half of that much later.
····[]····
The thing about being the big guy is that there’s a positive feedback loop when it comes to confidence. People assume a lot of things about you, and you become sort of a caricature of yourself by pure social reinforcement. A frat was already trying to woo me in my first couple weeks on campus, and I was playing into it while remaining non-committal. They had recruited a handful of athletes and I could tell they wanted to add me to their trophy case. This frat was pretty “cool”. I could tell on the first night of orientation that they threw the parties everyone would be trying to get into.
And they wanted me. That meant I got the soft version of access before I had even started pledging, which would become official the following semester, if I chose to join. I had a few names in my phone, access codes to a couple of locked doors around campus that were for “secret societies only”, and a simple nod at parties that got me past the guys working the entrance like a superpower.
I had also been introduced to a few “special” spots around campus.
“You can take the ladies here when you need a private space. It’s especially useful for freshmen who still have a roommate,” Brian had said to me the first time he showed me the “screening room” near the freshman dorms.
It was basically a lounge in an annex to the freshman quad, tucked at the end of a dusty, stone hall that most people never walked down, with an old couch in it that somebody's parents must have donated a hundred years ago. It was huge and low and soft, the cushions worn into a permanent sink. There was a giant, modern TV on the wall, and I guessed that’s why it was called the “screening room”, which seemed to be the ostensible use case that got the administration to allow it to exist. Clearly, almost nobody used it, and I had a way in.
I had written the access code into the notes app on my phone when I first saw it, and then didn’t think about it for a long time, until one night, when it was just me and Josh hanging out, and he said something that made me think about it.
“I wish we had a private spot, just to chill and watch TV.”
“Yeah,” I said, agreeing with him instinctively, before it hit me that I had exactly that kind of place available to me.
“Wait,” I said, and he looked at me.
I double checked my notes app, and there it was.
“You wanna see the ‘screening room’?” I said, doing the air quotes.
He smiled. “Yeah, sure.”
And we went.
····[]····
The couch was even bigger than I remembered. We dropped onto it at the same time and it took us in, the cushions folding around us so that the middle sank and pulled us toward each other naturally. I felt comfortable, being close to him, but being able to blame the couch.
There was a lamp on in the corner and nothing else. The building was quiet around us. We sat close because the couch made close the only option, and neither of us moved away, just sitting with the proximity.
Josh found the remote and turned it on. It had a smart TV console, and all the streaming apps appeared to be logged in. He clicked on Netflix and started scrolling.
“Better Call Saul,” I said, “I’ve been meaning to watch it.”
“I watched the first season a long time ago. Seemed like nothing really happens. It’s not as good as Breaking Bad.”
“No,” I said, “They say it gets good at the end. We should watch it.”
He nodded slowly, like I had convinced him. I subtly wondered how easy he would be to convince of other things, my inner dominant streak momentarily returning to the surface.
Most of our legs were touching as the first scene started, the grey flash-forward that was difficult to recognize as not a flashback. His thigh ran against mine from the knee up, and I could feel the warmth of it through both our shorts, a steady heat that I was suddenly very aware of. Within a couple minutes, we were leaning into each other. His shoulder was against my arm and his weight was tipped toward me, and I let it be there. I knew it was different than how I normally sat with guys, but Josh made it seem fine. It was comforting, in a way. It would’ve been funny under the right context. He was an easy-going guy, and he never had his guard up, and we were friends now. And after all, the couch was doing this, not me.
During the slow parts, we talked about little things. I found myself unable to fully track the words. Most of my attention had dropped down to the lines of contact between his body and mine, the pressure of him against me, the way it shifted a little every time he laughed, the oblique feeling of his chest breathing as it moved his torso. My arm was up along the back of the couch behind him. It had started there for no reason, or for a reason I would not acknowledge. And then, slowly, without any decision I would have admitted to making, my hand traveled down along the top of the cushion behind his shoulders until it was not on the couch anymore. It was on him. My arm was around him and my hand was resting on his far shoulder and I was, for all practical purposes, holding him.
Gently.
He went still. He didn’t pull away. He just didn’t move. He turned his head to look at me.
"Hey, so," he said. There was a hesitation in his voice, a soft pause before the words, and I felt it from his face, before I registered the words. "You know I'm… I'm not gay."
I have been hit in the chest before, in the pool, in weight rooms, in a fight once in high school. This was worse. And it left no mark. It went straight through the front of me and landed somewhere behind my sternum and stayed there. Because he was right. He had read the whole situation. He had called it out. And he had done it plainly, in the kindest voice I had ever heard,
And the kindness was the part that ruined me. I had thought I was hiding it perfectly. I had not even admitted it to myself yet, and this smaller guy with the sweet face had just looked over and said the quiet part out loud.
"What?" I said. It came out as a denial reflex. I had never been a good liar, and I knew I had no chance, but I didn’t have the capacity to engage with the idea yet.
I could feel the fear sitting on my own face. I did not have to see it. For years I had been the bigger guy, the one stacking muscle and chasing girls and feeling above everyone, and this freshman with a babyface had just quietly owned me on a donated couch and I had no play. I felt devastated. There were a hundred layers of denial stacked up between me and that feeling, and I could not get through even one of them fast enough to say anything true.
"I'm not gay either," I said as I pulled my arm back to myself, my voice cracking a little.
"Oh," he said. "Okay."
He let it sit. He did not pull his leg away from me. Instead his face went soft. The half smile came back, smaller and gentler, aimed only at me, and there was no judgment in it anywhere. That was when I recognized the kindness for what it was. He was not calling me out to “own” me in any way, which was a hard, defensive instinct for me to break from. He had just said what he felt he needed to say, for my actual benefit.
Something in me came out, jostled loose by his unapologetically positive nature.
"I do think about you," I said. It was the most honest sentence I had said out loud since I came to college, and it barely came out above a whisper. “A lot.”
He nodded, like he already knew, and had known, and was only glad I had finally caught up.
"Gay guys love me," he said with a shrug, somehow not bragging when he said it, just stating it. "My brother calls me a twink. The gay one."
I felt myself chuckle, surprised, the tension in my chest breaking just enough to let air in. "I've heard that word," I said.
"So you aren't gay," he said, watching my face, "or like, you're not sure?"
"I don't know," I said.
My face was hot again, but there was nowhere to turn away to. He was right there. I felt cracked open and stupid and somehow regretted being this honest. But I didn’t pull it back.
"I really don't know."
"I mean," he said. He shifted a little, turning more toward me, and his knee pressed harder into my thigh. "I'm a good bro. If you need to be sure, I can, like…"
He stopped.
I waited in the pause. My heart had started to throb, among other things, my blood flow was not slowing down. I knew what he was building toward before he finished, and my body knew it faster than my mind did, because I felt it respond just to the expectation of the words, a tightening low and immediate, a heat that spread down from my stomach and made it hard to sit still.
"I can, like… help you find out," he said.
····[]····
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, I pushed forward and kissed him. I felt sparks tingling in my chest, while he was tentative at first. His mouth was soft, and he moved carefully. We were both testing something we hadn’t done before, and for a moment it just two dudes touching lips with a moderate amount of pressure applied.
Then he made a small sound against my mouth, like he was surprised at himself, and he leaned in harder. His hand came up to my shoulder and his fingers held me, letting me know he was there for me.
It felt like he liked it, but I didn’t know if that was just in my head at that point. His breathing shifted, and I felt it against my face, and his weight tipped toward me as he slipped the smallest amount of tongue past my lips. I responded in kind, careful not to overdo it and scare him off. I licked the tongue touching mine and pressed back into his, feeling the slightest five o’clock shadow as our lips moved against each other. Our mouths stopped being careful as we fully engaged in making out, my hand reaching up to the back of his neck, his sliding up to hold me gently by the hair on the back of my head.
I got my arm all the way around him and pulled, and he followed, sliding halfway across my lap on the worn cushions, his arms starting to hold my back, creating more body contact, warm everywhere he touched me.
My hand found the bare skin under his shirt, at the small of his back. I felt for the dimples I had stared at on the first day of practice, and the feel of it under my palm only exaggerated the want in me.
He arched into my touch. I felt the pressure of his chest against mine, and it became clear that he was getting as much as he was giving. I didn’t have to talk to him about it to understand that he enjoyed the kissing, as much as he was only “trying to help me out”. His fingers dug into my back, and I stopped thinking about my denial or his.
Our communication after that was physical. Josh told me things with his eyes and his hands and his hips. He got as hard as I had been and he grinded into each other as he settled more and more onto my lap. His hands moved on my back, and they said the same thing his eyes did.
My palms moved over him without even thinking about where they were going as our tongues wrestled. We groaned lightly together in a sea of sensations as I gripped his butt, the cheeks that had started this whole thing, lifting him up further onto me as I leaned forward, giving him space to wrap his legs around me.
The heat built up, concentrated in our core as the grinding generated friction between our bodies and the fabric.
His hand gripped my wrist, moving it to his stomach, off the safe stretch of his shoulder, and I rubbed his abs, feeling them. If that’s what he wanted, I had no problem with that. He was giving me everything I had wanted for weeks, and I only wanted him to be happy at this point.
"No," he said, pushing my hand lower. "Here."
I froze when my hand touched the large, hard shaft throbbing under the fabric. I held there with my hand where he had put it and I looked up at his face. I hadn’t even expected to actually get intimate. I didn’t think we’d go this far. I was scared, but somehow he was more certain than I was. I still wasn’t sure if he was doing this for himself or for me, but I squeezed it, taking his suggestion.
I kissed him hard as I started to rub it, feeling him moan from deep in his chest, directly into my mouth. I moved down his neck and he seemed to love that. I took my time as I laid him onto his back on the couch. I didn’t really want it to end, and I still did not fully believe it was happening. I stopped when I ran out of collarbone skin to kiss, and pulled off his shirt. I dropped my face down to his chest and felt his breath get uneven under my mouth as I kissed him and licked his nipple, my hand still gripping the heavy meat in his pants. I moved lower and his stomach pulled in tight when I reached it. I kissed his light happy trail, the only body hair he seemed to have.
I got to the waistband and stopped. There was a held breath, his and mine at the same second.
When I pulled at it with both hands, he lifted his body off the couch and let me peel the barrier swiftly down to mid thigh. He was fully hard, and even bigger in this state than I had let myself imagine. The size of him made the whole thing more real somehow.
His hands came into my hair and guided me as I held it upright and put it into my mouth. I didn’t waste any time ogling him more than I already had over the past few weeks as I took him in quickly, rubbing my tongue on the sensitive underside, holding my jaw as far open as I could, trying to give him as much pleasure as I could.
His fingers tightening in my hair told me everything I needed to know. I had no reference for any of this and I was winging it in real time, the taste and the weight of it were being imprinted onto my brain, and the sounds he made gave me all the payoff I could have hoped for.
My jaw was quickly sore, and he seemed happy to accept some tight strokes from my fist as I moved further south, licking his balls the way I liked my own licked. When I got curious and dipped my tongue a bit lower, he understood what I was going for before I even did, and he repositioned for me, tilting his body and lifting his own legs, showing me a pink hole between two mesmerizing cheeks, perky somehow even at this angle.
When I pressed my tongue onto his warm, pink center, his body leaned into it, one of his hands pulling at the back of my head again, this time holding me down with strength.
He moaned this time, not just audibly, but vocally. I could tell this was his favorite part so far. His hand took over his rod and I reached down to pull him further apart, giving my tongue more space to push deeper.
The door opened.
I heard someone stop in the doorway behind me. I felt Josh tense up under me, but I didn’t move. Nothing was going to stop me from having this moment.
"We're busy!" Josh said sternly, keeping his legs in the air.
He said it fast and urgently, without a shred of shame. I continued running circles with my tongue inside the hole in front of me as the person behind me stepped back, and pulled the door shut. Footsteps went quickly down the hall until they were gone.
We were alone again, and Josh pulled my head into his body in waves, like he wanted the motion as much as the pressure.
I got the feeling that he somehow wanted more, but I couldn’t be the one to suggest it. I couldn’t be the one to push this further than what we had already done. I was the fucked up one, he was still just a guy helping out a friend.
He answered the question himself when he pulled my head back, angling my face to look at him.
"You won't tell anyone about this, right?" he said, his cute, boyish face showing shyness and vulnerability.
“Yeah,” I said, taking a breath, his balls in my face. “Of course not. Whatever you want.”
“You can fuck me, if you want,” he said, “Like, put it in me.”
“Okay,” I said immediately.
I didn’t even take in how much of an escalation that was, or how strange this should have been to me. I just got up onto my knees, keeping his body exactly how it was positioned, and whipped myself out of my shorts. He watched my body as I took off my shirt, put his hands on my hips, and then closed his eyes.
I lined myself up with him quickly. We were already slick and sticky from the juices leaking out of me, and all the spit I had left on him. I pushed forward slowly, not really knowing what to expect from a male body taking a dick for the first time.
I watched his face for signal, and found anticipation as I increased the pressure slowly. When I finally pressed past the entrance, the familiar sensations of sex took over, and this was better than anything I had ever felt before. Some last piece of the guy I used to be fell away in that moment, and it did not survive the experience of Josh letting me have my way with him.
He held onto me by the hips, keeping his palms on the front of my lean V-line like he was preventing me from going too hard. And I held onto him by the center of his abdomen, feeling the athletic, narrow body and watching his giant hog hover above his abs, a thing string of clear, sticky fluid connecting it to his abs.
It felt like losing my virginity, like this was the real first time my body had been waiting for. It was the best I had ever felt in my life, and it was coming from another guy, and I did not care about one single thing I had believed before that moment.
I pressed in further and his mouth fell open. He stopped closing his eyes and looked at me, like he was in shock.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “You can keep going.”
I pressed in and out of him, feeling the curves of the inside of his body as he passively pleasured me, letting me do what I wanted.
“This is… so good,” I said in a breath.
“Yeah?” he said softly.
“I’m not gonna last,” I said.
“You can bust whenever you want,” he said, one side of his mouth only forming a smile. “I can’t get pregnant.”
I smiled, and he chuckled, which was interrupted when I picked up the speed, pushing in a little further.
His body started to bounce a little and his arms came around to my back. His thighs tensed around me, squeezing me.
I grabbed his heavy meat.
“It’s so big,” I said as I began squeezing it and stroking it, rubbing it with his pre-cum.
He started to breathe heavily. I added some spit and it made squishy sounds.
“Ohhh I’m gonna cum,” he said.
“Me first,” I said as I pounded him rapidly now.
“No me,” he said, and we chuckled together again.
His face turned serious as he let out a small groan and I felt him pulse, in my hand as well as on my dick.
I was over the edge at the same time, and I don’t even know who shot first. I pulsed inside him in ecstasy as I watched his O-face get a streak of his own juice across it.
We groaned in asymmetrical waves of pleasure as we grinded out our orgasms. I almost cried at the peak of it, hearing myself whimper.
I rubbed a thumb through the mess on his chest as I slowly pulled out of him, grabbing myself and stroking it instinctively, wiping my rod on his inner thigh.
His dick dropped with a splatter onto his abs when I let go of it, and he sat up, our cheeks coming into contact just once before he scooted back, reaching around for something to wipe himself up with.
He found the box of tissues behind him and pulled out a generous wad before setting it down in front of me.
It was quiet for a moment, the lamp buzzing in the corner and the netflix auto-paused.
“Are you still watching?” overlay the frozen picture of the main character’s face in the middle of a yelling scene. The intensity was on pause.
When we were wiped off to our satisfaction, a pile of tissues lain on the table next to the couch, Josh turned his head against the couch cushion and looked at me. The half smile came back, bigger now, dazed and a little proud.
"Well," he said. "THAT was unexpected."