A Spit-roasted Turkey on Thanksgiving
Even now, as I venture through my forties, I enjoy taking a moment to recall some of the high-points of my sexual life. With the Thanksgiving holiday weekend approaching, I'm reminded of one very special holiday, more than twenty years ago now.
My freshman year at college was an eye-opener, to say the least. That first year away from home at the University of Texas, I had decided not to make the trip back home for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Instead, I was planning on enjoying the cafeteria's Thanksgiving buffet, which many of my upper classmen friends said was outstanding. I also had a paper due after the break that I had yet to get started on.
At this point in my first year at college, few knew of my sexuality. I'd enjoyed a couple of romances with other inquisitive young men on campus, but no one seemed to want to get hooked into anything long-term. I don't think I did, either. I was enjoying myself, exploring my new world. I'd been told about a few hot cruising spots, and had tested the waters. My favorite had become the Pilot truck stop, out near Interstate 35 north of town. The back, "handicap" stall had a gloryhole cut into it, behind the toilet paper holder, and I'd discovered that truck drivers enjoyed a warm, willing mouth after long hours on the road. One of my friends also suggested that if I wanted, I could invite a trucker on into the stall for something more satisfying. Up to that point, I hadn't gathered up the nerve. I didn't mind sucking an anonymous dick off, and gulping down the mouth-filling load, but I wasn't too sure about letting a guy I'd never met before sticking it to me, bent over a toilet bowl. That time, however, would come.
As a freshman, living in the dorms, I was stuck in a ground floor room with two others. Our room was a single room, with a bathroom attached, kind of like a hotel room. All of us were academics, with Kelsey on a mathematics major, and Frank on an English major. Both wanted to be teachers, and often would joke about how the best way to bang teen girls was to be their understanding teacher. I thought they both had strange motives for wanting to teach, but what did I care? I'd already been having sex-dreams about my own math instructor, Mr. Alexander.
My roommates were straight arrows, and I hid my own twisted sexuality from them. They were good guys, and we often went out to dinner, or watched movies together, but nothing else. If one of them was to bring a girl back to the room, the others would leave for the evening and hang out in the commons area or dayroom. It didn't happen often, though. Neither of my room mates were all that good looking.
Back to Thanksgiving. As it would turn out, Kelsey had a girlfriend and was going to stay on campus for the weekend. Frank had gone home, so I was the only one being "put-out" by his wanting to spend time with her. Kelsey's girlfriend was something of a porker, to be blunt, and I think the only reason he was seeing her was because "she give's great head!", in his words. For my part, I thought I did, too. Of course, after enjoying the Thanksgiving meal in the cafeteria, I wondered back to my room only to find the "signal" hanging on the doorknob. A length of red cord Frank had brought from his art class. Cliché, I know. So, I turned around and headed for the dayroom to see what was on the big screen television. And of course, it being Thanksgiving, it was a football game. The Packers and the Lions. There were six other guys hanging out, watching from the worn over-stuffed chairs and sofa that the school had furnished some years ago. Several of the guys, whom I knew only by sight, were drinking beers. I wasn't offered one, so I went over and bought a soda out of the nearby machine. I popped the tab on my Dr. Pepper and settled into one of the deep chairs towards the back to kill the afternoon.
When halftime came, a few of the guys got up and headed out. I heard them discussing the game, as well as the buffet, so I assumed they were headed for the cafeteria. A couple stuck around to watch the half-time show. One got up, stretched, and then turned to look right at me.
"You live in this dorm?" he asked, with a deep voice that made my chest rumble. He had tattoos on both arms, which were strong but not huge. He was at least six-foot tall, if not a few inches more. His red hair was cut short and he had let his sideburns grow down to his chin. His chin was square, and his entire face reminded me of Kurt Russell in that moment.
"Yeah, down the hall," I replied.
He nodded, giving the direction I'd indicated a glance. "Freshman, eh?"
I nodded in reply. "Yeah." I watched him as he went over a bought a Dr. Pepper for himself, though I'd noticed that he had been drinking a beer earlier.
"You like the Packers?" he asked me a moment later, after taking a long drink from his soda.
"Not really," I replied. "More of a Steelers fan," I added. He nodded.
"I'm a Cowboys man, through and through," he said as he took a seat on the arm of the chair where I sat. "I'm from Dallas, matter of fact."
"You don't sound like a Texan," I commented.
He laughed. "I wasn't born there. My family's from Richmond, originally, but we've moved around. I went to high school in Dallas, though, so that's where I claim, these days."
"I'm from western Pennsylvania, between Pittsburgh and the Ohio border," I offered, though I don't think he was impressed. He drank more of his soda, and then leaned nearer and in a softer voice, he said, "I've seen you around, and I know you have a thing for guys." He straightened up and I looked up at him. He was grinning down at me, with a sparkle in his eyes. "I've got beers up in my room, if you'd like one?"
