Russel and Matt

Russel

1

What the fuck! I start, as this dude places his lunch tray on the table and sits his sorry butt, facing me. I'm a fucking loner. I eat my lunch alone. I jog alone. Even in the dorms, very rarely does any other dude come over for a visit or a chat. I like to keep to myself and I almost always find other people annoying and shallow.

I give the guy my ugliest expression, stopping my chewing to emphasize my lack of appreciation at his barging into my space. My space? Well, hardly, since the cafeteria is already crowded and I notice that most the tables are taken. Still.

"Hi," the dude brashly smiles. Fuck! I don't need any conversation on top of the raping of my space. I glare at him, but I sort of realize that I can't be a real dick to a simple friendly hi, can I?

I nod my head, swallow, still glaring. "Hi." My greeting sounds grumpy to my ears, but fuck it, I did greet back, didn't I.

The dude keeps his smile and I notice two little dimples in his face cheeks, just above the line of his fuzzy beard. I haven't seen this dude before. Is it that he's just being friendly? Or most probably because there are no available tables around? After all, I know that I don't look like the friendliest person on earth. No, I'm not.

I resume munching on my lunch sandwich, trying to ignore the intrusion facing me. I rove my eyes all over the place except at his face. He seems to notice. He clears his throat between two bites on his burger.

"So you go to school here, huh?" he says. "I'm Matt, by the way."

He's not going to offer his hand for a handshake, now, is he? I shudder. This is getting too much for me. Maybe I should leave? Not polite. "Russel," I grunt. "And... yes, I do," I add, the grumpiness in my tone very apparent.

The dude doesn't lose his smile, doesn't get the hint, so obvious. He is insisting being a pain in the ass as he adds, "Yeah, it's a good school. What are you majoring in?"

Fuck, this guy is as inquisitive as a tick in the butt. "Graphic design," I mumble and take a sip of my soda. I now glance up at his face as I swallow the cold drink. "You?" I hear myself ask, surprised that I'm even considering continuing this fucking conversation.

"Cooool," Matt sings this out.

I glare at him. Is he making fun, or what? Why the singing tone? What's so darned cool?

"I'm in graphic design, too. But I haven't seen you around."

Of course, he hasn't. I rush into class a minute before it starts and rush out a minute it ends. I don't recall any of the faces of my class mates. As if I care. But why does this shit of a guy care if we have met or not?

"Ok," I rise, picking up my tray and drink, having had enough of this shit. "See you around." I snicker to myself, as if that is a remote possibility.

Matt

2

I watch this dude walk away, his butt stretching the seat of his jeans, looking familiar somehow. Damn! I know that butt, that swagger.

My mind goes back to one of our class sessions when I have noticed that same butt hastily leaving the room as soon as the class ended. Yes, it must be the same guy. But he doesn't seem so friendly, does he? He barely responded to my attempts at some kind of conversation. At least, he did come up with his name. Russel. An uncommon name. Uncommon butt. I inwardly smile at my lewd imagination. I often do that: imagine stuff. I bet that butt is fuzzy and as firm as a dried cake.

I like guys, evidently. I'm not really out or anything, trying to decide on a million issues. Besides, I really don't look forward to all the heartache that I know coming out will bring me. I can enjoy all the eye candy on campus and my imagination works wonders, sumptuous food for my bouts of self-gratification.

I already have some material for this evening. Russel's butt. My hands slowly pulling down his tight jeans and running all over his firm, muscular butt as his hard dick bounces out almost hitting me in the face.

Fuck, I'm hard. Maybe I can bring up the date for my visit to the toilets. Maybe he is there in one of the stalls, waiting for me, slowly stroking his 8-inch dick, sitting on the toilet seat with his legs spread. He has to have an 8-inch dick. I will him to have an 8-inch dick. God, I must be leaking.

I sigh, looking around the cafeteria, trying to control my erecting need, waiting for it to subside a little before I hurry to my next class. I'm trying to remember whether Russel is taking the same course with me as he does in the morning one. He looks so delicious in spite of all his grumpiness. I'm starting to think of him as a conquest. I have to devise ways. Has he mentioned whether he's living in the dorms? This would be a great opportunity to hook him.

Darn it! Me and my imagination! The dude has not given any sign or indication that he might be interested in me, that he might even be gay. For all I know, what I will get when I advance on him is a hard smack across the face or a punch, a growl, and a "Get the fuck away, faggot!"

In a way he has come through as that kind of a dude. So much more exciting the challenge, though. This is not helping my nether region, which is still steely and stretching sideways inside my sweat pants.

With a heave, I rise, placing my tray in front of my crotch. I hurry to class. Is Russel there?

Oh well, you can't win them all, can you? No, Russel is not taking this class. I sit in the back, hoping. He could be late, though. But the 45 minutes crawl by, and I haven't heard a word of what is going on in class.

How will I get to meet Russel again? Maybe lunchtime in the cafeteria. I inwardly cross my fingers that he is staying in the dorms. I can imagine him being my roomie. Not like the asshole I have now. Mike is such a douche bag. He is the total opposite of Russel. Not that he is mean, but he has this body smell, garlic-y sweaty kind of smell that fill the room even right after he showers. And he throws his things all over the place.

Russel

3

I lean back and close my eyes, feeling the breeze brush my face. I don't want to go to the dorms yet. I could visit the library, but going though musty, dusty books is not on the top of my list. I will just relax.

That was some guy during lunch. I wonder why he kept pestering me when I was just trying to eat my shit alone. I can't blame him, though. I mean most of the people on campus are friendly. Even if total strangers, they smile and nod in the corridors or across the quad, or wherever. I probably scowl in response.

When will I grow out of my shell? I need to communicate better with people. But life in the company with me and myself is so much more comfortable, easier to handle. No drama, no complications.

But was that just being friendly? At lunch in the cafeteria? What with all the questions?

I don't need that, really. A lunch buddy. Fuck that! Have I mentioned that I'm a loner and not about to change my status any time soon? Well, I am, and it's fine and dandy.

I take in a deep breath, enjoying the different foliage scents, mixing and mingling. My eyes are closed, just in case another "friendly" dude passes by and wants to know my name and favorite color and all that shit.

Life is good. Campus is good. I have the chance of being away from all the hassle of home. Oh, Mom is ok. A bit pushy and inquisitive at times, well, most of the time, but it doesn't bother me much. She does probe, though, especially regarding my social life, which is non-existent, and she does notice.

It's dad. The asshole. I hate it when he comes home all grumpy and pouting, complaining about work issues and such. It dawns on me that grumpiness runs in our genes? I don't want to be like my father. Don't get me wrong. He provides for us, me and my little sister, Milly. He is paying for college, and I'm grateful, especially since he doesn't complain about that at all. Still, the way he keeps to himself and sometimes keeps hammering me about my friends and how come I don't have any. It's none of his business, is it? Are all dads, well, most dads, like that, I wonder?

Time to hit my dorm room. Thank God, dad didn't go cheap and have me in a double room with a mate. He has forked out the extra charge for my single room on the fourth floor. It has its own small bathroom with a shower, and a shelf with a hot plate, a water kettle, and a small fridge under it, all pretending to be a kitchenette. But that's all I need really. A couple snacks and sodas in the fridge, a can of coffee and a mug. I'm all set.

I straighten up opening my eyes, and, what the fuck, there he is, the fucker from lunch, standing a few meters away, gazing down at me, the sun behind him.

"Wha...?" I growl, feeling my eyebrows knot, straightening up.

"Man, you look so... so taken, I mean, engrossed, in all these surroundings. You haven't even noticed that I've been here watching for some time now."

I can detect a smirk on his face. This guy has been watching me? What the fuck!

"Dude..." I start.

"Hey, don't sweat it. I was just walking by and was attracted by the way you were relaxing. I thought you were asleep," he snickered.

"No," I grumbled, standing up.

With that, and a glare, I turn and walk over to the dorms. I do notice his glance down my body, at my crotch.

What a geek! Me, not him!

Matt

4

God, he's beautiful. I'm mesmerized in front of this god.

What am I thinking? I have just sort of met him, if you call the fiasco of a conversation at lunch any kind of a decent meeting. But I'm already taken by him. What would I give to crawl between those stretched legs and bury my face inside that magnetic bulge!

I'm sick. Truly. Those eyes, closed and amazingly attractive. I feel the force. I'm so gone, I don't even try to move. And what does he do, when he notices me? He scowls, grumbles something, and fucking walks away. I notice his crotch with a nice bulge. Again, that swinging butt, God, I'm sick.

Ok, maybe time for the toilet exercise. I know my eruption will be humongous when my imagination runs rampant. His position, laying back, legs stretched, but naked. I can see his thick bush and his hard man cock plastered up onto his belly reaching all the way up to his navel. It's got to be 8 inches. Those nipples, round and pick, not overly large, separated by a stunning patch of dark hair.

I am running my fingers down his chiseled abs, willing myself not to go lower to the cut knob, round and pink and flared, the slit already glistening. My tongue flicks one of his nipples, moves sideways as he raises his arm, and reaches his pit, also covered with a patch of dark hair, curly and wet. I'm slobbering into his pit, taking in the heat and the woody man scent, my nostrils filled with wisps of hair. He is moaning.

What am I doing to myself? I need to get laid, that's for sure. It's been a while. The last one was a quick blow job in one of the park toilets near our home. The guy offered and I obliged. His cock was tangy and his cum, squirting inside my mouth, tasted bitter. I cummed on the floor as I squatted with my mouth full of a throbbing cock and strings of mangy sperm.

That's me. A cock-sucking bitch! Taking cock down my throat from a total stranger. Well, I have mentioned I wasn't ready to come out, haven't I?

But this Russel? Jesus H. Christ. I can shout my gayness from the top of the campus clock tower just to spend a night with him, naked and horny and hungry.

Well, not really! It's my imagination again. No, I wouldn't come out. Not even for a hunk like Russel. But why is he so grumpy? I mean, I haven't done or said anything to make him so. He scowled at me, actually scowled! A fucking cute scowl. I bet if he scowls and grumbles like this as he is pounding my ass with his huge hard 8 inches of cock I'd be cumming gallons.

I'm such a sick bitch of a guy. I know it.

Russel

5

I fill the water kettle from the tap and turn it on. Reaching for the coffee can, I spoon in the grinds into the French press pot, three heaped spoonfuls, contemplating my two meetings with the dude. What's his name again? Matt, yes.

To be honest, the guy's intrusions are not really that bad. I have acted like a heel, I know. Grumping and scowling. But that's me. I grump and scowl. Fuck!

I admit: I was stunned when I opened my eyes and saw him standing there, his dirty blond hair looking like a halo around his head filled with the sun rays hitting it from behind. He looked like an angel or something. Damn. But this guy is too much for me. I can't take all this attention. First, seeking me out in the cafeteria. But did he? Seek me out? Maybe it was a coincidence and the dude is just friendly. Nothing's wrong with that, is there?

Then again, for a second time, as I relaxed, he was there, like a spirit or something out of nowhere, gazing down at me.

Hey, wait a minute. It suddenly hits me: this Matt? Gay? Fucking dude lusting for me?

I haven't noticed any indication of that, though. Where has this idea come from?

The water boils. I switch off the kettle and pour the water into the coffee pot, slowly, making sure the grounds are taking in the water. I stir the steaming brew with a wooden stick, my mind on Matt. What if he's gay? I'm not homophobic. I'm not gay either. I know what I'm not, but do I have any idea what I am?

I fill my mug with the aromatic coffee, take a sip, scalding my tongue. God, it tastes good. I'm a coffee man. There! That's who I am. A lonesome coffee guy. I snicker to myself as I move over to look out of my 4th floor window down on the campus grounds, alive with students striding back and forth. So full of life. And here I am, alone, in my room, sipping coffee, alone.

I strip, suddenly feeling the need of a shower. I'm kind of surprised to notice that my dick is not in its normal flaccid state. Sort of dangling halfway down between my thighs, not fully hard, but getting there.

What has got my dick moving, I wonder? It's not the coffee, or the campus life, or my lonely room. Matt? Fuck that. I'm no queer.

I shake my head as I step into the shower. The cold water hits me hard, and my dick shrivels in response. I wait a minute feeling the water warm up. I regulate the heat and feel my muscles relax under the water massage.

My dick rises. I look down and smile. This dick needs some exercise. All it's getting is some hand work. Not that I'm complaining. I like to jerk off. In the shower, in front of the mirror, in my bed watching porn. What's it like to have a naked body under me? Nice round tits, pouting lips, spread thighs, a wet warm pussy. Or a willing Matt?

I reach down and stroke. My mind goes into high drive bringing up images of hot women taking my thick dick deep. I thrust my hips forward to meet my stroking palm. As I feel the build-up in my nuts, an image pops into my mind. I'm squirting onto Matt's face and hair. I cum hard.

Matt

6

Scratching my head, I start to wonder. What can I do to get Russel?

But... what the fuck am I thinking? I am opening myself wide: for a beating, for a heartbreak?

Who cares? He's so hot. I've been spending my time jacking off to his image leaning back in his tight jeans, his bulge out, his lean body stretched. I close my eyes: He's straddling my naked body and jerking off at my face as I await his semen to hit my hair and lips and dribble onto my chest.

I explode, with vehemence. It's so frustrating though. I rack my brain as to how I can approach Russel, build some kind of relationship, break through his apparent defenses, and eventually get laid by him. I'm that lucky, huh?

I know by now that Russel is taking one course with me. Also, that his room is up on the 4th floor whereas mine is on the 2nd floor. He must have dished out quite a sum of money to pay for a single room with a built-in bathroom and a small kitchenette. I have to make do with just the room, with the addition of the obnoxious Mike. I have to endure Mike's crass behavior, unappealing physique, and horrible gagging body smell, when I'm pining for a god 2 floors above me.

Does Russel have a girlfriend? Oh, God, don't let him have a boyfriend. I can deal with a girl. A lot of dudes can do both. And I can be quite persuasive when it comes to working a hard, throbbing dick.

I haven't noticed Russel accompanying anyone to class or on campus. He seems to be a loner. So much the better for me. I can work with a loner, I think. But it has been a couple of weeks since I sat at his table for lunch and later gazed down at his beautiful body relaxing and lazing in the sun.

Two days ago, and as his normal way, Russel breezed into class just before the session started and quickly strode to the front seat near the windows. I was sitting in the seat right behind him. My stomach did its flipping as I gazed at his nape, the feeling of my hands grabbing that neck and pulling his head down to my lips as his cock invades me, lying naked under him.

I leaned in and whispered in his ear: "Hi."

He jumped, making the prof look towards us to find the source of the low grumble that Russel emitted. I had to force down a loud giggle, covering my mouth and almost pissing in my pants. After the prof looked away, Russel turned his head sideways and whispered back: "You fucking scared the shit out of me, dude."

That was the longest uttering that I have heard from him. My toes tingled, my body shuddered, my ass twitched, just hearing his low whisper. Go figure! What this guy can do to me, if ever we happen to be together, naked and lusting, I can hardly imagine, even using my vivid imagination.

The rest of the session was spent with me visualizing, eyes half closed, the room emptying, Russel grabbing me and yanking down my pants as he bends me over the back of one of the seats, fishing out his hard rod and giving it to me, rough and deep. I squeal, of course. He covers my mouth with his hand and I can feel his strength as he stifles my screams. His pounding is incessant and needy. He needs to empty his nuts inside me and I am dying for his semen. His grunting gets even louder as he leans on top of my back savagely biting the side of my neck, his cock thickening, and the flood of his juice filling my ass.

Ok, another class session spent in oblivion, resulting in an erection.

Russel

7

That Matt dude is starting to get under my skin. Not in a bad way though. Wherever I am, he pops up. Is he stalking me? I wonder what the fuck he wants. A friend, maybe. But campus is full of guys and girls. Why me? Or perhaps I'm being paranoid.

Lately, my jerking off rounds have included Matt. I'm totally confused. What is happening is beyond my comprehension and experience. Just before I feel the surge of cum churning out, his face immediately appears, causing forceful ejaculations that rack my body and leave me breathless.

I stop working on my English paper, due tomorrow, and pour myself another coffee, now just warm. I drink it all in one gulp. I'm being hyper, that's for sure. I quickly grab my phone and wallet and go down for a stroll to clear my mind.

There he is, walking towards me across the quad, a smile on his cute face. The image of that face suddenly invades my mind, covered with my cum. What the fuck! Where am I getting these images from? I should really look for a girl and get laid. I'm getting too used to Matt, and it fucks with my head.

"Hey, Russel," Matt greets me.

"Hey," A grumble, as usual, probably coupled with a scowl.

That doesn't faze him. "You care to join me for a coffee?"

He hits a soft spot. I am a coffee man. And now I am a Matt man? Jeez, how fucked can that be?

I nod. "Lead the way."

Matt laughs and strides towards the exit to the main street near campus. We find a coffee house. I order a black, he orders a vanilla latte, cream-topped. We sit facing each other.

"How does campus life treat you?" Matt breaks the silence, already a bit heavy with some kind of electricity.