It was my last year in college so a bunch of friends went out and celebrated our upcoming graduation. We had gotten really close so it was particularly special since most likely we would go our separate ways once the year was over. One guy in particular, Stan, was someone I had developed a special friendship.
When I first saw him, the sexual attraction was real. He was just my type, large build, dark skinned, masculine, and confident. At 6'2", and about 350# he was an all-star offensive lineman for the football team. But he wasn't an obnoxious jock. He was quiet, kind and well-spoken, his African accent music to my ears.
But he was straight. With our circle of friends all going in a suite outside of campus, the four of us shared quite a bit, including our sexual practices. I was the only gay guy and everyone knew, but I never brought anyone back to the room I had to myself. However, since Stan's room was adjacent to mine's I was forced to hear he and his girlfriend have frequent sex, loud, rough sex from what I could tell. Since we shared a common bathroom I often saw Stan naked, including his large, uncut penis. A few times he caught be looking, but would either ignore it, or return with an awkward smile before he wrapped himself with a towel.
After our final night of drinking, I was the first to return to the suite. Everyone else was out hunting for pussy, or, as in Stan's case, spending time with his girlfriend, Tracy. Tracy was a buxom white girl who loved black cock, almost as much as I did. At first I was jealous of her but after I realized that that Stan was not into me sexually, and I eventually succumbed to the fact that he would not be interested in anything more than a friendship with me.
I was just about to fall asleep when I heard someone come in. Hearing clattering about in the room next to me, I realized it was Stan and figured Tracy was with him. But there was no talking. I listened as he showered, then returned to his room. Then immediately afterward, I heard a knocking at my door, so I got up to answer it.
"Hey James," said Stan as he brushed past me, carrying two beers and wearing a bathrobe. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and by the way he staggered to the chair next to my bed I saw he was very drunk. "Share this with me," he said, lighting a joint after he set the beers down. We had smoked together often, but always in the common area, never in my bedroom.
"My girl broke up with me," he said, slightly slurring his words, breathing in the smoke.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry Stan," I said, taking the joint from his oversized hand.
"Thanks," he said, staring at the ceiling. By the look on his face I couldn't tell if he was about to cry or was concentrating on saying something.
"You okay?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I'm good I guess," he said, leaning slightly back. His bathrobe opened, revealing his nakedness. I couldn't help but gaze at his soft, fat uncut dark cock, resting on his large balls. His pubic hairs stopped abruptly just before his round, smooth belly. I waited for him to cover himself up, but he didn't.
I laughed uncomfortably. After all these years of me throwing hints that I wanted him, and consistently being rejected, I was now in a position to act on my desires. But I wasn't ready for this moment and didn't know what to say or do, so I went on talking as if nothing was happening.
It was difficult not to periodically sneak a glance at his nakedness so see if he was getting aroused, but I managed, and no signs of him getting excited.
After running out of things to say, Stan sat up, and adjusted his robe to cover himself. I was afraid that he was getting ready to leave. Instead, just before taking a hit off the last of the joint, he said, "Let's shotgun."
I jumped at the opportunity to get my lips near his, sitting next to him, waiting for a signal to share the last bit of smoke. He bent over to me, blowing smoke that I slowly took in. Then I leaned in further, touching my lips to the beautiful fullness of his, taking the leap of faith that would either get my feelings hurt or take me on an adventure that I had often fantasize about. I took his nonreaction as disinterest, so I pulled back.
"Sorry Stan," I mumbled, embarrassed, anxiously awaiting his response.
He then slowly leaned into me, placing his lips on mine, softly kissing me. This was all too good to be true I thought to myself as I returned his gentle kisses, thinking perhaps that he was simply showing affection and not interested in much more. Or that his inebriated state was causing him to behave like this and he would soon stop after discovering what was happening. At best, I envisioned Stan allowing me to give him head, but never expected this level of passion as he forced his tongue into my mouth, taking one hand and placing it on the back of my head, applying just enough pressure so that we were engaged in a deep, desirous moment. I reached inside his robe, feeling the extended nipple on his breast, rubbing it, then doing the same for the other. Our kissing became feverish, like catching up on years of pent up lust. He laid on top of me, his enormous body pressing against mine. My hands made their way to his bare ass, rubbing the large, firm cheeks. He then took his lips off of mine, lifted my shirt and sucked my nipple as used his legs to force mine apart.
"I going to fuck you, James," Stan said, slowing things down. The room was still lit allowing me to see how red his eyes were searching mine's. "You okay with that?" he asked, apparently unaware of how long I'd been waiting for this.
