Page 8

8

CONNOR

“A re we doing this or not?” I asked Spencer as he rifled through his closet.

“Yes, just give me a sec. I can’t find the Speedos I want to wear,” he said in frustration. We already had our workout gear on, and I sat on his bed as I watched him pick through and throw clothing to the floor.

“We swam two days ago, and you can’t find your suit?” I asked in exasperation.

Spencer’s muffled bark didn’t carry far with his head stuck in the closet. “I didn’t separate them from the dirty clothes after my laundry was done.”

Spencer had become a good friend at EOU. He had moved in the same day I did. We kept passing each other in the hallway that day and started chatting.

I’d noticed a large Pride sticker on a notebook he always carried, which made me ask if he was gay. He was open about it, and once I’d told him I was, he lit up and yelled, “Girlfriend!” Ever since, we’d become thick as thieves and spent time in each other’s rooms, either studying or gaming. I didn’t see him as boyfriend material, and I don’t think he saw me in that light either, but he was fun to hang with and have as a workout buddy. His personality was infectious.

The university had a community pool that was considered ‘family-friendly,’ and we used our student IDs to use the pool for free. We always used the lap lanes and occasionally raced and chided each other over our times. Today, we were going to use the weight room and finish with a few laps to cool down. Spencer was quite the competitive swimmer at the University of Idaho, as I was at Portland State, but now we just swam to keep in shape. Swimming was also the way I cleared my head and kept stress at bay.

Once Spencer found his suit, he threw it in his gym bag. I picked mine up from the floor, and we headed to the fitness center. It was later than I liked to go swimming, as it was past noon, but I wanted to workout before studying. I preferred to swim in the early morning.

Our weight room routine lasted about forty-five minutes, and then we headed to the pool. We usually stayed in the pool about ninety minutes, showered, changed, and then headed back to the dorm or found someplace to grab a bite.

It was the first week of October, and the blustery weather made us shiver as we walked and debated where to grab food. I was glad we brought hoodies to throw on after our workout. We walked to a diner close by and took a seat at a booth, placing the gym bags at our feet.

I ordered a chicken breast, steamed veggies, and a cup of black coffee, while Spencer ordered a cheeseburger, garlic fries, and a diet cola. I always teased him about his eating habits as I tried to stick to a high-protein, low-carb diet. I knew once our food came, I’d reach across the table and snag a fry or two from his plate.

We chatted about our upcoming school assignments until the food arrived. I was famished and happy it came quickly. Spencer took to his cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten in a week, and true to form, I reached for a couple of French fries. Usually, we had cafeteria meals together when our schedules allowed. Spencer always got fries if they were available. He shared with me the first time we’d eaten together, and from then on, it became a habit.

“You put up this front of healthy eating, then grab my fries every time,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of burger.

“Hey, it’s only a few, and it’s not like you slap my hand away,” I uttered with a humorous tone of annoyance. “You never finish them anyway,” I said to justify my actions. He answered with a huff and rolled his eyes.

We ate the rest of our late lunch and chatted comfortably about classes and the hot guys on campus when I suddenly remembered something.

“I heard there’s gonna be some big multi-fraternity kegger and bonfire coming up in a few weeks. You wanna go?” I asked after I took a swig of coffee. “I overheard some frat guys in the library talking about it.”

I hadn’t been to a kegger since my sophomore year at Portland State and figured it might be fun to watch the undergrads make drunken fools of themselves. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but I enjoyed the social aspect and the effects of liquid courage on the newbies. It was like watching a cause-and-effect experiment.

“Sounds like fun, but it depends on my tutoring schedule,” Spencer replied.

Spencer had a part-time gig on campus as a math tutor and enjoyed it. That reminded me of my unsuccessful attempts to find part-time work. Now that Spencer mentioned his tutoring, I realized it could be an option worth exploring. Finance and statistics were my jam, and I was sure there were probably undergrads who needed extra help.

When we were gastronomically satisfied, we left the diner and headed back to the dorm. It was a fifteen-minute walk, and my thoughts drifted to Mason as I lifted my hood to block a sudden gust of wind. I wondered if a certain trucker was ever coming back this way, and would it coincide with the kegger party approaching in a few weeks? I’d already told Spencer of my trucker daddy moment and thought it would be fun to show off my lustful object of desire.

The problem was I didn’t get Mason’s cell number before we parted ways. Dammit!

It was late afternoon, and Spencer had to check in with one of his tutoring clients once we got closer to the dormitory, so we parted ways. I headed to my room to study, and Spencer jogged off to the mathematics department.

I took out the dirty gym clothes, towel, and swimsuit from my gym bag and threw them in the hamper to worry about later. I knew I was in for a few hours of reading The Global Economy: A Concise History and wanted to get comfortable before diving in. I changed into lounge pants and a fresh sweatshirt and plopped onto my twin bed with my back against the wall. I settled in with the intention of getting through about six or eight chapters, but my thoughts drifted to Mason.

The thought of inviting the handsome, sexy man to a college kegger had me composing scripts in my head should he accept my invitation. I remembered his snug-fitting T-shirt, tight jeans, and rugged profile as he skillfully drove his rig. Just the thought of his beard-stubbled, angular jawline and wave of black hair peeking out from behind his cap made my cock swell. Of course, wearing lounge pants with no underwear had me tenting and straining against the fabric.

I put my book down as I reached under my waistband to slowly stroke my swollen cock and noticed the growing wet spot on the grey fabric. As I rubbed the head of my dick on the front of my pants, I shuddered out a moan, feeling the sensitive crown brush against the material. I wanted to free myself for easier access, so I pushed the lounge pants down to my knees and kicked them off. I must have been a sight sprawled on my bed, only wearing a sweatshirt and socks, stroking my length in anticipation of release.

I spread my legs, bending my knees to expose my butthole to the room. I loved to jerk off with my legs hiked up like I was ready. Just the thought of a dick pressed against my hole, with it finally breaching my muscled ring, made my cock harden further.

The air in my room was cool, but my pulse raced. My heated body felt open and vulnerable. I bucked back and forth on the mattress as if being fucked, scooting down with my butt over the edge of the bed. My head rolled from side to side, and my eyes closed. Thoughts of Mason standing over me with his hard cock ready made my breathing increase.

My strokes became stronger and faster, and precum leaked heavily. I occasionally wiped it onto my finger and brought it to my lips, savoring its salty nectar. There was something I loved about the taste of cum, even my own.

I was proud of my cut dick. It was a good seven and a half inches with just the right amount of girth and sported a mushroom head. My previous boyfriends, and fuck buddies, were always appreciative as they sucked me down, stroked, and licked its length, but I mainly leaned toward the receptive side of things when we fucked.

I loved the feeling of a hard cock filling me up with slow strokes as I gazed into their eyes. The few times I fucked as a top, I did so with enthusiasm. Doggy style was my preferred dominant position, as I could drive deep with each thrust. But in my current state of arousal and lust-filled thoughts of Mason, I wanted him driving deep inside me.

I craved Mason’s sculpted body on top of me, growling as he teased his cock against my hole before pushing inside. Holding and tugging my balls in one hand, I let a finger stroke my taint. As I slowly brought it down to probe my hole, I moaned as I felt warmth rush up my spine.

I immediately erupted. “Jesus Christ… Mason!” I huffed out, eyes closed, as cum shot from my swollen dick, up my sweatshirt to my chin, then finally slowed to a dribble covering the head of my cock. It was a beautiful, creamy mess.

I lay there, letting my breathing slow. Taking deep breaths, I came down from my euphoric high. My sweatshirt was painted with splotches of cum soaked into the material. I hadn’t taken care of myself for a few days, and the amount of wet evidence was impressive. That had been a different and much-welcomed form of release. I felt a good jackoff session was even a better stress reliever than swimming ever could be.

I sat back up, composed myself, and let out a tiny laugh. There I was, thinking of Mason, and I had no idea if he preferred men or women. I shook my head and slowly stood, not wanting to feel a head rush by standing too quickly. I removed the cum coated sweatshirt and wiped the remnants of my release from my dick. I threw it in the hamper on top of the sweaty gym clothes. I reached down and grabbed my lounge pants, pulled them on, and threw on a fresh T-shirt.

I sat on the bed, scooted back, and positioned myself as before to read those damn chapters I had thrown aside. I felt relaxed after having worked out, full after a late lunch, and now satiated after coming to the thoughts of the trucker I couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

I certainly hope to see you again, trucker daddy. If so, I know exactly what I plan to ask—and maybe even do to you!