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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Fraternaty Love (MM, college)
by Anonymous Author - 1992
**
I had never had a problem in the woman department. In fact, the
reason the house rushed me so hard when I was a freshman was that I
was a "face man"--a guy whose looks attracted women, and prestige, to a
house. Not a GQ model, mind you, but all-around American good-looking.
Blond hair, deep-set green eyes that had always drawn second looks from
girls, and sometimes and this always surprised me--guys, and solid muscle
built up through years of working out for high school football and
wrestling. A layer of golden hair so thick it almost hides the big pecs
and iron-hard stomach. Six-two, and a smile that the sexy mother of one
of my buddies once said could light up a dark room at midnight. She
should know.
And I certainly didn't think of myself as gay--then or now. I'd
participated in the usual group gropes with other guys as a teenager.
And once, under the influence of too many six-packs, it even reached the
circle-jerk stage. But, for the most part, whenever my mast rose--and it
has always done that several times a day--the target had pert little
breasts, lithe and lovely and definitely hairless legs, and was 100 percent
female.
Which is why, when Tony moved into the house, I was puzzled by
my feelings, feelings I'd never had toward a guy. Tony was an Italian
from Jersey, at college on a basketball scholarship. But at six-four and
with 240 tightly packed pounds, he looked more like a football player.
He, too, was a face man. Greyish blue eyes framed by long black lashes.
A chin out to there. A razor straight nose. Generous lips that always
looked as if they were about to smile, or to sneer. He was a knockout,
one who had girls calling him at all hours of the day and night. Like
me, he never lacked for an enthusiastic sexual partner.
Tony and I quickly became good buddies. Something about the
attraction of opposites. His swarthy good looks and aggressive manner
and my sunbleached blond, surfer boy attitude. His rough Jersey accent
and my laid-back valley boy talk. Chemistry. Just like when you really
fall for a girl. In fact, in the weeks after the first semester he showed
up, we were together so much the other brothers started calling us
Starsky and Hutch. Some of the cruder brothers had a more creative
way of phrasing it, as in: "So which of you girls is the sucker and which
the suckee?" Or: "How do you like sucking that Italian meat," Sean
baby? No problem. Both Tony and I had a reputation for scoring with
the ladies, so we weren't exactly afraid of getting an image as lavender
lads.
I even dug the way Tony smelled, though I didn't think anything of
it the first time I noticed, consciously, what he smelled like. Just
chemistry, just like the way I liked the look in those killer light blue
eyes, and the way his laugh, coming from deep in his belly, would
practically rock the room when he found something really funny. No I
didn't think it strange that I liked his smell--a clean, just-soaped smell
but with just a faint tinge of something acrid, something animal-like. It
was just that I liked him. Buddies. A male-bonding sort of thing, as
they said in the marriage and family textbook for one of my sociology
courses.
As I think back now, of course, I realize I should have seen it
coming. The times playing racquetball, when I caught myself looking at
the sweaty, black silky hairs in his arm pits as he reached for an
overhead shot. The times our arms would accidentally brush and I'd feel
his long arm hair play over mine, and it felt like static electricity, or
maybe something more. The times when he'd be sitting in my room on the
bed, his legs splayed unselfconsciously out, looking at Penthouse babes,
and I'd sneak a look at his crotch and could see his cock snake up in his
sweats until it made a huge tent.
Once he caught me looking at one of his hard-ons. I was fascinated
by a growing circle of precum that seeped into his sweats at the top of
the tent. When he saw I was staring at it, he flashed his famous grin at
me, his perfect, snow-white teeth dazzling in the midst of that olive-
colored face. And as he smiled at me, that cocky, challenging smile, he
reached down with one hand, stroked his balls, and grabbed his cock
through the dark blue cloth of the sweats and gave it a few strokes in
my direction. And he said, in that hoarse, Jersey accent:
"Sean, if you ain't gonna suck this mothah-fuckah off, I'm gonna
have to pay a fuckin' visit to the little boys'room."
"Fuck you, cock-sucker."
"Promises, promises."
We were both just joking, of course. Just buddy-talk. We were
comfortable enough with ourselves that we could talk that way. It seemed
to ease the tension, somehow--although, whenever I thought about it, I
couldn't figure out what, exactly, there was to be tense about.
And he laughed his room-shaking laugh and walked into the
bathroom, the tent pole leading the way, and the Penthouse clutched in
his hand. As usual around the house, he wasn't wearing a shirt. I
noticed as he walked by that his nipples were as erect as his cock. Dark
red little bullets pointing straight out from the well-sculpted pecs. The
shiny black hair on his chest was shaped like a T, the thick thatches
over the tits narrowing down to a trail that led under the draw string of
the sweats. As he walked by me, smiling all the way, I caught a whiff
of the Tony smell. So animal like, so sharp, so much Tony, that it
seemed to burn my nostrils.
He didn't bother to close the bathroom door. I could hear the
sound of flesh against flesh, a sound that got faster and louder. And
then Tony's moans. Quiet at first, then louder, guttural: "Unnhh.
Unnhh." And then, punctuated by his heavy breathing:
"Oh, fuck. . . .oh, shit, take that, babe. . . . take my big fat Italian
cock, you . . . Oh, unnhh. . . .Ahh, fuck." And then the heavy, long,
post-cum sigh.
When he came out, he had that shit-eating grin on again, and said:
"Sorry, Dude. I got some cum on her." And he tossed the magazine
back on the bed.
When he left, I had to stroke my own meat before I could get back
to studying. Fair enough. What bothered me was that when I shot off,
I wasn't thinking about my current girl, like usual. I was thinking about
Tony, waving his dick at me, and about the way he sounded, that
monster, guttural sound as he came, and I was wondering what his cock,
his fat Italian cock, would look like when it was hard.
We never talked about the Penthouse incident after that, and Tony
stopped reading Penthouse in my room. He would still come in, though,
to shoot the shit after a date or to relax for a few minutes during an
all-nighter. And he'd sit back on the bed in that same way, legs splayed
out, the full crotch pointed my way. Sometimes I'd give him the same,
my legs spread as I sat in my boxer shorts, feeling my dick lying heavy
and hungry against the chair.
Once I was in just that position, looking over at him lying back
against the pillow on my bed, and scratching my chest as we were
talking, flicking my fingers lightly over a nipple, pulling the hair on my
chest in an absent-minded sort of way, when I felt my dick start to rise
against the smooth cotton of the boxers. I could feel the head of my
dick starting to snake its way out of the foreskin and nip at the opening
of the shorts. There was that little scratchy feel you get from the
friction of exposed cockhead to cloth.
Tony flicked his long lashes toward my dick, smiled, and said:
"Somethin' important come up, Dude?" And he laughed.
A few nights later, Tony and I went on a double date. After the
movie, we parked on a dark street near the girls' house and went
methodically to work to get laid. Nada. I could tell, from the sound of
Tony's moans in the back seat, and his girl's "No, I can't, I can't, not
yet," that Tony wasn't getting any more than I was. After a half-hour
more of wrestling and "No, no, I can't," from front seat and back seat
alike, Tony said:
"Oh, shit, let's just go the fuck home then."
We dropped the girls at their house and headed back for our house,
reassuring one another that those two had had their last chance.
Back in my room, we each belted down a glassful of Jack Daniels
and started on the refills.
"Man, I got an awesome case of blue balls," Tony said.
"Me, too, pal."
Tony turned his blues on me, blinked those long, black lashes, and
said: "Hey, man, I know how we can work some of the tension off.
Let's wrestle." And he took a long sip of his Jack Daniels, holding his
gaze on me over the glass, swallowed, his adam's apple bulging quickly as
the liquid went down, and he smiled his smile at me.
"You got it, Babe." And I took another belt and waited.
Tony skimmed off his shirt as he stood up, the shirt peeling back
over red nipples, then on past the arm pits with their moist patches of
black silken hair. Whiff of Tony smell. Then Tony was on me, his huge
arms reaching under my arms, then around my back and pulling me back
over onto the floor. Before I could resist, he flipped me over on my
back, straddled my legs and half-nelsoned me to the floor. I squirmed
around enough to turn over, but I couldn't do anything to release the
iron grip he had on each of my wrists. His full length was on top of
me, face to face, arm to arm, his legs over my legs. His cock over my
cock. The more I struggled, the more fiercely he dug his hands into my
wrists, the more insistently his powerful legs held mine. His hot breath
flooded onto my cheeks. Our eyes locked. And then I could see just the
hint of a smile crease the corners of his mouth, as if he had finally
figured out the answer to a puzzle.
"It's all right, Babe," he said, his voice guttural and soft at the
same time. "It's all right. Why not?"
And then I was very aware of his cock. His eyes still locked on
mine, his hands still tightly gripping my wrists and holding me to the
floor, he started every so slowly to move his crotch against mine. I
could feel the heat of him all over me, his hairy legs rubbing against
mine, his massive chest pressing into mine, his crotch pressing into mine.
There was this moment of panic as I thought. Guys don't do this. Not
real guys, not men. Men don't do this. And I could feel Tony's breath
again against my cheek, and see Tony's blue, blue eyes looking straight
into mine, and Tony's furry legs rubbing against the hair on my own legs.
And Tony's crotch, as if it had a life of its own, was becoming more
insistent, and harder, and bigger, as it rubbed against mine, through the
roughness of his 509 cutoffs and mine, and I thought my cock would split
with the hard-on of its life.
And all the time Tony was smiling and looking straight into my
eyes. And he had a look that seemed to say I've found out something I
never knew, and I like it. And then suddenly he wasn't looking at me
anymore, he was pressing his lips on mine and thrusting his tongue into
my mouth, forcing it roughly open and kissing me with an insistence and
a force that I had never experienced with a girl. And he was holding
onto me so hard I thought he was going to crack my ribs.
He withdrew his tongue and looked at me again. "Whaddaya say,
Dude?" And without waiting for an answer, he reached down for the
bottom of my tee-shirt with both hands and, in one motion, pulled it over
my head. He straddled my waist, rubbed the back of his hairy paws down
my arms and into my arm pits, grinding them slightly so that the hairs
there pulled, then trailed them back up to my nipples, rubbing, grasping,
pinching them between thumb and finger. I am now moaning softly. The
hands then on down, tugging now soft, now hard, at the hair on my
chest. Then his long, strong fingers tracing down toward the belly
button as he grasps one of the nipples in his mouth, sucks, tongues, bites
it lightly. The fingers go on down, under my Levi's, poking down toward
the head of my cock. (Rough friction of fingers stroking the top, the now
naked top of my cock, then grasping the foreskin and playing it back and
forth between the fingers. Then he's off me, my cock hard, me confused,
lying still. He's smiling still, in charge, sure of what he's doing, of what
we're about to do.
He reaches down, unbuttons my fly, pulls the cut-offs down me
(rough fabric pulling at the dick as it comes down, funny feeling of cold
air hitting dick, pressure of cut-offs against dick, then dick bouncing
back against my belly, harder than I've ever felt it, free) and off my
legs. Sharp intake of breath as he looks down at me, my cock at full
mast. His grin, his white, white grin. Again he uses the backs of his
hands, this time to trace a trail down my legs, starting just by my balls,
down my thighs, all the way to my feet. And now he's laughing.
"Ah, it's all so fuckin' simple, my friend, all so fuckin' simple."
And, with one more smile, his head swoops down toward it, down
toward my cock, and Tony's lips nuzzle my monster cock, my life is in
my cock now, Tony's tongue darts out and licks the tip of my cock,
Tony's rough hands pull the foreskin back over the engorged head, the
dark purple head of my cock and then Tony swallows my cock in a gulp.
I grasp my hands in his full head of black, shiney, curly hair and
massage his head, feel his ears, run my hands down the back of his neck
(a mole, a tiny mole, right there at the back of the neck, right under the
hairline) as Tony sucks me in and out, in and out. (Warm, sucking
wetness of Tony's mouth, Tony's teeth lightly grazing the rim of my cock
head.) I am fucking Tony's mouth, feeling my balls slap up against his
chin, feel the rough beard as my balls come up against it. I see Tony,
his mouth engorged with my eight inches, press his nose into my blond
pubic hair. He makes soft moaning sounds and slurping sounds as he
goes up and down on my cock.
And then he slowly withdrew from my cock, patted my balls, and,
holding my cock in his fist, gave the tip of it a tender kiss and lay back
down on me. He kissed me again, and I could taste/smell my own piss
and precum, mixed with Tony's smell, and I could feel his cock now
rubbing against mine.
"Sorry, man, I don't wantcha to cum yet. I want us to cum
together. I wanna fuckin' fuck you, Sean." Tony nuzzles my neck, sucks
in a piece of my neck, bites it lightly. I feel like jelly. "You got
anything slippery?"
"K-Y," I gasp. "Medicine cabinet." Tony off in a dash to the
backroom. Back in what seems like an instant.
For the first time I get a look at Tony's dick. Bigger than mine, at
least nine inches, and fat. As he applies globs of K-Y, the engorged
head works free of the foreskin and looks like a small apple, stuck on
the top of an enormous pole coming out of the black forest of his crotch.
Satisfied with his work, he looks down at me again, smiles, grabs me on
either side and urges me to turn over onto my stomach.
"I wanna fuck you from behind, like a dog."
I get on all fours. He grabs my ass on either side, slaps another
glob on jelly on my ass, and works a slippery finger into the hole, then
two fingers, in and out, in and out.
"Relax, Sean baby, you're gonna love it."
The fingers come out, and I feel the apple back there, pushing at
the entrance. I wince.
"Just pretend you're takin' a crap, man," Tony grunts and pushes
more insistently. I strain my bowels as if I'm shitting and, all at once,
the apple is inside me. No feeling like that ever before. Full and warm
and as if something more is about to happen but you don't know what.
Feel of Tony on top of me, as if he's a very heavy, very furry blanket
someone has dropped over me. Then the feel of his breath on my neck,
the rough sandpaper of his beard against my shoulder, the acrid, heavy,
animal smell of Tony making me dizzy. He lunges and his cock seems to
split me in two, come through my insides, as if I can feel it in my
mouth, it is so big and heavy and never have I felt anything like this.
"Ah, Babe, this is so good... Ah, man, I've never felt like this...
Oh, fuck. Oh, shit this feels good."
And I feel his cock reaming me, in and out, in and out, and his
hairy balls slapping against mine, and his hot breath against my neck and
he is kissing/biting my neck now, and he reaches one of his hairy paws
around me, grabbing my cock and pulling it up and down, and I feel my
cock is going to burst and my asshole is going to burst, and his sweat is
on my back, sticky, as he fucks me, harder and harder and
"Sean, I'm gonna cum, baby, I'm gonna cum inside another man, for
Chrisfuckinsake and I love it, Sean I love it, Sean, I love you, oh, fuck,
Sean." And he makes one last, large lunge, and moans and moans, and at
that moment his hand around my cock makes me come and we
collapse in a heap, sweating and kissing each other and playing in each
other's cum so much we don't know whose cum is whose whose sweat is
whose whose body is whose. And we hold each other.