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College Cocksucker 
by Anonymous 1981 (address defunct)

***

A gay man gets an invitation to his twentieth college 
reunion and reminisces about his time attending school. 
(MM, gay/straight, college)

***

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The mail today brought an invitation to my twentieth 
college reunion. The alumni office has faithfully kept 
up with me over the years, never forgetting to send me 
an alumni magazine and never missing a chance to 
request donations. Moved by sudden memories of the lush 
campus, with its Mediterranean architecture, long 
arcades, magnolia trees, azalea bushes, and hordes of 
young people, I sometimes send them money. But this is 
the first year I have seriously thought about attending 
a reunion. 

The invitation triggers a rich flood of images--not of 
close friends or favorite profs or particular classes 
or social or academic or athletic triumphs or defeats, 
the kind of memories my fellow alumni are probably 
entertaining right now--but of sex, and of the peculiar 
person I was many years ago. "College cocksucker" is 
the term that comes to mind to describe me then, a term 
that pays tribute to my single-minded passion for 
cocksucking in those years. 

From my current perspective, I know that the person I 
was could be seen as a pathetic creature, lonely and 
overworked and socially deprived, and probably even 
seriously disturbed in his masochistic devotion to the 
sexual needs of others. Yet I certainly did not think 
of myself that way then, nor is that the stuff of my 
memories. 

In those rather bleak years, cocksucking brought me 
bright moments of joy. Maybe it's because I had few 
social skills and was terribly introverted, but 
cocksucking was by far my most significant means of 
communion with straight men. Or maybe I was just horny. 
Anyway, that's what I remember most-- those moments of 
joy and the obsession that sustained me throughout the 
entire four years of college. I probably would never 
have graduated without them. 

Twenty-four years ago, when I first stepped foot on the 
large state university campus, I was a fresh-faced 
country kid, six foot tall, a little skinny, good-
looking with a tight, supple, naturally muscular body, 
dark hair, pale complexion, big innocent-looking eyes, 
and raging hormones. 

Pictures of me from those years show a bright, 
intelligent face, with regular features and just a hint 
of complexity in the eyes. No one could have guessed my 
secret passion from these photographs, yet if you look 
closely you can see a certain hunger in the eyes. 
Brought up in a small farming community in a family of 
desperately poor sharecroppers, I was naive and 
unsophisticated in many ways, and I felt a great deal 
of pressure as the first member of my family to have 
the opportunity to attend college.

I was lonely and isolated and felt I had something to 
prove. Yet I was by no means innocent. In fact, I had 
already had far more sexual experience than most 18-
year-olds. I was already secretly addicted to dick. 

When I was 14, a neighbor who hired me to help around 
his horse farm initiated me into sexual service. He was 
about 30, ruggedly handsome, married, with a child. I 
idolized him and his wife. I hung around them all the 
time. Desperate to have him notice me, I flirted with 
Robert pretty outrageously, and one day while we were 
in the hay barn, he flat out raped me. He came up from 
behind me and slipped a rope around my hands, slid down 
my trousers, rotated a fat thumb in my ass, spit on his 
large cock, and then rammed it up my unlubricated hole. 
It hurt like hell and I ran home crying. 

But the very next day, I went back. Robert said he was 
surprised to see me so soon, but he expected I'd be 
back asking for more dick. He said I'd been begging for 
it all summer; he could tell I needed a cock up my 
asshole. He said he had an unfailing eye for queers, 
and there was something in my mannerisms that tipped 
him off. He told me that I was a little faggot, but 
that was all right with him; he liked faggots as long 
as they were good ones and treated his dick right and 
knew their place in the scheme of things. 

He said a faggot was someone who needed to suck and be 
fucked, so I had better be planning to spend a lot of 
time on my knees and on my back with my legs in the 
air. He taught me how to suck cock that afternoon. At 
first I was pretty lousy, but within a month or so I 
had been well trained to give a first-class blowjob 
and, within a year or so, I came to really enjoy 
getting fucked as well. 

Robert taught me to be grateful to him and any other 
man who would let me suck his dick. He impressed upon 
me that my destiny was serving the needs of others and 
thereby fulfilling myself. He said some people were 
meant to fuck and others were to be fucked. He was the 
former, I the latter. 

I serviced Robert all through high school, until I left 
for college. I occasionally serviced a couple of his 
friends when we went to horseshows and he would 
introduce me as his personal cocksucker. He was 
friendly with me and I idolized him, but he was always 
very explicit that I was the queer and he wasn't. He 
sincerely believed that the whole purpose of queers and 
women were to satisfy men like him. 

It just seemed natural that he would call the shots 
sexually and that I should be ready to service him 
whenever he needed it. So I think I absorbed this way 
of thinking. My relationship with Robert established a 
pattern wherein I really came to enjoy pleasing 
straight men. It seemed to justify my being. By the 
time I enrolled in college, I had no interest at all in 
reciprocal sex. I derived my pleasure from pleasing 
"real" men. Although I was not effeminate in any 
outward way, I thought my desires meant that I was not 
truly masculine. 

I discovered two of the campus' most notorious t-rooms 
the first week of freshman orientation. Looking back, I 
am surprised that I was such a good student, winning 
several major science awards and ultimately a 
fellowship to graduate school, since I spent hours and 
hours each week cruising the johns. I majored in 
biology, but I spent more hours in the campus men's 
rooms sucking dick than in the labs running 
experiments. (It's also amazing that I never got an STD 
of any kind.) 

Over the four years at college, I sucked off hundreds 
of guys. A few were extraordinarily beautiful, others 
were positively unattractive, most were somewhere in 
the middle, just ordinary men. I discovered a capacity 
for responding to men of different types and ages and 
races. Attitude more than anything else turned me on. 
Guys who conveyed sexual self-confidence attracted me 
enormously. I was especially interested in married men, 
and I was only interested in guys I thought were 
straight. 

I couldn't get a hard-on for fellow queers. In fact, I 
spent a lot of time fending off the overtures of gays 
who wanted mutual sex and friendship. But in those 
years, before gay liberation had penetrated to the 
South, I just could not respond. I did become friends 
with a couple of other compulsive cocksuckers, but I 
had no desire for them. I got my own orgasms by 
masturbating as I sucked off straight guys or when I 
fell asleep at night, reviewing the cocks I had blown 
during the day. 

During those years, I sucked off most of the men I 
serviced in the johns of the buildings in the main 
quadrangle. After establishing contact by signaling 
with feet or peeking through holes or passing notes 
under the wall separating the stalls, they would stick 
their cocks under the partition or we would arrange to 
meet in a quieter john on campus where we could get 
into the same stall. 

In these johns, I would sit on the toilet and the guy 
would stand before me as I sucked his dick. Or he would 
bend me over the toilet and screw me in my ass. 
Occasionally, I would suck off a guy in his dorm, or go 
for a ride and do him in his car. In my senior year, I 
shared an apartment off campus, and I could 
occasionally bring guys home. 

I cruised all hours of the day and night. It's amazing 
how many guys wanted blow jobs first thing in the 
morning or between classes. The campus was a hotbed of 
horniness and I was always hungry. I wasted hour after 
hour sitting on toilets hoping that some guy would 
shove a dick down my throat. And then suddenly, one of 
those moments of joy would materialize in the form of a 
man with a boner for me. The following are some 
incidents that I remember particularly well. 

Why these? I'm not sure. The guys who haunt my memory 
are not necessarily the handsomest or hottest or nicest 
guys I serviced. In fact, some of these guys are not 
really nice at all, and my attraction to them certainly 
reveals a masochistic element of my personality. But 
for various reasons these guys impressed themselves 
indelibly on my memory. These are the particular men I 
think about when I look back on my career as college 
cocksucker. 

THE FOOTBALL PLAYER 

The very first dick I sucked during the week of 
freshman orientation belonged to a guy who stuck it 
under the partition in the john in the basement of the 
business administration building, the most popular john 
on campus. We exchanged notes on toilet paper. In 
response to my standard queries--"Age? Size? What do 
you like?"--he wrote, "20, 7 1/2", Eat Me!" and I 
answered, "Stick it under." He did so and I knelt on 
the floor and stroked his brown and sleek lower body 
with my hands and worshipped it with my eyes. 

His dick mesmerized me. Uncircumcised with a lot of 
skin pulled tightly over the head, it gave off an aura 
of power as it grew from a 4-inch semi-soft penis to a 
7-inch steel-hard whopper that throbbed before my eyes. 
The dick was very pale--almost white--with prominent 
bluish veins. It was like a piece of marble, hard and 
white and smooth, with an angry red head just peeking 
out of the white skin. 

His legs were hairy, and so was his scrotum, which hung 
heavy with big balls. I remember making the effort to 
memorize the beautiful image before me, knowing somehow 
that this was very special, something I did not want to 
forget. I noticed that the guy had powerful thighs; and 
his legs were darker than his dick. He had a red 
surgical scar around his knee-cap. 

Intoxicated by the sight and smell of the body before 
me, I bent my head and took the powerful dick in my 
mouth. It had a wonderful musky taste. I deep-throated 
him and then licked his balls and then returned to 
nurse the beautiful head. I gently slipped my tongue 
under his foreskin. With utmost care, I made sweet love 
to his cock. 

I could have sucked him for an hour, but he was horny 
and began bucking into my mouth, establishing a rhythm 
that I sustained. He shot a big load. I can remember 
savoring its spicy sweetness and feeling a kind of 
transcendence. I was literally faint with desire. That 
dick was so beautiful, and I felt so happy being able 
to help the horny guy out. I felt completely fulfilled, 
as though I had done exactly what I was put on earth to 
do. I felt at home. 

When he left I peeked through the crack in the door to 
observe him. He was a solid, rawboned, rough, rather 
short, powerfully built guy dressed in a western shirt 
and stiff blue jeans. His face was plain, but he exuded 
masculinity. I recognized him as a varsity football 
player, a tackle or guard, who had received a lot of 
publicity in advance of the new football season. 

It turned out that he was in my (very large) freshman 
American history class. All semester I tried to sit 
next to him in class and to engage him in conversation, 
but he ignored me. I don't know whether he knew that I 
was the one who had blown him, but in any event I never 
got to suck him again, and I never again saw him in the 
johns. Yet, as my first dick on campus, he occupied a 
prominent place in my fantasy life all through college. 


Chapter 2: The Elegant Cuban
 

Another guy I remember very distinctly was a 
classically handsome Cuban--really beautiful in every 
respect, elegant and aristocratic and thoroughly manly. 
Wonderful brown skin, perfect facial features, jet 
black hair, dazzling white teeth, trim body. He had a 
perfectly straight, cigar-shaped uncut dick of about 7 
inches. I sucked him fairly often during my first two 
years, at least once a week during the regular terms, 
though sometimes several times a week. Then he 
graduated. 

I met him in the same john I met the football player, 
and we also connected through an exchange of notes, in 
which he indicated that he wanted "To fuck or get 
sucked"; but we agreed to meet in another, quieter 
john, which established a pattern we observed for the 
next two years. We would see each other in the john. 
When he recognized me he would just move his head in a 
certain way, and I would trot off to our safe john and 
await his arrival. 

I remember how he fed me his dick that first time as I 
sat on the toilet. I wanted to be on my knees, as a 
gesture of gratitude and humility, but there was no 
room in the cramped cubicle. I looked up into his dark 
brown chocolate eyes as my mouth was stuffed with his 
tasty prick and thought how beautiful he was and how 
grateful I was to have the opportunity of sucking him, 
and silently vowed to do my best to please him. He put 
his hand behind my head and established a back-and-
forth rhythm. 

Meanwhile, my hands were rubbing his balls and his butt 
and feeling his smooth, flat belly. Afraid that he 
would come too soon, I moved my mouth from his brown 
dick to his balls, which were draped with fine, black 
pubic hair. I took first one, then the other, and 
finally both balls into my mouth and licked and sucked 
them. 

He did not know what I wanted when I asked him to turn 
around. I think he was afraid that I wanted to fuck 
him. I finally whispered, "Can I lick your ass?" With 
some reluctance, he turned around and bent over. 

This was something new to him, I think. I must have 
been the first cocksucker to really worship his ass. It 
was beautifully shaped, as elegant as the rest of him. 
It was very hairy, with just a hint of sweat and musk. 
I slowly licked out his dark crack, circling around the 
anus itself, and then lapped hungrily at the delicately 
flavored, lightly pink hole. He could take my tongue in 
his ass for only a few minutes, it excited him so. He 
quickly turned around and fed me his thick, copious 
cum. 

We were both sweaty from our exertions. "You can suck 
me tomorrow," he said, in a very slight Cuban accent, 
as he buttoned up, "Meet me in Himes at 11:30." I had 
to cut a class, but I was in Himes at 11:30 the next 
day. So was he. 

He may have been initially surprised by my wanting to 
suck his ass, but that is what he came to love most, 
and he came to expect it as a matter of course, 
sometimes before I had even mouthed his prick. He would 
bend over and thrust his buns in my face. I would 
spread his cheeks with my hands and root around with my 
tongue and nose in his ass, eating out the hole and 
licking the thick hair that surrounded it, trying to 
lose myself in his warm funkiness. 

He would sometimes reach around and clasp my head with 
his hand, jamming my head as deeply into his ass as it 
would go, trying to smother me in his butt. I never 
felt as content as when I was frantically licking and 
sucking his hole, stuffing my tongue up his velvet-
skinned butt. Although he had indicated on his initial 
note to me that he wanted to fuck, he never asked to 
fuck me. He always wanted his dick and ass eaten. 

Like most of the guys I sucked, I had no relationship 
with him outside the johns, which was another world for 
most of these guys, rigidly separated from their real 
worlds. I would see him occasionally walking with his 
friends on campus. He would resolutely ignore me, and I 
knew better than to speak to him. 


Chapter 3: Macho Man
 

There was another Cuban that I sucked a lot in my last 
two years. A very macho guy, big but not muscular. He 
was one of the horniest people I ever knew. He always 
had a hard on. He seemed perpetually in need of a 
blowjob. One semester he and I both had a class in the 
same building (not together) at 8:30 in the morning on 
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. 

We fell into a routine of meeting in a john in a 
neighboring building every morning around 8:00 a.m. 
that semester and I would suck him off first thing in 
the morning, then go to class with dick-breath and with 
the satisfaction of having helped him out. It was a 
fine way to begin the day for both of us. 

But I sucked this guy many other times as well, 
sometimes two or even three or four times a day. He 
seldom went into the stalls, he would flop his big dick 
out as he stood at the urinal and wait for a cocksucker 
to bite. He was as obsessed with getting his dick 
sucked as I was with sucking dick. So we made a great 
duo, fitting together like lock and key. 

Unlike the other Cuban, he was not very good looking 
and there was nothing elegant about him. In fact, he 
was gross in some ways. He had a very heavy beard, and 
he did not shave every day, so he also seemed a little 
sinister. His body, including his back, was covered 
with thick hair. He was something of a slob and sweated 
too much, and his underwear was usually stained, front 
and rear. 

I sometimes got tired of sucking him, especially if he 
had already come twice that day. Even his cut dick was 
almost too big. It was a fleshy sausage of a thing. It 
must have been about six inches when soft and it 
swelled to 8 or 9 inches when hard. His cum was thin 
and also notably bitter, almost like acid. In short, he 
was not on the face of it a very attractive person. 

Yet I found him very magnetic. I loved the perversity 
of getting on my knees to him. He would rub his big 
dick all over my face, muttering "suck, suck, suck" and 
then spout a litany in Spanish. He liked to fuck my 
face, holding on to my ears to steady my head. 

He expressed no desire to fuck me, and, unlike the 
other Cuban, he had no interest in having his ass 
licked. He didn't even like me playing with his ass 
while I sucked him. Considering that personal hygiene 
was not his strong suit that was probably just as well. 
But had he wanted my tongue up his ass, I wouldn't have 
hesitated, so devoted was I to providing good service. 


Chapter 4: The Geek and the Goodlooker 


I had a fixation on another guy who by any rational 
standard was quite unattractive. This guy was pudgy, 
wore glasses, was losing his hair prematurely, his body 
was a little "soft," he looked like a geek, had a 
distinct body odor, sported a plastic pencil holder in 
his shirt, and dressed atrociously. Yet somehow he 
excited me greatly. 

Perhaps it was because I knew he was married to a girl 
from my area of the state. One morning in the student 
union, as I was taking a break from my job as busboy, I 
saw their picture in the society page of the local 
newspaper. I was painfully conscious of the fact that 
my family was terribly poor and the girl he married was 
from one of the wealthiest families in the state, and 
the knowledge that I was sucking her equally wealthy 
husband may have contributed to my fixation on him. 

I wondered a lot about his marriage, especially since 
his wife was not only rich but also a great beauty. I 
sucked him off so often, I wondered how much he had 
left for her. 

But my excitement for him was also due to the fact that 
he had an air of sexual confidence that counteracted 
his unattractive appearance. He just knew that a 
cocksucker would be entranced by his big, floppy 
sausage. It was one of those dicks that never seem to 
get completely hard, but that are wonderfully pleasant 
to nurse on, and then suddenly turns to steel as it 
shoots out an unexpected load. 

Whenever this guy saw me sitting on a toilet in Allen 
Hall, the English department building whose marble 
palace of a john featured a long row of urinals in 
front of a long row of stalls whose doors had been 
removed, he knew I was there for only one purpose: to 
eat dick. He would just walk up and stick his prick in 
my mouth. He knew that I would never say no to it. 

He was friends with another married guy that I also 
sucked fairly often and on a couple of occasions I 
sucked them together. The other guy was tall and good-
looking, with a dark complexion and a military bearing. 
He was usually very well dressed, wearing at least a 
white shirt and tie. In some ways, he was the 
antithesis of the geek, yet the two of them seemed to 
be close friends. The fact that they sometimes cruised 
together was very unusual, since most straight guys who 
got blown in the johns were very secretive. 

On one occasion, I remember them coming into the Allen 
Hall john together. They were in the midst of a 
conversation as they went to the urinal and took a 
leak. I was sitting on the toilet in a doorless stall. 

After pissing, the tall, dark-complexioned guy walked 
over to me, holding out his prick. I dutifully fell to 
my knees and began mouthing his dark, mushroom-headed 
dick. The other guy went to one of the mirrors and 
combed his hair. As I was sucking, the two of them 
continued talking about going out to a movie with their 
wives on Saturday night. 

When the dark complexioned guy shot his slightly bitter 
load, I swallowed it down, and looked up to see the 
other guy with his dick out. After I took his cock into 
my mouth and it had swelled to full erection, the nerdy 
guy turned around, telling me to "Eat my ass." As they 
casually continued their conversation, I sucked and 
licked as directed. 

I remember the geeky guy telling the good-looking guy 
that I was a very talented asslicker and he ought to 
make sure I sucked out his asshole. (The good-looking 
guy was in a hurry to get to a class then, but during a 
later encounter he had me clean out his ass good and 
subsequently came to expect asslicking automatically.) 

The geeky guy finally shot his load in my mouth. He 
patted my head after he came, a regular practice of his 
that I liked, but could never figure out whether it was 
intended as a gesture of affection or of dismissal. I 
kissed the hand that patted my head. 


Chapter 5: The Cajun
 

I also remember a good-looking Cajun who saw me peeping 
at him as I sat on the toilet and he stood at the 
urinal in the same john. I don't think he was actually 
cruising himself, but he noticed my interest. He came 
over to me and asked, "Do you suck cock?" I nodded, and 
he said "Meet me in the next building and I'll feed 
you. But don't follow too closely. I don't want to be 
seen with a fruit." 

As it turned out, Claude was really terrific. He knew 
how to make a cocksucker work for his supper. I sucked 
him fairly often. He never cruised the johns himself, 
but occasionally we would run into each other on 
campus, then one time he asked for my telephone number 
and for the rest of his senior (my junior) year he 
would call me when he was horny and arrange to meet at 
a particular time in a quiet, second floor men's room 
in an out-of-the way building. 

Although I came to practically worship him, there was a 
distinct edge to him. He could be very charming, but he 
could also be very cutting. He once said, "I think 
you're pretty sick to want to suck dick, and even 
sicker to eat assholes. I can't for the life of me see 
what the fuck you could get out of it. But if you're 
sick enough to do it, I'll be happy to take advantage 
of your depravity." On another occasion, he asked why I 
liked to lick his ass. 

I acknowledged that part of the impulse was self-
abasement, but also tried to compare it with what I 
thought he might enjoy, so I suggested that it was 
similar to cunnilingus, that it fulfilled the same 
need. He found the suggestion deeply offensive. "Only a 
sick motherfucking faggot would compare pussy eating 
and asslicking," he roared. "Eating a clean pussy is 
healthy. Only a sick-o fruit like you would eat out an 
asshole," he said, not altogether facetiously. 

His dick was not terribly long, but it was dark and 
thick and hard and cut. It oozed a lot of pre-cum from 
its large head. He liked to use his dick as a kind of 
weapon, stabbing me with it. He also liked his balls 
and dark, hairy ass sucked and he delighted in giving 
orders and in trash talking. 

He would occasionally ram his dick up my ass, but that 
was rare since I usually serviced him in cramped johns. 
Once, however, he took me to his dorm room. He really 
put me through my paces then, calling me "cocksucker" 
and "asslicker" and "faggot." He lay on his bed and I 
knelt by the side with his dick in my mouth. While I 
sucked him, he swatted my ass and then started 
fingering my "pussy," as he referred to my asshole. 

He finally fucked me with great brutality. Then, in a 
gesture that endeared him to me, he held me closely, 
expressing some unexpected but welcome tenderness. He 
even kissed my forehead. I responded intensely to his 
unpretentious and natural assumption of superiority. 

I once saw him at a formal party that I worked in the 
Union. He was handsome as hell, dressed in a tux, and 
he had a beautiful young woman on his arm. As I went 
around with a tray of hors d'ouevres, he winked at me, 
perhaps enjoying the absurdity of the situation and 
acknowledging our secret relationship. 


Chapter 6: The Happy Fella
 

I also remember a very relaxed, good-natured, 
completely laid back married guy that I sucked fairly 
often. He was very different from the Cajun. He was 
stocky and dark-haired and genial, with a very shiny 
wedding band. He smelled of Old Spice after shave 
lotion. 

His dick was about 6 inches. It had been cut, but there 
was some skin left. It got very hard, and he liked to 
thrust it down my throat, but he was gentle and polite. 
After he came, he would always say, "Thanks. You do a 
great job!" He was nice-looking without being truly 
handsome. There was something pleasant and happy go 
lucky about him that was very appealing. I was always 
happy to suck him. 

He was someone I thought I probably could get to know 
outside the johns, but it never developed. When I saw 
him around campus, he would--unlike most of the guys I 
serviced--speak and smile, and sometimes he would ask, 
"Are you hungry? I'm kinda horny," and off we would go 
in search of a quiet john where I could take the starch 
out of his dick. 

I'm not sure of this, but I somehow got the impression 
that his wife remained in their hometown in the 
northern part of the state and that he only saw her on 
alternate weekends. If so, that probably explains his 
perpetual horniness. In my junior year, I probably got 
more cum from him than his wife did. He was a genuinely 
nice guy. 


Chapter 7: The Body Builder
 

There was also a really handsome guy with an incredibly 
muscular physique and a big rock-hard dick that I 
sucked several times at night outdoors in a Greek 
Theatre that was built into a hillside. I met him one 
night as I was walking through the theatre on a 
shortcut to a diner where I was working at the time. I 
almost stumbled over him as he lay on the ground. 

I noticed that he had a big lump in his pants, so, 
glancing meaningfully at his crotch, I asked if he 
needed any help. He said, almost under his breath, "Are 
you offering me a blow job?" When I answered yes, he 
pulled his big prick out of his pants and said, "Hop to 
it." 

His name was Doug and he came from a suburb of New 
Orleans. He did not cruise the johns, but we 
rendezvoused several times in the Greek Theatre. He 
smelled wonderful, the odor of sandalwood, and it was a 
pleasure to revel in his gorgeous, almost hairless, 
silky- smooth body. His dick was straight and over-
sized, with a large head and a big piss-hole. 

He was proud of his extraordinary body, and he enjoyed 
the body worship. But I had the feeling that he was 
deeply unhappy about something. As we lay together 
under the stars on warm nights, he would talk about his 
father as I licked his entire body. I could never 
understand enough of the rap about his father to know 
exactly what the problem was. 

Finally, after I had tongued and nosed all around, he 
would pull me between his legs and place my mouth on 
his dick and rhythmically rock my head up and down 
until he came, at which point he would jam his long 
cock down my throat. His cum had a distinctive walnutty 
taste. 


Chapter 8: Midnight Caller
 

During my senior year, when I shared an apartment off-
campus, I met a tall, skinny blond guy named Jerry. He 
was very pale, with smooth and creamy skin and bright 
blue eyes. I met him in a john and I would often do him 
on campus, but he also would sometimes call up at 
midnight wanting to know if he could come by for a blow 
job. I never told him no. 

Although I was poor as a mouse, and could not afford to 
drink myself, I began buying six-packs of his favorite 
beer so there would be something for him to drink when 
he came over. When he entered my bedroom, he would 
begin unfastening his pants. When he had taken them 
off, he would nearly always say, "Shit, I'm as horny as 
an armadillo. Get to sucking, man." 

Jerry had a long, thin, cut dick, and strawberry blond 
pubic hair. He liked to fuck me in both my mouth and my 
ass and to sit on my face, really grinding his skinny 
butt in my nose and mouth. 

One time he brought a friend who was visiting him from 
New Orleans. One of them fucked me while I sucked the 
other. Then they switched. The friend was Jerry's 
opposite in appearance, being short, dark and hairy, 
with a big dick and heavy balls. They made a handsome 
couple, and I wondered if they might really be 
attracted to each other but could only have sex with 
each other by using me. But maybe they were just good 
friends. 

Jerry had a kinky streak. He whipped my ass with a belt 
once and pissed in my mouth once. His long dick really 
got hard as he used his belt on my ass. He was sitting 
on the couch in my living room. I was kneeling between 
his legs, and he swung the belt with his right hand 
while he used his left hand to guide my head up and 
down on his dick. I noticed the correlation between his 
whipping and his erection and realized that the 
whipping really turned him on. He finally held my head 
down and spurted a big load into my mouth. 

The time he pissed in my mouth was one night when he 
was drunk before he even called and proceeded to drink 
several beers as I sucked him. He said, "I gotta get 
rid of this beer before I can come. Watch out!" and 
proceeded to let go. It was weak piss, with a sweet 
taste, and I guzzled it down. 

I enjoyed these experiences because they gave Jerry 
pleasure, but he never repeated them and I consequently 
never really developed a taste for either drinking piss 
or getting whipped, and no one else I knew during those 
years was into such fetishes. 

I often saw Jerry around campus with his girlfriend and 
with other guys; he never spoke. He was very popular 
and a member (maybe even president) of a fraternity. I 
think he was also involved in student government. He 
lived in a very different world from me. But he had 
needs that only a cocksucker like me could meet, and I 
was grateful for his midnight visits. 


Chapter 9: Tiny Dick 

There was another guy whom I remember vividly, a little 
older than most students. So he must have been a grad 
student or an administrator of some kind. He always 
wore a tie. He was very good looking with an open Irish 
face, sandy blond hair, green eyes, and gleaming white 
teeth. He was married, as his wedding ring attested. 
His dick was tiny (really tiny), and I wondered whether 
he could satisfy his wife. 

It was only about an inch soft and about two inches 
hard. He had a beautiful fleshy ass that I loved to 
suck. The buns were alabaster white, with only a few 
wisps of ginger hair in the crack, and the purplish 
hole itself was small and perfectly formed and 
eminently lickable, smooth as velvet and pliant to the 
tongue. I loved to lap his hole and to stick my tongue 
up it. 

He was always scrupulously clean, but he had a 
distinctive odor that I liked to take in with deep 
breaths as I buried my face in his buns. 

I did him often my last two years and it was always 
great. I treated his small dick with all the respect 
and awe that I would accord a big one. And anyway, I 
loved sucking his ass so much I probably would have 
serviced him even if he had no dick at all. But I 
suspect size queens or women may have turned him down 
or made fun of him because of his tiny meat, so I think 
he was happy that I was so genuinely enthusiastic about 
servicing him and so respectful of his equipment. 

I would hold his dick in my mouth for a long time after 
he shot, carefully nursing out any seepings, and then 
blow it dry and kiss its head before returning it to 
his boxer shorts. 

One day around noon I passed him as I hurried to a 
classroom building to take a three-hour exam. He 
stopped and asked if I could come to his place and suck 
him off. His wife would be away until 3:00 p.m. 
Inasmuch as I had previously only done him in johns, 
this would have been great. 

But, alas, I had the exam to take and told him I 
couldn't. I never saw him again. I regret not saying to 
hell with the exam! 


Chapter 10: Country Boy 


I also remember a lanky kid with a country accent. He 
must have been a freshman when I was a senior. He was 
good looking in a hick kind of way, with regular 
features, dark eyes, brown hair, freckled face. He came 
up to me in the halls of a classroom building at a time 
when I was definitely not cruising and, out of the 
blue, asked, "Do you suck?" 

He made no effort to keep his voice down. He must have 
noticed me cruising the johns on another occasion, so 
maybe this was not as bold as it seemed at the time. 
But such openness violated the entire code of anonymity 
on which the john culture thrived. He must have been 
really horny. 

I was a little startled, but quickly gulped, "Yes." He 
said, "Follow me" and led me to a quiet john where I 
sat on the toilet and swallowed his proffered dick. 

He was desperate for a blow job. His standard six-
incher shot off a heavy load in about ten seconds. But 
when I started to pull away, he said, "Keep sucking" 
and proceeded to get hard again. This time he fucked my 
face for about five minutes before shooting another 
sweet and ample load. 

I saw this guy a couple of times more before I 
graduated. He told me that he had never been sucked 
until he started college, but, knowing that blow jobs 
were so readily available, he didn't like to jack off 
now. That may explain why he always had such heavy 
loads.   

During the week, I sucked cock on campus, but during 
the weekends I would often go into town and cruise an 
area near the old state capitol building, where there 
were two bus stations and a train station, all of which 
had johns, as did a couple of hotels located in the 
area. 

One street was particularly notorious as a place to 
make assignations. Guys looking for cocksuckers would 
either drive their cars slowly down the street, or 
would park and wait for the cocksuckers to come up to 
the car and make contact with them. 


Chapter 11: Golden Boy
 

I remember one hot night during my senior year walking 
up to this shiny red corvette parked there. The driver 
was as sleek and beautiful as the car. He was a very 
handsome preppy type, a freshman at the university, but 
one whom I had never seen in the johns on campus. I 
said, "How's it going," and he replied, a little 
nervously, but with authority, "I need a blow job. Do 
you suck?" 

He made it very emphatic that "I'm not that way myself" 
and that he was interested in a completely one-way 
transaction. Dazzlingly good-looking, he had a natural, 
perfectly unselfconscious arrogance about him, but 
seemed inexperienced with the scene. 

I got in and as he drove away I groped him and played 
with his dick. "You're really asking for it, aren't 
you?" he said. Hanging from the rear-view mirror was a 
woman's garter, perhaps a trophy or a memento from a 
girlfriend. 

He finally pulled over near a pedestrian bridge that 
spanned a busy highway. He said the bridge would be a 
good place to get blown because you could see if anyone 
approached. So we mounted the bridge, he leading the 
way. Although I was three years older and a couple of 
inches taller, he was clearly in charge. 

When he found what he thought was a safe spot, he 
unbuttoned his cutoffs and pulled them and his 
sparkling white jockey shorts down. He put his hands on 
my shoulders and pushed me to my knees. I eagerly took 
his pretty, rock-hard 7" dick in my mouth and started 
sucking. His crotch emitted a heavenly odor, musk and 
nervous sweat over a mildly scented soap. 

He was so good-looking, and his skin so smooth and 
firm, I wanted to do an excellent job for him. I deep-
throated him and he bucked into my mouth for about five 
minutes. I captured his balls in my mouth and sucked 
them good. "Nice," he said. Then I asked him, "Can I 
lick your ass?" He seemed a little startled by the 
request, but turned around to present me with his 
perfectly shaped melon butt. 

There were only a few strands of brown hair surrounding 
his luscious hole. I licked his crack and burrowed into 
his deeply recessed hole with my tongue, enjoying the 
sweaty taste and intoxicating aroma. He almost went 
crazy. He bucked back in my face and reached his hands 
behind him to try to spread his buns even further 
apart, so I could stuff my tongue further into his 
hole. He exclaimed, "Wow! That's good. Really good." 
Apparently, he'd never been rimmed before. 

But, luckily, in the midst of all this heavy breathing, 
he noticed that a police car had pulled up and two 
young cops were mounting the steps to the bridge. I 
jumped up from my knees. We quickly got ourselves 
together, he pulling up his cutoffs and tucking in his 
shirt, me trying to dust off the dirt on the knees of 
my pants and to wipe off the sweat and spit on my face 
that had been buried in the young man's buns. 

I almost panicked but he handled the whole thing with 
great aplomb. He told the cops he just wanted to see 
the view from the bridge. He clearly was used to 
dealing with people from a position of authority. He 
gave off a kind of imperious confidence. As the cops 
left, they were calling him "Yes, sir" and apologizing 
for any inconvenience. They just ignored me. I wonder 
if they suspected what was going on? 

He hadn't got off and he was still horny. He lived in a 
frat house on campus, so we couldn't go there. And for 
some reason we couldn't go to my place--maybe my 
roommate was home. But the dazzling freshman was so 
turned on by the sucking, and especially the ass 
licking, that he decided to rent a motel room. I told 
him I would do anything he liked. 

I loved expressing my subservience to this golden boy. 
I was a senior, he was a freshman; I was 21, he was 
probably 18; but we came from very different 
backgrounds. He was from a very wealthy family and knew 
how to give orders to servants and others. In contrast, 
I came from a very poor family and was struggling via 
scholarships and menial jobs to get through college. 
Somehow, I found those contrasts very erotic, and it 
just seemed perfectly appropriate to both of us that I 
should be the golden boy's slave. 

In the motel room he sprawled naked on the bed and I 
worshipped his body. I spent about four hours sucking 
him in every possible position. He surrendered his 
tanned, well developed, athletic body to my tongue. I 
really ate out his gorgeous ass and licked his white 
buns. 

He sat on my face and had me tongue-fuck his ass. Then 
he'd lie on his stomach, and I would get between his 
legs and lick his buns and asshole. Then he'd turn over 
and I'd suck his cock. After coming twice in my mouth, 
he finally decided he wanted to fuck me. We had no 
lubricant, so he sent me out to buy a tube of k-y 
jelly. When I returned, he gave me a really vigorous 
fucking. I felt completely fulfilled, even if my tongue 
and asshole were sore. It was a great evening. 

A couple of weeks later, just as the semester was 
nearly over and I was preparing to leave for good, I 
ran into him on campus. We were both on the way to the 
library. Neither of us was cruising at the time. But 
when he saw me, he looked around to see that no one he 
knew was in the vicinity, and said, "Meet me in the 
upstairs john in 5 minutes." I did as he told me. 

I was sitting on the john waiting for him as he came in 
sporting a hard-on. I sank to my knees as he stuck his 
pretty dick in my mouth and placed his hands on the 
back of my head. After shooting one load, he turned 
around and stuck his ass in my face. "Lick it," he 
ordered, and my tongue went to work. "Clean out my ass 
for me," he said, as I smothered myself in his 
perfectly clean, preppy butt. He shot another load 
before we parted. I said, "Thank you" and he ruffled my 
hair. It was the last time I saw him. 


Chapter 12: The Midget
 

In the same downtown cruising area, I met a midget. He 
must have been about 40 and about 4-feet tall with dark 
red hair and a bushy mustache. He was hefty and his 
hips were large. He drove a big car, maybe a Cadillac 
or Pontiac, and smoked a big cigar. I went up to the 
parked car. He said, "I'm looking for a queer. Do I 
have the right party?" 

A little startled by his use of the word "queer," which 
in those days spelled utter contempt, I nevertheless 
said, "Sure." I got into the car and reached over to 
his lap. His pants were unbuttoned and his big, juicy, 
uncut dick was exposed. I played with it as he drove 
back to my place. "You like big dicks, don't you?" he 
observed. 

We went into my bedroom, where I got on my knees in 
front of a floor-length mirror and began to worship his 
big piece of meat. It was cut and about 7 inches long. 
It would have been large on anyone, but on him it 
looked enormous, it was so out of proportion to the 
rest of his body. 

He was so short that even on my knees I was taller than 
he was and I had to bend over to take his dick in my 
mouth. He really loved it. He especially enjoyed 
watching himself in the mirror as he dominated me with 
his prick. 

He put me through my paces. He made me lick his feet 
and suck his balls. He would fuck me for a while, then 
take it out of my ass, and make me go down on it again, 
all the while puffing away on his cigar. He talked 
about his having wanted to find a queer for a long 
time. He said "Yeah, my buddy was right. He told me 
that faggots are better cocksuckers than broads any 
day." 

I suspect what he liked even more than the cocksucking 
itself was my submissiveness to him. He wound up 
shooting a big load on my face. I remember spreading 
the cum all around my face with my hands before I rose 
to my feet and went to the bathroom to wash it off. I 
brought back a wet soapy washcloth and lovingly cleaned 
up the midget's private parts. 

I really enjoyed it. I don't know why I never saw him 
again. But I suspect that the whole encounter may have 
been a kind of aberration for him. I think he may have 
been a little embarrassed by his own dominant streak 
and by the perversity of the situation. I would have 
sucked him whenever he wanted it. 


Chapter 13: The Aloof Man
 

Another guy I met in that area I sucked off pretty 
regularly, perhaps once a month. He was a man in his 
thirties, with thick, slicked back dirty blond hair. He 
resembled James Dean in his build and coloration. 
Although he was slightly built, he exuded a sense of 
danger somehow. He seemed like a tightly coiled spring. 
I had the impression that he lived in a small town 
about 50 or more miles away and would drive in on the 
weekend for a blow job. He wore a wedding band. 

I originally met him in the bus station john, where he 
stood at the urinal and exposed his skinny 7-inch cut 
dick. But most often I would meet him in his parked 
car. As soon as he saw me approaching, he would unlock 
the car door and unzip his pants. After I got in the 
car and he had muttered a greeting, he would drive off 
in search of a secluded place. I would sometimes 
attempt a conversation, but he would have none of it. I 
guess he didn't want to waste time hearing a cocksucker 
talk. 

After a minute or so, he would grab my head and pull it 
down to his dick and I would nurse on it as he drove. I 
remember loving the whiff I got of his body odor and 
the fleshy smoothness of his prick as it slowly 
hardened in my mouth. He would finally park, push back 
the car seat, and then get down to some serious face 
fucking. 

He would say things like, "Eat it, dicklover. That's 
it, take it all the way down your motherfucking throat, 
you bitch." 

When he shot, he'd say "Don't waste a drop. Swallow it 
all." Then, with great deliberation, he would remove my 
mouth from his dick, carefully wipe off his dick with a 
white handkerchief, button up his pants, return the car 
seat to its original position, put the car in gear, and 
drive back to where he had picked me up, saying not a 
word. When we had gotten back to where we had met, he 
would reach over and open the door on my side of the 
car and say, "Get out." 

He was downright unfriendly, but somehow his aloofness 
and taciturnity turned me on, and whenever I saw his 
car parked on the street, I would eagerly head right on 
over to it. 


Chapter 14: Divorced Man
 

Another guy I saw several times was one I nicknamed 
"Divorced man." I'm not sure why, but I had the 
impression that he had just left his wife. He lived in 
a small apartment in a big house near the bus station. 
He was in his late thirties or early forties, with 
thinning dark hair, but very handsome in a hyper-
masculine way. 

He gave off the aura of an injured man, which may be 
why he always seemed potentially dangerous and violent 
to me, which paradoxically only increased his 
attraction in my eyes. 

I met him in a hotel john, where he was sporting a big 
hard-on as he stood close to the urinal. When I licked 
my lips, he gave me a clearer view of his fat dick. It 
must have been about 7 inches long, and very thick and 
dark. "I'm not interested in any fag romancing, just in 
cornholing," he said bluntly. "Can you take this up 
your ass?" When I assured him that I could, we left for 
his place. 

He discouraged conversation as we walked along, 
answering my questions with grunts. When we got to his 
place, we immediately went into the tiny bedroom. I 
fell to my knees and took his dick out of his pants and 
went down on him. But he pulled me up, saying, "I don't 
want to get sucked, I want to fuck." We took off our 
clothes and got into his single bed. 

He had me oil up my ass and sit on his dick. It was 
quite a struggle getting the thick dick up my ass. But 
as soon as I was comfortable with it, he decided that 
he did not like looking at my dick, so he made me get 
off and remount him with my back facing him. 

After readjusting to the beercan-sized dick in my ass, 
I bounced up and down, really enjoying myself. After he 
shot off up my ass, he made me dismount and clean his 
dick with my mouth. "Don't you think you should lick my 
cock clean?" he asked, as I felt his spent prick ooze 
out of my hole, but the edge to his voice indicated 
that it was not a question. 

On subsequent meetings, once after picking him up in 
the bus station john and once in a hotel john, I got in 
some more extensive dick sucking, but he always wound 
up having me fuck myself on his big dick. He called me 
"bitch" and "girlie" and liked to redden my ass with 
open-handed slaps. Since I am not effeminate, these 
terms surprised me. 

But compared to him almost anyone appeared effeminate, 
and maybe it was necessary for him to think of queers 
as girlish, or maybe it was just a way to humiliate me. 
In any case, he really turned me on, but I was a little 
frightened of him. He is someone whom I knew it would 
be dangerous to cross in any way.

I also felt that he was badly hurt and saddened by 
something, probably a divorce or some other traumatic 
experience. 


Chapter 15: The Thai Guy
 

Another memorable encounter was with a Thai man, 
probably in his early or mid-twenties. He was actually 
quite unattractive. He was a short, thin, dark brown 
(almost black) young man, with a kind of squashed-up 
monkey face. I probably would not have been at all 
interested except that when I encountered him in the 
hotel john, he made it perfectly clear that he expected 
me to bend over for him. "I fuck, you suck," he said in 
broken but pointed English. 

We went to his room in the hotel. He had a six-inch 
dick, uncut, with a big head. Although his face was 
unattractive, his smooth brown body was hard and 
compact, with satin skin that was wonderful to run my 
hands over. It turned out that he was absolutely magic 
in bed, self-assured and naturally dominant. His cock 
was wonderful to suck, silky and potent. 

As he lay on the bed with his arms behind his head, he 
said, "Suck." I began giving him head. I slipped my 
tongue under his foreskin and savored the spicy juices 
there. Then I felt his hands on my head, demanding that 
I deep-throat him. He really knew how to jam the cock 
down my throat. 

He then sat on my face, rubbing his boyishly skinny ass 
all over my face, leaving a trail of spit on my face, 
but returning to place his dark, hairless hole right 
over my tongue. "Suck," he barked. I forced several 
inches of tongue up his ass. 

He then climbed off my face and raised my legs over my 
shoulders and proceeded to fuck me better than I have 
ever been fucked before or since. I think it must have 
been something in his rhythm and in the relentlessness 
of his strokes. He fucked for a very long time, in 
several different positions, side to side, the 
missionary position, his riding my back, etc., and my 
ass responded more fully to a fucking than it ever had 
before or since. 

I bucked back, meeting his thrusts with my own. We both 
emitted loud sighs and "ahs" as we thrust at each 
other. I wound up shooting a load simply from being 
fucked, something that has never happened to me any 
other time. When he pulled out of me, I eagerly sucked 
his shriveling dick clean, wanting to pay him homage 
for having made me respond so fully. "Good suck, good 
fuck," he said. 

I started out very unenthusiastic about this encounter, 
but ended it absolutely enthralled. I felt well and 
truly fucked. Unfortunately, I never saw him again. I 
think he must have been in town on business. 


Chapter 15: The Professor
 

Another guy I only saw once, but whom I still remember 
was "The Professor." He was a professor from Kansas (I 
think) in town for a conference. I met him downtown, in 
a hotel john, where he showed a big dick as he stood 
next to me at a trough urinal. When he saw me eyeing 
it, he asked "Are you a cocksucker?" 

When I nodded, he said, "Then I guess you'll like 
this," as he gave me a more complete view. "Do you like 
to suck a long time?" he wanted to know. "I mean 
several hours," he added. When I said yes, he said 
"Let's see how good you are." I knelt by the urinal and 
went down on him. Apparently I passed his test, for he 
pulled me up from my knees, and said, "Let's go to my 
room." 

We took a cab to the campus, where he was staying in a 
conference center dorm. He was a tall, lanky guy, 
probably in his mid to late 40s. He had a salt-and-
pepper beard and was balding on top and had thick bushy 
eyebrows. His body was tough and wiry and he was very 
virile. His dick was both thick and long. And he had 
remarkable staying power. I sucked him for over 2 
hours. 

He was married, and normally did not fuck around with 
men, he said, but on trips he liked to find a 
longwinded cocksucker to really do a good job on his 
peter. He told me about a cocksucker he met in New York 
at Rockefeller Center who could suck for hours. The New 
York cocksucker was apparently the best he had ever had 
and he implied that my performance would be measured 
against his. 

He lay down on his bed, and I got between his legs. As 
I started to suck him, I began to masturbate myself. 
When he noticed that I was playing with my cock, he sat 
up and forcefully knocked my hands away. He said, 
"You're here to suck, not to jerk off. Pay attention to 
my cock not yours." 

He had no interest in fucking or in getting rimmed, 
emphatically discouraging my attempts to lick his balls 
or to nose beneath them. "Stay on the dick," he said. 
He just wanted his dick sucked for a long time. He 
would occasionally say something like "Ah, that feels 
good. That's the way. Suck it!" but mostly he was 
silent, wrapped up in the pleasure of receiving a blow 
job just the way he wanted it. 

By the time he shot, my jaw was aching, but I was happy 
to oblige him. As I was leaving, he said, "Here's a 
tip," and slipped a $5.00 bill in my hand. I was unsure 
whether he intended the tip as a compliment or an 
insult. Now I think he meant it as a token of 
appreciation for a job well done, though clearly he 
thought of cocksuckers as simply a cheaper kind of 
whore. 

Epilog:

I doubt that these are memories that the Alumni 
magazine would be interested in publishing, but the 
secret society of the johns was an important part of 
the college experience for a lot of us, either as 
"college cocksuckers" or as the larger group of horny 
guys who needed blow jobs. Admittedly, my career as 
college cocksucker was extreme. I had almost no social 
life, between my jobs, my studying, and my compulsive 
cocksucking. Yet I was not unhappy, and I regret 
nothing. 

Interestingly, my obsession with cocksucking subsided 
almost immediately upon graduation, only to 
periodically resurface since then. I developed better 
social skills, made friends, succeeded in my career, 
even found a lover, yet I remember the guys I serviced 
in college with great fondness. I like to think that I 
helped make them happy. I am grateful to them for 
providing me bright moments of joy. I wonder if any of 
them will be attending the reunion this year. 

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 44