Coming of Age in Kentucky

This is a fictional original story. KCS does not exist except in my imagination. The plot is simple: a freshman, inexperienced boy discovers the dimensions of his sexuality through his roommate. All characters engaged in sexual activities are over 18 as should be any reader where local law demands. Copyright, 2023, all rights reserved. BD

Britt Edwards had reported two weeks early for the start of classes at Kentucky Central State. He had been awarded an unusual "conditional" football scholarship after placing nationally as a wide receiver in his senior year at Christian Valley Regional—a small unknown school without a demonstrable football pedigree in Southern Illinois. He had been recruited by the new coach, a well-respected star in mid-level college athletics. He was a risk, but the recruiter felt he had potential which had not been tapped. KCS, a relatively new school in Lexington, was "on the make" and had secured a newly-created slot in the Middle Atlantic Football League and even a small television contract for its four home games.

The coaching staff had gone all-out and actually found more players than they could accommodate on the freshmen, JV and Varsity teams—under league rules. Thus Britt was on a "two week trial" to determine whether he had the stamina, physical strength and athletic skill to place on any of the teams. Thus, he was playing for his life—his parents could not afford the KCS tuition, and, if the football scholarship didn't materialize, he would be headed home and a community college or an unintended "gap year"—after the summer "camp".

So Britt was giving these scrimmages everything—despite the intense late summer heat. He was a farm boy—with the tanned milk-fed complexion, bulging "farm work" muscles, and quiet demeanor to prove it. He was big—6-2 and 220, but fast and with unusually large and talented hands. He had the physique and potential to become a big-time football star.

His face was square; crowned with dark shaggy hair; his smile, hypnotizing; his eyes, the bedroom-inviting variety. And over it all, he projected innocence and kindness. He was immediately pegged as a potential "chick-magnet" or desirable "wing man" by upper class players, although he had had little or no dating experience in high school.

Because of the provisional nature of his presence (the scholarship was conditional, but not his acceptance to KCS—but this was an immaterial distinction for a poor boy), Britt was placed in one of the newer air-conditioned jock dorms—but he knew that this too was temporary. Unless by some quirk he made it onto at least the JV team, he would be relegated to one of the "old quad rooms"—two doubles, connected by a bath in an older dorm—without air conditioning and with old baths and plumbing. So he was fighting for his bed as well. The dorm was filled with athletic hopefuls—including prior varsity players. And of course typically, conversation was not about athletics, but about townies, coeds, conquests, and almost-conquests. Sexual tension pervaded the cafeteria, the game rooms, and of course, the locker and shower rooms in the nearly all-male atmosphere pre-semester. Testosterone was in the air. Ribald jokes prevailed everywhere. Jocular accusations of homo-erotic potential were constant teases.

Britt, although intense, took it all well. He had known the disappointments of farm life when the rains didn't come, or came too late, or when vermin destroyed the crop. He considered himself to be religious—at least he had attended regular Sunday services at the multi-denominational congregation near their farm, but, perhaps fortunately, he had not been indoctrinated into the hard right faith of so much of Kentucky. And he was relatively quiet, a loner.

He had dated a little in the last few years of high school, but his Dad had warned him about the country girls without college prospects—anxious to find a young, virile farm husband before graduation. And he knew not to be trapped by "accidental" pregnancy into a marriage. Thus, despite his rugged good looks, he arrived in mid-August, full of hope and enthusiasm, at the peak of amateur athleticism, and unattached, and, if the truth be known, lacking much knowledge of sex (except for an active life of self-pleasuring, aided by aged Playboys and Penthouses).

Britt was the quintessential team player. He knew all of the names and positions of his potential team mates within a week, often volunteered to help when necessary, pitched in with equipment collection and clean-up, cooperated on the field, and memorized plays carefully. And he was good, really good on the field. He seemed to be able to snatch passes miraculously from impossible situations—and then turn, slip out of a tackle, and run. He was already a favorite of the coaching staff and his fellow mates.

Britt was successful--more than he could have hoped. At the end of the two weeks, he was chosen for the JV squad—skipping the freshmen team (and the hated "yellow shirt" insignia of a first year player) entirely. His scholarship was secure—and his room in one of the jock dorms was guaranteed.

KCS (located in the very conservative fundamentalist part of the state) had taken some heat about athletic student privileges (really a dog-whistle code for the rampant "Satanic" sexuality imagined in those dorms) and so accommodation allocations were different this year. Administrators had "concluded" that all-jock dorms were unproductive—athletes were too likely to party (orgies were commonplace), were being denied the inexpensive opportunity for ad hoc tutoring by better students (that is, roommates), and had a tendency to ignore academic requirements until too late. So Britt got a great dorm room—a quad, air-conditioned, adjacent to the "training" cafeteria, but with an unknown and presumably academically gifted roommate with a projected major similar to his: business entrepreneurship. The roommate was to keep him in line.

Freshman week (now, thanks to PC, dubbed, "Intro Week") began after the two week football camp—but of course football practices continued. Britt's roommate arrived: a New Englander, the son of an old and apparently wealthy family, a graduate of Phillips Andover, and obviously a brain. He was smaller than Britt, but not by much, and decidedly not a weakling. He had skulled, played tennis, and for two years had been a star first baseman on the prep school's team.

He arrived late on Saturday afternoon, wearing a large back pack, apparently stuffed with at least two laptops, a Red Sox baseball cap, ear buds, a tight white polo, chinos and Docksiders. Britt was just emerging from the shower after a long day of practice. He and the roommate entered the room simultaneously from different, but adjacent doors—neither hearing the other. Britt, whose wet hair hung over his eyes and partially blinded him, ran right into the newcomer. Britt looked up, grabbed the young man to prevent a fall, and apologized profusely—as his damp towel dropped to the floor. Suddenly he realized he was naked, damp, and embracing a boy. He immediately released and reached down for the towel, his head colliding with the new guy's knee, and rewrapped—apologizing again. His face was by then a vivid red.

"Sorry. You must be my roommate. I'm Britt Edwards. What a terrible welcome and introduction. I'm not usually so clumsy."

"Wow. I'm okay. I'm Colin Edwards. It doesn't take much imagination to see how the administration paired us in this room. We are probably cousins, maybe even kissing cousins, but you might want to get something else on. The rest of my family—including two sisters—are on their way up with some of my stuff. We don't want to scare them off with that monster piece of meat hanging between your legs."

A little over an hour later, Colin had been installed in a little more than half the room—contributing a small frig, an LED, game controllers, a microwave and an espresso machine to the commonweal. Colin's family left with hugs, kisses and tears, and the boys were left alone to explore backgrounds—and later the campus.

"I'm a little surprised. I'm here to play football on a full scholarship, maybe getting some education in the process. How does a blue-blood New Englander with a prep school pedigree find his way to KCS?"

"Really simple. Granddad has a thoroughbred horse farm in Covington, about an hour north of here. He insisted since he is a trustee here and major contributor. And frankly, I barely made it through Andover. I don't much like to study. The real world is way too interesting. And I really like sex. I'm a real horndog."

"You do know that you're supposed to be the good example and tutor for this dumb jock. I assume that is how you got this dorm."

"I presume grandfather had something to do with the dorm. And that means someone is going to be short-changed. I'm prepared to show you some of the more exciting aspects of life available to young studs like you and me, but, I think you're going to be on your own with the books. I've been majoring in the good life, not the academic life so far. It's already been a long day of driving. Let me get a shower and you can show me around."

Colin stripped, showing no attempt at modesty—after all he had already seen everything that Britt had to offer. In a few minutes he emerged from the shower, toweling himself dry as his long uncut dick swung before him. Colin was the same height as Britt, but blond and blue-eyed. His body was lightly muscled, nearly hairless and his pubes had obviously been professionally groomed. Britt reddened again, turned away and dropped onto his twin. Colin for his part rummaged for clean clothes, totally unconcerned with his nudity, maybe even flirting a bit—alternately displaying a nice muscular ass and chubbed, free-hanging equipment that had probably been just-yanked in the shower. Britt noticed his large left hand and remembered he had played first base at some point. He was a little embarrassed to be thinking that Colin was probably ambidextrously masturbatory!

"Have you met any girls yet?"

"There haven't been many here. The last two weeks have been grueling practices and workouts—and entirely male. I think there are a few girls' teams here, but we've been segregated. I think the coeds—at least the first year--arrive today and tomorrow."

"Well, I guess we'll get our first view at dinner tonight—or maybe at the mixer tomorrow night. I'm ready. Let's roll."

The next hour was spent in discovery of the campus—and to a much lesser extent each other. Colin was not sure how he was going to play his new life. At Phillips he had dated some and even scored a few times, before he discovered his intrigue with same sex "activities". Discretion was absolutely essential—so he kept man-hooks off-campus, and maintained a hetero persona at school. He couldn't afford to be dismissed—although PA was technically now an "inclusive" prep school. But, it was still conservative and old-New England. So, like the military, "Don't ask, don't tell" became the rule. He was already attracted to Britt, but assumed he was a straight jock. And KCS was in the Bible belt; Kentucky was in the dark ages with respect to human sexuality. This would take time. Meanwhile, he would remain closeted, discreet, and enjoy the occasional glimpses of his hung roommate—and take his chances off-campus. He wondered if Lexington even had a gay community.

There was no question that Colin was already interested in Britt. He had a nice body. He had a nice big dick hanging over a large low hanging set of balls. And he had that classic clean innocence. Colin set a goal: I'll have him by the end of the semester. He wished there was someone with whom he could wager. He was confident of his ability to get what he wanted, very confident.

Britt on the other hand spoke freely about his past, his aspirations, and his family. He was the classic farm boy—not even familiar with the breeding of animals since their farm had been all grains, corn and heavy equipment. He had never touched an unclothed human being below the waist—except of course himself. High school dating was limited to first base. (Colin laughed at this reference and remarked, "I played first base for two years at Andover. I was pretty good.")

The discovery walk was ended with a cafeteria dinner at one of the open spots on campus. It was crowded and noisy. They sat with the football team which seemed to have already adopted Britt as a regular. All teased him about his sex appeal and how he would score at the next night's mixer. Britt had early practice the next day and so the guys returned to the dorm just after the sun set. The two guys in the adjoining room (which shared the bath) had arrived. They were both locals—one was a baseball player; the other his geeky "tutor." Introductions were exchanged and the guys sat down to a few hands of poker—Britt alone needing to be taught some of the rules. Because Britt was a neophyte player, it was decided to play strip rather than for money. Less than a half hour later, Britt was sitting nude on his bed while the other three guys had only lost shirts and shoes. He didn't seem to be particularly self-conscious about it, Colin noted.

"I guess this means I lose. I'm glad we're not playing for money—which I don't have any way. I'm going to have to do some catching up in learning this game."

"I'll be happy to tutor you on this. It is part of life. And, incidentally, you haven't lost yet—these games do have alternative loser penalties after all the clothes are gone," Colin pronounced with a knowing smile. But the "party" broke up early and everyone turned in, Colin noting that Britt didn't bother to redress to wash up and prepare for bed—and that he slept nude. He couldn't believe how far things had come in only the first day. Both guys had gotten naked in front of the other; neither seemed to mind. Colin hoped it was more than locker room casualness on Britt's part. He hoped it spilled over into casualness about sex.

Classes began a few days later and between them and football practice, Britt had little time for anything—and little time in his dorm room. And following Colin's lead, Britt slipped easily into a casual no-or-little-clothes mentality while they were in the room. Once or twice when he returned unexpectedly, he thought that Colin was concealing an erection or a just completed ejaculation, but Britt knew the pleasures of masturbation and the difficulty of finding private time to engage. When it happened again, Britt remarked, "Listen, Colin. I know we both jerk off. You don't need to hide it from me, and I won't hide it from you. Agreed?"

Colin could not believe his luck. Britt was turning into a tolerant partner! So he often waited until he knew Britt was going to be around before stroking himself to orgasm. It didn't take long. Britt was easily aroused. About a week later, after hours of quiet study, Colin began to stroke. Britt was obviously aware as he too was stiff. "That must be uncomfortable. You'll study better if you have some relief. Move over here to my bed and we'll see who shoots first and farthest." Colin wondered whether he had gone too far, too soon, but Britt rose from his desk chair and moved to the bed. It was then that Colin realized that Britt was a porn-quality grower. His seven had grown to nearly ten—and he was thick with an enormous plum-shaped-and colored knob. He was also a beautiful cut hunk of man-flesh. "Man, has anyone ever taken all of that?"

Britt laughed. No, in fact, you're the first to see it hard besides me.

"But I thought the team has nick-named you 'Britt-bait', a chick-magnet?"

"They have no idea that I'm a virgin. I'm just a poor innocent farm boy. You know, some people might think this is bit weird. Two naked guys jerking together on a bed. It seems kinda gay. Don't you think?"

"Gay is a state of mind—not a state of undress or a technique for getting off or even male on male sex. I don't feel gay at all. I like being nude. I like jerking off. And I like having company, particularly someone who looks as good as you." Moving just a bit, Colin reached over and grabbed Britt's dick with his left hand, "Let me give you a hand with this. Wow, my fist doesn't even fit around it!"

Britt was right. Colin could jerk with both hands—simultaneously! Within seconds of the grip and a few strokes, Britt tensed and shot an enormous wad that landed four feet across the room. Colin followed a few seconds later. The ice had been broken. Colin was really pleased. Britt hadn't been seduced; he had volunteered—and he didn't seem to be upset. Mutual "assisted" masturbation was now regularly on the program.

Football season started the next Saturday. The JV and Freshmen scrimmages in the afternoon had been terrific. KCS romped over a bitter rival in each game. Britt caught two touchdown passes in difficult situations. That night was the first varsity game to be televised. Britt was on the sidelines, but not suited up. League rules prohibited more than 36 to suit up, and of course, he wasn't on the varsity team. Late in the fourth quarter, however, when KCS was ahead by 8, a vicious tackle ended in a penalty—but it resulted in broken ribs and a serious hip injury to Britt's friend and mentor, Bill Casper, the star varsity wide receiver. KCS won, but the victory was Pyrrhic. It seemed that Bill would be out for several games, perhaps even the season. Coach Nielson immediately went into action, moving Britt to the varsity slot. "This may be a bit early, but I think you can grow into it. You've got the size and the talent—but we'll give you special attention in practice."

After the game, Britt was mobbed by cheerleaders and groupies. He hadn't even played in the game—but he was the star. They knew of his performance that afternoon and now they knew he was being elevated to first string varsity. One beautiful blond latched on. "I've got a car. Want to come to our pan-sorority party tonight?"

Britt agreed and soon found himself the center of attention at the large campus party. Drinks were flowing (illegally)—and Britt of course indulged. He might be a virgin, but he was not a teetotaler. After an hour of hot dancing—which grew hotter and more erotic with each passing minute, Liz carefully guided him upstairs to her room, placed a bra on the doorknob, and closed and locked the door. "Show me your moves, Britt."

"I hope I'm not going to disappoint you. I'm not very experienced."

"That's even better. I love breaking boys in." Liz began to unbutton her blouse and slipped out of her micro-mini. She was beautiful: pouty, big-bosomed, slim hipped. Britt raced to remove his shirt and jeans and stood before her with legs akimbo and his erection standing tall in his boxer-briefs. Liz licked her lips, pushed the briefs down and wrapped herself tightly around him. "Wow, you're a big one. I'm not sure I can take all of that." He moved her to the bed as he unhooked her bra and slipped his fingers under the elastic of her pink thong. He was incredibly hard and excited. This was a first—he had never had such an aggressive woman in bed. Then she stopped suddenly. "You do have condoms, I presume?"

"No, I don't. I certainly didn't expect I'd get so far tonight when I got ready earlier. I didn't even have a date."

"I'm sorry, Britt. No condom, no sex. I'm on the pill, but STDs are still a risk. But, Just to prove that I'm not a cock-tease, I'll give you a blowjob that will keep you until we can try this again." With that she bent over, took his throbbing erection head into her lipsticked lips and proceeded to give him his first ever oral sex. He warned in time, and of course: she didn't swallow. Actually, he didn't think it was such a big deal. He got better orgasms when he did himself. Then they cleaned up and rejoined the party. She didn't seem angry about the results of the evening, but Britt had a feeling she was not okay. Perhaps he should have reciprocated in some way? He'd have to discuss it with Colin, who seemed to be so worldly-wise on such matters. But, he liked Liz and was ready to take the next steps.