tagGay MaleNorth Star Ch. 03

North Star Ch. 03

byrem1324©

All characters are 18 years or older.

I appreciate your feedback in the comments.

Thank you for reading my story.

*****

The realization upon awakening that I was not alone in bed brought with it the weight of more than the left leg, arm, and head laying on top of me. This other weight was a force beyond the basic gravity of his mass. It was the paralysis that accompanies the reluctance of not wanting to wake those peacefully at rest.

I laid there as still as possible. Knowing I could neither go back to sleep nor make the slightest movement. I tried to ignore the heat radiating from the naked torso by exploring what freedom I had with my eyes. Silken blonde hair rippled as my slow breaths lifted and lowered the head resting on my sternum. An arm, with its muscles that cut shadows in the morning light, encircled my waist and terminated in a large hand. The fingers were open, trying to cover as much skin as possible. The palm was flat against my right pec. Three legs, one backwards, sprouted from my waist. The flanking extremities were dusted with light brown hair while the center grew a golden harvest that in the morning light almost became transparent. Following the foreign appendage and its crop to their origin, I gazed at the powerful mounds of muscle that controlled the leg and its unseen twin. The hair there retained its color but condensed between the mounds, sprouting from the valley. The freckle on the butt stood out as a lonely traitor against the otherwise flawless skin. The glutes joined to a thin waist sloping out to accommodate powerful muscles that laced symmetrically up his back. Up Noah's back.

I had never looked at another man this way, and certainly never thought I could find the view attractive. It was so different from a female view. Her soft curving lines and gentle touch were diametrically opposed to the one offered by my roommate. The smell was even different. Normally, when I thought of the smell of men, my mind jarringly conjured the rancid BO of incubating football jerseys in a sweltering locker room. But the passive mixing of Noah's and my sweat released a dark fragrance in which I wanted to drown. I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose greedily.

The hand on my chest tensed and the leg pulled away. I returned to the visual world to see my roommate's tousled morning hair lifting to bisect my view of the window. With his head backlit by golden rays, the muscly jock looked like some Anglo-Saxon Messiah wet dream. Noah rubbed his eyes before opening them. Even though the eyelids squinted to protect the functional parts of his eyes, I couldn't help but drift on the vast blue irises contaminated by green speckles.

"Morning," Noah said it like it was some hilarious inside joke, a verbal wink. He glanced at the teammate on which he had slept. "Dammit, did you smuggle in two pine trees while I was sleeping?" I then noticed what any man normally notices first upon waking; his penis was fully erect. Mine was and Noah's too.

"Good morning to chop some wood," I nodded back while looking at my friend's jewels. How odd that the evolution of man had led to the curious juxtaposition of hard and soft, I thought then. In the heat of sleep, the penis hardens but the scrotum softens. Noah's testicles draped across his thigh limply as his circumcised shaft pointed toward his belly button in a show of young virulence. I met Noah's eyes, lifted my body onto my elbow, and pecked Noah quickly on the mouth. While I had him distracted with my mouth, I thrust my hips so that our two hard penises collided painfully.

"Oh fuck you," Noah laughed. He grabbed his sensitive parts and fell onto the bed, kicking playfully at me as he did so.

"Okay, okay!" I conceded, and stood up next to the bed. I yawned and stretched to move the slumber from my lungs and body. Noah watched before rolling over onto his stomach. I scrounged for a towel, "Wanna shower?"

"Nah..." Noah said from across the room with his face to the wall.

I spotted his grey towel and wrapped it around my waist. "Yeah, you should probably rest anyway." I grabbed my shower caddy from the closet by the door and opened the door to leave.

"Hey," Noah tried, "just so you know, I, uh...had fun." It was sincere but wasn't playful at all.

It threw me off and I laughed awkwardly, "I'm going to the shower, not my grave. Chill out, bro. Rest." I turned and left quickly. I don't know what that was about, I thought as I stumbled to the bathroom.

The bathroom was warmer than the hall and more humid. A couple other people were showering in their stalls and I was glad to see the second best one was open. It had a good shower head, but the handle was a little loose and would slowly slip to a colder setting unless the user constantly monitored and adjusted it. I released my towel before stepping in and drawing the curtain. I placed the caddy away from the spray of the shower head, and turned the knob. Stepping underneath the cold water, a jolt awoke my body. I wet myself and then started working up some suds. I washed my face and neck before rinsing off and moving lower. The suds made my abs pop as they slid to my pubes that were shaved two days ago. As the water heated up, the easier it was to let my mind wander. Has it really only been two days? Two days ago I shaved by pubes with the rest of the team like always and then...and then Noah. My manhood drooped lower in the heat and steam.

I guess Noah wanted to talk about what we've been doing. He probably wants to have "the talk." I rolled my eyes at the thought and reached for the shampoo. It's fun with him ... but we're not going to be boyfriends. Even thinking the word made me feel awkward. I'm not that gay. The water slowly was turning colder and I moved to adjust the knob. Maybe we can just be...uh...friends with benefits? Yeah.

I tried to refocus. The football game tomorrow was important. The vikings were not going to be a cakewalk. They had this fullback who last year broke his school's record for rushing yards. Coach Grey had us linebackers focusing all week on ways to throw off the offense and stop his run game. I should have been visualizing tackles instead of Noah's abs. I slowly relaxed as the steaming water hit my chest and biceps.

Seeing my body always made me a little horny. I flexed my abs, watching them form intersections on my stomach. My quads cut lines in the light when I tensed my legs. The brown hair danced in the flow of the water. I lifted my arm and grabbed my own bicep. God I look good. No wonder guys and chicks are into this. I grabbed my penis and started rubbing the spongy organ into an engorged, veiny cock. I breathed deeply and gently caressed the sensitive head of my penis.

The pleasure sent shockwaves though my legs and up through my stomach. This morning-wood was not joking around. I gripped my shaft firmly with my right hand and spread my legs as I jerked. I had to fight back the urge to moan. With my left hand I cupped my testicles and squeezed gently. Both pain and pleasure shot through my body like salt and caramel. I continued to vigorously work my penis and squeeze on my jewels until I felt my cock head swell. I looked down as heavy, thick ropes of liquid manhood shot from the head. A small sigh escaped my mouth and I hoped no one else had heard. The cum was swept down the wall by the jet of water and disappeared down the drain. My sensitive penis slowly deflated. I was careful to avoid accidentally rubbing the head against the towel as I dried off.

Noah was sleeping again when I returned to our dorm room. The blonde slept on his right side, his hands supporting his head, his legs on top of the duvet, his penis flaccid between two game-winning-reception thighs. I smiled, but then, having realized it was too "boyfriend-y" to admire him, threw on some clothes and left for class without taking another look. I scowled internally at my perverted thoughts.

Dr. Strom was a reflective and misunderstood loner. Or maybe it was just that only other philosophers understood him. Or maybe philosophers could only be friends with each other. He was the kind of person who belonged at some liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere, and definitely not the kind of person who belonged at a religiously affiliated boarding school. Where most teachers here wore plain black or grey slacks and oversized oxford shirts, this guy somehow got away with alternating between green camouflage pants and jeans.

He always wore a white tee-shirt under a black vest with too many pockets. The vest's buttons had long ago been ripped off and the arm-holes were stretched out so that it billowed like a cape when he would turn around quickly to write on the board. Perhaps it was the plethora of pockets that so endeared the old thinker to it.

Out of his wardrobe staple's three pockets, one at the breast and two inside bilaterally, he would pull any number of objects his flexible mind may need in any given-moment. He was always prepared with props with which to explain his thinking to any person willing to listen. Beneath the faux-pas clothes was a frail body with rail thin arms and legs that seemed to exist only to support his massive head. Thee large clumps of facial hair properly distracted from his skinny jaw: a greying mustache that curled up at the ends and two bushy eyebrows. His facial hair grew in a tangled bush which fought with the surface of his skin for dominance of the air in front of his face.

Atop his mustache was a spacious nose. Below the over grown eyebrows were wild eyes which hunted the visual field for something outside of the perceptible wavelengths. The combination of his receding hairline and ponytail served to round out his entire enigmatic appearance. Why would anyone willfully choose to look so out of place in any conceivable social gathering, I wondered.

"I'm glad to see you have decided to attend my class today," Dr. Strom always addressed the class as if he were talking to a single person who had freely chosen to listen to him ramble for an hour. "As I have said before, this unit of Introductory Philosophy is meant to teach you something about morality. Of what do you think when I say the word 'morality'?"

As usual, no one raised their hand. "Either you have been swindled into attending a religious school or you are being timid, class. Failure to contribute may render this hour more boring than most can tolerate," he cautioned. His face was stern, but I thought I saw the ancient man's mouth twitch. Was it as smirk? The professor pulled an unused piece of chalk from the breast pocket of his vest and placed it on the tray at the bottom of the blackboard.

He then turned and sat on the table at the front of the class. "Most people find morality in their religion, which has maintained a defaulted position in many a mind as a perspective to take when looking to decide right from wrong. Does this sound agreeable?" He would often use a rhetorical question presented as a legitimate query so as to illicit a response from a rather recalcitrant group of minds.

"Yes," someone offered.

His eyes darted over to the prey caught in his teaching snare. "Well, then my question for today is, what makes an act moral or immoral?" Someone sighed in the back. His eyes flashed as he searched for the person, eager to force them to speak with a directed follow-up question. Failing to find the bold soul, he clarified, "Many people look to religion so I will rephrase the question: does morality precede or proceed from religion? This is to say, do you think morality comes from religion and therefore is under the domain of religion, or, is a certain act good and is then sanctified by religion?" Again, blank stares; he was losing them and he knew it.

"Perhaps more plainly, what makes helping the old lady cross the street a moral act?"

I tapped my pencil on the desk, staring hopelessly at the grain of the wood, wanting to be anywhere else than in class. Daniel raised his hand to end the pressing silence. "Yes, Daniel?"

"Well, I think it's good to help out people who are struggling," he offered. Daniel lived across the hall from me. Everyone knew he grew up homeschooled and that he was very religious. I was glad he was here to debate with the geezer. There was less of a chance Strom would randomly call on us with his attention focussed on an argument.

"Yes, I think most would agree. Would you agree, class?" Scattered nods responded. "The following question, then, would be why? If helping a struggling person is good, what makes it good, Daniel?"

"Well, God says in Proverbs 3:27 that we should 'not withhold good from people who need it when we are able to provide what they need.' So I guess its God who makes it good."

"Okay," Dr. Strom glanced around the room, "Anyone else?" His face lit up immediately when he found a hand raised. "Yes, Sarah?"

"But didn't we just read that Greek story about that dude who was going to trial and he debated with that guy about how we know what the gods think?"

"You'll have to be more specific," Strom hinted. It was quite obvious she was one of the few who actually had done the assigned reading. I certainly hadn't. It was written in some old English that had been translated from Greek. "Can you review for us, Sarah, the tale of Socrates and Euthyphro?"

"Yeah. So Socrates is going to his trial after being charged with blasphemy against the gods when he runs into his old friend, Euthyphro. Euthy tells Socrates that he knows what is good because he knows what the gods desire. He tells Socrates that he is also on his way to court to charge his own father with murder because he saw him kill some innocent guy. Euthyphro thinks he is being a good guy because only a good person would charge his own father with murder if he thought he was doing what the gods wanted and deemed right. Socrates then asks him a series of questions about how Euthyphro knows that the gods would think this is a 'good' or 'right' act. Socrates, through a bunch of rhetorical questions, gets Euthyphro to admit that an act is either moral 'in and of itself' or because the gods say that it is moral. He then argues that an act cannot be moral based on a consensus of the gods because the gods quarrel over many things and would likely disagree on many questions of right and wrong actions. He continues then arguing that if an act is moral in and of itself, then there is no need for the gods to sanctify it, and ultimately that morality does not come from the gods."

"Well done, Sarah. Thank you. A response?"

"Well that doesn't make sense," Daniel chirped. "First of all, that first argument breaks down because there is only one God, so obviously morality is not a consensus of many different gods. It's just one, and He says what is right and wrong."

Sarah looked like she was unwilling to argue so Dr. Strom tried his hand cautiously. "Well then, Daniel, this leads to a sticky place if your argument is to be followed to completion. If indeed it is the decision of a single entity to label an act as right or wrong, then for that entity there can be no difference between a right or wrong act prior to the making of that decision. This is to say, if morality only follows from this entity, that would mean that the entity itself cannot be inherently good or bad. If God is to be that entity, then one cannot say that God is good. This falsification of a central tenant to the major monotheistic religions makes this an argument that cannot abide without some tricky logic, the kind of logic that most people would not use. I think most people would simply argue that the Lord is good. Class, do you think most people would say that the Lord is good?" Most people nodded in agreement, clueless as to why this was interesting to the old man.

We learned this is Sunday school, I thought, rolling my eyes.

"Well then, that brings us back to the other side of the coin: morality must be inherent to an act and cannot be based on what God dictates. If you'll please open your books to ..." The class became a blur and I spaced off, day dreaming of the perfect open-field tackle. I was brought back to the present by an increase in the volume of the teacher, " ... and that brings us back to my original question, which I will now amend: what makes an act inherently moral or immoral? Perhaps you will ponder this until I see you next." Thankfully, the class was over and I could get the hell out of Dr. Strom's off balance world in which nothing existed but unanswered questions.

"There you are," I heard after taking one step into the hall. Jill was casually leaning against a locker by the door. She was lit by a morning sunbeam streaking through the window. It seemed to illuminate only the area where she was standing.

"You found somewhere to warm that cold blood, huh?" I said dryly.

She didn't care to try and understand. "How was bird-brains in there? Has he gotten rid of that rag he calls a vest yet?"

I couldn't help but be a little sucked in. "Nope. I swear he pulled a chicken leg out of one of the pockets one time. It's disgusting really." I smirked in her general direction. "What's up, Jill?"

She smiled at her name. "I just wanted to say that you wont have any problems from me anymore. I still love you, and I think you know that, but I realize that this is a bit dysfunctional. I chase you but you continue to push me away. I think it's important for us to build some trust again, if only to be friends."

I studied her face, trying to detect some sly motive. "Whatever you say," I said. Jill looked dejected, but nodded, turned, and walked away. I watched. Her legs looked enticing; warm, smooth, and free of any blemish. I felt a small stirring between my legs. See? I still like chicks. Noah is good-looking or whatever, but I bet she'd be fun in bed too. It's just been a while since I've been with a girl. I smiled, turned, and walked up the hallway feeling hopeful and self-confident.

I realized I was walking in the direction of the dorm and stopped. I don't need to go back there. Noah is probably still sleeping and wont want breakfast right now. I'll just go by myself. I don't need him to come with me everywhere. I turned right down the hallway and headed to the cafeteria.

I grabbed some scrambled eggs, ham, and bacon. Q and Ted were eating together at a table and I moved to join them. They seemed to be talking seriously about something, but lit up when they saw their teammate.

"Hey bro! You ready for the big game tomorrow? Preston always sends that left guard after the linebackers that might blitz, but if coach puts Peterson in there, he can take care of the fatty. All you'd have to do is squeeze that skinny ass between the pads and smack some helmets back there."

"Q, we've been working on that all week. Hopefully they are just as bad as you at playing right guard," I returned.

Q jabbed me in the ribs as I took a seat. "That's why I'm a tackle, dummy."

"You'd probably suffocate in-between John and Biggs," Ted smirked. "So where's my receiver?" I pretended to not know who he was referring to. "I think you took one too many hits to the head, Rye. Noah, your roommate, where is he?"

"Oh," I faked some surprise in the display, "He's probably still sleeping or something."

"He still tired from fuckin' you in the ass last night? Huh?" Q chortled.

The other guys laughed but my heart jolted. They couldn't know, right? What the fuck? I forced a small chuckle. I wanted to leave, but that would look weird; I just got there. I didn't know what to do, so I started stuffing my face.

"Hey Q's just messing with you, man. Lighten up. You worried about the game or something?" Ted said.

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