Varsity Low Ch. 01

Late October afternoon. Sunlight slanted thru the towering library windows, catching equally towering dust motes in light. This part of the library always smelled like old carpet, books, paste, burnt dust, furniture polish, and the occasional unwashed grad student. It was my favorite place on campus to study; quiet, cozy, cruisey, forgiving of both drooling naps and random erections. The library and campus were strangely quiet that day, as if caught in a mass spell of daydreaming. My own attention was so not engaged by a macro econ text and my mind stopped and eyes wandered.

I could see the front desk from my study spot, and I saw him, waiting for something on hold to be found which was clearly not being found. He gave up on his hold, and leaned against a column. Letter jacket, worn all the time and a little frayed. Backpack that had migrated from HS. He was in my macro econ class, and his jockish bros all called him Griff. Prof called him "Griffin" or "Mr. Abernathy". He would sit at the back of class, with the collective hotness of his baseball bros, but he effortlessly got A's and his questions revealed mastery of the same material his jock buds struggled with. Varsity shortstop. Tall, rangy, athletic, scruff, shaggy dark hair down to the sun browned nape of his neck. A scattering of boyish freckles. Worn Levi's, filthy Adidas, black tee. Eyes the color of Coca Cola, and an Alabama accent like a hot breeze thru an old screen door.

There was a sly knowingness about him, a secret carnal knowledge that set him above the loutish date-rapey frat boys, the hipster wannabes, and the preppie scholars who all seemed to assume they would soon be running the world. In short, I was in lust, the spooky kind with a chill, that sense of falling in place, ice cube on the spine, the world gone still and yet blaring with noise.

He looked around, shouldered the backpack and sauntered toward the doors, but veered off heading thru the door to an adjacent stairwell. The stairs climbed up into the stacks, but also down one level to a basement warren of lesser offices, archives of obscure collections, and a mens room with the best, most notorious glory holes on campus. Even some townie boys made their way there with a fierce furtiveness that indicated wordlessly what they needed.

I quickly stuffed books and study crap into my bag and headed toward that stairwell door. Inside, I stopped on the landing and listened for footsteps on the stairs rising up. All quiet. I took a deep breath and headed down. The basement halls were deserted. Another deep breath and I shouldered the mens room door inward. Empty. The battered stall doors hung open at various angles. Water dripped somewhere. The room smelled of the high gloss paint slathered on cinder block walls in a futile effort to hide last year's obscene graffiti and Sharpie rendered phallic art. The other smell was musty young man sex, lots of it. Male. Piss and semen.

I went to a basin and started to wash my hands, a thin pretext for being there. The door flew open and in came Griff. He nodded gravely to me, and took the other basin for his own sham hand washing. We finished. He turned to me with his sly smile and said "did you follow me down here?...'cuz that would be awesome" I croaked out 'yeah, I guess so'. He moved a bit closer and said "fuck yeah. I was lookin' for some good head, you wanna be my boy for that? Down all my jizz?" I found my bearings and said "hell yeah!" He playfully grabbed the front of my hoodie and pulled me into the last stall, slamming the door and shooting the bolt.

My chinos and boxer briefs dropped to my ankles, freeing some rowdy wood. "Nice!" he said, viewing my dick. He leaned back against the wall with his shoulders, hips out some, dirty sneakers spread. Slowly he opened the Levi's, lowering them a ways down his thighs, hooking his full scrot over the waistband of some cheap boxers with tiny pine trees on them. The open fly of his lowered jeans formed a 'V' perfectly framing the ample maleness offered to me. He was hairier than I imagined, untrimmed. The fur was dark, and his cock and balls had a musky coloration, unlike my own pink blond dick. He presented a nice 7" cut, some fearsome girth behind the head, a slight upward curve, already drooling precum. Big fuzzy balls. I spat twice in my hand and lubed my own dick.

I flicked his balls with my tongue to start, then licked. His dick jumped, he exhaled. I went behind the balls and inhaled his scent. Locker room shower soap. Swimming pools. Fresh mowed lawns. Lumber. Earth. Cloves. I pulled back, and caught a long streamer of precum on my tongue, licking the head. I took him in my mouth, slow, lite touch, lips and tongue. Soft grunt. Exhale. He shifted his feet farther apart and hips more towards me. He was liking it. I went deep and held him; a grunt and a hissed "fuck yeah". He put a hand behind my head, giving wordless, gentle direction. I sped up, and touched his full balls with my fingers, "hell yeah, touch me like that". His hand got firmer on the back of my head, pushing me faster. Grunt, moan, "fuck fuck fuck" as he unloaded in my mouth. There was a lot of jizz and I gulped as he shot to keep from gagging, He tasted so good; seawater, fresh Belon oysters. He slowed and I kept him in my mouth lovingly, allowing him to come down from his moment. "Damn!" he breathed as he pulled out.

With panther-like moves he grabbed the front of my hoodie, pulled me up and pushed me rough against the wall where he had been. For a fleeting second, I thought 'this is where he beats the shit out of me' but he dived into a somewhat frantic kiss, lips open, tongue, full on. I kissed back, hand behind his head, taking back the lead. He pulled back and went to his knees, taking my cock in his mouth. I grunted and put both hands in his shaggy dark mane, more aggressive than he had been with me. He had good style and this was clearly not a new experience for him. I shot, hard and fast, it seemed endless, hearing my own own low eager grunts. Time stopped; he kept my cock in his mouth, the shaft wet and shiny with his spit and my jizz. A rope of cummy spit fell from my balls onto the front of my lowered chinos but I did not give a shit. Water was still dripping somewhere. 'Shit. That was amazing', I said. "yeah, it so kinda' was" giving me the grin. We quickly got pants up and out of the stall.

At the basins we washed up. He threw water at me, I threw water at him, laughing like young boys behaving badly on a school trip. He stopped, looked serious, and went in for a kiss. Slow, dreamlike, tips of tongues. My universe expanded and then collapsed just as rapidly. 'You go up first, I will follow later. We should be discreet'. I got the full Alabama smile, "yeah, ok. see 'ya in econ". And then he was gone out the door.