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Archive-name: Samesex/


Archive-title: Working on my Lunge

      I've decided that there's nothing more stifling than spending vacation

 with your folks -- especially if they think you're straight.  I mean all that

 shit like watching football with Dad and forcing out lewd, sexist jokes about

 the cheerleaders, or laughing at another one of my brother's

 faggot-in-a-hottub jokes -- it just gets me down.  Mom doesn't help by

 keeping Jimmy Swaggart on TV all Sunday morning.

      Stuff like that makes me almost look forward to going back to school

 (and it takes a lot to make me look forward to that!)  I'm a student at Santa

 Lucia City College.  It's a dumpy little school a few miles outside of a

 dumpy little town, but it's the "back door" to the university nearby, so I'm

 going to give it a try.

      I've got some hard classes lined up this quarter:  Calculus, Physics,

 and Philosophy for instance.  My first class, though, breaks up the monotony

 of a purely academic schedule.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,

 as they say.  My first class of the day is fencing.

      I don't know the slightest thing about fencing.  All I know is what I

 saw on the olympics or in those old swashbuckler movies.  I wouldn't know a

 parry from a riposte or a lunge from a thrust.  But it looks kind of fun to

 learn, and at least it won't have homework!

      So on the first day of class, I drive to school through the

 early-morning fog.  Naturally, half of the "staff" parking places are empty,

 but I have to park a mile off campus.  I get out of the car and walk through

 the dew-covered grass to the Physical Education building.  I enter the gym

 and join about ten people waiting for class to begin.  A few others wander in

 as the clock ticks on toward 8:00 AM.

      "Have any of you fenced before?" one asks.  Only one person answers.

 "Once, at a Renaissance fair, for about twenty minutes," she says.  So it

 looks like we're all in this together -- complete beginners.  There oughta be

 a law against handing swords to a mob of novices.

      The professor walks in, though, and that's the first thing she does.

 She leads us down the hall to the equipment room and we each get outfitted

 with a mask, jacket, glove and fencing foil.  Processing each of us takes up

 just about the whole class period, so after I get my stuff I decide to just

 hang back and size people up.

      The class is just about equally divided male and female, with students

 fat and thin, tall and short, muscular and scrawny.  A couple of women are

 struggling with the zippers on the back of each other's fencing jackets, and

 one guy is trying to figure out how to put on his mask while wearing glasses.

 Naturally, I keep on the lookout for cute guys, but nobody strikes my fancy.

 That's kind of a drag but after all, I came to fence, not to fuck.

      After all of our equipment is checked out, the professor leads us back

 to the gym.  As we walk in the door, I see this guy outfitted in his fencing

 jacket and white leotards doing stretching exercises on the opposite wall.  I

 can't see his face, but I'm sure looking!  I can tell from behind that this

 guy is built, and I can hardly wait to see the rest of the picture.

      I'm not disappointed.  Once the rest of the class have filed in, he

 gathers the rest of his gear together and faces us.  "This is Rich." the

 professor explains, "This is his second year of fencing.  I've got a bad

 back, so he's going to demonstrate and help teach."  Rich is not only built,

 he's gorgeous.  His smile and deep-brown eyes beam out of a smooth face

 topped by dark, sculptured locks.  He looks over us and says, "we're going to

 have a lot of fun this quarter."

      I know I will.  Just looking at this guy all quarter will be plenty of


      The professor says, "go to it, Rich," and Rich does.  "Okay," he says,

 "we don't have time to learn footwork or anything today, but I'll try to give

 you an introduction to the sport.  Fencing is a game of finesse, not brute

 strength, and it's a lot different than what you see in those Zorro films on

 TV.  The winner is usually the one who has outsmarted, not outpowered, his


      "The target area is the torso and back, and you try to touch your

 opponent with the tip of the foil.  Head shots and slashes don't work.  Can I

 get a victim... I mean, volunteer up here?"  We chuckle, then he says, "no

 volunteers, eh?  Well, how about you!"  He looks into my eyes and points

 straight at me.

      I walk up to the front of the class and stand next to him.  "The first

 thing," he continues, "is that you should never cross foils without putting

 on your safety equipment.  All it takes is one little slip to lose an eye.

 The jacket is put on like this..."  Rich then asks to see my jacket.  He

 helps me into the jacket while explaining to the class how the fittings

 should go and how tight to fasten the straps.

      I wasn't listening.  My mind was in a fog as I felt his hands perusing

 my body in search of straps and fastners.  One hand would slide along my

 back, the other across my chest.  He even reached between my legs from behind

 to get the crotch strap.  "This strap should be fastened securely, boys, for

 the obvious reasons, but not too tight, for the same reason!  When you go

 down on your lunges, your jacket will tighten up, and I guarantee that you

 will feel it if your strap is too tight."

      "Now the mask is put on like this.  You grab the tang in back, and slide

 it over your head.  It'll take time to get used to it, but it'll be automatic

 in a couple of weeks.  Now you put on yours, uh..."

      "Keith," I answered.  I put on my mask, somewhat clumsily, but not bad

 for the first time.

      "The target area," Rich continued, "is the full torso.  That includes

 all of the chest and shoulders, to the belly and groin, to both sides, to the

 back."  He motioned with the tip of his foil over my body as he spoke.

      "Well, it looks like we're out of time.  Bring your equipment to class

 tomorrow and we'll learn some stretching exercises and footwork."

      I lingered in class while removing my vest, folding it, and putting it

 in my mask.  As I watched Rich talk with the professor, I wondered if he

 singled me out as his "volunteer" because he was attracted to me.  His hands

 sure didn't feel like he had only instruction in mind.  But my mind had

 concocted such fantasies before, only to have them dashed on the rocks of

 reality.  I would have to wait for my courage to appear.

                                   * * * * *

      I waited through the first two weeks of class.  I had a crush on Rich

 like I hadn't had since high school.  His smiling face and patience melted me

 whenever I asked him to help me on learning a new task (and in order to be

 around him, I asked him for a lot of advice!)  Once, as the class was doing

 footwork drills, he passed me and slapped me lightly on the ass.  "Keep that

 butt in, and straighten your back," he said.  You can be certain that I kept

 my back bent and my butt way out from then on.

      In his eyes, his voice and his body language, I constantly saw

 flirtatious signs, but I was still too unsure -- too scared -- to make any

 direct responses.  I admired him as he lead the class, and I volunteered

 whenever he needed a "victim."  I asked for help after class.  I tried to

 pick up whatever clues I could, but I was never sure enough.

      The third week of class, though, I made up my mind to make my move.  No

 matter what, I had to stop beating around the bush and take the initiative.

 I didn't, however, know how or when.  The opportunity came Tuesday after


      We had just been practicing the double lunge and class had been

 dismissed.  I had Calculus immediately after fencing on Tuesdays and

 Thursdays, so I normally only stayed after to practice on the other days we

 had fencing.  Rich, however didn't know this.

      "Do you want to stay and fence a bit?  I need a good partner," he said.

      Usually I had asked him if I could stay and fence.  This was the first

 time he had asked me.  I interpreted this as a good sign and figured that

 learning techniques of computing derivatives of trigonometric functions just

 wasn't all that important anyway, so I stayed.

      We stood on the fencing strip and saluted each other, then the bout

 began.  We each advanced, then he put his foil out in a feint thrust.  I

 reacted by retreating and attempting a parry.  He brought his foil back and

 advanced.  When he advanced, I made my move and lunged.  Before I brought my

 foil down to his target, however, he made a swift thrust and caught me as I

 lunged toward him.

      "Touche!" he said.  "You still rely too much on strength.  You have the

 power to break through my parry, but you've got to learn finesse and style.

 If you had extended your foil toward my target before lunging, you would have

 forced me to react instead of act.  Instead you gave me an opening to


      "Oh," I said, daydreaming even as I pretended to listen.

      "Hey, when's your next class?"

      "This is my last class today," I lied.

      "You wanna go get a coke or something?"


      "I'll meet you down at the Cyprus Cafe."

      As I walked to my car, my heart beat double-time.  First off, to my

 fantasy-soaked mind, this constituted our first date.  Second, Santa Lucia

 isn't big enough to have it's own gay bar, so the popular gay hangout is none

 other than the Cyprus Cafe.  The head "bartender" there is a notorious flirt

 and he has attracted "friends" who told their friends who told their friends

 and so on.  This is not a very subtle hint, if indeed it is a hint.

                                   * * * * *

      "So, come here often?"  I couldn't believe that the cliche came out of

 my mouth as I sat with Rich in a booth at the cafe.

      "Yep.  I like the atmosphere here, you know?" he said with a wink.

      "Yeah, I know what you mean," I said in such a way as to try to provoke

 him into revealing if I really did know what he meant.

      Rich leaned over the table and crossed his hands in front of him.

 "Keith," he said, "let me ask you a question."  My heart began to drown out

 the folk guitarist in the other room as I nodded.  "Am I just getting crazy,

 or have we been flirting with each other?"

      Although it was just what I wanted to hear, I was so shocked to hear it

 that I could barely answer.  I stared, speechless, into his deep eyes --

 terrified at what I might find there, but unable to look away.  I swallowed a

 couple of times before I could squeak out, "I think so."

      "Good," he said, "'cause I couldn't stand playing this waiting game

 anymore.  I just had to know."  He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of

 his cola.

      Now that it was out, I screamed inside -- Why didn't I ask last week?

 Two weeks ago?  Why was I so scared?  Why did I torture myself?  But,

 eventually, I had to acknowledge that what's done is done.  There's no reason

 to lament the past when there is so much to look forward to in the future.

      "So.  What now?" I asked

      "Well, hmmm..." he said and took another drink.  He leaned toward me and

 lowered his voice, "I don't know about you, but I feel like putting an end to

 these three weeks of foreplay and start, uh, working on our lunges."

      I was up from the table before I could even say "okay" and we were out

 the door and headed toward his apartment.  We took his car, and all the way

 there I was thinking about what was ahead.  I couldn't even talk I was so

 excited.  Just the thought of my hands on Rich's prime ass, and my dick got

 harder than the gearshift stick that Rich was holding.  The way he was

 rubbing the gearshift stick, I knew that his mind was preoccupied as well.

      We parked at the Cyprus Glen student apartments and rushed up the stairs

 to his third-floor apartment.  I strategically allowed him to lead the way up

 the stairs so that I could follow that gorgeous denim-covered ass with my

 eyes.  Finally we got to the door and he thrust his key in the lock.  We

 entered the room and he shut the door behind us.

      The late-morning sun pushed light through the curtains and padded the

 room with a soft crimson glow.  Rich closed the door and threw his arms

 around my waist, and I put mine around his back.  "Mmmmm," I purred and

 pulled him close to me.  He moved his hands down the small of my back and

 around my ass and grabbed.  My dick in my pants was pushing seductively

 against his.  I moved my face down to kiss his cheek, and he immediately met

 my mouth with his, kissing me hard and probing deep with his tongue until,

 suddenly, he broke off and pulled me over to his bed.

      He crashed down on the mattress, pulling me with him.  I landed with a

 gasp and the bedsprings groaned.  The middle of the bed collapsed and we lay

 tangled together, laughing and trying to think up a way to unscramble

 ourselves.  "God the beds here suck," he said.

      "Mm Hmm...  But I suck better," I murmurred and lightly grabbed his

 earlobe with my teeth.  I slid my lips around his ear, searching for that

 ever-elusive point that I felt sure would make him quivver.  First at the

 top, then along the side, then as I thrust my tongue deep into his ear -- I

 heard him gasp and felt his legs, as tangled as they were, tense against my


      "Let's get out of this mess," I finally said.

      "Mmmmm...  I'm comfortable..."

      "Yeah, I figured, but lets find room for the mattress on the floor,


      "Well, all right..."

      We managed to extricate ourselves and pull the mattress from the

 bedframe.  When we set the it on the ground, Rich came up behind me and put

 his arms around me.  "This looks pretty stable," he said.  I leaned back into

 him and rubbed my cheek against his.  I could feel his prick against my ass

 and so I pushed closer to him and began to grind against him.  He responded

 in kind, and slid his hand up my shirt and pulled me closer to him.

      His other hand slid down, slowly, down one leg and then the other,

 sliding against my rock-hard dick teasingly, almost as if unintentionally.

 Then suddenly, he rubbed my prick hard through my pants, and I almost jumped

 at him.  My cock was getting so urgently hot that, looking down, I could see

 the tip peeking out, too excited to be contained.  Rich slid his hand up to

 this sight and began rubbing the precum-lubed tip of my dick with his finger.

 All of that attention focused on such a small, and oh-so-sensitive, area made

 me want to scream.  I almost couldn't take it.

      I abruptly turned around and grabbed him tight.  This time I grabbed him

 and pulled him down to the matress.  I was happy to find that the floor

 didn't collapse beneath us!  I pulled his shirt over his head, and he

 returned the favor.  Unwilling to waste any more time, we tore at our

 remaining clothes until we lay in front of each other naked and quite ready.

 Rich looked me up and down.  "On guard!" he said admiringly.  I almost


      I dove again toward his earlobe and while caressing it with my tongue, I

 let one hand slide over the downy hair of his ass.  With my other hand I

 started to rub his cock with an intensity of purpose that I never even

 allowed myself when jacking off.

      He grabbed my ass and purred between gasping breaths.  "Keith," he said,

 "I want to come inside you."

      "That can be arranged."

      His panting came faster, "Like soon, I mean!"

      "Let's check out some safety equipment."

      "Mmmmmm..." he said, "I hate to interrupt things..."

      I laughed, "Well, it can't be worse than being swallowed by your bed!"

      Rich reached over behind his back and pulled a string of rubbers from

 his bottom desk drawer.  Within seconds he had ripped one open and slid it

 over his throbbing cock.  "Are you ready?" he asked.

      "I've been ready for weeks," I said and rolled over.  He rolled over on

 top of me, his dick falling hot on my ass.  With his tongue in my ear and his

 hand combing through my hair, I waited, expectantly.  Soon I felt him start

 to enter me.  I felt him tense, and then felt the moment of will it hurt or

 will it --- aaah!

      He was in me.  I heard his choppy moans as he lunged deeper within me.

 I teased him with my ass, tightening and moving forward, then suddenly back

 with enough force to whiplash his balls against my butt.  "I'm not going to

 last much longer," he whispered.

      "Don't let me hold you back," I answered.  No sooner had I completed the

 sentence than he was lifting his head and screaming with each hard thrust.

 Soon, he was spent, and he collapsed on top of me.  "Your turn babe..."

      I gave his prick another playful squeeze with my ass, "you're gonna have

 to get off of me first."

      "Okay," he said.  "Gimme a minute."

      I could barely restrain myself for a second, but I gave him a few

 seconds to recover.  Before long, though, I had jumped up and strapped a

 rubber in place.  "Ready?" I asked, and God, I sure was.  My cock was bright

 and hot and hard in my hand as I guided it to his asshole.

      "Never readier.  Go for it."  And I did.  With no hesitation, I plunged

 in with an animal grunt.  I felt his ass grab me and I thrust deeper.  It

 felt like he squeezed the blood from my cock straight to my brain.  I felt

 myself swell with the electric feeling, and I held it as long as I could

 stand.  I dug my teeth into his shoulder and put my hips on auto-pilot.

      My head flooded; I became my cock.  All of my energy, all of my

 sensations, all of my attention was on my dick.  I grew less aware of my loud

 breathing, of my mouth on Rich's shoulder, of the room, of the earth I lived

 on.  And then I spit pulses of cum, attempting to extinguish the fire with


      As soon as it had begun, it was over.  I again became aware of the world

 around me, and Rich beneath me.  "Keith?" he said.


      "So, d'ja have fun?"


      "Well, uh..."


      "...nap time, I guess, huh?"

      "...uh huhmmmmmmmmm..."


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