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The Never-Ending Hunger and the Eternal Boy Sometimes, I know I'm not nearly so grown up as I thought I might be. Today, I am hornier than the devil himself. I wonder if it's the result of depression at the state of the world, but I tend to doubt it, as I'm not really so upset as I was a few days ago, though don't get me wrong, I'm still boiling mad that President Shrub (Thank you, Ryan) might get some of our people killed with his mad ambitions. I also wonder what I'm going to do about it. I have a lot of work to do, which I expected was going to keep me here well into the evening, but I really want to go find some hot piece of ass. I know this is not the way I should behave, but I've wanted ever since this morning to be locked in my apartment with someone hot and relatively new to me, just making out and having sex of every kind imaginable all day, all night, all day, all night...Getting out of bed to go and wash off and having sex in the shower...Ordering out for food and having sex on the kitchen counter, the sofa, the floor, the chair...Hot, wild, acrobatic, athletic, playful, soft, gentle, warm, tender, rough, sweaty, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. (I wonder if it's because of the hour I spent chatting online with the cutie on the edge of town this morning; I masturbated twice before leaving for work, but it did nothing to help matters at all. Clearly, what I want is something else: the visual stimulus of someone's beautiful eyes, the electric sensation of skin against skin, the monsoon season of someone else's mouth on my own...) I have done it before, this locking the door and drawing the curtains, but the most memorable experience was years ago. It was my sophomore year in college. We were on spring break, but I was still on campus, in my dorm room. Apparently, so was the freshman skater boy type that I'd been fooling around with, who for the sake of this story we're going to call Kevin. One evening, I was in my room, listening to Kate Bush's LIONHEART album, looking out my window, which looked onto an interior courtyard, which was largely uninhabitable, save by the large hedges and wildly tangled ivy which choked it everywhere save on the sidewalk which ran through the middle, and there walked the boy, about whom I'd been thinking. Our previous dalliances had been confined to drunken group gropes with girls and sometimes other boys, but I thought he was the most adorable and wonderful thing I'd ever seen, with the softest skin, just starting to show a few hairs on his chest at eighteen, big pouty lips, floppy blond hair that fell down straight all around and over his forehead, obscuring his glittering grey eyes, not to mention the two perfectly soft grapefruit-sized mounds of his ass and his ample dick (the first uncut one I'd encountered); in short, I was falling and falling hard, as I was (and probably still am) prone to do, and he was a virgin, which I did not then realise meant he had a lot of "wild oats to sow". As it happened, he'd been looking for me, trying to figure out which room was mine, so I let him in, though whether I told him to go 'round to the door or invited him to climb in through the window, I don't recall. I seem to recall he played some little piece of Bach on my keyboard, which surprised me, as he'd previously claimed to have no musical inclination whatsoever. We sat and talked for a bit, and he toyed with my already obsolete computer a bit (Computers were his forte), and then, as I was kneeling behind him seated in my desk chair, as if to disperse the tension he must have felt in the room, he leaned his head on me. The softness of his hair was incredible, as was the feeling of having him beside me. He turned his head and looked into my eyes, and we kissed, tentatively at first, light wispy kisses, which opened into fully-blooming roses as our tongues flicked back and forth in each other's mouths like flames. We paused, and I laughingly said, "Was this really what you came here for?" He nodded. I pulled him from the chair onto the floor, where we rolled around, exploring each other's bodies through our clothes as we kissed; I didn't want to let things get too far, as I'd promised to meet a friend for coffee a little later. I took Kevin to have coffee with my friend Sam (responsible for giving me the translation of the Polish saying, "If eye-rolling were audible, the noise would be deafening"), and he remained largely quite shy throughout as Sam and I bantered about innumerable things, and then we began the trek back to my room. On the way, we stopped in a large auditorium on campus, which happened to be left unlocked. We wandered around inside, chatting about music and acoustics and the architecture and decoration of the hall, and as we stood at the foot of the stage, we kissed again, climbing up onto the stage to make out a bit more before mounting the ladder which happened to have been left there, and which led up to the seats of the balcony which are practically just above the sides of the stage. In the balcony, we found ourselves on the floor again, rolling around kissing, undressing and fondling and eventually fellating each other, stopping for a moment to be silent as mice, but barely restraining our giggles, and at one point, a sneeze, as a security guard discovered the door we'd left open and prowled around down on the floor level, assuring himself that no one was there before finally leaving and closing the door securely behind him. After we'd both cum and put our clothes back on, we decided we should slip down a balcony stair which led to a door which opened directly onto the street. We went for late-night munchies at a restaurant which is known locally for being open 'til 3 a.m., then retired, once again, to my room, where we spent that night, the following day, I believe the next day the following night, and the next morning in each other's arms, discovering and satisfying various sexual appetites which we may not previously have realised existed, only venturing out occasionally for food, or to step into the bathroom next door, where there was a large shower in which we continued to become better acquainted. I remember lying in bed, unaware whether it was day or night, and not really caring. I remember attempting strange and acrobatic sexual positions which we made up as we went along. I remember the way he shivered as a bit his nipples, the way he buried his fingers in my hair as I clamped my mouth down on his neck, the feel of his fingernails carving little river valleys in my back. I remember the way his eyes widened in surprise, pain, and then something near joy as he relaxed the first time I entered him. I remember the alternating expressions of concentrated thought and undeniable ecstasy as he rode me, as he found the best angles to produce the sensations he liked best as he drove my cock deep inside him. We listened to Nine Inch Nails, Enigma, the soundtrack from RED SHOE DIARIES. We lit incense and candles, dripped hot wax on each other, watched ourselves kissing in the bathroom mirror (even I, ever conscious of the potential to appear awkward or absurd, thought it looked hot), lay for hours tangled in the sweaty sheets, and eventually, had to face our responsibilities in the outside world, with bruised lips and necks, and aching but stronger muscles in places we'd never noticed them before. Sadly, that was the last of our romantic encounters, and we did not even really remain friends. It makes me very sad that things fell apart as they did, but it was really one wonderful weekend. I sometimes wonder where he is, what he's doing, in whose bed he sleeps now, whether he ever thinks of me fondly, as I do him... r
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