Saturday, July 7, 2012

OMG! The College Jock's A Nudist! - Barry Lowe


Mild-mannered inexperienced college student Brett has a secret – he’s infatuated with the college’s top football jock, a meat-headed himbo with the personality of a bacon rasher and the social life of a rabbit. The two of them are hot and heavy lovers by night – but only in Brett’s fantasy. Tired of sitting alone in his room, Brett decides to do something about his lack of experience and plucks up the courage to go to the local secluded nude gay beach with Rocky, the object of his fantasies. With the man of his dreams lying naked beside him, has Brett got the courage to proposition his ideal man even though he’s straight?


“Put your tongue back in your mouth, you’re drooling all over your sandwich,” Arli said. Then followed my line of sight. “Oh no, Brett, I thought you had more taste. Not Mr. Neanderthal, the school jock?”
I was so pathetic. How cliché is it for the college gay nerd to fall for the popular sports jock? Only Porno 101.
“Besides,” Arli continued, relishing my discomfort, “He’s got that air-head, Cindy-Lou Harrower hanging off his arm.”
“Of course, he’s got a girl hanging off his arm, he’s the college stud.” I sounded petulant.
Arli was deliberately gross. “You wanna get yourself some of his good old country gonad juice?”
“Uh huh.” I sighed. That was a dead giveaway.
“Oh, pul-leaze. Tell me you don’t want to marry the bonehead.”
“I do.”
Arli bashed me on the arm. “Wake up to yourself, Brett. It ain’t gonna happen. Besides, you’re much too young to settle down. Play the field, enjoy yourself while you can.”
What she didn’t say was ‘Like me.’
My best female friend in the world described herself as postfeminist which roughly translated means she treated men as sex objects in much the same way most men treated women. In old-fashioned lingo it meant she was a bit of a slut. It was a descriptive noun she embraced. Not only that, she had all the missionary zeal necessary to get out there and convert men to her way of thinking. I was the lone failure. I neither succumbed to her obvious charms nor to her encouragement to free my gay sexuality from the ‘chains of patriarchal conservatism.’
I may not have dipped my wick where so many men had dipped before, but I loved her like a brother. She returned the affection.
I was curious. “Have you ever tried to…you know?”
One thing she disliked about me was my absolute horror of anything vulgar.
“Spit it out, Brett. Are you asking whether I’ve ever fucked Cro-Magnon man? No, I have not.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“I saw that smirk. You don’t think I can?”
To be honest, I didn’t think she could. Rocky’s type was all-too-apparently big-breasted blonde cheer leaders which was the antithesis of Arli’s dark, moody, average-sized tits bohemian appeal. This, however, was not the occasion to tell the truth.
“I think you’d have him in bed with the snap of your pussy muscles,” I lied.
“Why, Brett, I do believe you just used a slight, very slight, vulgar term for a woman’s cunt.”
I used it to deflect her attention away from seducing Rocky. You see, we had a pact that we would never sleep (my term) or fuck (her term) with one of our opposite’s conquests. If Arli were to cajole Rocky into the sack, then I’d have to find someone else to fantasize about, and men who were as unattainable as the football jock were few and far between.
There was a reason I chose Rocky. Arli was forever attempting to pair me off. Her idea of a suitable partner for me consisted of her male friends who’d confessed to her they wanted to explore their gay side. I ended up helping them discover they had no gay side but a rather silly notion that by sprouting such rubbish, Arli would give them a tumble. More fool them when all they had to do was approach her and ask, ‘Wanna fuck?’
More fool me that I played along with so many misguided attempts at match-making, although a small number of them did lead to an enjoyable night of faked passion. Not faked on my side, but definitely on theirs. They were so horny they would have screwed a tortoise that couldn’t crawl away fast enough – and I wasn’t running. I cut my baby teeth of experience with these guys. I thought that was a generous exchange. They got their rocks off and I got to practice my gay skills, virginal as they were. 

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