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None of my fans knew that during my first year of writing smut I was a virgin.
It was a strange explosion of interest in my work, almost right away. Middle-aged men, old couples, young women, middle-aged women, very gay men, very straight men, extremely pansexual elaborately non-binary people, and closeted curious types sent me messages thanking me affectionately for my alleged expertise with penises. They absolutely loved hearing my opinions, stories, and creative ideas for all the things penises could do and all the cheeky things it’s fun to do to penises. “Cocks”, “Dicks”, what-have-you, they liked it even more that I called them penises.
And there I was, straight college-guy who had only made out and grinded with women, who every now and then and at inconvenient times had a strange spell-like transformation into an enthusiastic fan of penises, an admirer who would very much like to find one to pleasure. And yesplease, someone to pleasure mine.
I had absolutely no wish to date a man, but when I thought of blowjobs in particular I was just as exuberantly excited for a man to be between my thighs than a woman. In fact, those were different niches. Emotionally they felt completely different in my mind. But I often wanted one and at other times wanted the other, both quite badly.
But this was all theoretical. I was in college, hadn’t dated since early highschool, and now spent my evenings studying and my days in the library writing erotica. (Strangely backward but there it was.) I didn’t make money off it but I couldn’t get over how happy I made people just by writing for entire pages how individual penises looked, for several pages how to touch each kind of penis. Most gay smut just focused on power relationships. I focused on sex as physical adoration. This niche was for some reason bizarrely empty.
So I was in the library again. But a different library this time. A different college. It’s called The Lit Summer Program, you go to a college in another country for a semester and take courses that show you perspectives from different parts of the world. The library was huge, not just with books, but with sitting areas. Lots of them. It had worktables, hand-me-down armchairs, hand-me-down couches, and some sort of rotunda with extremely cushy benches, beside an enormous window looking over a forest halfway up our mountain. That’s where I was now, my favourite spot. Half of the time students or even professors were there to nap, and I never minded a bit, it was a strange intimate camaraderie between academics.
I spent a lot of time here, especially on the colder days. I had a secret probably-obvious crush on the girl with the bandana who did poetry on open mic night, and was just beginning to be accepted as an insider by that group. I knew I wouldn’t do anything about the crush, I’m a relationship person and I knew I couldn’t stay in town for very long.
I opened up my laptop and went through my readings list. It was easy to get distracted, especially there, and I would sometimes spend an hour just staring out the window between sentences. And I was exhausted, after two nights of intense studying and one night of prolonged gaming. It was time to catch up.
But that transformation happened, and once I settled into the cushions and breathed in the scent of a thousand previous people and a thousand books, I knew I wasn’t going to study.
I promptly opened up my secondary browser with my more personal favourites, started a document, and within five minutes I was well into describing an intense passionate sexual affair between a middle-aged man and a comparatively young man. Considering how many acts I storyboarded for them to do, and how elaborately I described what the young man did to his companion in the car on the way over to their secret lovenest, it’s surprising how far I got into the plot.
It was easy: it was based on a true lie… it was a real man that had really propositioned me during my cowardly cyber-slut phase, chatting online but never following through. It was a real plan and a real penis I really saw I was describing this time. A wonderful one I would always wonder about. The young man was who I should have been that Sunday, bold and willing and casual. But the things I wrote I had never, could never, say out loud. It just felt weird to use my voice to say certain things. I’d tried saying them to empty rooms sometimes, to see how it felt.
I wrote the two men into the house and then gazed out the window. I saw a real deer and watched it. And I leaned back into the cushion.
Because I get distracted like this I have my laptop set to not enter “sleep” mode before an hour has passed.
So before I knew it I suddenly woke up.
To a still active screen.
And the guy now beside me, his own laptop in his lap, now in “sleep” mode, had long since abandoned subtlety and was, for one very long second after I stirred, very plainly staring across to my screen.
I have such good eyesight, mind you, that I had my güvenilir bahis text-zoom settings very fine… he had a lot of plot to consume on that screen alone. Not just plot… but theme. That screen described enthusiastic and hungry enjoyment of performing acts on another man.
Between us, there was no denying he had been very interested in the words, and no denying I was an eager enthusiast of the subject matter. We had simultaneously been faced to each other. All that was clear even just as I woke up. I wasn’t sure what to do about that fact, but he acted first.
“Sorry to peek man. That’s really well-written. Um, hope you enjoyed your nap.”
He was maybe about my age, a tiny bit younger, a tiny bit plumper. He had a soft face and glasses. He was blushing a little, and not all of a sudden.
He had said I was a good writer. About THAT. Okay, he didn’t mind about smut in the library, he didn’t mind about ‘gay stuff’, and he had nothing macho to prove, he spoke gently. He was even a bit close. There was really nothing to do but be casual.
“…Thanks!”
“Sure. That’s a Word doc, are you just reading, or is that yours? Like, that you made?”
“Um… it’s mine? I’m a writer. In my spare time.”
“That’s cool. You’re good at it. You submit anywhere?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“That’s really good. It sounds like you get into people’s heads. Like you know how people think. I mean, I don’t know everything, I can’t speak from a lot of experience… Oh gosh, I just realize what I just said, sorry! Hah. You don’t need to know about that history from some guy.”
I suddenly had a sense of self-awareness. That I was alone but not alone in an abandoned section of a library with a young sweet-looking guy who was awkwardly chatting me up about sex. I spent a long moment deciding whether this made me feel safe or unsafe. He was a peer, he didn’t seem dangerous, he didn’t seem aggressive or entitled or perverted.
Actually, we were both trapped in this conversation topic: I had been caught writing smut, he had been caught liking it, and we both obligated ourselves to rationalize it with awkward friendliness.
But the discomfort never came.
My self-awareness expanded. I’m a college boy away from family living on my own, not a minor anymore, not beholden to nearly as many rules of conduct while under anyone’s ‘roof’. I thought and thought and thought, and realized that neither this person or I had actually done anything illicit or even really egregiously weird.
But this moment was probably going to vanish forever in a second.
With that understanding, there was only one answer I wanted to give.
“That’s okay. I’m not speaking from experience either.”
“…What?? You obviously are. I mean… look at that!”
“Yeah, well, I have a good imagination. Well, an active imagination anyway.”
He smiled. I smiled a little too. I had no idea what was happening. So far that was okay. If nothing else, maybe this sense of camaraderie can be normal between boys. It doesn’t have to be like it is in highschool. Maybe this is what college is! Maybe you reach an age and sex is something you can just talk about now, and not in a gross way.
He did an awkward little double-take.
“Can… you scroll up? I must have missed some stuff.” He seemed really bashful, like he knew it wasn’t quite normal to be asking of a stranger, or even that he felt normal being curious.
This was another defining moment. It would be perfectly normal for me to say No. Maybe even weird to say Yes. But it was just possible, that if I decided to be brave, I didn’t have to be embarrassed about this weird part of myself. Maybe especially with a stranger. There were actually no stakes, not embarrassment-wise.
I scrolled. He looked back at me. I kept scrolling, to the top. He read. He reads quickly, he nodded when he wanted me to scroll down.
And then he returned to the bottom, where I had gotten to so far, where the main character opened a driver’s pants and at every traffic light worshipped what was inside.
All he said was,
“I’m Simon.” The name suited him. Also, I couldn’t help but note that his response to reading what he just read was to make us not strangers anymore. So I introduced myself too.
“So no experience? Why not? Crazy parents like me?”
“Not crazy, but they somehow managed to shelter me a lot. I didn’t even realize. It’s like I’m waking up. I don’t know what that means yet, what I’m supposed to be becoming, but there it is, hyper erotica guy.” For some reason I both wanted to imply a little more and DIDN’T want to imply a little more. I tried adding a few more words to that sentence before it was too late: “…living vicariously through my characters.”
“Cool. Actually I’d never met someone who’s gay. Actually I probably have. But I came from a weird highschool, we don’t talk about it much. That’s really cool, congrats? I don’t know whether to say ‘congrats’ but nice to meet you?”
“Actually,” I güvenilir bahis siteleri said, “Want to know something weird?” He nodded. “I’m not. I’m, uhh, not gay. Although I guess by some definitions may I’m a little? I don’t even know. But I date girls. It’s just there’s some other stuff there. So who knows.”
Simon nodded and thought.
“So what School are you in?”
I told him about myself, that I was in English and Sociology, that I was studying towards a field in either literature or social justice. Telling him that was a red-flag checker in and of itself, but he seemed to like that. I told him about a few hobbies and he told me a few of his.
“So I like to make huge charts. And I like to play guitar. And,” I said, gesturing to my screen again, “I like to write.” He chuckled politely, and our attention went back to all that.
“Yeah, you sure do! Intense stuff. Good though.” There was a comfortable silence. Well, I chose to consider it comfortable.
He continued,
“I haven’t done more than thinking about it, it feels weird, you know? Like… okay, sorry to be blunt, but I look at girls when I see porn, I don’t know about looking at boys, I mean I haven’t tried. But yeah, I think I can understand what you mean, I wonder sometimes, and sometimes it’s hard to know who I’m looking at, or routing for? You know? Gosh, sorry, I’m being really weird, that was a conversation stopper. I don’t know why I brought up looking at porn.”
Point of information: when I look at porn, I’m either watching lesbian encounters or gay encounters. Always first-time encounters, and always with average-looking bodies, even larger bodies. Very niche, I know, but ecstasy between those two pairings is all I like watching.
“Yeah, I’m usually like that? Except during some days when I’m… not? It’s weird. Like I have… modes?”
“Yeah! Modes! That’s a way to think about it. Sort of like the Silver Chair?”
“The Silver Chair? Like the Narnia Silver Chair?”
“Yeah, the guy who’s under a spell and changes who he is back and forth but doesn’t know who the real Him is.”
“…………Yeah! Yeah.” I liked that.
“Yeah, so I’ve been one of the modes, but I’ve been in the chair for the other one, you know?”
“Yeah. Same. Haven’t figured that out.”
“Same. Yeah. Well hopefully some day.” The sentence cast a spell. It was so obvious, he had to realize what he was saying, but it didn’t seem that way. It was just hanging there, and we sheepishly giggled as we saw it in each other.
We let that moment linger for a moment just to make sure we were both thinking it. Yep, big silence, it was actually kind of likely we were both thinking it. Which was weird. But it was a big thought, a strong thought. For me. For him? No. Yes? He can’t be as weird as me. Yeah?
I spoke.
“Okay, what does making it real look like? What do you actually want? With who?”
“Um, well not, like, romantic. I like girls like that.”
“Same.”
“But I really need to know whether these wants are real, with boys.”
“Same.”
“So mostly? I don’t know, someone friendly and not scary, who I’m not really good friends with so it wouldn’t be weird, but I didn’t mind chatting with, trying out, I don’t know, blowjobs? But more than trying out, like just something that happens. But that doesn’t just happen.”
“So, okay, I… I know we’re both wondering about the same thing, and I know it’s also feeling weird right now.” I glanced around to see whether we were still alone. We were almost whispering, probably quieter than we really had to. “I don’t know whether either of us would hate it, if we got the chance, and if you start trying something and hate it, you want to be with someone you can just say that to and they’re just fine about stopping.”
“Yeah! Yeah. Exactly.” He looked like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.
“Okay. So let’s review. And don’t worry about feeling weird, I feel SO WEIRD. So let’s get weird. We’re two guys……” I was breathing heavily while thinking of this amazing sentence… “……who both want to know whether trading gay blowjobs is fun…” I almost whispered… “…who don’t live with family anymore, and have somewhere nearby to go. So… Simon? I’d like us to spend five minutes just thinking really hard for a reason not to walk together to your room and have some… sex. Five minutes thinking through. Okay?”
A moment went by. Thinking through years of hypotheticals and the fact that we theoretically hoped to make it real some day. I don’t know about him, but when I thought through other hypotheticals, I couldn’t actually think of a better possibility than someone like this strange boy with the soft features and the friendly shy demeanour. He was like me in strangely numerous ways.
And then we nodded wordlessly to each other. Blushed, wide-pupiled, and probably hard under our laptops. I don’t know how much of those minutes he spent thinking for reasons not to do this, I hope he thought it iddaa siteleri through. I tried to. Predator? Diseased? Maybe I’d hate it once it started?
After five minutes, we made a few choices. We agreed to look each other up, look into all about each other online, for red flags. Then we opened up Outlook, and wrote time-delayed emails to emergency contacts. I wrote to my Floor Warden that if he got this email I may have been hurt, with a link to this boy. He probably did something like that. I didn’t want anyone to know about all this, but it would only be sent if the worst happened.
It seemed pretty confirmed. We were hormonal late teenagers with the opportunity to be naked together. Now. Theoretically. Wow.
I checked in just one more time. “Okay. Just checking. Do you want to try this?”
He raced through some thoughts. “Yeah I think so.”
“Okay. Do you want to… get to know each other better? To feel more comfortable?” Simon thought for a moment.
“Is it really weird if I say ‘No’? Like… so, remember the Silver Chair thing? For me it’s not scheduled. When it happens… I don’t want to miss it before it goes again. Like what if it doesn’t come again for a while?”
“Yeah exactly. Same. So… Simon, you mean, like, today and maybe now?”
“Okay, yeah. Yeah, we’re doing this…!”
“Um, where? I mean whose?”
“……Oh gosh, my room is actually free right now.”
By instinct I glanced around for a way to hide what was happening in my pants, but I realized that under the circumstances that might be silly. Was that maybe a way to wade in?
It was time for my next weird move.
I closed my computer and stood up in front of him. He did the same. We were looking at each other’s crotches, knowing. That was probably a good sign. We walked casually, silently, to the library elevator. We had an awkward moment before it opened, and an awkward moment when we got in. And then we were in the elevator and felt our gravity shift.
The library elevator was the second-slowest elevator I’d ever, ever been in. It was comical, we both silently agreed, how awkward this theoretically was. But for some reason the awkwardness was kind of perfect. I felt like I could cut through it, like it was a wall that was always there and I could see how to punch through it now.
“Hey Simon?” I said in our empty elevator.
“Yeah?”
“Unless we change our minds on the way, I think we’re going to have sex in about 15 minutes. How does that feel?”
It felt good to say that out loud, much louder than a whisper. I was saying it to myself as much as to him. And I knew his answer but I didn’t want to be alone in the intensity of that thought.
“REALLY weird,” he said, in a giggling way I understood wasn’t bad.
We were almost like two friends as we walked to the residences to the East, even chatted a little bit. He was in Civil Engineering. He had sisters. And ever since he first saw a woman going down on a guy in a porn, he knew he really, really, really wanted to try both ends of that scenario. He couldn’t explain more than that. I told him that was okay, not to fully understand yet. I didn’t speak from experience but it sounded right. It sounded the same.
The illicit feeling returned as we entered his building in residence, and it felt like an outright conspiracy. Wordlessly, we understood between each other that we should make as little sound as possible, and avoid people, and if necessary be casual and forgettable. It was kind of exciting, in a juvenile kind of way. Like we were avoiding parents. But there were no parents anymore, not anywhere close. We couldn’t convince our bodies we weren’t accountable to anyone else, so we just played with that feeling, like it was fun to have secrets. The conspiratorial smiles we wordlessly shared as we passed strangers and not-so-strangers really broke some ice.
Even so, he looked nervous and hopeful when he carefully opened his door, with that “spin of the roulette wheel” look on his face. And relaxed when his door opened into an empty living room.
He ahemmed into the space and said, “Hello…??” Nothing came from the bathroom.
Simon promptly but gently closed the door. And locked it. And looked around a table and found a notepad he was apparently expecting to find, read the scribble on the front, and relaxed his shoulders a lot.
“Okay, come on in! Welp, you’re in already, but, keep being in!”
And then we were enjoying awkwardness again.
“So what should this actually look like?” Simon said.
We stared at each other for a moment. Shy teenagers with erections, the mirror-image, the mutuality, cancelling out the shame.
“I’m not sure? It doesn’t have to be anything, but, um… Okay, let’s go for it. Maybe we can break the ice on this and make it feel real. At the same time, let’s just get naked, okay?” We looked wide-eyed at each other even as we nodded. We were both bashful and nervous and excited. We took off our shirts as we watched each other. We weren’t looking hungrily at each other’s chests, that wasn’t a turn-on for me and maybe not for him either, but this was becoming very not-theoretical. In a bit of disbelief we pushed past our hesitation as we undid our jeans for each other.
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