Introductions
Everyone kept telling me about the joys of college life: “You’ll make life long friends there!”; “You’ll grow in ways you never realized.”; “You’ll experience a whole new side of life.” There was so much hype that I became so intimidated by the experience. They didn’t realize who I was was. They didn’t understand how I felt or how my fear and anxiety held me back. I didn’t believe them when they said college was going to be some of the best years of my life…
…but they were so right.
I suppose I should tell you alittle about who I am. I’m Marcus. Just a shy white boy from a boring city who lived what most would consider an unadventurous life. I went on a couple of dates. I even kissed my one and only girlfriend. Right on the lips. I was so nervous I’m sure she thought I just accidentally bumped her with my face. That was Kristen. She was sweet. Odd, but sweet. That lasted for a couple of months, but it didn’t go anywhere…you know…private. I was a good Christian boy, you see, and she was a good Christian girl. You just don’t do that stuff.
Then there was Elizabeth. I suppose some would not call her a good Christian girl. She was sweet in her own way, but far more adventurous than Kristen. We were friends for quite a while, and, boy, did she open my eyes. Before Elizabeth, I barely knew anything about sex. I knew it existed, but other than that, it was for a husband and wife, period. I…suppose…I looked up something online once. I was shaking in fear when I saw the pictures, because my parents would have killed me if they had caught me looking.
You can’t see me smiling, but I am just realizing how long ago that was.
Anyway…Elizabeth. I think she took some kind of perverse pleasure in answering all my inappropriate questions about inappropriate topics. I heard about her first time. She told me about how she had discovered masturbation. She told me about the G-spot, and how she liked to be fingered...what it was like to give head...anything I mustered the courage to ask, she answered. I hardly reciprocated, of course, both due to inexperience and shame. I had barely explored masturbation, and it was an intensely private experience for me.
There was a couple of times when my horniness overcame my fear and I used those couple chance opportunities to feel her boobs. That’s right. Me. Marcus. Good ole’ Christian boy feelin’ up a girl. The devil was already etching a special place for me in Hell.
Things with Elizabeth never really came to a head (heh heh). I think she found me cute and flattering, but she had her sights set on more…experienced hands. I was both relived and disappointed. But I moved on…and
boy was it a transition.
You see…I discovered that my parents had greater trust in me than I probably deserved. No parental controls=all the porn I wanted. And boy did my libido develop. I discovered a whole new world on that screen, and my right hand got plenty of exercise. Sometimes even my left. Then I began to explore alittle bit, and discovered something about myself that would freak me the fuck out for years: I liked watching the guys too.
I loved the boobs and imagining myself with all those hot girls. But, boy, did I also imagine touching those dicks. I imagined what they would feel like. I imagined touching their muscles and sucking their nipples. I imagined what it might be like to taste those gorgeous mushrooms. I loved them all. I was Bi, and I buried that truth so deep inside to be sure no one knew.
Eventually, I graduated high school. Nope. There was no Jonny or Billy for me. Developed a crush once, but he was a jock. I was a nerd. We didn’t talk outside of one school project, and I kept those feelings tightly bottled up. They exploded into a tissue at the end of a day, and that was all I was going to have of that.
Then college came. And I wanted to go away to college. I loved my parents, but I needed to be on my own. They wanted their “baby” nearby, but I found a promising college—a promising “Christian” college—that satisfied them that I wasn’t going to pave my way to Hell.
Heh. What is it they say? The road to Hell is paved with good intentions? I wonder what they say about the bad intentions…
But I’ll get to that part. Let’s get to move-in day. Excitement. Tears. Overly excited RAs and welcoming committees. My Mom made my bed perfectly (to which it never was that well made again). My Dad gave me this talk about how proud he was of me, and if I ever needed anything to just call them anytime. They really are good people. Just very conservative.
I met my roommate. Okay guy, I guess. Didn’t really jive. I liked video games and Marvel. He liked guitar and painting. I don’t know how that supposedly “expert” roommate match-making software worked, but someone fucked up on us.
Oh, well. More time to study, I suppose. The first couple of months was filled with meet-up activities and, of course, class work. Nothing fancy. But nothing terrible either.
Then I met Matt, and everything changed.
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Hey all!
This is a new venture for me, so please be kind. My intention is to make a story and alittle fun for those of you who don't want the plot
Constructive feedback is most welcome. I do want to develop my detail-writing, so feel free to let me know what is missing. Feelings? Descriptions?
Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy!