Nate the Natural

by BRK   

Nate’s in a new city with a new job, but he’s not to put out about it. He makes friends pretty darn easily. Really good friends.

Nate put his hands on his hips and surveyed the leafy, twilit little three-block-square urban park just down the street from his new loft with a contented sigh. He was dimly aware that lots of guys would be a bit put out having to start over—new city, new employment—after the sudden strange kerfuffle at his old office and the awkward fallout that followed; but Nate just didn’t think that way. The new job was great, the loft was great, and the neighborhood he’d moved into was, well, great: nice, airy, well-tended, and full of friendly people. Nate was sure he was going to be happy here. Of course, he was even-keeled enough that he was happy anywhere.

The position he’d taken here with Smarther and Chaud LLC was 90 percent work from home, which was a big change from what he was used to. He was okay with it. Still getting top pay for his excellent client rapport and deliverables without the commute or the suits most days was a plus. He could dress comfortably even for the on-camera meetings: polos, tee shirts, even the baby-blue tank top and loose navy running shorts he was wearing now for his nightly post-work cool down, wandering the local park just as the lights went up and the day settled into evening. Someone had told him once he looked good in tank tops, probably because he was tall and naturally broad-shouldered, with a rangy physique that had most people assuming he worked out a lot more than the half hour of endorphin-chasing push-ups and sit-ups he’d been starting the day with since high school baseball. He didn’t wear them for the look, though. He just liked dressing comfortably. People seemed to like him regardless of his gear, anyway.

He spotted a drinking fountain and went over to take big slurp of the cool, burbling water. When he stood up, he was surrounded by three smiling, friendly guys, and Nate smiled back as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey, guys! I’m Nate,” he said, genuinely polite as always. He’d been polite a lot lately.

They were his age, around thirty, pretty cute, ranging from fit to built under their tee shirts and shorts. “Hey yourself,” one of them said, the tall one with the dirty blond hair and the small gold stud in his ear. He had that wide, louche smile and slightly glazed look people sometimes got around him for some reason. They were all standing close, too, but that was also pretty standard. He was always a bit nonplussed when guys talked about “personal bubbles” or whatever, because Nate’s experience was it wasn’t usually a thing. Not with guys, anyway.

“So, you guys live around here?” Nate asked, looking between the trio with a smile. “I’m new in town, so I’m always looking for the local scoop.”

The more swole of the three grinned. He was a little darker than the others, and instead of wearing his hair very short like most muscle-packed guys he knew—it was always either the $600-haircut close-cropped corporate drone look or the buzzed-closed gym-rat badass look—this guy had a shaggy mop of brown curls trimmed just shy of the swell of his traps. “Then you have to try Lorillard’s,” he insisted.

“It’s the local bar and grill, just around the corner,” the middle one explained, a boy-next-door type with strawberry blond hair. “You been?”

Nate shrugged his broad shoulders. “Nope!” he said agreeably. That seemed to decide the matter, and they all turned and started heading for the bar, gym guy in the lead.

As they walked they introduced themselves: blond guy was Anthony, boy-next-door was Charlie, and gym guy was Bart. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods?” Anthony asked.

Nate explained about the kerfuffle. They seemed aghast, and by the time they were seated at one of Lorillard’s little outdoor tables, Anthony and Charlie to either side and Bart across from Nate, they were staring at him in amazement.

“The settlement was enough for me to sock plenty away and buy a sweet upscale loft—as long as it was someplace else,” he finished as the busser delivered a pitcher of ice water and four small plastic glasses before disappearing.

Anthony was shaking his head. “Wait, so this hunky junior partner—your boss’s boss or whatever—just started coming onto you? In your office? In the middle of the day?” he asked. “and then you and he—?” He trailed off, incredulous.

Nate shrugged. “It happens,” he said. “They were too uptight there. If HR hadn’t gotten involved—”

“Wait, no, it really doesn’t,” Bart broke in. “I mean, that’s a nightmare scenario for a big corporation. I can’t even imagine it happening in my firm.”

Nate’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?” he asked, surprised. Bart stared at him.

“Kind of a fantasy, though,” Anthony admitted. “For some guys,” he added, glancing guiltily over at his friends.

Nate hmmed. “It’s not really about fantasies for me,” he said casually. “It’s just—it just makes sense. People are less stressed out after sex, aren’t they? You go out, you run into guys, sex happens. It’s just part of everyday life. You know?”

“Not really,” Bart said drily.

Nate looked around at his new friends, confused. “So you guys are saying—it doesn’t just happen to you. You’ve never had sex without warning at a restaurant, or a car wash, or, I dunno, asking for directions at a gas station.”

They hadn’t, it seemed, and were slightly dismayed that he thought they might have. Nate was smiling as he shook his head. “But… I dunno. Getting hard in public and doing something about it is just part of being a guy.”

Anthony eyed him. “Are you saying—what are you saying? That you get sex whenever you’re aroused in public?” he pressed, leaning forward a little.

“Not—I don’t—”

“Don’t what, Nate?” Bart asked.

“A lot of times, they’re the ones who are hard. Like Charlie is, right now.” Anthony and Bart looked at Charlie, who was absentmindedly rubbing his crotch. “You guys are looking at me like this is the craziest thing,” Nate said. “Charlie, back me up here.”

“Huh?” Charlie said, faintly dazed. His green eyes were dark with lust as he focused on Nate. His lips curved. “You want me to… back… it… up…?”

Charlie started fiddling with the back of his shorts as he got out of his seat and came around to Nate, throwing it back for his new buddy and showing off his fine, now-bare ass. Nate took up the offer, and they could already see he was getting very hard even as he pulled his thick, damp-tipped, ready-to-go cock out of his running shorts.

Anthony and Bart were stunned by this. “Uh, dudes…” Bart said in a low voice.

“What are you doing?” Anthony said, flicking his disbelieving gaze between Nate and Charlie. There was something in his eyes and the line between his brows that said he almost understood, but his bafflement was still very real.

Nate gave him a winning smile, hoping he’d understand this time. “C’mon man,” he said, like Anthony had suddenly objected to bro-hugs or emojis. “What’s wrong with everyone getting off now and then? It’s really no big. Right, Charlie?”

“Yeah, it’s just something that—” He eased his thrust-out ass down on where Nate was holding his big, wide hardon in an upright and ready position, moaning a little as the stiff erection slid along the inside of his crease and brushed his tight, twitching hole. The others were now watching in silent, round-eyed awe as Nate got to work on their friend. “—unnhhh—something that happens!” he finished. “No… big. Well, that’s not true. There is a ‘big’…”

A thin, uniformed goth-twink of a waiter wandered up, looking down at his pad. “You guys ready to—?” He stopped and froze in place as Nate grinned happily and Charlie let out another low, pleased moan.

“Uh—I’ll come back,” the waiter said. He turned and fled, the four guys barely noticing.

Charlie was seating himself slowly onto Nate’s precum-slick pole, making deep, soft noises in the back of his throat as Nate’s larger-than-average prick pushed deeper and deeper into him. Nate wrapped an arm around his nicely defined torso under his tee shirt, finding Charlie’s cock with his other hand as he pulled Charlie’s back against his naturally muscular chest. “You want it nice and quick?” Nate offered, his sultry baritone still sounding as genial and solicitous as ever. “I can make it last if you want.”

“What the hell,” Bart muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Quick is good,” Charlie answered conversationally, like they were discussing splitting the tip after dim sum.

Nate smiled and wriggled his crotch deftly into Charlie’s ass, simultaneously working Charlie’s average-length, extra-wide palm-filling erection. In moments Charlie was throwing his head back, sweat dappling his temples. “Nice,” he said. “Nate, that’s—oh, that’s nice—”

“Very nice,” Nate agreed. Charlie’s eyes suddenly flew open—he was going to cum. Not wanting to mess up his tee shirt, he quickly grabbed one of the empty water cups off the table, fumbling it into position just as he started spurting heavily into the base of the cup.

“Jesus fuckballs,” Anthony said quietly.

He and Bart watched in astonishment as Charlie slammed the cup down on the table, the nature of its half-inch of messy contents shockingly obvious to anyone who might happen to glance at it. He eased himself off of Nate, getting to his feet as though nothing strange at all had happened. Pulling up his shorts, he moved around and dropped back into his previous seat looking utterly, enviably relaxed, satisfied smile and all.

Anthony and Bart were staring at the cup in horror. “What?” Nate asked, perplexed.

The goth-twink waiter reappeared, looking nervous. “Uh, hey again, can I get you guys anything—” He saw the soiled cup and blanched. “—uh, anything… else?”

All at once Nate felt very hungry. He ordered an IPA and a big double-cheese juicyburger platter, extra fries, extra mayo.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Charlie gushed, when the waiter turned uncertainly to him. He looked as famished as Nate felt. “I’ll have that.”

Anthony and Bart ordered slightly more reluctantly, like they were merging cautiously back onto the highway Nate and Charlie were cruising down at top speed, tachs in the red. When the waiter was gone, Nate turned suddenly to the others.

“Oh!” he said, excited. “I heard the baseball team here is great. You guys want to get tickets and go to a game?”

“I’m in,” Charlie said.

Anthony and Bart exchanged glances. “Uh,” Anthony said slowly, turning back to Nate. “Sure. Why not?”

Nate settled back in his chair, beaming at his new friends. He was definitely going to like it here.

Charlie sure was finding himself very popular these days. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Usually it was his more handsome buddy Anthony that got all the attention—the one with the blond hair and the ear stud and the confident swagger. That crooked smile of his always reeled them in whenever he wanted a little company at the clubs. Or Bart, with that height and those hefty muscles he’d been obsessively honing and shaping all these years. Charlie was just the boy next door. Friendly face, strawberry blond hair, decent enough body. Nothing to write home about, or so he thought, but these last few weeks the hottest guys in town were right up there in his personal space, wanting his eyes on theirs and his hands on everything else.

It wasn’t even just at the bars—that was the weird part. He could understand it if a little fad had developed for a bit of extreme flirting with Nice Guy Charlie over at Rooster’s or The View. But guys were coming up him on the street, in the train station… just this week he’d gotten off two guys at work, one in the conference room and one in the actual lobby while the receptionist watched, trying to hide his obvious interest the whole time.

Being popular was good, and helping guys release their pent-up orgasms felt more natural than his actual job—not that he’d ever been all that invested in boring old civil engineering. It felt perfectly natural. After all, getting hard in public and doing something about it is just part of being a guy, and if he could provide a hand for a dick or a dick for an ass, however gonzo it was that they were turning to him and not someone hotter—well, in his eyes that was making the same kind of contribution to the earth as trees making oxygen or worms aerating the soil. The Circle Jerk of Life!

The one that finally got him feeling more used to guys responding to him was the Sunday afternoon before. He’d had to go to the home improvement store—he’d helped out the Amazon delivery guy a few days previously, and the wooden porch railing on his house hadn’t been as sturdy as it looked. Anyway, he was in the cavernously huge lumber aisle, mulling over a stack of precut two-by-fours, when a sandy-haired guy in his late twenties wearing a store apron came up really close, directly in front of Charlie—so close his face was barely six inches away. Charlie could count the freckles splashed across his cheekbones if he wanted; though he was more interested in the random flecks of jade green in his pretty hazel eyes. The man’s scent was woodsy with just a bit of workday sweat, and his smile was wide and a little hungry.

Charlie grinned happily back at him. “Hi!” he said. Once again, he tried not to feel self-conscious. He was decently fit, and he’d been going to the gym every day like a maniac since hot guys started coming to him (and on him), but he could tell just from the waves of strength this guy was giving off he was built like a college gymnast under that uniform shirt and canvas apron. Charlie’d gained a very fine-tuned appreciation for sensing fit bodies and hard cocks recently, especially up close (as said bodies and cocks often were), and this guy was getting high marks in both.

“Hi,” the sandy-haired associate said, his eyes flicking between Charlie’s as if to decide which was nicer. “You, uh, looking for some wood?”

Charlie laughed, giving him a congratulatory slide of his hands along the guy’s flanks, just under his arms. The associate responded in kind, resting his hands on Charlie’s hips. Charlie felt both of their hardons flexing at each other even though they were separated by inches of space and at least four layers of clothing (if you counted the apron pockets). “I just have to make sure I get the right piece,” he explained conversationally.

The sandy-haired associate smiled. “I’m Peter,” he said. Charlie slid his hands around to Peter’s back and started working on undoing the apron. Peter moved closer to accommodate him, their rigid cocks now brushing together directly through the layers.

Charlie responded with his own name, and Peter licked his lips as Charlie freed the apron. The sexy associate swiftly pulled it over his head and set it in arm’s reach on a nearby shelf. He then resumed his position, only now he was a little closer, fully pressed against Charlie from the chest down.

Charlie was starting to feel at some level like moments like this were why he was on this planet in the first place. It just felt so utterly normal, like the cadence of life itself. Peter stared expectantly into Charlie’s eyes, waiting for his touch, and Charlie was just reaching between them for Peter’s fly when a nearby deep voice said, “Are you finding everything you need, sir?”

Charlie looked up to see another associate standing so close behind Peter that he and the newcomer were actually pressing Peter snugly between them. The new man was darker skinned and heavily muscled, though not any taller than Peter, and though he was wearing a supervisor’s uniform (with no apron to get in the way—nice) he looked Charlie’s age at most, only a couple years older than Peter.

Peter let out a little hum of happiness at being thus sandwiched between Charlie (fit) and the newcomer (ripped). Charlie aimed his smile at the latest arrival. “I am,” he answered amiably, “but I’d be happy for you to help too! I’m Charlie.”

The newcomer held Charlie’s gaze, his eyes so brown they almost seemed onyx—though again this close there were slivers of bronze to be seen, if you looked. “Rami,” the senior associate said.

Charlie had just finished undoing the buck of Peter’s belt and flicked his waistband button, eyes of Rami the whole time. “Nice to meet you,” Charlie said, quite truthfully. To Peter he added, “Turn around.”

Peter was looking somewhat dazed—normal for this stage when Charlie was helping a guy, he’d noticed. “Hm?” he asked. Charlie nodded toward Rami with his chin and Peter grinned. With some difficulty—seeing as neither Charlie nor Rami were moving an inch—Peter got himself turned around in the narrow space, the shifting around making Rami’s ponderous pecs shift around and wobble amusingly before Peter got himself resettled between them. Charlie’s raging erection was now pressing against Peter’s firm, soon-to-be-unencumpered bubble-butt. This wouldn’t take long, Charlie thought contentedly.

“Hi, boss,” Peter said giddily to Rami.

Rami stared at him impassively. “Wilkins,” he said, then pushed in and gave him a brief open-mouthed kiss as if helpless to do so. Okay, this definitely wouldn’t take long.

Just as Charlie was shoving Peter’s trousers down, exposing the pale, freckled curves of the young associate’s ass, an older man in his fifties—handsome enough with receding ginger hair and slim overalls—paused beside them uncertainly. “Excuse me,” he asked Peter, “can you tell me where I can find ball peen hammers?”

Peter beamed at him, looking slightly flushed. “Aisle 63, sir!” he answered chirpily.

“Halfway down,” Rami added in a low, friendly growl. “Next to the hand saws.”

The fatherly redhead nodded. “Thank you kindly,” he said. Then he looked between the three of them and added awkwardly, “Er, carry on,” before hurrying down the aisle and vanishing around the next corner.

Peter grinned at Carlie over his shoulder, as if to say, “You heard him!”

Charlie met Rami’s gaze. They would do this together. Reaching down, he fished out his eight-inch tool, and Rami, face expressionless, did the same, pulling out his own tool and pressing it in his fist against Peter’s. Peter hummed again, even as he tried pushing his eager ass against Charlie’s dick—not that there was anywhere for Peter to go.

A couple of guys rattled by with a half-full shopping cart, giving the threesome a quick glance of surprised interest before moving on. On the overhead speakers, someone paged somebody for something. Charlie didn’t care, any more than he cared just now about his own DIY mission that day. This was what was important.

He slid his dick along Peter’s crease, finding his hole. He was always lubed lately, which was just as well, considering how his days went. He pressed his cock against the hole and started slipping into the tight, hot space.

Peter seemed to melt between them. The three of them were so close that Charlie and Rami could have kissed if they’d wanted. It was more fun to smile at Rami and for Rami to stare back at him, though, as Rami double-stroked and Charlie fucked.

Charlie had been right about this one not taking long. Peter was making soft happy grunt noises, and as they increased in speed and pitch Charlie knew he was going to cum soon. His own orgasm chased his butt-partner’s in perfect sync (as always), and from the intensity of Rami’s stare he knew the muscle guy was close, too. “Let’s do it,” he said, and the three of them were cumming hard—Charlie into Peter’s ass, and Peter and Rami into the apron that Peter had somehow had the presence of mind to clamp over their bursting erections.

Charlie, flushed with afterglow, dropped a kiss on Peter’s shoulder and stepped back, doing up his fly and hiding away his temporarily satisfied cock. The action left Peter’s ass exposed and bare, which was a nice sight; but Rami reached down after a moment and pulled Peter’s trousers up. Peter rested happily against the bulkier man, obviously as sated as a man could be.

“Thanks, boss,” Peter said.

Rami was now staring into Peter’s eyes instead of Charlie’s. His expression was still impassive, but the “Uh huh” that was Rami’s answer sure sounded to Charlie a lot like “Any time.”

Whistling to himself, Charlie picked up three lengths of 2x4x6, slung them over his shoulder, and headed for the checkout, flushed with euphoria and feeling like he pretty much had to be, in that moment, one of the happiest, most contented people on earth.

Nate was proud of his openness to sex. He was especially proud of how his innate, carefree amenability to this most basic and pleasant of human interactions tended to infect those around him. He could only guess that he was so unencumbered when it came to being hard and horny and the physical joy that came with it that other men he met were drawn to his state of utter liberation.

Guys got hard and horny. That was how guys were, and around Nate they tended to be solidly okay with that fact. Some went further, shedding their needlessly protective walls like crumbling sand castles, ephemeral and soon forgotten.

Nate loved seeing the simple lust, the instant responsiveness, the way they’d act on their horniness instead of pushing it down and hiding it. Nate didn’t understand why men did that all the time. It couldn’t be healthy.

That relief that guys tended to exhibit when they met him and realized that they could be themselves gratified Nate almost as much as having his cock fisted or sucked, or more, whenever he was hot for a cum-release. Some of his favorite memories involved wide enthusiastic smiles and that a eagerness for life and fucking that guys contracted around him. What was getting off if not the most primal expression of life and being?

For years it had been like that—Nate finding new friends, and them realizing how open real men were to new experiences and the rush of easy, uncomplicated male intimacy. Still, as essential as it was to him, Nate had not always been a natural.

It still amazed him to think of it, but his whole freshman year in college he didn’t have a single sexual encounter. That was outside the nightly mutual orgasmathons with his roommate Tripp, of course. Most guys did that with their roommates, didn’t they? Just before bed, or first thing in the morning, or as a midday break before library study or boring afternoon classes. Nate found it hard to imagine not doing it. Honestly, their hard-ons were right there. Every night. Who could resist a thick, delicious hard-on?

Nate knew he couldn’t when it came to other guys’ hard, stiff cocks, and his own seemed pretty captivating, too, going by his roomie’s hungry stares and that slick lick of the lips he did. Tripp was boned day and night for Nate’s big, wide, juicy pole, or so it seemed, and Nate had been just as rock-hard for Tripp’s seven-inch mouthful of rigid, sexy cockmuscle whenever they were in that little hormone-box of a room together. It was a vicious cycle, really. Tripp had told him he looked good in a tank top, given his rangy height and the definition he got from the habitual sit-ups and push-ups he’d been doing for the surge of blood-flow since his first baseball team in high school. The light dusting of chest hair across his pecs probably helped as well. Anyway, Nate took the advice to heart, sporting colorful tanks and sleeveless tees whenever he could, especially around Tripp.

Outside their dorm room, though, Nate was as uptight as everyone else until sophomore year. He’d see guys eyeing him in the quad or the dining hall, getting him all riled up with a steamy look here and a quick adjustment of their jeans there, and then—nothing. No encounters, no suck-downs in the weight room or the rathskeller, nothing but steeply amassing hormones all day long until he burst into the cinder-block space he shared with Tripp and see that slow grin on his suck-buddy’s as Nate got his dick free for him to pleasure. Nate had even started wearing button-flies so he could rip open his jeans for Tripp as quickly and efficiently as possible—that was how pent up he was getting every day from all those horny encounters without the easy, natural, in-the-moment release that Eros intended when he invented the beautiful, man-loving, made-for-cum-blowing human dick.

One guy in his freshman comp class was an exemplar and prototype of his daily problem. It was the guy Nate sat next to. They’d never spoken, just stared sidelong at each other, or watched the board while basking in each other’s raw, sexual presence. Nate thought his name was Will. He was blond, boyish, and a little reticent, despite his coiled energy and a look that said “athletic” in a fitness-ready, team-sports kind of way from his trim haircut to his white sneakers and the snug cotton rugby shirts he always wore, like he’d be having a game with his buds later. Nate loved the rugby shirts and how they highlighted the cock-chubbing bumpiness of his crush’s shoulders, and the way his pecs pushed out gently from his torso, making the thick cotton follow the trigonometry of the curve away from the clavicle and then suddenly back again.

The best part was his jeans. They were so soft and so well broken in that when he got up to leave at the end of every class you could instantly see the fat erection he’d helplessly grown from lusting after Nate the whole period—a match, of course, for the equally unmissable boner Nate had throbbing away in his own pants. Nate dreamed at night sometimes of that hidden majesty; and the reinforcement of it happening class after class added vividness and detail to his fantasies as the weeks went on. That that horny, tongue-ready cock was there for him, every time, was a truth of his existence, and it was not the only cock that hardened around him as he walked the busy, boy-filled campus.

…And with all that, nothing happened. Will hadn’t reached over once through the whole of freshman year to free Nate’s dick and jack him to a blinding release, or bent over Nate’s crotch to engulf his stiff cock and swallow down his thick, pulsing cum. It didn’t make any sense.

Nate hadn’t been any less inhibited. He’d wanted to act. He’d imagined himself reaching over and fisting that cock he’d only seen in denim bulge form and making Will blow a big, messy load all over that nice thin red and blue short-sleeved one Nate really liked on him. He couldn’t get there, though. It was a problem.

Really, it almost felt wrong for Tripp to suck him down when he got back to the dorm, desperate and flushed after hours of painful hardness. That load had Will’s name on it, damn it! Will should be the one to gulp it down and smile that louche, smeary smile Tripp always got afterwards that kinda made Nate want to go another round.

Sophomore year was when things took a turn. He was able to get Tripp as his roommate again, which was reassuring for his pent-up lust if nothing else. It turned out Tripp had finally ditched his blah girlfriend, Janine, over the summer and, perhaps inspired by their necessary nightly antics, had been bringing back a string of eager, horny guys with dicks in desperate need of pleasuring. Tripp was happy to share these windfalls with Nate, and Nate was happy to assist.

Another windfall: One of Nate’s second-year business classes had turned out to be a team-based seminar-type course, geared toward real-world challenges in client relations and logistics. This was where things turned for him. Not only were the guys on his team very friendly and ranging from great-looking to pulse-poundingly hot, but their prof for the course, who liked to be called Jake, could have been one of their older brothers rather than the older authority figures he was used to. Barely thirty by the look of him, Jake was thoroughly leonine in appearance, presence, and manner. His hair was tawny blond, his eyes blue and penetrating. His body radiated strength as much from how he prowled the classroom as from the tightly packed physique under his crisp, professional broadcloth button-down and dark, pleated trousers.

Nate sat with his team in lecture, each group getting its own table in the large, open classroom. He watched Jake’s every move as the prof roamed the room, sharing business wisdom Nate barely heard and yet somehow imbibed into his soul, and he was certain his group of equally hot and bothered guys were as rapt and riled as he was. Nate could almost smell their heat as they sat around him, hard and wanton in that way men got because that was how men were built, and nothing could have felt more normal and reaffirming. The only thing more natural than guys getting hard and horny around each other was guys getting hard and horny around each other because they were sharing a state of enthralled desire for the sexy hotness of Professor Jake.

Somehow, being turned on around Jake was unlike any other state of horniness Nate had ever felt. In Nate’s experience most of the time being horny was about being held back—as though his cock were riding up and down against force-field barriers he had imposed on himself. There was kind of a thrill in that, but it was frustrating, too.

It was like there was something he needed, like an ice cream chocolate chip cookie sandwich, only it was an ice cream chocolate chip cookie sandwich that was a part of him, something natural and real and people were holding him back by the shoulders and legs waist and he couldn’t get at it. It wasn’t right that he couldn’t experience the fulfillment of a craving his own body had generated, and in the most natural and fundamental of physical and sensory processes.

Around Jake, those hands holding him back started to fall away, and the real possibility of slaking that need was as exciting as the need itself.

And there were other hands, actual hands—the best kind of hands. As Jake moved around them, staring into them with a faint gold-bearded smirk and stirring up sparks in their loins by his mere presence, the hands moved under his table almost of their own volition. Nate’s hard-on was already throbbing when he felt Ethan’s curious paw in his lap; and as Nate turned to the tall, slim hottie, matching Ethan’s ardent grin with one of his own, Nate realized that his hand was wandering, too—not into Ethan’s lap but that of the dark-haired Greek gymnast guy on the other side, the one who liked to sit extra close and brush his thick-sculpted shoulders against Nate’s every time they sat together.

Nate turned and smiled at Andros, and his seatmate glanced up briefly from staring at Nate’s crotch to meet his eyes, just for a moment. The longing Nate saw there in that flash of contact sent a shiver through him, making the cock Andros and Ethen both wanted flex for its loyal audience.

Nate slid his other hand into Ethan’s lap, and then the three of them were racing to free their cocks. There was something joyous in extricating these three hard, thick, musky poles from their unnecessary prisons. Even as they got them out, Nate wrapping his hand around two stiff, hot pricks and his seatmates both fisting his, their eyes were lifting to Professor Jake like plants to a sun. The cocks in Nate’s hands felt familiar and new at the same time, and all at once Nate realized that the naturalness of this moment wasn’t about the freedom of his cock, but the cocks of those around him.

Jake was nodding at them as he prowled the room with a confident smile, his ongoing lecture augmented by this moment of discovery being shared by three students who had broken free and embraced true masculinity.

After that day, Nate, Ethan, and Andros freed themselves every time. The other students stared, amazed and envious, as the three fisted and stroked each other, watching Jake the whole time with proud grins. In time their liberation was infectious enough that more of Nate’s team was joining in—first Jerry, the dark-skinned swimmer to Ethan’s right, then the next week Andros’s mousy-cute best friend Izzy on Andros’s other side. Soon Nate’s whole team was in on it, and he was pretty sure he’d seen a trim guy with weirdly big pecs at the next table openly stroking his long, pink, slippery tool, too, as he stared intently at them, his mouth rounded in an “o” of wonder.

Late in November, just before Thanksgiving, another shift happened when Ethan stopped stroking and suddenly dove down onto Nate’s big, fat dick, swallowing Nate’s cock right in the middle of a lecture on applied principles of supply-chain development. Nate’s head lolled to the side, his mouth wide, but before he could moan or cry out he realized he was staring directly into the well-packed, trouser-clad crotch of his infinitely horny and very aroused professor. For an instant he glanced up, bathing contentedly in Jake’s approving smile—then the sound of unzipping brought his attention right back to Jake’s bulging groin. A beat later and the fly was down, and a heavy, purple, three-fingers-wide tool was filling Nate’s vision, its single eye weeping a tear of delicious precum. There was no underwear, not for a pure unbound man like Jake, and neither would there be for Nate, not if he could help it.

Nate’s prick slid deep into Ethan’s throat in symphonic concurrence with Jake’s doing the same, pushing past Nate’s tonsils like throats were where cocks belonged. Sizzling pleasure chased through Nate. His hands were grasping hot, iron-hard cocks… a big beautiful cock was massaging his throat… and his own cock was being ministered to with talent and devotion, all while dozens of others looked on in mouth-watering appreciation and cock-twitching envy. What more could a man want? The perfection of it rode him as intensely as the physical stimulus, and before long they were all cumming—Nate, Jake, Andros, Ethan, Jerry, Izzy, his whole horny team, and others too. Orgasms scattered through the room like pleasure-bubbles from a bubble machine bursting randomly everywhere, spurring grunts and moans and the reassuring masculine smell of cum.

Nate swallowed two mouthfuls of hot, savory spunk and grinned as Jake withdrew. The prof mussed with Nate’s short, dark hair as he moved off, continuing his wandering lecture with his cock hanging casually out of his trousers to enjoy the air a little longer before he hid it away. The others, sated, did likewise, a little more slowly. That was how the rest of the class meetings went.

And not just the class meetings, either. Being around Jake had changed Nate, and he found himself reveling in easy, unbound cum-shooting encounters everywhere he went. Because guys were like that. Guys got horny and hard, and Nate knew he could help, the way Jake had helped him.

The best part was there was always plenty of hard cock and hot high-pressure Nate-jizz to spend on Tripp when he got back to the dorm. He could still end his day with that wide, cum-smeared smile as they flicked off the light and cuddled under the covers together, Nate waiting contentedly to fall into fathomless, cock-filled dreams that looked, to him, increasingly like reality.

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