Drug of Choice
I am writing this now with the direct intent and purpose of documenting the following occurrences. For my latest class in psychology, we must do a study of self, set in any media we care to use. My chosen media is writing. My chosen study is not myself, but is instead a study of my roommate and myself.
How will a straight man react to being gay?
And this is where it all starts, with this question.
I've set out to write this much like a diary or journal, a daily transcription of the events that will follow my study, interaction, and eventual seduction of a straight man. I'd rather not use his real name, though all things considered, it could very easily be found out. He is after all my roommate.
My roommate is, as I have stated, straight. He dates women, has sex with them, and claims to have no interest in men at all. I intend to prove him a closeted homosexual. So closeted that he won't even admit it to himself, and that his attempts at dating women are merely, camouflage.
A little background information about my roommate; he's about 5'5, slender, long hair, pretty face, loud mouth, over eager sense of humor, and as horny as they come. His majors so far, are theology and philosophy, that in itself making for an interesting study of him.
I've lived with him now for a total of three months, meeting one another through a post on one of the campus bulletin boards. He's an all right enough roommate; he cleans up after himself, goes to bed at decent hours, and doesn't play the stereo too loudly when he knows I have to study for something. He contains something rare these days, common courtesy.
As for myself, I'm a little taller though about the same weight, dark hair, Japanese descent, quiet, and gay. I knew I liked my own sex by the time I was seven. Not even my family threatening to disown me could stop me from my chosen sexual path. I've always considered myself rather lucky in this respect; I've always known what I was, and what I wanted. There was never any confusion in my mind over it.
Why I've chosen to study my own roommate, and discern whether he is in fact closeted within himself, is not purely on a scientific level I admit. I'm attracted to him, and have been since we met. Neither of us is a stereotype of what 'gay' is, and therefore, it is undetermined as to whether he is or isn't.
Let's start by describing what I've seen of his sexual interests and activities. In this way opening a door to the inner study of Duo Maxwell, and more importantly, to myself.
Since we've moved in together he's had a date almost every night, as well as sex. Since most of the time he'll bring his dates back to the apartment, go into his bedroom, shut the door, and usually not open it again until a few hours have passed. This is a reasonable determination of what goes on behind that closed door. My study starts at this point, as it is Thursday night now, and he has just come home with his date for the evening.
I receive a brief introduction and hello, his female friend acknowledging my presence with a lascivious gleam in her eye. They tend to do that a lot I've noticed. But I can't blame them for it, it's not as if I wear a sign proclaiming "I'm gay, don't touch me." And my hands don't move overly much in flapping gestures, I don't dress the part, I don't speak with a lisp. As a matter of fact, I think I've managed to cull any obviously gay traits out of my behavioral patterns. To the point where Maxwell has made the mistake in thinking, I'm straight as well.
They spend another ten minutes or so in chatting me up, their hands straying towards each other, and then they're off like little hormonal rockets. Nearly running to his room and shutting the door, the sound of moans, screams, giggles, and groans echoing from his bedroom.
To me, it seems as if he tries overly much to show that he isn't interested in his own sex. His excessive dating habits and the fact that he has sex with almost any woman he brings home, helping to cement this idea. What makes me think he would swing in my direction? Simple, it's the looks he gives me.
Attraction can be determined by the following in almost any creature. Stirring of the loins, heart palpitations, sweating, shifting eyes, faster breathing. This unfortunently can often be confused with nervousness. I know that I'm attracted to him, because I feel all these things when he's around, as to whether he feels the same, is harder to say.
For now, let us leave this study until the morning. My porno is screaming my name, my bed calling my body afterwards. My study of myself involves my hand, my penis, and a good long look at various men in interesting sexual situations.
It's morning, as I sit here wiping the sleep from my eyes and gripping my coffee mug with an unsteady hand. Last night it took me nearly a full hour of masturbation and a pair of earplugs before I was able to fall asleep. Maxwell's bedroom is right beside my own, and the sounds of his moans through the wall kept sending my hand back down to my lap. What can I say? I admit to having the normal hormonal urges of any twenty-year-old male. Which is to say my hand might as well be glued to my dick.
I've decided that the language I write this account in will degrade. Already I feel the urge to describe things in a more open and honest light. The technical and medical words for anatomy and feelings just won't do. And in order to better depict the situation, I think a different form of verbal and written study is necessary.
My first step in this will be to outright ask. Rather than be a complete idiot and avoid ever asking, much could be determined by a few simple questions. My computer is located in my bedroom, right beside my bed. Even now, I can hear Maxwell stirring, no doubt getting ready for his shower. The faint sound of his voice as he talks and sings to himself can be heard through my bedroom wall.
I ease out of my chair, checking to make sure I look all right before slipping out my door and over to his. I look like I always do, messy hair, blue eyes, and a facial expression that tends to say nothing about how I'm feeling on the inside. I've practiced this look, honing it until even my own mother can't see my thoughts as they roil behind my eyes.
My fist lifts to knock on his door, and then I stop. Maybe I should wait until after he showers. Until after the smell of last night's sex has been washed off his body. But then my knuckles are already rapping on his door, and I'm left with no choice.
"What?" he calls, and I can just picture him, nothing but a towel wrapped around those slim hips, hair messy around him, that look on his face that says he's tired, and probably still daydreaming of sex. It's confirmed as he opens the door, the mere sight of him shooting down to my groin and lifting my "spirits".
"Maxwell, I have to ask you some questions." Before he can say a word, I interrupt his half-opened mouth. "It's for a psychology paper I have to write." Which is the truth, and makes me feel much more confident in the face of his near nudity and confused expression.
"Ok, shoot." He nods, letting his towel drop. My jaw drops a little as well and I struggle to close it. "Ask while I shower ok, I'm running late for Mr. Teka's class."
This is one of the many reasons I think he's secretly gay. He's all too easy with nudity in front of me. Almost as if he's showing himself off, and wants me to see him like this. So I take a nice long look as he pushes past me and heads for the bathroom, one hand still clutching the towel.
See? Why would he take off the towel, only to bring it with him? Unconscious attempt at flirting? It's hard to say.
I carefully gather my thoughts, ordering my questions and getting ready to fire them at him. "Ok, it's a study in homosexual and homoerotic tendencies as seen from the straight man's point of view." I outright lie to him. "I need to ask you a few sexual questions, if you don't mind."
For a moment, his back seems to stiffen, and then his shoulders relax, and he turns his head slightly towards me. Studying my carefully blank expression. "Ok, I'll try my best."
"Thanks," I wait while he turns on the water in the shower, testing the temperature before stepping beneath the spray. The clear shower curtain does no good at obscuring my near perfect view of him. And I have a hard time controlling my hormones for a moment, watching as he's slicked down, hair plastering to him, eyes closing as he tilts his head back. "Uh, well, the first question I have is this: Do you masturbate?"
I wait, as he seems to ponder this, his hands reaching blindly for the shampoo bottle. It clicks open with a flick of his fingertip and he pours a generous amount onto his palm before answering. "Of course, doesn't everyone?"
"All right, next question. Have you ever masturbated while thinking of, looking at, or contemplating another man?" I almost don't catch the little intake of breath before he answers. That one caught him off guard.
"Well, not really, but then I've never really thought of it either. My thoughts before, during, and after masturbation tend not to be very specific. Just vague images."
Now he's being careful, afraid of how his answers will make me feel towards him. He hasn't a clue of course, that I myself am as gay as the day is long, I've never let on, never felt a reason to. So I nod at his answer, my eyes still following him through his morning shower routine. Despite my control over my own body and mind, I can feel myself growing hard just watching him. And I sit down quickly on the closed toilet lid, trying to lose my erection before he steps out of the shower.
"Have you ever been sexually stimulated by homosexual pornography and or by another man?" He takes a moment before responding, rinsing the suds from his hip length hair. That hair, it's so long and pretty, sometimes I wonder if it isn't his unconscious attempt at being more like a woman. He isn't into the normal criteria for a guy with long hair, doesn't listen to heavy metal, he's not in a band, or hippie ideals, or anything like that. Perhaps too, this could explain his near insatiable appetite for sexual encounters with women. Perhaps they are his forms of study, in trying to find out what it's like to be female. I shift carefully on the toilet seat, willing my dick to go down. Just asking him these questions and thinking these thoughts has sent my lust through the roof.
"Yes," he says at last, briefly turning towards me where I sit, and meeting my eyes through the steam and shower curtain. "My best friend in junior high. We used to jerk each other off. But," he shrugs, "I never really thought of it as a homosexual activity. It was just a way to get someone else to touch me, you know?"
"Yes," I hide my smile, and watch him a little more before asking my next question. Now he's rubbing a palmful of conditioner through his hair, running his fingers through the mass of it. The scent of something fruity and yet oddly masculine drifts on the steam from the shower. I close my eyes for a few seconds, praying to god that I can get my hard on to go away before he gets out of the shower. "Have you had any other sexual experiences related to men?"
"Umm," now he's getting nervous, obviously my questions are hitting sensitive areas. "Well, I've uh, been in a few three-ways, me and another guy, and a girl."
"Did you let the guy touch you?" I blurt out, unable to stop myself from asking.
"Yeah," he pauses for a few minutes, rinsing out the conditioner and grabbing the bar of soap. I close my eyes again, knowing that if I watch him lather up that body, I'll be unable to sit here much longer. "A little, not much though, it made me nervous."
Most likely because he's been trained since childhood that being gay is a bad thing. That letting another man touch you intimately is wrong somehow. "Did you feel nervous because you felt that somehow it was wrong?"
"I felt nervous because I was sixteen," he says with a laugh, the clean smell of the soap sifting through my senses. I open an eye, taking in the sight of him lathering up, soapsuds caressing his blurred form through the shower curtain. "Any more questions, Heero?"
I flinch, wondering if he's noticed my silence, and my eyes boring holes into him. "Just a few more, do you have the time?"
"Yeah, I can answer while I get dressed."
I will not cave; I will not show my attraction. If I do, it might ruin my study of him. "Ok, have you in the past few years had any sexual encounters with the same sex?"
The shower shuts off, and I realize he's done even as his fingers reach out for his towel. I hand it to him, opening the door and stepping into the hallway while he towels off.
"No, not since those few times when I was sixteen and seventeen. And never with just another guy and myself, always with a woman involved." He peers around the doorway and grins at me, one hand holding his towel in place, hair dripping onto the tiled floor. "You have any classes today?" he asks out of the blue.
"No, free time today, just writing this paper." He nods, opening the hall closet and nabbing another towel for his hair. "All right, one more question and then I'll leave you to yourself."
"Deal, I'm already a half hour late." He rolls his eyes, and I follow him to his bedroom door, leaning against the frame as he searches through his dresser drawers for clothes.
"Would you be open to letting me test you for homosexual tendencies?" I avert my eyes when he stops to stare at me. This is the question I wanted to ask from the beginning. Having him willing to let me study him, might make all the difference in the world. He clears his throat and I glance at him, watching as he slowly towels dry his hair.
"How would you go about that?"
"A few more questions, a few simple tests, nothing too difficult I think."
"Can I give you an answer later? I need to think about it."
I nod, "yeah, take your time, though I will need an answer by tonight, or else I'll have to find someone else to test this stuff on. Kay?"
"No problem, I'll be home around three-ish."
We nod at each other, and I take my leave at last, nearly running back to my own room. I'm so hard by now I hurt. And I'm very thankful I was wearing clothing baggy enough to hide my arousal. In seconds I've got my dick in my hand and nothing but him on my mind. Vaguely I hear the front door slam shut, and speed up my pace, crying out softly when I come. Have I mentioned masturbation is a hobby of mine? But what red-blooded male doesn't do it?
I've spent the afternoon planning out what I can ask him, and what possible tests I can run him through. He's due home any time now, and I'm still unsure of how I'm going to pull this off without him guessing my true motivations. My number one problem being that Maxwell isn't stupid. Which is fine, I like a man with a brain, but at the same time, it makes it much more difficult to fool him. And on cue, I can hear the front door to our apartment bang open, the sound of him singing off-key following his loud entrance.
In minutes, he's at my door, knocking politely. "Come in," I call, minimizing my screen and turning to face the door. Again, I'm left with trying to control my basic reaction to the mere sight of him. I never did see what he decided to wear today. And am rather excited by the vision of tight jeans and a tight black t-shirt as he nonchalantly leans against my doorframe. His hair is held in a loose ponytail that just brushes the top of his rear, a smile planted on his lips.
"So, are you going to do it?" I ask, unwilling to be held in suspense.
"Well, I guess so." For a moment, he looks nervous, and then he grins at me. "When do you want to start?"
"Right now, I'll need you for the whole weekend I'm afraid. I've got tons of tests to put you through, and this paper is due in a weeks time." I grimace and watch as he winces sympathetically.
"Ok, I'll cancel my weekend plans, but keep in mind you owe me a favor for this."
I can't help but smile at him, with any luck, by the time this weekend is over, any favor he asks of me will be purely sexual.
It is with no small amount of trepidation that I set up my notes and my various "tests". Taking over the coffee table in the living room and littering it neatly with pictures, papers, and even a video or two. I've decided the best way to do this is to start out slowly, get him used to the idea of sexual contact with men as being something that is not wrong in any sense of the word.
"All right," I look up at him where he's sitting on the couch across from me. He's taken off his shoes; sock clad feet tucked beneath himself, a can of coke resting easily on one bent thigh. "Hit me with your best shot," and he grins at me, laughing a little to himself.
He's nervous, I can tell, small signs of fidgeting, his laughter containing just a hint of tenseness. I tip my glasses up on my nose and peer at him through them. And that makes him laugh a little more, exactly what I'd hoped for. "The first series of questions and tests will start out mildly, and all I need is for you to answer each question as honestly as possible. Ok?"
"Yeah, I think I can manage that. You know I hate to lie to people."
"Unless they're girls," I quip, grinning at him.
"Of course," he shrugs a bit, settling down further against the couch, taking an absent sip from his coke can. The tenseness seems to have leeched from his posture for the moment, and I begin my testing.
The first test consists of showing him a series of photographs of attractive men and women, clothes on. The point behind this test is that in each of the photos, is more than one person interacting. Whether they are talking, sitting, or merely watching television together. The basic idea is to get his first impression of what is happening in each picture. "Just tell me what you see happening in each of the pictures I show you, ok?" is all that I tell him for the moment.
"All right," he leans back a little, trying to get more comfortable, the nervousness again appearing.
The first picture is of two women, sitting close enough together so that their bodies touch, hands gesturing, one is eating an apple, the other is leaning close, invading personal space. "What do you see?" I ask, holding it up for him.
He fidgets for a moment, and I urge him on by pointing out that I need the first thing that pops into his head upon viewing. "They're friends, umm," he pauses, "ok first impression is that the one women is about to either steal a bite of that apple, or kiss her friend." He looks at my face, as if trying to determine whether he has the answer right.
"Ok, next." There are of course no right or wrong answers, and I leave my face carefully void of any expression as I show him the next photo. This one consists of two men sitting together in what looks like a movie theatre; they're both smiling, eyes on something a little above the head of the viewer. One has his arm resting between them; the other has his arm nudging towards the same armrest. Also, a bucket of popcorn is being held out to the man who has his arm already on the armrest.
Duo's eyes shift from the picture to my face before he responds. "Two friends watching a movie?"
"All right, next?"
He nods, looking vaguely confused, which is exactly what I'd determined he'd feel. And I hold up the next picture, which is an exact duplicate of the last one, only in this one it is a man and a woman.
"Just two friends, watching a movie, again." He says, nodding his head in confirmation of his own thoughts.
I find this response interesting, he could have said they were dating, or sexually interested in one another, but he didn't. Instead deciding the body posture also indicated mere friendship. I glance down at my lap, choosing another picture. This one has a man and woman leaning over a café table, faces inches apart. If you look at their hands, the man is handing the women a napkin, and the woman is offering a forkful of food, again both are smiling.
His response is a bit quicker this time, apparently he's starting to get the hang of this. "First date," he says with a smile, "been there myself too many times not to know it when I see it."
I nod; absently scribbling down something on a pad of paper that sits on the coffee table. What I've written is complete gibberish, but I do want to make this appear real in every sense. The next photo is the nearly the same as the last, the major difference being that it contains two men.
He's silent for a little longer this time, "friends?"
That was a false response, I'm almost positive of it. I pick another photograph, this time of another two men. Sitting on a couch much like our own, legs crossed over each others legs, arms touching, both facing one another while they talk.
The silence goes on a lot longer for this photo and I gently prod him to answer. "First response."
"Uh…they, like each other?"
I gesture for him to go on with my pencil, pretending this answer matters about as much as the others did. "Elaborate."
"They, umm, they have sex together? Or will?" he looks adorably confused for a moment, eyebrows drawing together, mouth pursing slightly.
"There are no wrong or right answers, just answer truthfully, ok?"
I decide that's enough of the nearly ambiguous pictures, and reach for the next set of photos. These ones contain more graphic images, though not by much. They merely make what might not have been obvious in the others, glaringly so.
The first photo contains three people, two women, and a man. The man is sitting between the two women, his hand resting on one of the women's thighs, though his face is turned towards the other woman. "First impression," I say, holding it up.
"Hm, he wants to bang both of them," he answers, grinning from ear to ear.
"Ok, next." This picture has two men, hands touching, one whispering into the ear of the other.
"Lovers," he says softly, this time without the question mark behind it, and I nearly applaud that response.
"One more," carefully I choose the next picture, a man and a woman, the woman sitting on the man's lap, one arm tossed over his shoulders in a carefree gesture, they're laughing.
"Friends," the answer is quick, I nod, laying the set of pictures on top of the first and pretending to do more clinical writing.
"Ok, you did well." I glance up, meeting his eyes, "the next set of tests are a bit different. Again I'll need complete honesty."
"I'm going to give you four short stories to read, each of them containing a different form of erotic literature. When you're done reading them, I'll ask you a series of questions. Ok?"
"Yeah, all right. Are you going to time me or anything?" He's nervous again, but this time I don't need to worry about it, as I won't be in the room for this one.
"No, just read them, and then come knock on my door when you're finished."
With that, I leave him to himself, a fistful of erotic stories in his hand, and another rather cutely confused expression riding his face.
I can't help but masturbate while he's reading, just the thought of what he might or might not be feeling as he reads, turning me on all over again. What I've handed him is four stories, two homosexual, one lesbian, and one heterosexual. The questions I'll ask him will be mostly about how each story made him feel, and what his first impression and reaction to each of them was.
He's got impeccable timing, because right as I finish wiping up the little mess I've just made, he knocks on my door. For a moment, I feel this fear that somehow he knew exactly what I was just doing, but quickly dismiss it. There is no way that he knows. "Come in,"
"All done," he glances around and then sits on my bed, leaning back against the pillows. I'm already seated in my desk chair, one leg under the other, and not a sign of my escapade in sight.
"All right, you read them in order?" Each story had been carefully numbered.
"Ok, in number one, what was your first reaction?" The first story was graphic sex between a man and a woman, describing to a fault sexual intercourse in an erotic manner. He pauses for a long time before he responds, and again I have to remind him to not think on it too much.
"It was very, lusty." He says slowly.
"Did it arouse you?"
"Did you get an erection from it?"
"Ok, story number two, first impression please." This story was one of the homoerotic ones, containing merely a handjob and blowjob. Easing him into the idea of sex between two men.
"Very…umm, erotic," he mumbles his answer, his eyes lowering slightly, refusing to meet my own. Interesting.
"Were you aroused?"
I try to stifle my glee; "did you find it aroused you more or less than the first story?"
"Well," he trails off, looking at the wall, as if he's trying to recall exactly how the story went. "I don't really know."
He interrupts me mid-sentence, "yes, I got hard."
Very good, a definite indication of a willingness to perhaps involve himself in such an activity. "Story number three?"
"It was alright," and now he's looking at me again, meeting my eyes. "And yes, though it turned me on, it didn't do what the other two did for me. I just couldn't put myself in the place of a woman."
So he was able to more fully involve himself in the first two stories, though the third, containing the lesbian erotic fiction was apparently too far away from what he viewed himself as. Which ruined my little theory about his hair, perhaps. "Ok, and the last one?"
The most important, if I were to be asked. As story number four was a very graphic description of anal intercourse, complete with tender words at the end.
"Yes, yes, and definitely yes." He answers quickly, jumping up from my bed, and walking to the door in a little rush of activity. "I uh, I have to umm, do some studying, can we finish this tomorrow?"
And before I can answer, he's out the door, the sound of his own bedroom door closing not far behind. My determination is that he is receptive to another man, and that this has made him not only aroused, but also nervous and confused. I suppose, I'll have to finish the testing either later tonight, if he comes out of his room. Or tomorrow. Either way, this test will have its little finale by Sunday night.
I decide to lure him out of his room at around ten, determined to continue my "studies". My plan is fairly simple, I'll pretend I'm not trying to gain his attention, and in the process hopefully his curiosity will get the better of him.
I sit down on the couch, grabbing up the remote and turning on the television. The lights are off, all of my test photos have been put away, along with a rather ragged bunch of papers which I recognized as my four little erotic stories. Fascinated to note, that the homoerotic stories have been just a tiny bit more well thumbed then the other two.
Now it's time for stage two of my trap. I've already put the tape in the VCR, and I turn up the volume a bit. Laying back and pulling a pad of paper onto my lap, fingers posed with a pencil over it. All set, now to just hit play. I smile slightly as images and titles cross the screen; funny how even porno tapes have ads for other porn on them. Suggestive viewing material for whomever might be watching the current one.
It's just as the action truly gets going that I hear a soft sound from Maxwell's room. He's sniffing the bait, metaphorically speaking of course. I turn the volume up another notch as the two boys on the screen start going at it. Thank god for the Bel Ami boys, the perfect mix of young looks on male bodies, and hot, hard sex. It's the kind of thing you want to see as opposed to American porn, which tends towards older, overly built men.
There's another little thump from the direction of Duo's room, and the sound of his door quietly creaking open. I bend my head, writing some mangled sentence about the erotic fantasy of older men lusting after young boys, or some such nonsense. It doesn't really matter, my sole purpose in doing this is so that when he comes out of that room, all he'll see is me quietly writing, and all he'll hear, is some pretty cheesy music mixed with moans. It works, and he bites the bait.
"What are you watching?" he asks, coming around the corner; t-shirt and boxer shorts, sleep attire I idly note. Sure enough, he gives a little yawn, as if to support this theory.
"Gay porn," I say nonchalantly, pausing the scene, and nodding towards it. I gesture with my pencil at it, pointing at the two guys on the screen. "Homoeroticism in modern day pornography." I mutter, hoping he'll be confused by this.
"Huh?" he sits down beside me, nudging my legs out of his way, despite the fact that he could have sat farther away and avoided them all together. "This for your paper too?"
"Yup, they'll let you get away with anything if you know how to write a paper on it." Which is true, as this paper will contest.
He nods, and I notice he's stiff, tense again. Nervous, maybe. "Heero…I hope you don't mind my asking, but…"
I already saw this question coming from the start; I don't even need to hear the rest of it. But never the less, I hold my tongue, some part of me needing him to say it before I can respond.
"Are *you* gay?" he blurts out in a rush of words, shifting and now looking definitely nervous.
"Would it bother you if I were?" I ask; as I said, I was prepared for this question.
"I guess not, I'm just surprised you wouldn't have told me…or said something…or shown any tendencies, that…way."
There's so much of an undercurrent to that entire sentence that I can barely focus on his next words. I'm too busy trying to dig for hidden meanings. And the next thing I hear is-
"Can I watch this with you?"
Well, that's a surprise. I didn't think it'd be quite so easy. I was certain I'd have to do a lot more talking before he'd actually want to watch a gay porn tape with me. Hallelujah. "Sure." And I hit play again.
But now my eyes are all over him, again I've poised my hand with the pencil above the pad of paper in my lap. I have to keep up appearances, of course. It doesn't help that already I'm getting hard beneath my barely-there haven of the legal pad on my lap.
Duo's eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth open slightly, and if I listen, I can almost hear him panting just below the edge of the sound of the boys on the screen. He likes it, good. But tonight I'm determined to try and merely observe his reactions. No matter how much my body keeps telling me to go for it. My body after all, only knows what its frisky little hormones can tell it, my mind on the other hand, knows that though he seems receptive enough at the moment. He might not be as open to an experience tonight as I am.
So I watch, watch him ease into the idea of it more, become ensnared by it. He begins fidgeting somewhere during the next set of scenery, new guys, and new situation. I chose this porno carefully for its summer exploration theme. Hoping it would be gentle enough to nudge his thoughts right over to my line of thinking. It seems to be doing its job. His hands have clenched into fists on his thighs, his eyes wide open, though occasionally I can see them close in a long and slow movement, savoring. Or at least that's what it looks like he's doing.
And if I tilt my head just right, I can see what definitely looks like an erection poking up his shorts from beneath his t-shirt. Though, that could just be a trick of the light and shadows. Something I can confirm when he stands up. I get so completely wrapped up in watching him watch the porno that I barely notice when it ends. Realizing a few seconds too late, that I've been staring at him.
He clears his throat, glancing at the coffee table and nodding towards it. "Is that another one?"
Is he coming on to me? Or is that my imagination again? It can't be this easy, can it?
"Yes, the sequel to this one."
"They make sequels to these?"
I try not to laugh, "of course they do,"
"Oh, never really thought of it before," he says with a smile, shrugging. His body posture although more relaxed, is still tense, only now it seems to be tense in a different way. He *is* trying to hide an erection; it's all in the way he's holding his pelvis inward.
"So, do you want to watch it?" I watch his eyes move from the tape to me, and then back again.
"Um, no. I really should get to bed, goodnight." And just like that, he's nearly bolting from the couch, walking at a fast clip towards his room once more.
Damn, I thought I'd had him.
I didn't just say that aloud, did I? "Nothing."
"See you in the morning, Heero."
I nod at him, barely remembering to try to catch a peek at the front him before he disappears from sight.
He was hard, and I, I think I'm happy with that test.
It took a good two hours of masturbation before I could even think of shutting my eyes and sleeping. And now as I sit here, staring at this screen, I wonder what will happen today.
I'm not too surprised when I finally leave my bedroom for some coffee, only to discover Maxwell's not home. He's run away. I was almost half expecting it. Though I admit, I wasn't expecting the little note he left beside the coffeepot.
// If you want to do a few more tests, I'll be home around 2. I promise to give honest answers. //
Well now, doesn't that just change everything? I can't help the wide grin that spreads my lips, pulling them back from my teeth in a rictus. Let the games begin.
By the time I hear him come through the front door, I'm about as ready as I'll ever be. I'm showered inside and out, clothes carefully chosen for looseness as well as comfort, hair in its usual mess. I'm sitting on the couch, my legs stretch out along it, a book held loosely on my lap. Not that I've been reading it at all, instead I've been clock watching for the past few hours.
I glance up as if just realizing he's gotten home, taking in his outfit choice for the day. It takes true will power not to do something stupid, as exactly what he's wearing registers on my brain. It's tight, it's black, and it needs to have a picture of it taken, so it can be cherished years from now. After my hormones calm down enough for me to speak, I manage to ask, "ready?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute to change clothes."
Damn, oh well. I watch as he walks away, unable to pry my eyes from his rear. It's my turn to fidget now, wondering how much he's guessed, whether he minds, and what exactly he feels about the whole thing. As I stated before, Duo isn't stupid. And I know he's seen through some part of my plan.
"Ok, let's start." He's changed into something baggy, long t-shirt, and sweatpants. Right off, I can tell he expects to be aroused this time, and he expects to be able to hide it. But, my plans have changed.
"Good, tell me Duo, are you willing to let this test become more physical in its approaches?" And can I make it any more obvious what my intentions are? Probably not.
Silence, and then he nods, no words. Sitting down beside me he nudges my legs out of the way again, and leans back, turning to face me. "Ok." His eyes are slightly closed, a soft smile twisting his mouth. I'd put this expression somewhere in the seductive category.
For a moment, I'm at a complete loss. I know what I want to do, but what if he's not as willing as he seems. Up until yesterday, I'd no idea if he'd ever even entertained thoughts of sex with another male. How far was he willing to let me go? Probably as far as any male in his situation would go, hands, mouth, and body touching. Which I can deal with, my problem is would I be able to make myself stop? Mind made up; I lean towards him, looking for any sign of reticence.
There are no signs, though his jaw tightens slightly. "Should I close my eyes?" he whispers, blinking at me.
Should I be trembling from the proximity? "Whatever you feel comfortable doing." I respond, leaning closer still, resting my fingers against his cheek for a moment. He's flushed, heat filling him, almost like a fever. My guess he's as turned on as I am, maybe even more than I am. His eyes close, a near silent sigh escaping from between his half-parted lips. It's hard to believe that it has taken me up until this moment, to realize he wants me. That he wants me to touch him as badly as I want to. Was it my "tests" or was this craving there before?
I smile, either way, the tests haven't ended, this is merely another one. My fingers trail down his jaw, etching a light pattern over the skin of it. It's smooth, soft, and almost silky in texture. I sift my fingers through the fringe of hair behind his ear, watching as his head rolls slightly to the side, exposing his neck even more. Body language rules would state this as an invitation, and who am I to refuse?
My mouth is on him before I even think about it, natural, primal patterns taking over. I let my tongue coast over his jugular, swipe at his earlobe, nibble down until I hit his collarbone. He tastes like what I thought he would, sex, his shampoo, soap, sweat, nervousness. It's all there on my tongue. And then our mouths meet, his face having turned towards my own at some point in my taste testing. It's even better, his lips parting beneath mine, a gasp escaping, and then a soft moan.
I note his hands have moved to grip at my shoulders. Almost as if he's trying to hold me away, where as his body, or certain parts of it, are trying to lean closer. For instance, his lap is now caving outward, his chest as well, all erogenous zones looking for action, stomach caving in, head leaning back slightly. He couldn't have said it louder if he'd spoken. His body wants me, his mind is still unsure. I give him another kiss, lighter this time, just trailing my mouth across his, pulling back, and eyeing him.
His eyes are still closed, lips parted and wet. My eyes drop to his lap, taking in the nice dimensions bulging those sweatpants out. His body knows exactly what it wants.
"It's a shame you don't," and I don't realize I've said it aloud until his eyes open and he stares at me. His expression is confused and aroused all at once.
"Want me." I blurt out, ready to slap myself as the words escape.
"But, I do."
"Your body does, but you still don't know yet, do you?"
He shakes his head a bit, meeting my eyes before his own slide away and stare at the wall. "I guess not, but…"
"But you still want to try, don't you?"
"Yeah," he smiles, looking up again, " I do."
And how can I possibly say no? I can't. I don't think anyone in my situation could. Which is why I don't even try to stop as we come crashing together again, sliding down onto the couch, my leg already in-between his. Our teeth clashing as our lips meet. His fingers for a moment push against my shoulders before sliding down and wrapping around my upper arms, pulling my body closer.
When I lean back up, his eyes are tightly shut, lips open and panting. I slide my thigh against the erection I can feel digging into it, watching his features tighten as I do. "Open your eyes Duo." And he does, staring up at me, lust and confusion in those stunning eyes. "I want you to fully realize that you're not with a girl." I run my hand down his side, gripping his hipbone for a moment. "To know, that you are with me, and that I'm," I pause, dragging one of his hands down between my legs, folding it around my own arousal. "Definitely male."
For a second, I think this is it, now's the time he realizes it all, and runs away for good. But he surprises me again, instead squeezing me through my pants, and smiling up into my face. "Like that's a bad thing?"
I have no witty reply; instead arching my body against his hand, and leaning down to run my tongue along his lower lip. His mouth opens willingly, another muted sigh escaping as I start exploring it. It's as nice and tasty as his skin is, sweet and sharp, tongue slick and soft against my own. I have to tell myself rather firmly, that I'm not allowed to have sex with him tonight, at least, not yet.
Before I know what I'm doing, I have him flat on his back, head rolling against the couch cushions and legs spread to either side of me. My mouth leaving a wet trail from jaw to belly button as I chart a course along his shaking body. His sweatpants are a memory by the time I'm poised over his erection. His skin is hot, smooth, delicious, and exactly everything I'd hoped for. I smile as I take him into my mouth, glancing up along his stretched out body and meeting his open eyes. He knows exactly what I'm about to do, but for all his knowledge, still manages to look like a complete virgin. For a second or two, I wonder if this is what all those girls he brings home get to see.
But I forget that thought almost as soon as it crosses my mind, because he's wrapping his fingers through my hair, sexy little gasps falling from his lips, soft whispers of sound. His hips struggle to stay still, and then begin nudging upward, becoming more jerky and uncontrolled with each swallow of my throat around his cock. A few moments later, he lets out a shout, his hips arching upwards, hands pushing downward, and I swallow hard, knowing what's coming this time, is going to be him.
When I spiral down from the endorphin high, I realize my face is pressed against his flat belly, my lips moving softly on it. His fingers are still wrapped in my hair, spasming every now and then. Without a word, I slide up, wrapping my arms around him, and shifting to one side. My own relief can happen later, for now, I think we both need to take a deep breath, and just be.
A few hours later my eyes open onto darkness, the sound of Duo breathing softly right beside me. I move my face slightly, trying to figure out where exactly I am, and where exactly he is. There's a pile of silken hair resting against my shoulder, and when I concentrate, I realize his face is right beside my own. I could get used to waking up like this. His head leans closer in the blackness of the room, breath coasting over my cheek.
"You awake?" he whispers, a gleam of light from the VCR shining off of his eyes for a moment.
"Yeah," and for some reason I'm whispering too. "How do you feel?"
"Good, real nice. I could get used to waking up like this."
"Apparently great minds think alike."
"You too, huh?"
"Yeah," my fingers absently stroke his back, muscles sliding beneath them as he inches closer. "Duo, you don't mind this, do you?"
"You touching my back? Or you using me in some sort of personal psychology experiment?"
"What?" it comes out squeaky, my throat having suddenly constricted.
"I'm not stupid, Heero."
"No, I knew that." I shake my head, wonderingly, "but, why did you do it? Why'd you let *me* do it?"
"Because." His lips curve, meeting mine even as they open to ask another question. This time he's in control of the situation, all shyness and nervousness gone. I think this is what all those girls see, not the nervous, almost innocent boy he'd been a few hours ago, but this sexual and sensual god clamping his mouth to my own. The kiss starts out sweet, quickly moving into something harder and more furious, his tongue diving inside my mouth, wrapping and wrestling, touching every part of it.
For a strange second or three, a snatch of song runs through my head in answer to his whispered word "because the sky is blue it makes me sad, because the world is round it turns me on, because…" it fits, and explains his reasons. To me at least.
My thoughts melt as he rolls me over, pulling me up, and pinning my back to the couch. His hands curl around my own, mouth still reaping and raping its way over and through mine. Hungry little sounds emanate from him, growls and moans, his hands at last releasing my own only to run down my sides, lifting my shirt, fingers curling around the waistband of my pants and tugging them off my hips.
"What do you want to do?" I manage to ask, forcibly pulling my mouth from his to gasp it out.
"You," he says in a hot whisper, raking his teeth across my neck and biting down gently.
Good answer, I think, my own hands already winding a path down his back, cupping the perfect roundness of his ass and yanking him closer to me. Another sound bite of song winds its way through my thoughts "heaven, I'm in heaven…" I chuckle against his mouth.
"Tell me then, does heaven let you have sex?"
"It does if *I'm* going there." I manage to say, blindly reaching beneath the couch cushions in an attempt to find the little gift I'd left myself earlier. Just in case.
"Looking for the lube, Heero?"
"Reading my mind, Duo?"
"Turn about is fair play, you know that, right?"
I can't help but grin up at him, my eyes now used to the little amount of light in the room; enough to see he's grinning back at me. And that he's holding out the tube of lube to one side, wagging it. "Want to help me with this? I'm still a little new…"
"Are you sure?" I ask, still being attacked my conscience.
His free hand grabs one of mine, wrapping it around his erection. "What's that feel like to you?"
"I'd say, like you're sure." I snatch the tube from his other hand, opening it and wetting my fingers and palm down with a nice dollop of it. I don't think there is such a thing as too much of the stuff.
He lets out a soft exhalation as my hand slips between his spread knees, opening his mouth and leaning closer. A shiver runs through him as I run my middle finger down his balls, just teasing for a few seconds.
"Do it," he whispers harshly, hands gripping my shoulders again, eyes closed tightly.
"Relax," I respond, slowly slipping my wetted finger inside of him, inching it past the first tight muscles, then pulling it down, taking a minute to search out his prostate. His sharp cry indicates I've found it, his entire body tensing around me, before relaxing to sag against me.
"The doctor never makes it feel like that," he laughs, breathless against my ear.
"If your doctor is anything like mine, you don't want him to."
"Good point," his hips wiggle, eyes opening directly in front of my own, "well?"
"Kiss me again?"
He smiles, leaning down, pressing his mouth to mine, then spreading his lips open, teeth nipping at my tongue. I press another finger inside of him, searching, seeking, and striking. His body conforms to mine, mouth open wider as he lets out another cry. All it takes is one more hit and he's riding my fingers almost desperately. Ripping his mouth from my own long enough to call my name before it crashes back to me.
It almost pains me to remove my hand, sliding out of him to the soft whimper that falls from his lips, almost disappointed sounding. But then I'm already positioning, moving him forward, holding him steady, and ever so slowly pressing against him, before sliding gently inside. The pressure of the set of muscles at his entrance is almost enough to bring me off right away. So tight, I can barely get past them, and then with a hard shove he pushes down onto me, head thrown back as he sinks lower, and a silent wail opening his mouth wide.
This is an image that I really will carry with me for life. Something I'll never be able to forget. His expression so open, full of lust and emotions, hair falling around and down his back, eyes tightly shut. We take some minutes, sitting still, both of us adjusting to the feeling of being joined in this way. Unthinkingly my hand goes to his cheek, "open your eyes Duo,"
He does, and they look like moonlit pools, wide and filled with carnality. "Yeah," he whispers, "I know it's you, believe me," he raises up a little and then sinks down further onto me, "I know…"
It starts out slow, just like his kiss a few minutes ago, soft, sweet almost, quickly turning into something more passionate as he gets used to the feeling of my cock deep inside his body. I wrap my hands firmly around his hips, helping him along as he begins to ride me, every bounce opening both our mouths wide in helpless moans.
He leans back, hair tossing as he rides, muscles flexing as he grips my shoulders. He's so hot I'd almost swear there's steam rising off him. Though it's probably from the sheer amount of body heat we're generating. Already we're moving faster together, a beast of sexuality. His legs snap open wider, his weight pressing me hard against the couch back. Lips meeting mine, tongue spearing into my mouth. His erection rubs against my stomach, and he lets out a shout right before I feel him spill against it. A slick trail of seamen dripping between us.
At last, I succumb to the pulling and drawing in of his body, tugging him impossibly close as I too climax, satisfied to no end as I empty myself inside of him. He's utterly boneless as he collapses, his cheek resting against my shoulder, breathing still fast and hard.
I really don't want to leave the inside of his body, but realize I have to, and slide out of him, grinning when I feel how wet it's gotten between us. What can I say? Wet sex is a turn on for me.
For a time, we stay like that, wrapped around each other, afterglow swaddling the two of us. And eventually I manage to get us both awake enough to somehow get to a bedroom and pass out.
It's been a few days, and I have to say, I've never been happier. Duo is the perfect lover, open, honest, and horny as all hell. I still masturbate, though; he's decided he gets to watch me when I do. Not that I mind, since he also likes to lend a helping hand.
All in all, I think my study went rather well. I got Duo, I proved my point, and perhaps I'll even get an 'A' on this paper. Then again, maybe not.
"You still working on that paper?"
I turn my head, glancing at him. He's standing naked in the doorway; hair scattered around his shoulders, eyes looking very bed-roomy. "Yeah," I remember what I was thinking of a few moments beforehand, gesturing to him to come closer. "Hey Duo…"
"Mmm?" His lips cruise over mine, pausing to nibble at my bottom lip.
"Are *you* gay?"
He leans back, blinking at me, "Heero, in all this damned experiment, didn't you ever stop to think to ask, if I'm *Bisexual* ?"