How I Slowly Turned Gay, or Bi, or… Whatever 04: Boy Practice (Patreon)

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Friday night, the frat party I ended up at got pretty wild. People were hooking up in the main room, since the bedrooms were apparently overflowing. It got me in the mood to be wild again, even with my recent emotional failures. I had the rejection from Josh, then the mixed signals as he messed with me during practice, which fueled every single masturbation session I had given myself for weeks. And I had endured the empty feeling after “flip fucking” with that dude from Grindr.

Over the last few days, I had started using the gay app for a bit of validation. I developed a habit of opening it, just to get live on the grid, then letting guys message me, and seeing who was the "hottest" fish on the hook that I was attracting that day. And then I wouldn't respond.

The party had spilled off the porch and out onto the lawn, and I had a red cup in one hand and my phone in the other, thumbing through the Grindr grid without really looking at it.

I nodded along at a story that some drunk guy was telling me about a heated beer pong tournament that had apparently been the highlight of his previous weekend. I sipped  my soda and scrolled with my thumb, and the little grid reshuffled itself, guys nearby popping up and dropping off. And then a guy with a face pic messaged "hey" to me, and I recognized the face. I clicked the profile to confirm I had seen him before.

He was twenty feet away. The app said so, and I confirmed it a moment later when I saw him sitting just inside the frat house. It was the upperclassman with the Silmarillion tattoo on his ribs, the torso I'd recognized on the app that first night, except now his face was on the profile too. He had a tall build, and right now he had his shirt on and his hand up the front of a girl's shirt across the room, the two of them pressed into the corner by the speaker, her back to the wall.

I looked at the phone. I looked at him. I looked at the phone again. His profile just said Logan. No stats, no filthy tagline, just the name and the two photos. I stood there trying to figure out his deal. I guessed that he swung both ways.

I cut the random drunken frat boy off mid-sentence, somewhere around the part where he had heroically sunk seven cups in a row, and asked if he knew "that guy," pointing my free hand across the crowd toward Logan, there with the girl.

He squinted over the rim of his own drink, swaying while his eyes fought to focus on the corner, then looked back at me.

"The bi guy," he said. "I think that's the guy."

"The what?"

"He's... bi. It's like... grup his thing. I urp don't know his name."

"Okay," I said.

That was apparently all the conversation he needed, because he clapped me on the shoulder and drifted back into the crowd to bother other people with stories about his accomplishments.I nursed the cup in my hand and watched Logan. He had a way of leaning into the girl, one forearm on the wall over her head. And I thought about his body and his cool vibe, and the tattoo on his ribs.

Then the girl put a hand flat on his chest, said something with a laugh, and peeled off of him, leaving toward the hallway where the bathroom line was. She kissed him on the side of the face. He watched her go, and then he looked down at his own phone, and his thumb moved.

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

I didn't even look at what the message said. I just looked at him looking at his phone, and then I set down my cup on the nearest flat surface, swallowed the lump in my throat and crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it, weaving through the bodies, and stopped a foot from him.

He looked up. Up close he had a heavy brow and a sharp jawline, with a couple days of growth on it, right at the perfect amount before he would have to shave. He gave me the flat, simple nod that is common among dudes, straight guys when they acknowledge another "jock" type, which I believed to be a thin veil over our actual existing connection.

"I like your tattoo," I said, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"You have a tattoo??" a loud, drunken voice appeared over my shoulder, some other girl.

Logan kept his eyes on me. "It's a literary reference."

"Yeah, Telperion and Laurelin," I said.

"No fucking way," he said, as the drunk girl stepped away, finding another distraction.

He turned his shoulders toward me. "You're the first person in two years here who's  ever gotten it. Everyone thinks it's, like, random pretty trees. My own big brother in the frat calls me 'houseplant'."

We started to laugh, but I felt my motormouth coming on.

"Hell yeah, man. That's like my bible. The light of the Two Trees, before Morgoth and Ungoliant basically murdered them," I said. "Honestly the saddest thing in Western canon. My dad read me the Silmarillion instead of normal bedtime stories."

"Stop." He put a hand on my shoulder, gripping it, grinning now with his whole mouth. "Your dad's a real one. You know how many girls I've explained it to who go 'aw, pretty'?"

"People don't know about The Trees," I said.

We smiled at each other.

"Girls do not care about the Trees," he agreed, and laughed, and the grip on my shoulder stayed there a second, tightening briefly. His eyes moved over my face and then dropped down to my body, then came back up, moving closer to me.

"How do you know about my tattoo, though," he said, quieter.

My ears got hot. He watched me not answer him, studying my face, and I watched the exact second he figured it out.

"Oh," he said. His grin came back, slower, filthier. He glanced down at the phone in my hand, then back up. "You're the torso pic that just says 'Top'. You saw me on Grindr and then walked up to me at a party and quoted Tolkien. That's the smoothest fucking thing anybody's ever done to me, I swear to God."

"I couldn't resist."

He tipped his head toward the door. "You wanna go for a walk?"

"Sure."

····[]····

"Where's your dorm?" he asked just as we got outside.

I felt the blood flow to my crotch.

"Freshman quad," I responded after a moment of light-headedness.

"Course it is." He was already moving, one hand at the small of my back, steering me through the front lawn crowd toward the street. "Come on, freshman."

When we exited the mass of sweaty humans, the air was cool and the party noise started to wane behind us, replaced by the evening crickets. He walked close to me, but didn't touch at first.

"So did you see my twitter?" he asked quietly.

"No. I don't even know you."

"It's linked on my Grindr."

I pulled my phone out and opened the app quickly. I scrolled to the link and tapped on it. And my phone was bombarded with graphic videos of him stuffing his long dick into many willing recipients.

I looked up at him, and he was smiling at me, his hand down at his crotch, holding himself. I looked back down at my phone and scrolled some more. There was a video of a cumshot, and it was the most voluminous load I had ever seen, splattering some younger guy's ass, soaking it in whitish clear squirts, one after another.

I looked back up at Logan, my jaw on the floor.

"God damn," I said. I couldn't even think of anything to say.

We kept walking. He was half a step ahead of me and I was looking at him from behind, at his ass. It was high and full and moved under his shorts with each step as two independent entities, years of heavy squats showing on it, and the bulge in front of him swung with the same rhythm when he turned to say something. I forgot to look back up at his face for a while.

When I did, he was already looking at me looking at him. He just ran his tongue slowly across his bottom lip, watching me watch him, and kept walking, and my stomach dropped like I was falling for a second.

"So what's your deal," he said. "You into guys, or just into this?"

He grabbed his bulge. I chuckled.

"Who knows."

"Honest answer, nice." He bumped his shoulder into mine and left it there for a step. "Most guys lie."

We talked the rest of the walk, about water polo, about his classes, and he had a comeback ready for everything I said. He had such confidence, it was like nothing could rattle him. He steered the conversation and I kept following him, and being the follower in a conversation was sort of new to me. I was always the big guy, and people followed me. Next to Logan I felt like the smaller one, in both body and personality.

We got to my building and I stopped at the door and got my card out, and my heart was slamming so loud I wondered for a moment if he could hear it, and I turned around already halfway into mumbling some nervous sentence about my roommate not being back yet, asking whether he might want to come inside

He didn't let me finish it. He stepped in and put his hand around the side of my neck, his thumb up along my jaw, tracing it slowly. His fingers spread into the hair on the back of my head, his palm right over the pulse in my throat.

"Your heart's racing," he said. He wasn't smiling now. His face was close and serious and his hand was warm and I could feel my own blood pumping against it.

"Yeah," I managed.

I was frozen as he leaned forward, captured in his aura. He kissed me on the cheek, held there a second longer, then let go. He patted my jaw lightly and stepped back off the stoop onto the path.

"Later," he said.

And he turned and walked off the way we'd come, hands in his pockets, that ass rolling away under the streetlight, and left me standing there with my student ID card in my hand, and a full-on erection in my shorts, and no idea what had just happened to me.

I'd never once been left standing on a stoop, enamored and erect, grinning at nothing, wanting to run after someone. I let myself in and rode the stairs up feeling a weird opposite of empty. I was more full than I had felt since coming to college.

I was flat on my back on my bunk when the phone lit up. It was Logan. I clicked to reveal a photo of his dick in his hand, hard.

Logan: Goodnight

I chuckled to myself in the empty room. He'd taken the most wholesome thing you can text a person and hung it under a photo like that, and it was oddly intriguing. I looked at it for a while, admiring it. His dick was basically public domain all over twitter, but this pic was taken for me, while he was thinking about me. There was something special about that, and I felt some warmth. It was exactly a love connection. It was just nice to actually connect with someone who was on my level.

It felt like I had found the exact, right balance of sexual attraction and a real connection. It was my Goldilocks after the one-sidedness of fucking around with Josh, and a random dude coming over to fuck each other in the dark without exchanging names.

I held my thumb on the pic and added a little heart reaction, and set the phone down on my chest, closing my eyes to picture Logan doing unspeakable things to me while I reached down and gave myself a much deserved self-pleasure sesh. And I thought about Logan's hot body treating me the same way he did all those twinks on his twitter, and no one else invaded my thoughts.