Freshman on a Mission

Rob Rosen

Honestly, the mutual jack-off wasn’t on purpose. Sure, on the surface of things, what with me being incredibly horny (seriously, always), and it being well past midnight in a nearly deserted campus library, the assignation might’ve seemed, shall we say, intended, but really it was just a chance encounter. Or, um,half encounter, mainly because only half his body and half of my body, well,encountered.

See, studying for my Psych midterm was hard, but my dick, at the time, was even harder. Ergo, it won out—as it generally tends to do. So down the stacks I traveled, hard-on leading the way, until I found myself in the bathroom, jeans around my ankles, cock out, head tilted back, eager to relieve some much built up first-semester freshman tension.

My fist worked its way up and down my steely prick, balls quickly rising, a thick bead of sweat meandering its way down my forehead, when, all of a sudden, the bathroom door squeaked open. Clearly, I was not alone, and so I momentarily stopped beating my meat, my ear tilted upward, listening. I expected the guy to head to the urinal, but instead he took the stall next to mine, the metal door clanging shut, a jolt suddenly ricocheting through my belly.

I bent down a tad. Dude had on one stellar pair of sneakers: neon green body with neon orange souls, neon blue in the back, and neon pink laces tying it all together. Should a blackout suddenly occur, we were all set. But there was no blackout. There were also no sounds coming from the stall next to mine—no peeing, no, well, number-twoing, just me breathing and him breathing.

I bent down a bit further, staring at the two feet or so of empty space beneath the divider. The stranger, as it turned out, had meaty calves, with thick curly brown hairs making their way up and out of frame, and pristine white briefs. My cock swelled at the sight of it all, of the guy’s exposed flesh, at something so personal as his underwear, at the two of us being alone, late at night, dick and balls out, side by side—if you didn’t include the couple of inches of metal, I mean.

So, romantic, no—but hot, well, fuck yeah. In other words, as quietly I could, I continued pounding away at my impossibly hard rod, head still slightly bent downward as my eyes stayed locked to his bare(ish) lower quarters.

And then, all of a sudden,tap went his brilliantly neon sneaker. I paused, fist at mid-stroke, pearlescent bead of pre-cum leaking out and down over the widened head. Again a singletap tapped out. My heart was now pounding, breath ragged. Was thattap what I thought it was?

Well, only one way to find out.

Up my foot went; dow