textfiles/sex/EROTICA/L/lunge.txt

                             WORKING ON MY LUNGE

     I've decided that there's nothing more stifling than spending
     vacation with your folks -- especially if they think you're
     straight.  I mean all that shit like watching football with Dad and
     forcing out lewd, sexist jokes about the cheerleaders, or laughing
     at another one of my brother's faggot-in-a-hottub jokes -- it just
     gets me down.  Mom doesn't help by keeping Jimmy Swaggart on TV all
     Sunday morning.

     Stuff like that makes me almost look forward to going back to
     school (and it takes a lot to make me look forward to that!) I'm a
     student at Santa Lucia City College.  It's a dumpy little school a
     few miles outside of a dumpy little town, but it's the "back door"
     to the university nearby, so I'm going to give it a try.

     I've got some hard classes lined up this quarter: Calculus,
     Physics, and Philosophy for instance.  My first class, though,
     breaks up the monotony of a purely academic schedule.  All work and
     no play makes Jack a dull boy, as they say.  My first class of the
     day is fencing.

     I don't know the slightest thing about fencing.  All I know is what
     I saw on the olympics or in those old swashbuckler movies.  I
     wouldn't know a parry from a riposte or a lunge from a thrust.  But
     it looks kind of fun to learn, and at least it won't have homework!

     So on the first day of class, I drive to school through the
     early-morning fog.  Naturally, half of the "staff" parking places
     are empty, but I have to park a mile off campus.  I get out of the
     car and walk through the dew-covered grass to the Physical
     Education building.  I enter the gym and join about ten people
     waiting for class to begin.  A few others wander in as the clock
     ticks on toward 8:00 AM.

     "Have any of you fenced before?" one asks.  Only one person
     answers. "Once, at a Renaissance fair, for about twenty minutes,"
     she says.  So it looks like we're all in this together -- complete
     beginners.  There oughta be a law against handing swords to a mob
     of novices.

     The professor walks in, though, and that's the first thing she
     does. She leads us down the hall to the equipment room and we each
     get outfitted with a mask, jacket, glove and fencing foil.
     Processing each of us takes up just about the whole class period,
     so after I get my stuff I decide to just hang back and size people
     up.

     The class is just about equally divided male and female, with
     students fat and thin, tall and short, muscular and scrawny.  A
     couple of women are struggling with the zippers on the back of each
     other's fencing jackets, and one guy is trying to figure out how to
     put on his mask while wearing glasses. Naturally, I keep on the
     lookout for cute guys, but nobody strikes my fancy. That's kind of
     a drag but after all, I came to fence, not to fuck.

     After all of our equipment is checked out, the professor leads us
     back to the gym.  As we walk in the door, I see this guy outfitted
     in his fencing jacket and white leotards doing stretching exercises
     on the opposite wall.  I can't see his face, but I'm sure looking!
     I can tell from behind that this guy is built, and I can hardly
     wait to see the rest of the picture.
     
     I'm not disappointed.  Once the rest of the class have filed in, he
     gathers the rest of his gear together and faces us.  "This is
     Rich." the professor explains, "This is his second year of fencing.
     I've got a bad back, so he's going to demonstrate and help teach."
     Rich is not only built, he's gorgeous.  His smile and deep-brown
     eyes beam out of a smooth face topped by dark, sculptured locks.
     He looks over us and says, "we're going to have a lot of fun this
     quarter."

     I know I will.  Just looking at this guy all quarter will be plenty
     of fun.

     The professor says, "go to it, Rich," and Rich does.  "Okay," he
     says, "we don't have time to learn footwork or anything today, but
     I'll try to give you an introduction to the sport.  Fencing is a
     game of finesse, not brute strength, and it's a lot different than
     what you see in those Zorro films on TV.  The winner is usually the
     one who has outsmarted, not outpowered, his opponent.

     "The target area is the torso and back, and you try to touch your
     opponent with the tip of the foil.  Head shots and slashes don't
     work.  Can I get a victim... I mean, volunteer up here?" We
     chuckle, then he says, "no volunteers, eh? Well, how about you!" He
     looks into my eyes and points straight at me.

     I walk up to the front of the class and stand next to him.  "The
     first thing," he continues, "is that you should never cross foils
     without putting on your safety equipment.  All it takes is one
     little slip to lose an eye. The jacket is put on like this..." Rich
     then asks to see my jacket.  He helps me into the jacket while
     explaining to the class how the fittings should go and how tight to
     fasten the straps.

     I wasn't listening.  My mind was in a fog as I felt his hands
     perusing my body in search of straps and fastners.  One hand would
     slide along my back, the other across my chest.  He even reached
     between my legs from behind to get the crotch strap.  "This strap
     should be fastened securely, boys, for the obvious reasons, but not
     too tight, for the same reason! When you go down on your lunges,
     your jacket will tighten up, and I guarantee that you will feel it
     if your strap is too tight."

     "Now the mask is put on like this.  You grab the tang in back, and
     slide it over your head.  It'll take time to get used to it, but
     it'll be automatic in a couple of weeks.  Now you put on yours,
     uh..."

     "Keith," I answered.  I put on my mask, somewhat clumsily, but not
     bad for the first time.

     "The target area," Rich continued, "is the full torso.  That
     includes all of the chest and shoulders, to the belly and groin, to
     both sides, to the back." He motioned with the tip of his foil over
     my body as he spoke.

     "Well, it looks like we're out of time.  Bring your equipment to
     class tomorrow and we'll learn some stretching exercises and
     footwork."

     I lingered in class while removing my vest, folding it, and putting
     it in my mask.  As I watched Rich talk with the professor, I
     wondered if he singled me out as his "volunteer" because he was
     attracted to me.  His hands sure didn't feel like he had only
     instruction in mind.  But my mind had concocted such fantasies
     before, only to have them dashed on the rocks of reality.  I would
     have to wait for my courage to appear.

                                  * * * * *
     
     I waited through the first two weeks of class.  I had a crush on
     Rich like I hadn't had since high school.  His smiling face and
     patience melted me whenever I asked him to help me on learning a
     new task (and in order to be around him, I asked him for a lot of
     advice!) Once, as the class was doing footwork drills, he passed me
     and slapped me lightly on the ass.  "Keep that butt in, and
     straighten your back," he said.  You can be certain that I kept my
     back bent and my butt way out from then on.

     In his eyes, his voice and his body language, I constantly saw
     flirtatious signs, but I was still too unsure -- too scared -- to
     make any direct responses.  I admired him as he lead the class, and
     I volunteered whenever he needed a "victim." I asked for help after
     class.  I tried to pick up whatever clues I could, but I was never
     sure enough.

     The third week of class, though, I made up my mind to make my move.
     No matter what, I had to stop beating around the bush and take the
     initiative. I didn't, however, know how or when.  The opportunity
     came Tuesday after class.

     We had just been practicing the double lunge and class had been
     dismissed.  I had Calculus immediately after fencing on Tuesdays
     and Thursdays, so I normally only stayed after to practice on the
     other days we had fencing.  Rich, however didn't know this.

     "Do you want to stay and fence a bit? I need a good partner," he
     said.

     Usually I had asked him if I could stay and fence.  This was the
     first time he had asked me.  I interpreted this as a good sign and
     figured that learning techniques of computing derivatives of
     trigonometric functions just wasn't all that important anyway, so I
     stayed.

     We stood on the fencing strip and saluted each other, then the bout
     began.  We each advanced, then he put his foil out in a feint
     thrust.  I reacted by retreating and attempting a parry.  He
     brought his foil back and advanced.  When he advanced, I made my
     move and lunged.  Before I brought my foil down to his target,
     however, he made a swift thrust and caught me as I lunged toward
     him.

     "Touche!" he said.  "You still rely too much on strength.  You have
     the power to break through my parry, but you've got to learn
     finesse and style. If you had extended your foil toward my target
     before lunging, you would have forced me to react instead of act.
     Instead you gave me an opening to attack."

     "Oh," I said, daydreaming even as I pretended to listen.

     "Hey, when's your next class?"

     "This is my last class today," I lied.

     "You wanna go get a coke or something?"

     "Sure!"

     "I'll meet you down at the Cyprus Cafe."

     As I walked to my car, my heart beat double-time.  First off, to my
     fantasy-soaked mind, this constituted our first date.  Second,
     Santa Lucia isn't big enough to have it's own gay bar, so the
     popular gay hangout is none other than the Cyprus Cafe.  The head
     "bartender" there is a notorious flirt and he has attracted
     "friends" who told their friends who told their friends and so on.
     This is not a very subtle hint, if indeed it is a hint.
                                  
                                  * * * * *

     "So, come here often?" I couldn't believe that the cliche came out
     of my mouth as I sat with Rich in a booth at the cafe.

     "Yep.  I like the atmosphere here, you know?" he said with a wink.

     "Yeah, I know what you mean," I said in such a way as to try to
     provoke him into revealing if I really did know what he meant.

     Rich leaned over the table and crossed his hands in front of him.
     "Keith," he said, "let me ask you a question." My heart began to
     drown out the folk guitarist in the other room as I nodded.  "Am I
     just getting crazy, or have we been flirting with each other?"

     Although it was just what I wanted to hear, I was so shocked to
     hear it that I could barely answer.  I stared, speechless, into his
     deep eyes -- terrified at what I might find there, but unable to
     look away.  I swallowed a couple of times before I could squeak
     out, "I think so."

     "Good," he said, "'Cause I couldn't stand playing this waiting game
     anymore.  I just had to know." He leaned back in his chair and took
     a sip of his cola.

     Now that it was out, I screamed inside -- Why didn't I ask last
     week? Two weeks ago? Why was I so scared? Why did I torture myself?
     But, eventually, I had to acknowledge that what's done is done.
     There's no reason to lament the past when there is so much to look
     forward to in the future.

     "So.  What now?" I asked

     "Well, hmmm..." he said and took another drink.  He leaned toward
     me and lowered his voice, "I don't know about you, but I feel like
     putting an end to these three weeks of foreplay and start, uh,
     working on our lunges."

     I was up from the table before I could even say "okay" and we were
     out the door and headed toward his apartment.  We took his car, and
     all the way there I was thinking about what was ahead.  I couldn't
     even talk I was so excited.  Just the thought of my hands on Rich's
     prime ass, and my dick got harder than the gearshift stick that
     Rich was holding.  The way he was rubbing the gearshift stick, I
     knew that his mind was preoccupied as well.
     
     We parked at the Cyprus Glen student apartments and rushed up the
     stairs to his third-floor apartment.  I strategically allowed him
     to lead the way up the stairs so that I could follow that gorgeous
     denim-covered ass with my eyes.  Finally we got to the door and he
     thrust his key in the lock.  We entered the room and he shut the
     door behind us.

     The late-morning sun pushed light through the curtains and padded
     the room with a soft crimson glow.  Rich closed the door and threw
     his arms around my waist, and I put mine around his back.  "Mmmmm,"
     I purred and pulled him close to me.  He moved his hands down the
     small of my back and around my ass and grabbed.  My dick in my
     pants was pushing seductively against his.  I moved my face down to
     kiss his cheek, and he immediately met my mouth with his, kissing
     me hard and probing deep with his tongue until, suddenly, he broke
     off and pulled me over to his bed.

     He crashed down on the mattress, pulling me with him.  I landed
     with a gasp and the bedsprings groaned.  The middle of the bed
     collapsed and we lay tangled together, laughing and trying to think
     up a way to unscramble ourselves.  "God the beds here suck," he
     said.
     
     "Mm Hmm...  But I suck better," I murmurred and lightly grabbed his
     earlobe with my teeth.  I slid my lips around his ear, searching
     for that ever-elusive point that I felt sure would make him
     quivver.  First at the top, then along the side, then as I thrust
     my tongue deep into his ear -- I heard him gasp and felt his legs,
     as tangled as they were, tense against my body.

     "Let's get out of this mess," I finally said.

     "Mmmmm...  I'm comfortable..."

     "Yeah, I figured, but lets find room for the mattress on the floor,
     okay?"

     "Well, all right..."

     We managed to extricate ourselves and pull the mattress from the
     bedframe.  When we set the it on the ground, Rich came up behind me
     and put his arms around me.  "This looks pretty stable," he said.
     I leaned back into him and rubbed my cheek against his.  I could
     feel his prick against my ass and so I pushed closer to him and
     began to grind against him.  He responded in kind, and slid his
     hand up my shirt and pulled me closer to him.

     His other hand slid down, slowly, down one leg and then the other,
     sliding against my rock-hard dick teasingly, almost as if
     unintentionally. Then suddenly, he rubbed my prick hard through my
     pants, and I almost jumped at him.  My cock was getting so urgently
     hot that, looking down, I could see the tip peeking out, too
     excited to be contained.  Rich slid his hand up to this sight and
     began rubbing the precum-lubed tip of my dick with his finger. All
     of that attention focused on such a small, and oh-so-sensitive,
     area made me want to scream.  I almost couldn't take it.

     I abruptly turned around and grabbed him tight.  This time I
     grabbed him and pulled him down to the matress.  I was happy to
     find that the floor didn't collapse beneath us! I pulled his shirt
     over his head, and he returned the favor.  Unwilling to waste any
     more time, we tore at our remaining clothes until we lay in front
     of each other naked and quite ready. Rich looked me up and down.
     "On guard!" he said admiringly.  I almost blushed.

     I dove again toward his earlobe and while caressing it with my
     tongue, I let one hand slide over the downy hair of his ass.  With
     my other hand I started to rub his cock with an intensity of
     purpose that I never even allowed myself when jacking off.

     He grabbed my ass and purred between gasping breaths.  "Keith," he
     said, "I want to come inside you."

     "That can be arranged."

     His panting came faster, "Like soon, I mean!"

     "Let's check out some safety equipment."

     "Mmmmmm..." he said, "I hate to interrupt things..."

     I laughed, "Well, it can't be worse than being swallowed by your
     bed!"

     Rich reached over behind his back and pulled a string of rubbers
     from his bottom desk drawer.  Within seconds he had ripped one open
     and slid it over his throbbing cock.  "Are you ready?" he asked.

     "I've been ready for weeks," I said and rolled over.  He rolled
     over on top of me, his dick falling hot on my ass.  With his tongue
     in my ear and his hand combing through my hair, I waited
     expectantly.  Soon I felt him start to enter me.  I felt him tense,
     and then felt the moment of will it hurt or will it --- aaah!

     He was in me.  I heard his choppy moans as he lunged deeper within
     me. I teased him with my ass, tightening and moving forward, then
     suddenly back with enough force to whiplash his balls against my
     butt.  "I'm not going to last much longer," he whispered.

     "Don't let me hold you back," I answered.  No sooner had I
     completed the sentence than he was lifting his head and screaming
     with each hard thrust. Soon, he was spent, and he collapsed on top
     of me.  "Your turn babe..."

     I gave his prick another playful squeeze with my ass, "you're gonna
     have to get off of me first."

     "Okay," he said.  "Gimme a minute."

     I could barely restrain myself for a second, but I gave him a few
     seconds to recover.  Before long, though, I had jumped up and
     strapped a rubber in place.  "Ready?" I asked, and God, I sure was.
     My cock was bright and hot and hard in my hand as I guided it to
     his asshole.
     
     "Never readier.  Go for it." And I did.  With no hesitation, I
     plunged in with an animal grunt.  I felt his ass grab me and I
     thrust deeper.  It felt like he squeezed the blood from my cock
     straight to my brain.  I felt myself swell with the electric
     feeling, and I held it as long as I could stand.  I dug my teeth
     into his shoulder and put my hips on auto-pilot.

     My head flooded; I became my cock.  All of my energy, all of my
     sensations, all of my attention was on my dick.  I grew less aware
     of my loud breathing, of my mouth on Rich's shoulder, of the room,
     of the earth I lived on.  And then I spit pulses of cum, attempting
     to extinguish the fire with lava!

     As soon as it had begun, it was over.  I again became aware of the
     world around me, and Rich beneath me.  "Keith?" he said.

     "...mmmmmm..."

     "So, d'ja have fun?"

     "...mmmmmm..."

     "Well, uh..."

     "...mmmmmm..."

     "...nap time, I guess, huh?"

     "...uh huhmmmmmmmmm..."