(i.)

I turned out the light and shuffled around. From the top bunk Artie asked, "What're you doing?"

"Nothing." I climbed in the bottom bunk and pulled my blanket over.

"You don't sleep naked, do you?"

"No. Why?"

"It's gross."

"Oh."

After a silence we discussed something else, then went to sleep.

 

(ii)

Artie must have been listening when I pulled off my T-shirt.

"You don't sleep naked, do you?" he asked from the top bunk.

I imagined his heavy eyebrows not disapproving but curious. I hesitated half a second. "Sure," I said. I slid my flattened, aligned fingers down inside the waistband of my shorts. Pretending to be readjusting my position, I slid the shorts down and pushed them off with my feet.

"What for?"

"Feels good."

He said nothing.

"Freer," I said. My balls were small and hard. I massaged them with my thumb. I stared up at the bottom of his mattress a few inches above me, it's roundedness an approximation of his round, dimpled bottom in white cotton. He turned and the mattress moved. I touched the under-side, right where his bottom would be. "Just a nice feeling," I said. I tugged my dick. "Only thing..." I said, and then stopped.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing."

"You said, 'the only thing'..."

"It's nothing."

He didn't ask again.

I lay for an hour on my back, my dick limp, and I stared at the motionless underside of his mattress.

The next night I wore my shorts to bed. Neither of us said a thing.

 

(iii)

Just before I climbed into the bottom bunk, I slipped my shorts off. Artie heard.

"You don't sleep naked, do you?" he asked, craning down from the top bunk, his shaggy head perpetually in need of a haircut. I fancied I caught a glint in his eye.

"Sure," I said. "For a long time."

"Hm!"

"What?"

"It's gross!"

"No, it's not. Feels good."

"Yeah?"

"Freer. I like feeling free."

"Hm!"

I slipped in and lay with my eyes closed, casually playing with my soft dick. The fingertips of my left hand wandered up and down the line of hair in the center of my belly. I inhaled deeply and thought how I was taller than Artie, by a good six inches...

"So it really feels good?" Artie said. His mattress was perfectly still above me.

"Feels great," I said. "Try it."

"Okay." A pause, then the mattress moved. He tossed around a little, then fell silent. The mattress, its underside a few inches from my face, was still again.
I waited.

"So, did you do it?"

"Yeah..."

"Feel good?"

"I guess."

My dick swelled a little. My other hand reached up and touched the underside of the mattress. My fingertips caressed it. His bare bottom was right on the other side of it, inches away. I felt a clutching at the root of my dick and began to tug it faster. "There's only one problem," I said. I thought something was moving above me, but I couldn't tell. It was only the suggestion of movement.

"What?" He sounded tense, distracted.

"You can get turned on!"

Saying it made the swelling of my dick go down a bit. He didn't say anything. I still played with myself, breathed slowly in and out and waited.

So much time passed before he spoke that at first I didn't know what he meant: "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"See what?"

"See what you mean. About getting turned on."

"Oh. It happen to you?"

"Kind of."

"Yeah, me, too, a little."

"Yeah." A pause. "You know those times when it gets so, you know, hard, that it, like, hurts practically? Like, aches?"

"Yeah." I was tugging again, hard, not caring if he could hear the back-and-forth of my arm against the sheet. "What?" I said. "Is that happening to you?"

"Kind of. Kind of uncomfortable."

"Well, there's a solution." I stopped tugging, held my breath, and waited.

"You mean..?"

"What else?"

No answer.

"Right?"

"Mm..."

"Right?"

"I'm not gonna do it now!"

"Look," I said, "if you want to stop the ache..."

"Yeah, well, not now..."

"Why not?"

"No privacy."

"You worried about me?"

"I'm not worried about you..!"

"Well, you know what I mean..!"

"Would you do it? With me right up here."

"Depends on whether or not you'd mind." Silence. "I mean, I wouldn't mind..."

"No, I mean, I wouldn't, either, I guess."

"So go for it."

"You gonna?"

"Me? Sure. Like you said, it's uncomfortable, plus I wanna get to sleep, get up early... So I'm gonna go for it. You should, too..."

"Hm..!"

From his breathing and the way the mattress moved, I felt certain something was going on up there. Then I thought it couldn't be, these things just don't happen in real life. The mattress moved again. I decided he must be faking it. I wasn't faking it. I was going for it, albeit with some restriction of movement. It actually turned me on more to think he might not be joining me, that he lay paralyzed up there while I exposed myself to him. While I penetrated and affronted him.

I held back, waiting to hear him come. Then I thought he might be doing the same, and I couldn't tease my dick any longer, so I let go. I made sure it was audible, unmistakable, but not gross.

"Whew!" I said. I lay there breathing deeply. His mattress moved a couple more times. Several seconds later, I thought I heard a little "Mm" deep in his throat, but I wasn't sure. I was never sure if he really did it along with me. Maybe he jacked a little, but didn't come. We never discussed it or ever did anything like it again. The next night we went to sleep in T-shirts and underpants. I'm still glad for what I did. My only regret is I didn't make some more noise while I was cumming, that I didn't moan, "Aw, shit!" or suck my breath in hard, or that, when it was over, I didn't say something like, "Wo! That was a lot! How'd you do, buddy?"

I just wish I knew. I just wish I knew, for certain, just what he did.

 

(iv)

I dropped my shorts and stood in the middle of our small room, feeling chilly air all over. I pulled on my loose, warm balls. In the top bunk, Artie turned over. Propped on one arm he looked down. "You sleep naked?"

"Huh? Sure." I stood arms akimbo, looking up. I fancied my long, skinny, pale body must be an object of wonder to Artie, who was six inches shorter than me.

"Why?" He lay down again.

"Feels good," I said. I climbed into the bottom bunk. "Feels great, in fact. You never tried it?"

"Nope."

"You should. Like I said, feels great."

"Huh. Okay."

The mattress just above me bounced and the springs creaked. I heard him kicking at his sheets, and a few seconds later his white boxer shorts hit the carpet. I fancied I could feel their warmth. I wanted to grab them. With my left hand I clasped my soft dick and my balls. Above me, Artie stretched and sighed. "So?" I said. "How is it?"

"Nice."

"Toldja."

"Yeah, it's good." After several seconds' silence he said, "Damn!"

"What?"

"There's this book I think I forgot in the library. Shit!" The mattress shifted above me. "Maybe it's in on my desk, but..."

His leg swung over, his small, well-formed heel just inches from my face. His calves were shapely with a little black hair. His feet gripped the edge of my bunk, then he had hopped down and tottered into the room next door, where we had our desks. His bare bottom bounced, round, compact and dimpled in the bluish glow from outside. I wanted to grip and squeeze it. I massaged my dick and whispered, "I'm bigger than you, come here, let me diaper you..." My semen shifted inside me. "Artie, Daddy's gonna diaper you, now..." I heard books and papers shuffled in the next room, then, "Phew! Got it," louder than necessary. He came back and the spill of light caught his small penis and balls and the big, dark ruff of hair around them. I held my breath. He climbed back up, awkwardly, his dick lingering a long time before my face. "That's good," he said, once he'd gotten on top again. "I'm relieved. Whew..!"

"Yeah," I said. "Good."

There followed silence, then more subdued stretch-and-sigh sounds and little noises in his throat, like he might have started doing what I was doing right then, pulling on my dick. After the sight of his bottom and dick, my own dick was swelling.

"Y'know," I said, "this sleeping naked thing has an occupational hazard, though..."

After a couple of second's silence, his voice sounding as though it came from somewhere else, he said, "Uh, what..?"

"An occupational hazard. Like, you can get...'turned on'..."

"How you mean?"

"Like...turned on, man!"

"Oh." I was really kneading my cock now, and it was responding, swelling and tingling.

"Yeah..." he said. "Like, you know how in the morning you wake up and you gotta piss, but it's like so hard it hurts, and, like, it won't go down..?"

"Yeah," I said. "Pain in the ass." I pulled on my dick some more. He readjusted on his mattress. I felt as though his weight and heat were shifting right on top of me, skin against skin. "I mean, there's an easy solution."

"Yeah..?" He was pausing before everything he said, and each reply sounded distracted, out of synch.

"Yeah," I said. I guess I was sounding the same way. "Simple solution. To the morning erection problem!"

"You mean..?"

"Jerk it off!"

"Oh. I guess."

"It's what I do," I said. I held still then, and waited.

"Yeah." Pause. "Sometimes I do, too. Depends on how I feel."

"You got that problem now?"

"Huh?"

"You getting that problem now? From sleeping naked?"

"Kind of."

"Well, simple solution..!" Pause. "Right?"

"Well," he said, "I don't know about here, now..."

"Why not?"

"I dunno. Just not..."

"It's not gonna bother me. I might have to myself. It's natural. Summer camp, Jeez, guys were doing it all the time!"

Pause. "Yeah?" His mattress moved. I remembered summer camp, the guy above me, Drake, his mattress moving, the creak of a spring, then it stopped, me holding my breath, then it started again, accelerated, till I heard Drake breathe out his nose and everything went still. That was all that had happened.

"Yeah, we'd like practically do it in front of each other. I mean, sometimes we did. Like, have contests, who can do it first..."

"Gross..!"

I flexed my feet and tried to hold back my orgasm. I forced myself to remove my hand from my aching dick. "Not really," I said.

"Watching other guys do it?" His voice sounded weak, labored.

"It's natural," I said. "I mean, guys, can like share something. Something brotherly. This one guy -- God! -- Everett was his name. Like, none of us had seen a guy, you know, come that much, right?" Artie didn't answer. His mattress was almost still, but something definitely was moving on it. "We made fun of him. We were like, 'Everett, you ever get married you're gonna have like ten sets of quintuplets!'" I'd begun tugging my own dick again.

"Really?" Artie said.

"So, you doing it?" I said. At the exact moment I added, "I am," Artie answered with a breathy, "Uh-huh..."

"You going for it?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

When he made that guttural moan it was all I could do not to come on the spot, but I saved it so he'd be recovered and I would know he was listening to my own groaning and cursing. "Motherfucker!" I spat, then I breathed quietly, "Shit, look at it all..!"

He asked me to pass his shorts up, so he could wipe himself. As I reached for them he said, "You use 'em, too, if you want." So I did, and as I passed them up I only wished our positions were reversed so I could taste the sperm freshly wiped from his warm skin. He cleaned himself up and we fell asleep in silence, breathing deeply and audibly.

The next night, Artie turned out the light and without a word spoken we both stripped naked. No more than a minute after we settled in in the dark Artie said, "Oops!"

"What?" I said.

"Occupational hazard!"

"Yeah, me too. Gotta relieve it!" I said, and started squeezing my own dick, "or I won't get any sleep..."

"Yeah," Artie said. "Except...hm... Dunno..."

"Don't know what?" I asked, crestfallen but still squeezing myself.

"It's kind of uncomfortable up here," he said. "I keep feeling like I'm gonna fall off. I can't really, y'know, lose control..."

My heart thumped. "Then come down here."

"Where?"

"My bunk."

After a pause he said, "Okay..."

I quickly, turned myself sideways, my legs streched out over the edge of the bunk.

The mattress creaked above me and Artie's bare legs swung over. He hopped down, half-hard penis bobbling, then crawled in next to me on my bunk. All the time he watched my skinny, stiff dick. "See?" I said, as we began tugging together, "plenty of room."

"Yeah," he said, and soon fell into my rhythm.

After a while I said, "Um, you mind if I, like, turn on a light? Just low?"

"Why?"

"I, um...like the story I was telling about summer camp..?"

"Yeah..?"

"I like to watch it, you know, come out..?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. I kinda do, too. It's exciting." I loved that.

I slipped out, turned on a light, ducked back in and resumed jacking with him. As Artie stiffened his legs and pointed his toes I whispered, "Yeah, shoot it! Shoot it off! Cream yourself, man!" And he did, a good-sized load, the first shot landing part on the wall behind him and part on his face, and the second one going on his chest. I shot a few seconds later, right in my own face. "Wo! Sweet!" Artie said. I grinned at him.

This time he cleaned up first, and when he passed his underwear to me, I made sure I got as much of his stuff on me, as I took of my own stuff off of myself. "Oops!" I said. "Looks like I'm gettin' my sperm off but gettin' your sperm on!" He grinned.

The next night he switched out the light, slid our shorts down, kicked them away, and stood facing each other. "We gonna play again tonight?" Artie asked. I could make out his lopsided grin. He took my balls and dick in his small, broad, rough, hand. I reached for his balls, tight with nervousness. "Guess so," I said, and we drew close, clasping and kneading and pulling and sighing and cursing under our breath. "Motherfucker! Fuck! Fucking shit! Aw, fucking shit!" I knelt to jack him, and he shot with such force that I actually heard the first squirt hit my shoulder. Another load splattered down my torso, and I squeezed more out as he shuddered and sighed, "Motherfuck!" one last time. Then he went down on one knee to jack me, aiming my piss-hole so a couple of minutes later my sperm doused the patch of black hair in the center of his chest.

"Fuckin' great," he said.

"Yeah!" I said, and breathed, and understood what was meant.

The whole night lay ahead of us.

We jacked and sucked and ate each other's cum insatiably, carelessly, no awareness that classmates slept or studied or talked on the other side of our walls. Our only concern was the most outrageous pleasures. At last I probed his asshole and before I could comprehend it he was spreading his cheeks to be fucked, and I was tugging his dick and wanting him to come but wanting him to save it so he could fuck me, and he did, slamming into me, writhing and crying and gasping and shooting inside me.

The days and nights blurred into one another as we spent long stretches in the room pleasuring one another in every way we could imagine -- clutching, pounding, consuming one another's bodies and souls till we lay exhausted, two clouds of vapor merged into one.

 

(v)

I turned the light out. Artie must have heard me messing with my clothes on the chair because he rose up on one elbow and called down, "What're you doing?"

"Nothing," I said.

A few seconds after I'd slid into the bottom bunk he asked, "You don't sleep naked do you?"

"Sure," I lied. Quickly, quietly I slid my shorts off. "Why?" I asked.

"Dunno," he said. "It's gross." His mattress, just above me, moved as he rolled over to go to sleep. I worked up my courage and finally said,

"No, it isn't."

"Huh?"

"It isn't gross." I paused. "Feels good."

"Hm!" he said.

"Feels free, y'know?"

He made no reply. Now I felt foolish going to sleep naked. But I wouldn't give up.

I spent the next day envisioning how it would be that night. When evening came, Artie said he'd stay up late studying. So I did, too. Later and later it went, till I imagined he was deliberately tormenting me. All day I'd imagined being naked off in front of him, casually, not even looking at him, maybe taking a few steps around the room, while he might take a look. I was taller than him, and I imagined he was fixated on this. For all his talk of his girlfriend, he'd want to see the tall boy's bare body.

I decided to go brush my teeth first. Then I could come back and study till he decided to turn in. As I stood in the bathroom brushing, he came through the door. My heart leapt. Artie, too, had this idea of us going to bed at the same time! He'd been waiting for me, because he, too, expected a follow-up to last night! I loved him: for wanting it, being shy, manipulating, wanting me to manipulate.

"Hey," I said.

He nodded. Was he playing it cool, or was I wrong? I barely possessed the strength to brush. I stole glances at him, but he didn't look back. After brushing I lingered and splashed cold water on my face. I'd just happen to return to the room with him. I'd slip my shorts off and get in. Not jump in, but not linger. Make it as natural as possible, feel his eyes on me, feel them going between my legs, feel them touch the tip of my dick. And again he'd mention the sleeping naked, and again I'd say how good it felt (though I'd never done it till last night), and he'd say, "Hey, might as well try..."

By casting sidelong glances I calculated when he was about to leave the bathroom. I had my stuff ready. As he turned, I turned. Going out the bathroom door I pretended to be aware for the first time that he was coming behind me. "Oh!" I said. We didn't speak coming back up the hallway.

He fiddled at his dresser.

I fiddled at my dresser.

I began slowly to undress. He began to undress. He hadn't looked at me yet.
I moved into the center of the room and, looking distracted, slid down my underwear.

He looked! What is more, he looked at my dick! I felt it right at the root! His eyes lingered. Not lingered, but... Then he looked away as though...as though he had to cope with something...as though he shouldn't have been looking...as though now he had something to wonder about.

I got in.

I continued to do this, though not every night, and not always so calculated. I tried to make it like life: some nights he saw me drop my drawers, some nights I was in bed, lights out, when he came, some nights he was in bed, turned to the wall, when I got in and slipped my shorts down. It was just something I did, whether he saw or not.

One Saturday we woke early and just lay there, not wanting to start a day of studying. After a silence I began to play with myself. "Shit!" I said.

He waited, then asked, "What?"

"Nothing." I paused. I gave a little laugh. "This sleeping naked thing has an 'occupation-al hazard.'"

Pause. "Oh."

Again I waited. Finally I said, "Shit!" again.

"What?" he demanded.

"'Occupational hazard' is all!" I said. "Got a raging hard-on!" I said it like it was drudgery.

"Oh."

I exhaled impatiently. "What to do, what to do..?"

He made no response.

Finally I got out of the bottom bunk -- by then I did have a hard-on, if not quite a raging one -- and with my back to him pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and went down the hall.

I sat stroking myself, hoping he might follow and at least take the stall next to me. But he didn't, and I resigned myself to getting off alone. When I'd finished, he banged through the door and went the other way, to the showers.

I continued sleeping naked, though it had stopped exciting me.

Thursday of the following week, I came back to our room after a class, and found Artie there with his friend, Bill. They looked as though they'd been caught. Artie smiled and patted me on the arm. "Just the man we wanted to see!" he said. I smiled back. I wanted to touch him, too, put my hand on his arm and never take it away. Bill's eyes went back and forth between us. He chewed his lip.

"So," Artie said. "We were just talking about you. We have a proposition. I think you'll like it."

"What?"

"Well, me and Bill were talking," and now he was standing next to Bill, who still looked back and forth from Artie to me. "And we were thinking, it might make sense, it would make sense, in fact, if, like, Bill and me roomed together -- and you'd wouldn't have to go anywhere, you wouldn't have to do anything... But, like, we have some of the same classes and stuff, so we were just thinking, and then Bill's roommate, Chet, he could move in here, and you wouldn't have to do anything, just...go on living here, and Chet's clean, he's clean, he, he doesn't make any noise or anything, and he says it's okay. Right?"

Bill nodded.

"You'll like him a lot better'n me anyway..!" Artie grinned -- that pixie grin made sexy by heavy eyebrows. That lopsided grin suggesting... "Get rid of me, get someone neat and clean in here!" Artie left dirty laundry around; that was about it. Chet was this morose basketball player. He was neat. He was completely unimaginative, as far as I could tell. "So how about it? You want to? It'll be great..!"

"Um...don't we like, have to get someone's permission..?" I asked.

Bill seemed about to say something. Artie gave him a look.

"Actually," Artie said, "we had like a little conversation with the Dean Forsythe..? About that..? Just, like, asking..? He seemed to think it'd be okay..."

"Oh," I said.

"So, how about it? Is it okay?"

I began to nod. But I couldn't make myself say the words.

"Great!" Artie said. "Great!" He socked me on the shoulder. "You're a true pal!"

It was the last time we ever touched.

 

(vi)

As Artie turned over in the top bunk and let out a breath, I slid my underwear down and climbed in the bottom. Motionless on my back I stared up at the bottom of his mattress. On top his almost bare body curled compact and defined, barefoot and still tan, breathing. Shaking, I extended my arm and touched the underside of the mattress. I did not dare touch myself -- yet. But in nights to come, I would learn to regulate my motion, breath, touch and pleasure. I would try, and fail, again and again, to regulate thought.

 

©2002 David Pratt - Contributor's Bio