“Excuse me…. Should I walk by again?” I heard a voice with a distinct accent say as I looked down from my perch.
“Excuse me?” I asked as I looked down at the tan boy that stood in front of me clearly trying to get my attention. At 6’2”, athletic and lean with a mop of wet brown hair and crystal blue eyes….he had it.
“I asked if I should walk by again,” he said smiling and with a deep voice and an accent that was either distinctly British or Australian. (My southern ears are not that discerning.) “You know… just in case it wasn’t love at first sight.” He grinned.
And with that insultingly cheesy pick-up line, this high school boy and British transplant started a dialogue with me, UGA student (and so beyond high school guys), that brought us to where we are today. This is not the story of our first date, but the story of our first sexual encounter. The reason being—Robert pursued me for so long before I relented and went out with him for the first time, that we’d all be asleep before I ever got to our real “first time.”
But a little background first. My name is Jesse and I’m a sophomore at UGA in a little town called Athens, Ga. During school, I work as a personal trainer at a local gym and during summers, I work as a lifeguard. . I’m 5’6, 105, athletic and lean. Since every guy will want to know my chest size, I am a 34C. Robert, at the time we first met was a high school senior at a private school in Athens having just arrived a few months earlier. He was also a very gifted lacrosse player and would become a star athlete his senior year. And as would happen, I’d end up spending many nights warming a bleacher watching him practice and play. It was during these times that I absorbed every single inch and aspect of his body, how he moved when on the field—his speed, agility, and acumen—a true athlete with an animal’s prowess. And how he looked off the field—watching and cheering his teammates, stripping his jersey and equipment off, showering himself with a bottle of water to assuage the heat, rubbing his chest, flat tummy and ultimately tugging at his real equipment as he stood on the sidelines.
Yep. I was smitten. It had been four grueling months of non-stop Robert/Jesse hanging out at every free moment we had. I say grueling, because, although he had made it to first and second bases during some unusually torrid make-out sessions, we had not gone “all the way.” That had been my choice, not his. And I felt like if I had to hear one more story of “blue balls,” cold showers, and three or four masturbation sessions a day, I’d explode. We had passed the point of telling each other we loved each other and did so with ease. And I believed, rightfully so, that we had passed the point of him telling me anything I wanted to hear just to get into my pants.
And, it was also during this time that Robert and I learned more about each other, especially our “turn ons” and “turn offs” that would ultimately lead us to the other stories you have read so far. For instance, Rob doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body; me, one or two. And he seemed happiest then, as now, when I would wear sexy or slightly revealing clothes. I thought he was just proud of me in front of his friends, which he is and was, but I learned he was also turned on with other guys looking at me and checking me out. As I’ve said, he’s quite a voyeur. Likewise, with me being exhibitionistic, Robert learned that public displays of affection (with some discretion) were fine and in a funny moment or two, I didn’t mind flashing him, his friends or strangers.
So there we were, almost five months into our relationship. It was late summer 2010 and as usual in the “sultry” south, it was “hot as 40 Hells,” as we like to say down here. The pool party had happened spontaneously at Robert’s best friends house. His name is Lake, which I think is kind of a cool name for a guy. Lake was the football hero of their high school where Robert was the lacrosse champ. So all their friends were the jocks of the high school, the cheerleaders and their immediate friends.
Lake’s parent’s were gone for the weekend and evidently they had more faith in him than we all did. And we were right--- party at Lake’s house! As you might imagine, it was bedlam; loud music, tons of alcohol, screaming students and lots of laughter. Thank God I wasn’t on the “clean up the house committee” before his parents got home.
The night was gone. The morning was upon us and the crowd at Lake’s house had dwindled to a dozen or so people. Some were in the pool. A couple or two had drifted off to the sides to make out and a couple of couples had disappeared into other rooms behind closed doors. Robert and I were one of the couples who had paired off in the shallow end of the pool.