Latest gay adult stories: Connor's Pretty Horny

Latest gay adult stories: Connor’s Pretty Horny – Chapter 7

Author: connorwitmer

I loved the library coffee joint. I’m saying “library coffee joint” because there’s no name for the place. It was completely unassuming in every way and resembled something closer to an airport grab-and-go than anything else. A no-frills menu and three small aluminum tables. At any number of hip urban joints, I could easily have gotten flustered by choice. With a guy like Alex, I might even go so far as being distracted by making a “trendy” selection to make a good impression. In the library coffee shop with no name, sign, or owner, it was a plain coffee, add-your-own-shit affair – or a latte if you were feeling really inventive that day.

Not only that, but just across the way were the faculty stacks. In the same way that The Slice appealed to me, the library basement did as well. By 7PM, the upper floors were still hopping with activity, full study rooms, and scrambling for the best seats. Down here, some of the fluorescent lights hadn’t even been turned on yet for the day – with the day almost over. Ghost town status. A lone cowboy might giddy-up through, a TA sent from a far-flung office to retrieve a manuscript.

I was just really getting into my musing about the library as an old Western, imagining the wide hallway into a dusty main street when my eyes focused in on Alex, striding down with his bag over his shoulder. If there was something so purely opposite a Western fantasy, it was effortlessly fashionable Alex.

That night at Pine Drive, he had been so unassuming. Either the distracted party atmosphere had taken away his magnitude, or the lonesomeness of the library emphasized it. Now, he looked to have been plucked from a GQ ad. In spite of that, though, he wasn’t pretentiously ‘done-up.’

It was that effortless. A casual plain button-up tucked into fitted chinos, it wasn’t that he looked Hollywood, but he certainly didn’t look Tuesday-at-the-library either. It was simultaneously comforting and alienating: he was so approachable and distantly beyond me at the same time.

I brightened at the sight of him, sat up straight from my slump at one of the tables, and gave a half-wave. He brightly smiled back. As he walked and took the seat across from me wordlessly, I admired the perfect brown quiff of his hair, clean-shaven face, and shining eyes. Can you believe that? In a dark library basement floor, his eyes were shining. Yeah, that’s the level of corniness my life was quickly ascending to.

He graciously fell into the other seat and without missing a single beat said, “You look good. Glad to see it. Those beer googles can fool you, you know?”

“Oh, well thanks,” I replied, realizing that I was finding it – somehow – more difficult than usual to speak. Regaining composure, I quickly added, “You too.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and motioned for me to walk up to the counter with him. “I didn’t even know there was anything down here. What’s…” his eyes flicked up to the menu board, “uh, good here?”

“Well, I like the chai. If you’re a chai kind of guy. Or just the regular drip stuff is pretty good,” I said authoritatively. There were few things I felt confident in, but I had an excellent grasp of the extremely limited menu. The chai suggestion was smart – the fact they even had a chai was astonishing to me.

There was a sole barista, a sullen plain-looking girl, behind the counter and she lazily nodded, tapping his order into the screen. When she finished, she put her hand out to take his card.

“Oh, no, I’ve got him too.” He stepped back from the counter, putting his hands in his pocket. I am sure I blushed but may have chosen to block it out.

I stepped up, ordered, and Alex snaked his arm around me to hand her his card. It was so smooth that there wasn’t even one second of an awkward dance, or insistence of who might pay, or any of that.

Later, I would think about this interaction. In that situation, my inclination was always to overthink. Should I have been quicker and paid for us instead, as a gentleman might? I could have done it. But in that coffee ‘date’ – I hadn’t thought of that at all. Alex had this way of being so possessive of the atmosphere that whatever he did seemed to just work. In more ways than one, it was a good foil to my less-positive outlook.

I don’t want to overthink that kind of stuff. Since coming to college, I’ve been doing everything to swallow those feelings – that other people were capable in a way that I wasn’t at all. Everyone must just be more sociable or more in-tune with their peers, and I was on the outside. Like watching a movie, or observing people in their natural habitat. I’d felt that way most of my life, like an outsider, or sometimes like I might just be a little dumber than everyone else.

Do you know that feeling you often get as an adult, that everyone else knew how to act and be, except for you? I felt like that, but almost all the time.

With Alex, the last threads of that awful knot came undone. He knew what to do, but not only did he know – he made no great effort of it. There was never a sideways glance that said: Really, Connor? You don’t know that you’re supposed to offer to pay? I hated that glance. Worse, I knew that I was very often just imagining the glance.

So, with a dramatic internal monologue wrapped up in about 20 seconds of waiting for my coffee, Alex and I were off to the races. He grabbed both of our cups and took them to the table.

“So, the party last weekend. Did you have a good time?” Alex got right down to business, apparently.

“Well, yeah. It was a nice night. That’s why I thought I’d try to find you.” I said, rubbing my thumb in gentle circles against the heat of the paper cup. Fidgeting.

“Me too! I asked around, but nobody knew your name. You must not party much.” I glanced up at him, trying to keep a straight face.

“I like that. I like that you don’t party much,” he added. It felt genuine.

“So, history, right? We never really got into that. Got carried away, right?” He grinned at me, and then pressed on with a dozen questions. I was flattered that he had remembered an off-handed comment about liking history, but Alex continued to impress.

I didn’t really feel like I had anything all that interesting to share, but over a single cup of coffee, Alex wanted to get it all out there. We talked about our classes, mused on family and going back home, and even two categories I could really engage on: film and television. Alex espoused a long list of classics, many of which I thought must have inspired his haircut. Somewhere in that conversation, I realized that Alex was not like anyone I had ever met before.

“Do you read much?” He asked, placing his chin against his palm, propped up on the table. Alex always looked interested. I could tell him about putting my socks on that morning, and he would still have that inspired curiosity.

“I try, between classes and things.” I responded in half-truth, as I hadn’t really found time to read anything sine coming back to class. Still, I considered myself a reader. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I’m really into like – this weird historical Russian literature.” He answered back. I feigned some surprise – but in reality, that seemed so Alex. “Do you want to borrow a few favorites?”

I swear, I’m trying to limit my overthinking. I really am. But I had to overthink that a little, because it seemed like a promise. It was an engagement in the future, he would both have to bring me a book and see me for the return. This library-visit-not-date wasn’t a total train wreck. Score.

“Yeah. Well, yeah. I would really like that.” I chirped, smiling. I was doting, and secretly hoped it was at least kind of adorable for him. To my credit, he looked amused enough.

He stood up, suddenly pushing his chair back. Every move for Alex was planned. “Let’s go, I have a few in mind that you should read.”

“Like right now?” I said, grabbing my cup of coffee to stand.

“Yeah. Right now.” He grinned down at me and turned on his heel to lead the way down the hall. I shoved my arms into my jacket and trotted after him like a puppy.

—

Alex escorted me off campus in the dying light of a late September day, chatting often but occasionally being content in silence too. I kept my hands in my pocket and tried to play off him as well as I could. On the walk, I wondered what I could even say if I suddenly ran into Henry like I had on the way to David’s. Henry had a way of turning up in awkward moments like this, but I was saved this time and the classic sideways tackle never came.

He lived a short way off campus in a house which, he explained to me, he shared with a few other guys. It was an older, flat house – many just like it lined the streets of campus, all rentals for college students at an ever-increasing rate.

He led us up a small porch and, as his retro-ethics would indicate, graciously held the door for me. Their front room was littered with signs of college life: mostly beer cans and a forgotten upsided Psych textbook on a very old tartan couch.

“Sorry. Messy roommates. None of this is mine.” He ushered me through the front room, kitchen, and to the back of the house and into his room. Typically, I might have written him off as saving face over the messy areas – but his room seemed to fit his story. It was tiny and well decorated, with obscure art on the walls, a record player, and a dim lamp still on. There were no beer cans or disrespected texts, not even a dirty plate.

He sat on the edge of his small bed, kicking his shoes off and tucking them with his feet under the bed. He had cute plaid socks, even.

“A few of the books are on that shelf,” he said, gesturing to a few neatly organized shelves that hung above his desk.

Turning to look at the titles, I saw some old classics from my own collection mixed with obscure, very foreign literature. On one end was a framed picture, and I mused briefly about how nobody ever got photos printed anymore. In it, Alex posed in front of a lake and jet-skis with a good-looking jock-ish guy, their grins practically bursting from the frame. It was a delightfully adorable snapshot from college-boyhood.

Alex still sat on the bed, watching me. I had just selected a title of particular interest when I felt a hand at my waist, pulling me dramatically backwards and against his lap.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” he breathed. I could feel his hard dick pressing against my ass. In one of those ecstatic moments, he groaned as he pushes his dick between us. My own cock immediately jumped to attention.

Then I did something I hadn’t really done before, or at least, not in the same way. I flipped my body over, placing my palms to each side of Alex’s head and looked down at him. He gave me a surprised grin as I dove to his mouth, kissing him. It was tender. I realized I hadn’t ever really just kissed anyone before.

That connection of lips was a static shock, but not the jolt to my pants I’d felt many times already before. No, this was a tiny, tingling electric signal that seemed to dissipate somewhere in my chest where it grew warm and melted away. The place where it settled in my chest… I’m not sure if there’s a word for what’s in there.

Radiating heat passed over my face as we pushed against each other. Our chests, crotches, even legs were rubbing together. There was simultaneously all this cotton-ey friction mixed with liquid desire.

For only a few seconds, I narrowly opened my eyes to look at Alex. His boyish lashes lined his eyes and his pale cheeks were flushed. If I could have ignored the powerfully large rod pressing against my leg, I might even have described him as cherubic. All at once, his eyes flew open and he was flipping me around to pin me under him.

“Could I fuck you?” He asked quietly. Blood rushed to my ears immediately. Could he? I wanted him to. But I wasn’t sure what to do. Then, that sexual confidence rose up from my gut and I was in motion, roughly pulling my pants down and off. Alex’s hand flew to my bulge, massaging my dick through my black briefs.

Grabbing his head and bringing his ear to my lips, I breathed to him: “Fuck me, Alex.” Those words came plucked directly from somewhere else, maybe a porno I had watched once – but definitely couldn’t have come from me.

With my nod of approval, Alex went from mere man to an expert craftsman. In a fluid motion, he drew a bottle of lube out from under his bed and whipped my underwear down my legs and over my ankles. Still without taking his cock out, the tension of seeing it again straining me all the while, he brought the cold lube to my ass and gently massaged. That patient grace should have been so calming, but he took my cock in his lubed up hand, fucking my rod in and out of his tight grip.

——————–

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Parent Post: Connor’s Pretty Horny – Author: connorwitmer

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Connor’s Pretty Horny – Chapter 7