A gay adult story: Valleys and Mountains: Chapter 1 by sammyrobert87 ,
This story began as a bored-out-of-my-mind-hey-I’ll write-something sort of deal, and I found that I enjoyed it. 3 chapters are written as of 26 Feb 2012.
[center]1: Jack.
Wednesday, 13 December 2006, 20:00[/center]It’s raining, so I’m sitting in the dark, stark naked, bored out of my skull, surfing the web, casually chatting with random people. I never go out in the rain anymore, as much as I enjoy watching the drops pitter-patter against the windowpane.
I think I stared out the window for a solid ten minutes before my phone jostled me out of my stupor. It was my girlfriend of the month. Always called her ‘Tits’. Best rack I’ve had the pleasure of fucking. Seriously. Her tits were as big as cantaloupes, and about as firm. I can still feel them wrapped around my dick… almost pulsing along with her rapid breaths. God DAMN, she is gorgeous.
Shit, I thought as I answered the call, my penis raging with lust. “Hey.”
She instantly began rattling off her agenda for the rest of the week, followed by an announcement of her shopping plans for the weekend, then I think it was some kind of intelligible gossip using some foreign language consisting of only letters. Every so often I’d give her the occasional “Uh huh” as needed. My gaze slowly drifted downward until it locked onto my hard-on as I continued imagining my last encounter with her rack. I’m so fucking glad she can’t hear my thoughts.
After thirty minutes of sheer ear-boredom she dismissed me from her lecture on perfumes and dresses she had been considering on purchasing for our planned date that Friday. I was just glad she was a material chick and not all clingy. I could handle her easily… and she hadn’t complained about my handling of her either.
Name’s Kaedan Carter. I’m twenty-two. I have buzzed auburn hair with a matching length beard. My body hair is what I call ‘balanced’ in quantity and texture, all kept at the same length; my chest hair flows from my pecs down my chiseled eight-pack in a thick ‘T’ shape, narrowing at my waistline, trickling into a treasure trail, then pooling into a well-groomed pubic region. My legs are ‘balanced’, as well as thick as tree trunks from working out.
I’ve got a rare light grey eye color. I’m not tall; I measure at five feet, seven inches. Hell, Tits is a couple inches taller than I am—but I’m tanned, toned, and built; I weigh in at around one-hundred-sixty pounds, chest measuring forty-five inches at the nipple line, biceps at fifteen inches, thirty-one inch waist. I pride myself on my physique. I was the quarterback on the high school varsity football team. I gave my virginity out at age sixteen to the hottest girl in the school. I’m gifted with both size and girth; I’m seven inches long and five inches around… soft. Pushing nine and seven when thinking about Tits. Guess that’d make me a show-er, not much of a grow-er. I don’t care. I know I’m eye candy, and I do everything I can to maximize that fact.
An IM appears on my computer monitor.
JMitchell2002: Hey.
Wasn’t expecting anyone… who the hell?
Me: Sup.
JMitchell2002: Saw on your profile we went to the same high school… I think I graduated before you did.
Me: Right on… who are you?
JMitchell2002: Jack Mitchell. Class of 2000. Track team?
Oh shit. I remember him.
Jack was the track and field star my Freshman year. He was my main competition in the sports section of the school paper… Buzzed brown hair, almost always wearing a black ski hat, light green eyes, tall, fit agile… and really weird acting. Don’t think we’d ever actually exchanged a word in person, but I had noticed at sporting events (which I never missed, being the sports junkie I am) I’d catch him in the stands or bleachers eyeing me, almost staring. Not that I cared.
Me: Yeah, I remember you. Track star.
Jack: Yup.
Awkward.
Me: Soo… what’s been going on lately? Been 4 years since high school. For me anyways.
Jack: Finished my degree a couple years ago and moved back to town. Nothing major since.
Me: Cool. What’s your degree in? Where’d you go?
Jack: M.S. in Kinesiology from California State University in Chico.
I felt stupid for a minute, then rapidly pulled up Dictionary.com and looked up ‘kinesiology’.
Right on, degree in being a fitness nut. Sounds like me, without the degree part.
Me: Sweet.
A silence rolled in. An awkward silence. I’m not one to feel awkward.
Me: So why are you just now talking to me after—
A response appeared before I could finish my thought.
Jack: You’re probably wondering about why I’m even talking to you… Yeah, It’s awkward for me too man, but I thought you were cool from the Chemistry class we had together my Junior year. I don’t think you even saw me—I flunked out the year before and had to retake it, so I was kinda hiding in the back… it wasn’t ‘cool’ to be seen taking a Sophomore class your Junior year, and I had a reputation to hold for Track.
I backspaced. Shock. He was in my class! That’s how I knew his hair color… He had taken off his notorious ski hat to hide. God, psychology is weird.
Me: Ohhhhhhhhh, right, I remember that! Gotta love high school society. Reputation was everything. But how’s come if you thought I was cool you didn’t say anything after that? I mean, we coulda hung out together or whatever.
Jack: Yeah… guess I could have, but something bugged me about you.
Me: Bugged you? Like what?
Jack: That’s what I never figured out, and when I saw your photo on here, the same feeling came on… Since we’re all adults now, I figured I’d try to figure it out. Guess I was too chickenshit.
Whoa. ‘Feeling’? What ‘feeling’ is he talking about?
Me: Dude, you coulda said something. But yeah, sure. What’s this ‘feeling’?
Jack: Fuck, bad wording. Probably was because you were the QB and everything. Who knows. Hey, you wanna go grab a drink? There’s this place in town that’s got fuckin’ great dancers and even better drinks. You any good at shooting pool?
Where the hell did that come from? I’ve got to work in the morning… but dancers? Hell yes. Been too long since Tits, her girls and I have gotten together. Booze!!!
Me: Yeah, why not—I’ll kick your ass at pool. You’re paying the first round.
Jack: Uhm. Ok, yeah, I was going to offer anyway. Google “The Hunt Bar & Grill”. I live a block away, so I’ll meet you there. Table in the back by the pool tables.
Me: Cool. I’ll be there in a few.
————————-To Be Continued——————————