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Two college men continue to explore their sexuality.
So far the new year wasn't going at all well with me.
Chapter Two: Rainbow Connecting
I woke with a headache, flat on my back in my bed, naked, with my forearm flung across my eyes.
"I can't find the coffee."
It took me a few seconds to realize that I wasn't alone. I'd hardly be asking myself where I kept the coffee. I might not remember where it was, but I'd then know it was useless to ask myself where it was. I opened my eyes and turned my head. He was standing in the doorway, leaning into the door frame, hand on jutted hips. He was wearing the shirt I'd worn to the center the evening before. On him the tail of the shirt came down to his knees. Even though my cock made a jerk, I hated that he was posed that way. Another swisher. I wasn't in the market for a swisher. And I'd had no intention of bringing anyone home from the center. I'd just been checking the Rainbow Connection center in downtown Richmond out, anyway.
I'd been so frustrated coming home from Northern Virginia that, after a couple of weeks of being a hermit, I'd remembered that Eddie at the bar had suggested this Rainbow Connection place. He'd said it had a gym and sports facilities. If I didn't get some more exercise in beyond lifting weights by myself, I thought I'd go mad.
I almost didn't stay when I got there. They wanted to know so much, and they kept pushing activity brochures at me. I finally said, yeah, I'd like to do an Appalachian Trail crawl sometime when the weather was better but that, for now, I'd just like a pickup game of basketball. Did they have that?
"Yes, we do."
"Now? Can I get into a game now?"
"Sure. The gym is through there. Did you bring sports gear? The locker room is down the corridor over there. See the attendant there, Travis, for a towel."
The pickup game was fine. I was both the oldest and biggest guy on the court. I also was the best basketball player. I latched on to the next-best player, a black guy in his twenties, named Jackson, and we ganged up on the rest.
I fucked him-or got a good start on it-in a tiled room just off the shower room. I was to find that the Rainbow Connection facilities included a lot of out-of-the way cubicles like this around to accommodate the needs of its clientele. It might have looked like just a meeting place for gays for healthy activities among their own kind, but it had all of the services I'd ever found in gay bathhouses around the world. It was a social service they were doing here, but not necessarily the social service they were telling the public they were serving.
Jackson was more than willing, and I started with him after we'd done some touching and fondling in the communal shower, backing him up against the tiles of the wall, with him climbing my hips with his knees, and me fucking him shallow to work up his prostate with my bulb, ready to give him all of it, which he said scared him but that he was game for it. We gathered watchers, though, including the towel attendant, Travis, and they were coming in close and touching me and showing interest in what I had. I ended up sitting on a sauna shelf, with a series of mouths covering my cock until I exploded. Jackson was gone by that point. Travis wasn't. He wanted all of the cock, but said he was afraid-and was about to go off duty.
I fucked him twice-at least twice-on my bed that night. But he was a squealer and tight, very tight. He sobbed and was pulling out from underneath me constantly when I was about to dive for the money. A platinum blond little trick with a limp wrist-not at all what I was in the mood for intellectually, but my dick had decided otherwise. Twice-or maybe it was three times-he'd squirmed so much, and given me a jerk and his cum so quickly, that I too released earlier than I wanted and finally thought-and probably said-"Fuck it," and turned over on my side and went to sleep.