I Wanted To Be Next

Brandon had told me that if I wasn’t going to move to a new, all-the-way level with him, he was going to a gay bar and would bring someone back to the dorm with him. He said he couldn’t take the frustration any longer. I thought he had been joking, that he was as scared about this as I was. But there they were, entering the door from the street and moving toward Brandon’s room at the other end of the suite in the middle of the night, having awakened me from a light sleep when Brandon’s friend knocked over a lamp and exclaimed a four-letter word.
I had only been dozing, because I had been aroused by Brandon’s plan, even though I hadn’t really believed he was going to go through with it, and I hadn’t been able to keep my hands off my own cock and couldn’t go to sleep when I was that hard. I wasn’t any less frustrated at the nonmovement in our relationship than Brandon was. If he had been here, we would have just jacked off together, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do certain things yet. I was more of a watcher than a doer still.
I thus was quickly out of my bed at the sound of their arrival, and when I’d opened my door a crack and peeked out, I could see that Brandon had brought back a four-letter-word kind of guy. He was decked out in black—black leather vest over a tight black muscle shirt and black jeans, shredded at the knees and also tight on well-muscled legs. He had a square-jawed face, covered in a couple of day’s growth of black stubble. His hair was long and tied off in a ponytail, and I wouldn’t have doubted a claim that...