The Pledge Brothers Part One - free erotic gay stories on MaleDirectory
My name is Trevor, and I am two years out of college, after having attended a Big Twelve university, here in the midwest. This is the true story of how my fraternity brother and I let our inhibitions down, during a drug induced escapade. It happened one weekend, in early September, during our junior year. From that fateful weekend, which is forever etched into my memory, our relationship would never be the same.
This story is the beginning of my reintroduction to my own bisexuality. I had always known I had an attraction to the boys, as well as the girls, but thought I had put it in my past. I had messed around with a couple of my friends in junior high, and still another dude during my sophomore year of high school; but I pretty much wrote it off as a phase, and naively thought I could get over it.
When I got to college, it dawned on me that these urges for hot jocks had not subsided, but had gotten worse. Still, I disciplined myself not to act on them, out of fear of being found out, as well as my the hope that these thoughts would just disappear. And so this was the case, emphasis on was, during the first part of my Junior year. Pat Baker would change all that, as you will soon find out.
"Hey Trevor, we still going to the river after classes?" Pat Baker shouted across our fraternity parking lot, having just pulled in, following wrestling practice at our mid western university."Depends bro, you got weed? Or are you just planning on mooching off of me, as usual?" I replied with frustration. Pat had a habit of always showing up when my roommates and I would be leaving the frathouse to go smoke a bowl or two. He never seemed to have any, but was always more than willing to partake of the stuff that the three of us had acquired.Pat was also kind of a hypocrite, in that he would be one of the first to voice his strong disdain for any drug problem in the house, perceived or otherwise. Yet, he always seemed to been in the stairwell, to invite himself along when we'd go party.
Aside from the fact he was a freeloader and would talk shit behind your back, Pat was perhaps the hottest guy in my house. Standing five foot, ten inches tall, he had blue eyes and blonde wavy hair, just shaggy enough to reach mid ear. His lean body was cut as could be, with not one ounce of fat, and he had the lats, abs and chest that could cause you to drool, if you weren't careful. Pat was not huge, by any means, but he was muscular in a gymnast's sort of way. I don't claim to have a gaydar, as so many seem to possess, but I always figured he might be bi. I wasn't about to make a move and find out, as my luck would have it, all that would give me is a black eye. But Pat always seemed to be shirtless, whenever possible, and the shorts he wore were all too revealing, as they would be tight enough to outline his shaft and the head of his dick. I think he was aware of this, and did it just to tease people, but I don't know for sure. I do know he seldom wore underwear, and that was obvious.
Early in our pledge year, I made sure I was in the showers at the same time as Pat, just to get an 'innocent' glimpse of his naked body. We had communal showers in the house, so it was a matter of timing, and both of us had early classes, so I saw him naked plenty of times, but never allowed myself to get caught looking. His dick was a little smaller than mine, but I never had seen it hard, of course. He was your typical, loud, obnoxious jock type, and he would have no humility while soaping his cock, almost as if he wanted you to stare, and then bust you, and call you a fag if he caught you looking. This didn't happen, but you get my point.
Sometimes, he would return from wrestling practice, wearing his uniform with the top pulled down, and he would drop by our room on the way to his. He would sit and have a beer with us, or listen to music, then leave. As soon as my roomies would leave, I was always compelled to jack off, with Pat being my fantasy material. He was a cock tease, whether deliberate, or not. He had the same arrogance with girls, and had a fuck 'em and leave 'em attitude. So this gives you the mental picture of Pat Baker, frat boy and college jock.
Pat was gathering his gymbag and wrestling gear from out of the rear hatch of his Bronco. He closed up the vehicle and proceeded to walk in my direction, while I strapped my books onto the seat of my CBR900 Crotch Rocket.
I tried to be nonchalant, where Pat was concerned, lest he realize my fascination with him. And of course, as he approached, off came his shirt. "It's cool, Trev. I got shrooms...ever done em?"
"Uh...no dude, I just stick with pot. I heard that shit can fuck you up."
"I got then from J.T., he owed me money, so he gave me these, instead. He told me to blend them into strawberry daiquiris. Man, I already mixed the drinks, its in my fridge. All we have to do is blend in the shrooms, and put the drink in the cooler and we are good to go. You gonna do them with me, or are you gonna be a big pussy?" Pat shoved the baggie back into his gymbag and awaited my reply.
"I'll think about it, dude. I'm gonna be late for class." I hopped on my bike, and as I did so, Pat reached up and gave me a painful titty twister.
"Don't be a puss, Trevor. I'll be in the active room watchin' the tube when you get back. Come get me. Don't fuckin' forget, either."
Come get you, I thought. You have no idea how much I want to come get you. Fuck. I had been obsessed with Pat since our freshman year, but never had I gotten the nerve to try anything. Perhaps if the sex gods were with me?....who was I kidding, there was no chance.
I did a burnout and flew out of the parking lot, nearly missing a carload of Chi Omegas. One of the girls was nice enough to flip me off, as they skidded to a stop. I was late to class, and needless to say, I was distracted with my thoughts and fantasies all through linear algebra.
Three hours later.
"Here, its lit. Hurry and hit it." I coughed, and passed the bong over to Pat, as he drove the back roads to the river. I had to pretend that I wasn't phased by the fact Pat had his left hand down in his shorts, 'scratching' himself. The fucker was always playing with himself, no matter who was around.
"Damn, Baker. Do you have to do that? Like I want to hold the fuckin' bong after you get your crab lice and dick sweat all over it!" I feigned disgust over the situation.
Pat took a deep drag and looked over at me, all pie eyed, and smiled. "Trevor, how bout you just check me for crabs when you are suckin on my biggo dick? You know you want too." He chided, and punched me in the arm. "Fuck you, prick. My boat don't float that direction, unlike you. Besides, I'd need tweezers to hold it and a magnifying glass to see it. I've seen you naked, bro. It ain't nothing to write home about....Tiny." Inside, I wanted to say Okay, I'll suck it, drop your shorts. But I was sure he was joking. Though the thought had crossed my mind, that he makes jokes like this a lot. Perhaps he's testing the waters. But how do I know for sure?
The dirt road narrowed and the brush was scraping up against the side of the vehicle. Judging from the weeds grown up in the middle of the dirt path, few people knew of our secret fishing and party spot. My roommate and I got stuck out there during a storm once, and barely made it out with all the mudholes in the road.
"Dude, we're here" Pat said. I had my eyes closed and was lost in Led Zeppelin's D'yer Maker, and was unaware we had been parked for a couple minutes. Pat turned off the engine, and the music stopped.
"You fuckin butcher! How can you just turn off Zeppelin, right in the middle of the song?"
"Chill," Pat said, "I can turn it back on."
"Too late dude, you just fuckin' killed it. Lets smoke this, and get shit unloaded." I said after rummaging through his glove box and finding a badly rolled joint.
"I was saving that, but okay." Pat replied, with an irritated look.
"Saving it? Saving it for what? For when you can't mooch off someone else, geez Pat. Don't be so stingy."
He handed me a clip, put on some Godsmack, and we toked on the joint. After a while his eyes lit up, "Hey Kasselman, wanna get really high?"
"Already am, man." I said, my head floating.
"Ever do a shotgun? Here, lemme show ya; dude it'll fuck you up."
Pat took the joint, and told me to get in close to him. He put the lit end of the joint in his mouth and exhaled, blowing a huge stream of smoke straight into my mouth.
Evidently some smoke was escaping, because he mumbled that I had to be closer, reached up and grabbed my head, with both hands and pulled it in closer to his. Our lips now only a couple inches apart. I was awarded with a huge, long hit, nearly choking me. Then, he pulled out the joint and claimed it was his turn, and I was to do the same for him.
Now, If I was completely straight, or if Pat was some butt-ugly dude, I would have found no sexual innuendo with what had just happened. But the fact of the matter was, it was summer, we were in a hot humid climate, sitting in a hot Ford Bronco, and high as kites. Neither one of us was wearing anything but boardshorts and flip flops. And suddenly, here I was, my lips within tongue's reach of the hottest guy in my fraternity. To make it worse, he had just grabbed me by the ears and pulled me closer,' so I could get a better hit', as if it were standard procedure.
I returned the favor, by shotgunning him a big hit, but now the joint was even smaller and our lips were only an inch apart. I could feel his warmth, and it became too much. Without warning, I began to get a boner. I was so paranoid he would see it tenting my shorts. If he did, he said nothing of it, and merely reached around to the back seat and got us a couple Buds from the cooler. I took advantage of his predisposal and used the opportunity place my beach towel on my lap, and make like I was ready to exit the vehicle. Geez, I had about fucked up royal. To make it worse, Pat stretched around to get the beers, and his muscles tensed up and shredded, already moist with perspiration. I so wanted to reach out and touch his beautiful tanned obliques and serratus.
I was hard as a rock and uncomfortable as hell, but I dared not adjust my dick, below the towel. What would he say if he found out? Would he run back to the house and tell everyone I was a fag? Or was this an opportunity for me to see where he stands? Am I blowing the situation? How could I be sure about anything?
All these thoughts raced through my head, and Pat said, "Fuck dude what's your hurry? You seem so anxious? The fish will still be there, sit back and have a beer. It's hot as fuck out there." He handed me a bottle of beer, turned up the music and started headbanging, singing along to Godsmack's "Awake."
After the song, and downing the beers, we sat a few more minutes, chatting about this and that. "Dude, I'm glad its just us out here and that T.J. had to work. Three's a crowd and its more weed and beer for us."
"Yeah, me too", I replied. "He's got a condescending attitude towards me. Especially if I'm stoned. Also, he never shuts up if he's high. Ever notice that?"
"Yeah, but neither do you, for that matter." He said, popping me in the chest. "Lets go get the camp set up."
For the next forty-five minutes, we worked, drank, and set up our camp. The sweat glistened on Pat's browned torso, as he went about his tasks. His cheeks slightly red from sunburn and the contrast of his yellow-blonde hair was stunning. He caught me standing there in deep thought, staring at him. "Hey, you supervising? Stop watching me work and get to it, Trav. We got lots to do, here."
"Umm, yeah Pat, I was just trying to remember if we packed all the food." I lied. " Did you grab the Hamburger Buns"
"Yeah its all here, but it ain't gonna do us any good with no fire. You gonna go get some wood or what?"
I already had wood I mused. I put the thoughts aside, glad I had thought quickly in my moment of lust, and began to do my part in setting up camp.
After a short while, all was done. We enjoyed another beer and a few bong hits, and cast a couple lines into the water, for catfish. I went to adjust the radio, and while I was walking back to our beach towels, Pat stood up, exclaimed how fucking hot it was, pulled off his shorts, and threw them at me, hitting me square in the head.
"Last one in is a cocksucker." He said, thinking nothing at all about his nudity. And off he dashed, diving into the river. I followed him in, and just as the water go to my knees, he yelled at me to lose my shorts. I was terrified I would get a boner, but then again, fear was usually was a pretty good deterrent to that. So I went back to the bank, took off my shorts and underwear, and made a mad dash for the river, before anything could 'come up' again.
We swam around for the better part of a half hour, and began to splash each other and roughhouse a little. I had long dismissed any sexual thoughts and all was going well. Going well, that is, until Pat swam beneath me and pulled me under by my feet. I fought, kicking him, and tried to swim away. But soon, he caught up to me. I was making for the bank, and found I was in shallow water and could touch the river's floor. Pat exploded out of the water, and immediately put me in a full nelson, pressing my back against his well-muscled pecs.
He was just playing around, and I honestly believe, to this day, he had no sexual intentions...but who knows? As he pulled me back, I could feel his flaccid penis against my ass cheeks. I struggled more, to no avail. The more I struggled the more I was aware of his dick touching me, and it didn't take long until I sprang the biggest hardon ever. Pat just kept playing, totally unaware, dragging me in this full nelson toward the shore. I tried desperately to escape. My attempts proved futile. Even though he was a good two inches shorter than I, he was somewhat more stout; not to mention the fact that he was an NCAA, Division I, wrestler.
I pushed myself backward to throw him off balance, which it did. However he only tightened his hold on me. He regained his balance, and within a few long seconds, I was only in ankle-deep water. There I stood, on the rocky, pebbled shore, in a full nelson, with a raging hardon.
Pat was suddenly aware of my 'situation', and hastily released his hold, pushing me away. "What the fuck, Travis?" He said, and I just wanted to crawl under a rock.Still I couldn't help but notice, his flaccid penis, although soft, was much bigger now, than I previously recalled. None-the-less, I was still terrified.
I expected him to fight me or something, or at least say something. But he just stood there and snarled, more in disbelief than anger. Or was he merely being enlightened, but unsure what it meant; unsure how he should react. I put on my shorts, leaving the underwear lay. He still stood there naked, shook his head, then retrieved a beer. After a long awkward silence, he walked over toward me, to get his shorts, and seeing the fear in my eyes he said "Its alright, dude. That shit happens. I've seen it happen in wrestling, sometimes. It doesn't mean anything, bro." He pulled on his shorts and went over to his fishing pole, and recast it away from.
Still, I was terrified and in fear. I was concerned this was just lip service, and that before you know it, it would be the talk at the frat house. I had never felt so dejected in my entire life. I'd have to move out of the house, and I wouldn't be able to face anyone.
For the next hour we didn't talk. We caught several small catfish and put them on the stringer. He sat on one end of the clearing and I, on the other.
"Hey Baker, you wanna pack up and head out, dude. This is pretty fucking weird." I said, breaking the long silence. "You kidding? I'm just still kinda stoned. Not real chatty at the moment. Besides we haven't tackled them dacquaris yet." Pat said, as if nothing had happened.
I didn't buy it, and yelled at him, "Dude, I ain't no fag! So you can get that out of your head right now. I was high, drunk, and I don't know why it happened, it just did." I became immediately aware of how defensive and overly-paranoid I had just sounded.
"Chill, Kasselassel!"(that was my nickname...don't ask), "I never said you were... Besides, its kinda flattering I turn you on. But then again, look at me...what's not to like?" Pat chided, as he bounced his pecs, puckered his lips, and made a kissing sound.
"You don't turn me on, dipshit. Look I'm sorry, Let's drop it, or leave."
He retorted, "Look Travis, it happens, everyone gets boners, don't sweat it. And hey if it is my dick you want, well here it is. Come get it. But seriously man, don't give it a second thought, its water under the bridge, as far as I'm concerned.
I was in so much turmoil now, trying to read between the proverbial lines. What would he do if I went over there and gave him head, right here, right now? He wasn't serious though. He was just making light, and showing me that he still had a sense of humour about everything. But then again, I couldn't help but think he may be baiting me, to see my reaction. He should have been more upset, I thought.
"How bout you give me some of that weed and I go roll us another J. We can do some more shotguns. Then we can eat and drink up our special dacquaris." Pat said, with a devilish grin, as he searched his bag for his rolling papers.
All I could think was, 'Oh shit, not again'. But surely, after what just happened, I wouldn't spring a boner again.
"Dude, we gotta bong. No need to roll em." I said, hoping he'd change his mind.
"Yeah, but you liked doing shotguns, Travis. I could tell. Anyhow, Look how much higher you can get, bro."
He could tell how? Just what did that mean? Then it dawned on me, that he knew I got a hardon when he shotgunned me earlier. No, that's stupid, I covered that up. He just likes doing shotguns, I thought, trying to convince myself. "Fine man, roll em up." I said giving in.
Pat found the papers, then grabbed me a bottle of beer, opened it and handed it to me. Then once again, knowingly or unknowingly driving me crazy, his hands went into his shorts, to adjust himself. He acted as if it was nothing, took my bag of weed and walked away to go roll.
There was so much sexual tension in the air. He had to have noticed. How could he not, after seeing me with a boner sprung at full staff.
After the joint was rolled, Pat seated himself on the beach towel, his golden skin reflecting the sunlight like a copper coin. He turned to me, lit the joint, and said, "If you want some, you better come get it."
Bad choice of words I thought, and walked over and sat next to him, on his towel.