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Fun At The College Toilets
Being a student is great. You get to meet up with various fellow students, you go to parties, have coffee breaks that go well into the evening. It's a time of sharing, of experiments and acting out before you conform to the adult world of work. Even though you enjoy this enormous freedom, there are also some responsibilities.. You have to work for your grades. You have to master subjects you don't necessarily like. You have to invest a reasonable amount of time in memorizing, summarizing and organizing notes.
For me, it used to be quite hard to discipline myself to do the things I was supposed to do. To force myself away from distraction, I resolved to stick to the college facilities - that is, the study rooms, the library and the computer centre - after my classes.
I remember entering the library with my books and having difficulty adopting to the solemn silence that was ever present. All those rows of books, the stuffy atmosphere, the smell of old paper, dust and the copy machine working overtime.. All those young students, occupied with those books, scribbling down on their pieces of paper, diligently searching in dictionaries - oh boy, it was hard not burst out in hysterical laughter sometimes! Of course, in time, after a few minutes, I would be one of them. Instead of looking around and fidgeting and postponing, I would go to work and fix my mind on some intellectual concept or theory.
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The Biter Bit
It was early evening when I strolled into the Bangkok bar.I knew quite a few of the guys who were sitting around in the low armchairs, and I nodded with a smile to several of them.
I went over to the bar, ordered myself an orange juice and settled onto a stool.After a few minutes, a young Thai came over, ordered himself a Coke and sat on the stool next to mine.He nodded towards me and smiled.
I glanced down his form.Well-dressed, I noted, which was unusual in this particular bar.He appeared to be nicely muscled as well, although fortunately not the body builder type that we would be seeing later in the floor show.Taller than average as well, a clear complexion, good-looking without being overly cute.Probably in his early to mid twenties.
"I haven't seen you here before," he said."I haven't seen you either," I replied.
We looked at each other, liked what we saw, and settled down to drink and to chat companionably about this and that.We asked each other about jobs, where we were living, the existence or not of girlfriends, the places where we usually hung out in Bangkok, and so on.Any of you who've been in these situations will recognise the type of conversation.
He asked me what I was planning to do for the rest of the evening. I said that I had no plans.He asked me if I'd like to join him at a private party.
"You'll be the only farang, but my countrymen are very welcoming, as I'm sure you have already found out," he reassured me.
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It seemed to me that my Dad changed his job every other week that, of course, was an exaggeration. He had, however, had four changes of job in the last 7 years. Every time I was settled in a new school we moved on. We had lived in Liverpool, Cardiff and Surrey and now we were moving to Manchester.
With each change I became upset. I had to lose my current friends and try to find some more.
"You will make new friends", my Mum, would say, giving me a hug.
This time was especially hurtful. Tom, had become my best friend, since we moved to Surrey 2 years ago. For the last 8 months we spend a lot of time alone together. Most of that time was spent playing with the other's cock and balls. In fact, we wanked each other off several times a week. I could not explain to my parents that this was the reason why I did not want to move they would hit the roof if they found out. Before I go any further, let me tell you a little more about myself. My name is Chris and I am 15 years old. I had worked out I was gay when I was about 13. I used to love the school showers and changing rooms. Being able to look at all the dicks on the other boys got me so excited. So the day of the move arrived. The removal van had started loading our furniture and my parents had filled box after box with all their stuff. Reluctantly I put my last few of my belongings into one of the boxes my parents had given me. "We shall be leaving in about half an hour", my Dad shouted up, "Have you got everything packed".
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The second guy I was ever with was in college also.The second time was with the first guy and so were several others.But the second guy was one I met in one of my classes.We were about the same age and had a project paper top work on so we decided to study together at his apartment since it was quieter and we could drink beer there.He had a really nice place for a college student, when I got there he was in a tank top and shorts he said because the air conditioning quit and it really was hot in there.We started studying and immediately drinking several cold ones to keep cool of course, and proceeded to kill more brain cells than build new ones.
After a while we decided to drink instead of study and that brought out the vodka and shot glasses.We played a dice game that made us drink a lot reallyfast and thus became quite intoxicated.After several shots he` said he was really hot and needed to take off his shirt. He suggested I get comfortable too, so I stripped down to my shorts and we went to watch tv and drink more.As we sat drinking he said he had seen me at the adult bookstore.I was kin of embarrassed at having been seen but then he said he and seen me leave a booth with a guy behind me and said he liked guys too.
Well under the influence, I reached over and put my hand on his leg.He moved over and did the same then reached in for a kiss.We made out for a while, pulling off what remaining clothes we had on and it did not take long to be grabbing cocks and being very hard.
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Courage And Honor
I'll begin this story by telling you that my name is Rick Stevenson, but all who know me, call me Gunny! I am a lifer to the Corps and dedicated to all in which it serves. My daily routine begins at 3:30am at which point I run at least five miles, then pump weights for a solid two hours. I am in great physical condition as in the case of most Marines. By no means am I considered to be an Adonis, nor am I one of those professional body builders, but standing 6'3" and weighing in at 247 pounds, I am no boy either. My brown hair is cut in the standard horseshoe cut and my eyes are greenish blue. Proudly enough, I have more medals and ribbons than the Commandant of the Marine Corps. To say I've been through some shit would be putting it mildly. None the less, the Marine Corps way of life, is my way of living. Am I pretty boy? The answer is rather simple! Hell fucking NO! I've got a three inch scar on my left cheek and a face that tells the story of a rough way of life. Where this story happens is only known to me and is really rather unimportant.
Being the Gunny of a rather dedicated platoon of young Marines is more than a privilege, it's an honor. I had their respect and they had mine! I didn't push them and they didn't push me! The battalion commander, whose only possession in life, was his pathetic fucking college degree. He was an absolute idiot who couldn't lead a falling leaf to the ground. Just by my looks and my combat record, I put the fear of God in him, so he never fucked with me or my unit whatsoever. Now, that this bumbling buffoon of a dumb ass is out of this story, I'll get on with it.
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Shifting Ones Principles
"Connor Foley, you are wanted in the Principal's Office."
Connor turned to his friends. He smirked. "I wonder what it is this time," he joked.
"Maybe he wants to thank you for single-handedly leading us to victory in last night's game, huh Foley?" one of his friends replied.
Connor smiled. "That could be it. Well, I guess I could use a break from this boring History class anyway." He got off of his seat and excused himself from the class.
Connor Foley was one of the kids who seemed to have everything. At New Grant High School, he was the popular kid, star basketball player of the New Grant Gyros, and he was dating the hottest girl in school, Josephine Baker. Connor was respected by his peers, but despised by the unpopular people. To them, he was an egotistical, narcissistic jerk who preyed on the socially inept and bullied them into the ground. Sure, he was all of those things, but those he bullied were those he bore a certain kind of prejudice towards, and his peers understood this reason very well.
Connor had been raised a homophobe. His parents were staunch Christians-slash-Conservatives, and had always preached to him that men who slept with men or women who slept with women were to perish in a lake of fire and burn for eternity once the End came. He was warned constantly against associating himself with these kinds of people lest he join the 'sinners' in hell for eternity as well. Connor was as a result very prejudiced, and would bully those he found were a little too close for comfort around him.
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Bretts Winning Shot
Prologue -- The End Result
There I was, sprawled out naked on the shower room tiles, water running down the drain under my ass as the cum and piss dried on my skin. My dick was limp now, but it was wet, and sticky.
Chapter 1 -- Brett's Winning Shot
It was Friday night. A basketball game at school. I'm a passer, but for the first time in my life, I was a shooter. I shot the winning basket and the crowd went wild. Trace Sanders smirks at me as we head for the locker room. Trace is the usual star of the team. We're both Juniors, almost 17 years old. There's been a little competition between us. This is the first night I shot and he didn't. He smirked. When we play one-on-one in my driveway, with our shirts off and sweat dripping down our bodies, he's all over me. Towering over me, raising his arms over my head so his sweaty pits are right in my face, shooting basket after basket. But tonight, I shot, and now he smirks as we head for the locker room.
Many tall, skinny, hunky little athletes undress in preparation of the ritual cleansing. There's Matt Vindich with his shorts down, and there's black-haired Native American Richie Cicciocciop standing around with his black pubes sticking out of his high school boy jock strap. Richie was nasty sometimes, he would get on younger guys' cases all the time, calling them fag and shoving them around. His last name is pronounced Cheek-ee-chop and I've been staring at his sexy, naked cheeks in his tight little jockstrap and thinking of pork chops. How I'd like to smother `em with my gravy. Those cheeky little chops of his. Mmmm.
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