Two months earlier, my identical twin brother and I had headed to UT Austin. We’d finished two years at the local community college. I had a 4.0 gpa in computer science; his 4.0 was in bedding girls. Twice, girls had thought themselves pregnant; and twice, we had been relieved they were mistaken. After joking with him that perhaps he was shooting blanks, he told me that at least he had the balls to use his gun, after which, he added, “There are plenty of guys who would bend over for you, Scott. After all, you’re almost as hot as I am.” He’d grinned at me after saying it.
At that moment, I realized that he knew my secret, the secret I had so desperately tried to hide. And I realized that he didn’t care. As we settled into our dorm room, he grilled me and discovered that I’d gone so deeply into the closet that I had stepped foot in Narnia. He assured me that with his help, my virgin days would soon be behind me.
That evening, I was walking with him to a frat party. He’d insisted that I wear a light blue striped shirt with some fairly new jeans. He’d slipped some rubbers into my front pocket. “Always be prepared,” he told me.
I shook my head a little. I knew that within ten minutes, he’d be with some girl, and I’d be awkwardly mingling. I was wrong.
The girl had straight brown hair, smooth, creamy skin, and crystal blue eyes. She was sipping on what looked like a soft drink.
The guy standing next to her was about three inches taller than she. Our eyes were level with each other, but he continued to look at her. He had gorgeous black hair, short and stylish. His eyes were also blue, but they were a deeper, more serious shade.
“Hi,” said my brother. “I’m David. This is my brother, Scott.
The girl had already been looking at my brother; her companion seemed to tense. My brother had often bragged about stealing a girl away from her boyfriend. Was I about to witness how that worked?
“Emily.” The girl smiled.
“And this is?” my brother queried.
“Henry,” she giggled.
Henry turned to scan us.
“Boyfriend, brother, gay wingman?” My brother’s eyebrows raised as he posed the question.
Henry didn’t look happy.
Emily smiled. “Brother.” She touched Henry’s hand. “And gay wingman.”
David smiled back. “Henry, why don’t you and my brother here get to know one another while Emily and I go look at the stars. Scott won’t admit it, Henry, but he thinks you’re hot.”
Henry turned and looked directly into my eyes. His cheeks turned red. I saw him turn from the tough man protecting the woman he was with to an insecure boy who wondered if anyone would ever like him. “Yeah?” he asked.
The insecure boy living inside me understood him. His gaze made me harden. I swallowed and said, barely audible, “I will admit it.”
The corners of Henry’s mouth curled slightly.
I turned to tell my brother good-bye, but he and Emily were already gone. I turned back toward Henry. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”
He broke into a smile and leaned forward to whisper into my ear. “I think you’re sexy.”
Now, it was my turn to blush. I felt his hand brush against mine. “I think we should get out of here,” I told him.
He nodded his reply, and we headed toward the door. Was it going to be this easy, I wondered. When we stepped out into the night air, I wanted to grab his hand. I had visions of going to a playground and swinging and kissing. I thought about telling him, but it seemed childish and embarrassing.
“Let’s go this way,” he said as he guided me with his hand on my shoulder. We walked a block or two without any words, and then he pointed between two buildings. He started, and I was only a step behind him when we entered the darkness. Shadows caused by the streetlamps hid us from view. I felt him grab my hand and pull me closer to him. “I want to kiss you.”
I slid my hand behind his head, and my fingers ran through his hair. We pressed together, and the softness of his lips sent a thrill through me. At some point, I pushed my tongue forward and caressed his lips with the tip. I heard him moan; his hand moved down, and he rubbed it over my groin.
The intensity of the pleasure I received from another man’s touch was more than I expected. My knees seemed to weaken, and I felt myself become unstable.
“Are you OK?” Henry asked.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered.
“I live in the next building over. Want to go there?”
I couldn’t see Henry’s eyes in the darkness, and I so wanted to as I got asked for the first time to go to another man’s place. “Yeah, I do.”
“I’m glad,” he replied. I could hear the smile in his words.
The walk to his building was a blur of sensory details and silent thought. His hand was still on my shoulder, a warm, grounding weight that guided me through the campus night. The world seemed to shrink to the space between our bodies, the rhythmic crunch of our shoes on the gravel path, and the cool air that did little to cool the fire burning under my skin. Every time we passed under a pool of light from a lamppost, I’d catch a glimpse of his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair caught the light, and my heart would give a nervous lurch. I was walking toward something I had only ever dreamed about, a reality so potent it felt like a dream.
His dorm was older than mine, the air in the hallway thick with the scent of floor cleaner. We climbed two flights of stairs, our footsteps echoing on the concrete steps. He didn’t speak, and I was grateful. I don’t think I could have formed a coherent sentence. My mind was a jumble of anticipation and a raw, pulsing fear. What if I was terrible at this? What if the reality of my body, of my inexperience, was a disappointment?
He stopped at a door with a simple, whiteboard nameplate that read "Henry." He fumbled with his keys, the metal jangling loudly in the quiet hall, and then pushed the door open. “After you,” he murmured.
I stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind us, the sound unnervingly final. His room was a sanctuary. It wasn't messy, but it was lived-in. A full-sized bed took up most of the space, the comforter a dark, soft-looking navy blue. Books were stacked in neat piles on his desk, their spines cracked from use. A guitar leaned against the wall, and a single print of a city skyline at night hung above the bed. The air smelled faintly of clean laundry and something else, a warm, masculine scent that was entirely his.
“Can I get you some water or something?” he asked, his voice gentle as he tossed his keys onto the desk.
I just shook my head, my throat too tight to speak. I felt like an artifact in a museum, something to be observed, completely out of place.
He seemed to understand. He didn’t push. He just crossed the small space until he was standing in front of me. He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin. “You’re shaking,” he said softly.
I hadn’t realized it. I looked down at my hands, and sure enough, they were trembling. I let out a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry. This is all… new.”
“It’s OK,” he said. He took my hands in his, his own warm and steady, and the tremor in mine began to subside. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“No,” I said, the word coming out with more force than I intended. “I want to. I really want to.” I looked up, finally meeting his eyes in the soft glow of his desk lamp. They were that deep, serious blue, and they were filled with a kindness that disarmed me completely. “I’m just… I never dreamed I’d be here with someone as handsome as you. I’m nervous I’ll be bad at it.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “There’s no such thing as bad, Scott. There’s just… figuring things out together.” He leaned in and kissed me again. It was softer this time, less frantic than the one in the shadows between the buildings. It was a slow, exploratory kiss, his lips moving against mine with a patient tenderness that made my chest ache. He released my hands and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the solid muscle of his chest, the steady beat of his heart against my own.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I kissed him back with a newfound confidence, letting my tongue trace the seam of his lips. He opened for me immediately, a soft groan escaping him as our tongues met for the first time. It was a wet, intimate glide that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I was hard again, instantly and painfully so, and I pressed my hips against his, a silent, desperate plea.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine, his breathing a little ragged. “Okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, unable to speak. He took my hand and led me the two steps to the edge of his bed. He sat down, pulling me down to stand between his knees. He looked up at me, his hands resting on my hips, his thumbs stroking the denim just below my belt loops. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Scott,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “I should tell you that I’ve seen you around campus. I always wondered. Maybe even hoped.”
My blush was back, a hot flood across my cheeks. I had been seen. Not as David’s brother, not as the quiet computer geek, but as me. Scott.
His hands moved to the hem of my striped shirt, his fingers brushing against the skin of my stomach. “Can I?”
I just nodded again. He slowly lifted the shirt, his eyes following the path of the fabric as it revealed my skin. He pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. His gaze was appreciative, not judgmental. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to my stomach, just above my navel. The feel of his lips on my skin was exquisite. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself.
He continued to kiss a path upward, across my ribs, my chest. He paused to flick his tongue over one of my nipples, and a sharp, unexpected wave of pleasure shot through me. I cried out, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Like that?” he murmured against my skin.
“Yes,” I breathed.
He smiled against my chest and then guided me to sit on the bed beside him. He stood up and pulled his own hoodie over his head, revealing a lean, defined torso with a light dusting of dark hair between his pecs. He was beautiful. He knelt in front of me, his hands going to the button of my jeans. He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. “Last chance to back out.”
I shook my head, my gaze locked on his. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He undid the button and slowly pulled down the zipper. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and my boxers, and I lifted my hips as he pulled them down and off, leaving me completely naked and exposed on the edge of his bed. A wave of self-consciousness washed over me, and I moved to cover myself, but he stopped me, taking my hands in his.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Let me look.” And he did. His eyes roamed over my body, from my heaving chest down to my jutting erection, and the look in his eyes was one of pure, unadulterated hunger. It was the most validating moment of my life.
He stood and shucked his own jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. He was hard, too, his cock thick and proud, curving slightly upward against his stomach. He knelt on the bed, moving over me, and then he lowered himself down, his skin pressing against mine from chest to thigh. The feeling of his naked body against mine was overwhelming. It was warm, solid, and real. I could feel his heart hammering against my ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
He kissed me again, deep and slow, as one of his hands drifted down my side, over my hip, and then wrapped around my cock. I bucked into his touch, a choked gasp tearing from my throat. His hand was warm and sure, and he began to stroke me with a slow, firm rhythm that had me seeing stars.
“Henry,” I gasped, my head falling back against the pillows. “Oh, wow.”
“Just feel it, Scott,” he whispered in my ear, his thumb swiping over the head of my cock, spreading the bead of moisture there. “Just feel.”
And I did. I felt everything. The friction of his hand on my cock, the weight of his body on mine, the softness of his lips on my neck. The pressure coiled deep in my groin, tighter and tighter, a white-hot spiral of pleasure that was quickly becoming unbearable. I was panting, my hips thrusting up to meet his strokes, chasing something I didn’t understand but desperately needed.
“I’m… I’m close,” I managed to choke out.
“Good,” he murmured. “Let go for me, Scott. Come on.”
His words were my undoing. With a strangled cry, I came, harder than I ever had in my life. The orgasm ripped through me, a blinding, all-consuming wave that left me shuddering and breathless. Spots danced behind my eyelids as I spilled myself over his hand and my own stomach.
When I finally came back to myself, Henry was kissing my forehead, his hand gently stroking my side. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was smiling, a soft, genuine smile that made my heart feel full.
“Wow,” I breathed, the word utterly inadequate.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed a few tissues from his nightstand, gently cleaning me off. The care he took was almost more intimate than what had just happened. He tossed the tissues away and settled back beside me, propping his head up on his hand to look at me. The room was quiet, the only sound was our breathing, slowly returning to normal. The post-orgasmic haze was settling over me, a warm, contented blanket, but underneath it, a new tension was beginning to coil. I had had my pleasure. Now, I wanted to give him his.
I turned onto my side to face him, our bodies still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. I reached out, my fingers tentatively tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the light stubble there. “Your turn,” I whispered.
He caught my hand in his, bringing my fingers to his lips and kissing them softly. “You don’t have to, Scott. Not tonight.”
“I want to,” I said, and the conviction in my own voice surprised me. I did want to. I wanted to make him feel the way he’d just made me feel—seen, wanted, utterly consumed by pleasure. I wanted to learn the landscape of his body. “Teach me.”
A dark, hungry look flashed in his eyes. He let go of my hand and lay back against the pillows, his arms tucked behind his head. The pose was open, confident, an invitation. “Okay,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I answered honestly. I shifted, moving to kneel beside him. I let my gaze drift over his body, really seeing it for the first time without the frantic filter of my own arousal. I saw the small, thin scar just above his eyebrow, the way his chest narrowed to a flat stomach, the trail of dark hair that led from his navel down to his cock, which lay thick and heavy against his thigh, still hard and waiting.
I started with what I knew. I leaned over and kissed him, mirroring the tenderness he had shown me. I kissed his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. I remembered his reaction to my nipples and wanted to see if his were the same. I flicked my tongue over one, and he hissed, his hand coming up to rest on the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. Emboldened, I closed my lips around it and sucked gently.
“Fuck, Scott,” he breathed, his hips shifting restlessly.
I smiled against his skin. I was doing something right. I continued my exploration downward, kissing my way across his stomach. I could feel the muscles tensing under my lips. I reached the trail of hair and followed it down, my heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and exhilaration. I was on the verge of a precipice I had only ever read about in clandestine browser tabs I’d immediately cleared.
I settled between his legs, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his expression one of raw anticipation. I took a deep breath and wrapped my hand around the base of his cock. It was hot and heavy in my palm, the skin velvety soft over the incredible hardness beneath. I gave it an experimental squeeze, and he let out a low groan.
I leaned forward and, with no more hesitation, took the head of his cock into my mouth.
The taste was new, a little salty, a little musky, and entirely him. The texture was fascinating, the smooth, slick head against my tongue. I swirled my tongue around it, remembering how I’d liked it when he’d done that to my nipple. Henry’s reaction was instantaneous. His whole body went taut, and his hand tightened in my hair.
“Oh, yes,” he choked out. “Just like that.”
I took him deeper, trying to find a rhythm, trying to remember everything I’d ever seen or read. It was awkward at first, my jaw aching, my teeth grazing him once, earning a sharp intake of breath. But he was patient, guiding me with soft murmurs and the gentle pressure of his hand on my head. “Easy,” he’d whisper. “Breathe through your nose.”
I relaxed, letting instinct take over. I began to move my hand in time with my mouth, stroking the base of his shaft as I sucked and licked the head. The sounds he was making, soft groans, ragged breaths, whispered curses, were the most erotic thing I had ever heard. They were a map to his pleasure, and I was a willing explorer. I could feel his control fraying, his hips beginning to thrust up to meet my mouth, chasing his own release.
“Scott, I’m… I’m gonna come,” he gasped, his voice tight with warning.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I wanted it. I wanted all of him. I hollowed my cheeks and took him as deep as I could, and with a final, shuddering groan, he came. His cock pulsed in my mouth, and I felt the hot, salty flood of his release hit the back of my throat. I swallowed, the action feeling shockingly intimate, and continued to gently suck him through his orgasm until he was spent, his body going limp beneath me.
I slowly pulled away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. He looked utterly wrecked, and I had never felt more powerful in my life.
I crawled up the bed and collapsed beside him, my head finding its place on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. We lay there in silence for a long time, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
He finally spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re a natural.”
I laughed, a quiet, breathy sound. “I had a good teacher.”
He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering in my hair. “Stay tonight?”
I snuggled closer, my arm draping over his chest, my leg hooking over his. “I hadn’t planned… Yes, I want to.”
In the quiet darkness of his room, with the steady beat of his heart under my ear, I felt a sense of peace I had never known. The secret I had hidden for so long wasn’t a source of shame anymore. It was a key. And Henry had just helped me unlock the door. My virgin days were officially behind me. And as I drifted off to sleep, held securely in his arms, I knew this was only the beginning.
The first thing I was aware of was warmth. A deep, encompassing warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets bunched around our legs. It was the solid heat of Henry’s body pressed against my back, the heavy weight of his arm draped over my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip. The second thing I was aware of was the light, a soft, grayish predawn glow filtering through the window, painting the room in muted shades of shadow and pearl. The third thing was the dull, pleasant ache in muscles I hadn’t known I had, a physical reminder of the night before.
I shifted slightly, and Henry’s arm tightened, pulling me back against him. He was still asleep, his breathing a slow, even rhythm against my neck. I lay there perfectly still, my mind replaying the night in a series of vivid, sensory flashes: the taste of his lips, the feel of his skin, the sound of his groans, the shocking intimacy of his release in my mouth. A blush crept up my neck, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was from a profound, dizzying sense of accomplishment. I had done that. I had been brave.
I turned my head as much as I could, studying his face in the soft light. The harsh, serious lines from the party were gone, smoothed out in sleep. He looked younger, almost vulnerable. The dark eyelashes fanned out against his skin, and his lips were slightly parted. I felt an overwhelming surge of affection, a feeling so potent it was almost painful. This wasn’t just about sex. It hadn’t been for a while.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyelids fluttered. He blinked slowly, his blue eyes focusing on me. A sleepy, genuine smile spread across his face. “Morning,” he rasped, his voice thick and husky from sleep.
“Morning,” I whispered back.
He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, languid kiss that tasted of morning breath and everything that had happened between us. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of comfort and familiarity. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand stroking gently up and down my side.
“Good,” I said. “Sore. But good.” I paused, a new wave of shyness hitting me. “Was I… okay?”
He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Scott, you were more than okay. You were incredible.” He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so that my head was now on his chest, my ear pressed right over his heart.
The praise warmed me from the inside out. “I had a lot of motivation.”
He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. I could feel his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. “So,” he said after a moment. “What’s the plan for today?”
The question, so simple and domestic, caught me off guard. My plan was to sneak back to my own dorm before David woke up, to shower and change and pretend I’d spent the night alone, studying. But lying here, in the circle of Henry’s arms, that plan felt hollow, like a betrayal of the night we’d shared.
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess I should probably get back before my brother realizes I didn’t come home.”
Henry was quiet for a second. “Knowing my sister and how she looked at him, he’s probably still with her. She noticed him a few weeks back and was trying to convince me to drag you two over when you walked up to us.” He stretched his shoulders. “Do you want to go back?”
I lifted my head to look at him. “No,” I said, the answer immediate and true. “I really don’t.”
A wide grin spread across his face. “Good. Because I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast. I make a mean French toast.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought, and I laughed. “French toast sounds amazing.”
“Then French toast it is.” He leaned up and kissed me again, a quick, decisive peck. “But first, a shower.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You know. To conserve water.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning as he pulled me out of bed. The shower was a small, cramped stall, the tiles slick with steam. It was a clumsy, laughing affair of elbows knocking against the wall, fumbling with the soap, and the shock of cold water before the heat kicked in. But it was also intensely erotic, washing the night away under the hot spray, our bodies sliding together, hands exploring with a new, familiar confidence. He pressed me against the tiled wall, his mouth on my neck, his hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me to a swift, shuddering climax that left me boneless and panting against him.
Afterward, wrapped in one of his towels, I sat on his bed and watched him get dressed. He pulled on a pair of worn sweatpants and a soft t-shirt that hugged his shoulders, looking completely at home and utterly delicious. I felt a pang of longing for this kind of easy domesticity, for a life where mornings like this weren’t a rare, miraculous event but the norm.
He made good on his promise. Well, sort of. He pulled a box of frozen French toast from his small refrigerator and popped them into the toaster. I found my jeans and shirt from the floor and pulled them on. The scent of cinnamon filled the small room, and when he placed a plate of golden-brown French toast in front of me, I thought I had never smelled anything better.
We ate at his small desk, our knees bumping under the table. We talked about nothing and everything, our classes, our terrible professors, our favorite movies. I learned he was a journalism major, that he played the guitar but wasn’t very good, and that he hated coffee. I told him about my obsession with coding, about my complicated relationship with my brother, about how I’d spent years feeling invisible and then discovering he was waiting for the right time to tell me that he knew. Henry listened, really listened, his eyes focused on mine, and I felt myself opening up in a way I never had with anyone.
Eventually, the real world intruded. I had to go. I had a programming assignment that I hadn’t even started. He walked me to the door, his hand finding mine as we stood in the hallway.
“So,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. “This was… not a one-time thing, right?”
The question, so vulnerable in its directness, made my heart swell. “Definitely not a one-time thing,” I said firmly.
“Good,” he breathed, the relief visible on his face. “Because I’d like to do this again. Soon. Maybe without the frat party prelude.”
I smiled. “I’d like that too.”
He leaned in and gave me one last, soft kiss. “Text me when you get back to your room. So I know you’re safe.”
“I will,” I promised.
I walked out of his dorm and into the bright morning sun, the campus buzzing with life. I felt different. Changed. The world looked the same, but I wasn’t the same person who had walked into that party last night. I wasn’t the boy in Narnia anymore. I was Scott. And I had a secret, but it wasn’t one of shame. It was a secret smile, a shared memory, a promise of more to come. And as I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers brushing against the forgotten rubbers David had slipped in there, I knew my virgin days weren’t just behind me. They were a distant, forgotten shore, and I was finally sailing out into open water.
While this is the end of Scott’s story, I thought I’d let you know what happened to him. Scott and Henry continued to date. David dated Emily as well; David’s search for whatever he was looking for ended, because in Emily, he found everything he needed and wanted. The situation was the same for Scott and Henry, and after graduation, much to the raised eyebrows of many a family member, a double wedding ceremony joined the knot between David and Emily as well as between Scott and Henry. All four live in the same city. Although David and Scott are identical, Emily has never confused the two, and neither has Henry.
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