Campus Man

The university was small with fewer than a thousand students, and I was finishing my sophomore year. The cost was high, but I had scholarships, and with the personal attention I received from professors, my academics were successful. My love life was the polar opposite.  

Most of the guys belonged to one of the Greek houses. The freshman lived in the dorms with the few men who weren’t in fraternities or living off-campus.

It was difficult to determine which guys were gay. It was still a time when guys weren’t out, and I felt very alone. I’m sure most other guys like me felt the same way. I’m sure many of them felt the same way I did about Cameron Forester. He was the man on campus.

I honestly believe that every person who met him, and maybe even every person who just saw him, reacted to him. We’ve all heard about the man that every woman wanted, that every man wanted to be friends with or to be (or secretly wanted), and Cameron truly was that man.

At six feet two inches, he stood above most others. His athletic build and smooth tenor voice exuded his manliness. He had the perfect haircut of the day--blond but not too blond. He looked sexy with a beard and without one. His teeth were the right shade of white and part of his perfect smile. A handsome face with a strong jawline, beautiful blue-green eyes matched to textbook perfect ears and a just as perfect nose.

When he walked, the muscles of his ass moved the way they would when you dreamed of your perfect partner, and for me, the bulge between his legs was nicely sized. Perfection had a name, and that name was Cameron Forester.

He had begun to invade my thoughts, dreams, and masturbation fantasies from the first time I saw him in the dining hall the first week of my sophomore year. I usually ate alone, and he had an entourage. I found out later that he was our star pitcher, and as I was a dearth of athletic skills, there was no chance for me to be part of that entourage.

As the year went by, I tried to be content with the glimpses I had of him. I found photos of him in the yearbook. I took care not to mess them up. I was able to enlarge one of them on the photocopier. It wasn’t the best, but I put it in a frame. At times I wondered whether I was suffering some sort of mental health problem.

I tried to examine the situation objectively. I was hot for the guy even though I didn’t know him. It was all based on his looks, his smile, his walk, his popularity. I knew nothing about him on a personal level. I wasn’t kidding myself about that. I wasn’t stalking him, and I knew he wasn’t going to knock on my door and profess undying love to me. Maybe I was using my infatuation to avoid facing the realities of my sexuality. I was only twenty, maybe I was still being a kid. After I would go through these things in my head. I would hold the frame in my left hand, masturbate with my right hand, and pretend he was fucking me. I’d clean up and depending on the time of day, I’d go to bed or I would study. A point in my favor is that I would sometimes jerk off without using his picture.

Either way, my personal life felt empty because it was empty.

As the year closed, I decided to stay on campus and take a few classes. I had no place else to be, so at least my time wouldn’t be spent just bumming around. My advisor called me to his office just before finals and asked me to be a TA for the Intro to Programming class in the fall. I agreed; it’d give me a little bit of spending money, and I enjoyed it.

The semester began, and I sat in on Professor Brown’s Intro class, and I couldn’t believe who was sitting in the first row, the fourth computer back. After passing out the syllabus and other materials, I purposely walked down the outside of row one. Cameron looked up at me and I nodded. He nodded back, and acting like a schoolgirl, I thought I would faint. I sat behind him and made some notes about the topics. The class ended with an assignment.

As people stood up, Cameron turned to face me. “Brodie, right?”

My dick started to get hard. “That’s right.”

“Hey, I started to take this class last year, but I got overwhelmed and confused almost at the start. I don’t want that to happen again. I’d like to set up regular tutoring times before I get lost. Are you willing to do that? I’ll pay of course.”

“I’m already paid to do that. I’ll be glad to help you,” I told him.  

“I’m going to want one-on-one tutoring without the distractions. The athletic department pays; it’s part of my scholarship.”

“Just put your dick inside me, and I’ll tutor you all day long.” Fortunately, I only thought that.

“If you can’t…”

“No, I can take care of you,” I nodded.

“Here’s my number; text me so I have yours, and we’ll set things up. I’ve got another class. Thanks, man.” He turned and hurried out of class.

I wondered, was this going to be the day that I remembered as the start of something great. Or would I be singing that Hee-Haw song? And that got me singing quietly to myself as I walked to my next class. “Gloom, despair, and agony on me. Deep Dark Depression, excessive misery…”

Once I was in my seat for the next class, I texted Cameron, “Brodie Turner. Morning Classes and Monday afternoon Labs.” I thought about adding something that could have a double meaning, but decided it was best not to.

I received a text at the end of the next class. “How’s Thursday after lunch. I’m open as to where. Library study room, my room, yours. Your call.”

I texted back. “Library always has people stopping by and popping in. Will your roommate be away?”

“Mine’s in and out all the time. What about yours?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Then your room if you're good with it.”

“1:00 ?”

“Perfect.”

“Room D202.” I hit send. He now knew where I lived.

I spent every free moment on my studies, and I lived for Thursdays. I was always in my room waiting for him to arrive. He would come in and sit at my desk. He would explain the previous lessons, and we would discuss any questions he had. I would look through the logic of the programs he’d written; we’d discuss why he’d chosen a certain way to solve the problem. Sometimes he’d stay a few minutes and talk about how he was doing with his athletics. Once or twice he asked if things were going OK for me, but I always felt that he purposely avoided talking about personal things.

On Thursday, the Thursday before Thanksgiving, he came for the session and just seemed out of sorts. He confessed that he had a big paper due, and while it was mostly written, he knew that it was filled with grammar mistakes and sentences that could be written better. I offered to read over it with him. “Sometimes hearing it out loud helps you hear your mistakes.”

He agreed, and we went over our usual tutoring first. When we were finished, he pulled out the notebook that had his essay and sat next to me on the bed. He’d never done that before. “Thanks for doing this for me. I think you’re a decent man. I see you go out of your way to help people. I wish I were more like that.”

I was looking at him. I’d never been so close to him. I could smell his cologne; it mixed well with his natural scent.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never smelled your cologne before.”

“Is it too strong?”

“No, it’s a nice smell.” I smiled and then began to read his paper aloud.

He stopped me several times, and he fixed most of the errors on his own. I drew purple dots in the margins where I thought things might be improved, and I circled the few misspelled words that I found.

When we were finished, he turned to me and smiled. “Thanks.”

I continued looking at him. I wanted him to kiss me; I wanted it so bad. Before I started tutoring him, he was just a fantasy man, just an image. Now he was flesh and blood. He was down to earth, not arrogant. I wanted him to make a move.

“I should go. Maybe we can talk later,” he said, and that gave me hope.

“Of course, any time,” I nodded. I nodded a lot around him. It kept me from telling him my real feelings and feeling the wrath of hatred my brain told me that he had for gay men, the same wrath that most men seemed to have.

I usually don’t go out on the weekends except for food, but this might have been the last nice day before winter started to sneak in. I grabbed a couple of pieces of fried chicken and was walking around when I came upon Cameron and several of his friends. Two girls were sitting so close to him that they appeared bent on disobeying the laws of physics. I could hear the guys bullshitting about their prowess on the soccer field.

I was walking by and ignoring them when Cameron called my name. “Come on over, Brodie.” If it had been anyone else, I would have just waved and kept walking, but it was Cameron. I examined the six people who were with him.

Obvious from the looks on their faces, the women wanted to have his children. I bet they would have let him fuck them right there in front of everyone. As I drew near, their conversation betrayed them. Each had a low supply of brain cells.

The guys on the other hand were strutting. It was as if whichever male did the best job of being manly would win the mating ritual. I’m the one who wanted him, and it wasn’t because he was a prize. He had become more than that to me. Now my dreams were not just of him on top of me, thrusting into me, bringing us both pleasure. Now I dreamed of living life together; holding hands, sharing meals, watching the sunset from a balcony.

“How are you doing, Brodie,” Cameron said with a smile.

“I’m doing OK. You?”

“I’m doing great. Hey, everybody, this is my friend Brodie. He has saved my ass on more than one occasion.” He chuckled.

One of the guys, the one with dark hair and bad acne, walked up to me. “So this is the geek who ‘tutors’ you every week.” He used air quotes and began to laugh.

I had a flashback to being bullied by guys in physical education class.

Cameron jumped up and got in the guy’s face. “Apologize, you prick. This guy is smart, works hard, and gives his time to help people.”

The bully looked over at me and then at Cameron. “So are you still the pitcher in that game?” The other guys sniggered.

I wasn’t expecting the fist that knocked Mr. Acne to the ground. He shook his head. “Fuck you, Cameron. Come on, guys. Let the faggots play.” He looked at Cameron as he got up. You know, Cam, I only suspected you were a fairy. You just showed us all your wings.”

As the group walked off, Cameron glared at them. He turned to me. “Did you suspect?”

“No,” I told him honestly. I took a step closer. “But I hoped.”

Cameron went over to his backpack. “You hoped?”

I remained standing motionless.

“You hoped I was queer?” Cameron shook his head and walked away. “Go back to your room, Brodie. Leave me alone.”

I watched him, his figure getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared into a building. I went back to my room and sat on my bed. How do you mourn something that you never had? I looked over at my books. I should study. Finals were coming, but I could do nothing. I lay down on the bed but felt the frame under the pillow. I pulled it out and looked at his handsome face. I felt a tear travel down my cheek, and I wiped it away.

Surely my future happiness did not hinge on a single man returning the affection that had grown within me. I did not understand the world or the monstrous thing his friend had done. I put my head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. My heart was heavy. I put on my headphones and played some classical music; I concentrated on the sounds until I nodded off.

The music was still playing when I awoke to the knocking on my door. I barely heard it over the sound of the music. I got up and opened it. A haggard-looking Cameron stood on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I stepped to the side allowing him to enter. He went straight for my desk chair as he had done a dozen times, and I sat on my bed as I had done for every tutoring session. Cameron looked over at me.

“I talked to Michael. He was the red-head. It wasn’t much of a talk. He asked me two questions. He asked me whether I was gay. I started to cry, and I said yes. He slapped me. He told me to be a man and deal with it. He said that none of my real friends would care, and the ones that gave me a hard time were either assholes or trying to hide the truth from themselves. Was I hiding the truth from you, Brodie?”

“I never thought so.”

He looked down at the floor.

“Maybe that’s a philosophical question,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“What was the other question?” 

I saw him suck in his upper lip and take a deep breath. “He asked me if I was in love with you.”

“And are you?” I asked.

Cameron smiled. Then his lips began to quiver. His eyes misted.

“This morning I would have said no. But I was in denial.” I heard him take a deep breath.

“Are you?” I repeated.

He looked at me. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“That you’re being evasive, Cameron.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in love with you.” Tears again. “I’ve been hiding the truth from everyone for so long that I’m afraid to uncover it.”

“You just uncovered it to the only person for whom it matters.” I was surprised at how calm I was.

“Now it’s your turn, Brodie. Do I leave here with a broken heart?”

“Of course not, Cameron. I’m not sure when admiration turned to love, but I do love you.”  

Cameron looked down at the floor; his hands began to shake.

“So why are you still sitting over there?”

He stood up and moved over next to me. We were seated as we were when I helped him with his essay. He still smelled the same.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “People think I’ve been with girls, you know, trying to convince myself it wasn’t true, but never with someone I cared about, someone I loved.”

I stretched my neck and moved my head to touch my lips to his. He responded in kind and opened his mouth. Our kiss was soft, warm, wet, and sensual. He invited my tongue into him and I savored his tongue’s entry into my mouth. My fingers moved through his hair. It was soft, sensual.

His hand slipped down to my crotch. My penis was already filling, thickening, hardening. My hand moved to his groin. He was wearing a cup.

“Brodie,” he whispered. “I know there are many things we could do, but…” He turned his head away.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” I touched the side of his head. “You can tell me. I won’t judge you. Go on. You’re safe.”

“In my mind, I always imagined my first time in a certain way. The guy would make me remove my shorts, he would slide his shorts down, and the would rub the head of his dick across my pussy before he would fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Of course, I want to. And I want you to do it to me, too.”

Cameron stood up and pulled his pants and underwear off.

I looked up. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I asked, “Don’t you want to take your shirt off?”

“No. I always had my shirt on.”

I smiled and kissed him. “Next?”

“Pull your pants down to just above your knees and get between my legs.”

“I love you, Cameron.” I rubbed my dick across his labia and clit. “Were you born this way?” I plunged my dick into him. He was wet and warm and tight. He gasped and moved his hips up to meet my thrust.

“I was. I have testicles. They’re inside me.” His voice wavered as though he were afraid.

I leaned forward as I fucked him and sucked his lower lip into my mouth. He grabbed the side of my head with his hands. His moans excited me. The tightness of his pussy begged my cock to spew forth its seed.

“Come inside me, Brodie.”

I began to fuck him with more force until I could hold back no longer. The act of coming inside someone you love is like no other. I slowly pulled out and lay next to him. I nibbled on his ear. “I love you.”

“I’ll never be able to fuck you like you just did me,” he said. “And I’ll never be able to come inside you, Brodie.”

I kissed him again. “That’s not what love is about.” I slipped my hand under his shirt and ran my hand through his chest hair.

The End