Eyes of an Artist

Ansel Kenzo Sullivan

Kenzo strolled down the concourse, backpack slung over the right shoulder with eyes scanning the guys walking in the opposite direction. He smiled at the guys he found attractive wondering if one would smile back in that certain way. The smile friendly, and the eyes saying yes. There were a few but rushing to class preventing going further, leaving him looking online or going to one of the bars near campus.

He wondered how others saw him. A couple of inches short of six feet tall with a muscular build he worked hard to develop and maintain. And he had the mixed genes of a Japanese mother and an American father. Black hair and smooth skin tone of his mother, green eyes of his father. He saw others with the mixed genes, mostly the mixed race of a dark skin tone with someone of a lighter tone, but his was of different characteristics. It made others ask about his background, something that gave him a way to connect with them.

Entering Sanford Hall, Kenzo reflected on his life on campus for the last few months. It was March and deep into his spring semester of his freshman year. Some classes had been tough, either with the topic or with an instructor that surprised with pop quizzes or just didn’t explain the topic clearly enough, but despite the hardships, he found it enjoyable. A college student finally on his own.

Last class over, Kenzo headed back to the dorm wondering what the guys would be up to when he got back. He knew Sam and Jordan would have a couple of guys lured into a video game and Carlos would probably be at one of the picnic tables outside the entrance playing his guitar, always creating something new or practicing some song he had just learned to play. He strolled the concourse between Hardin Center and Madison Hall until at the small grass area where some were lounging in the sun, reading, or watching others passing by. He noticed a young guy he had seen before, drawing in a sketch pad propped on his lap. Kenzo was too far away to see what the guy was drawing, but he was close enough to give measure to the guy. Long shaggy brown hair that concealed the face when looking down at the sketch pad. A lean build accentuated by the long arms and legs. The guy had to be tall, taller than his own height.

It always intrigued him to see someone drawing, painting, or sculpting. He was a graphic artist major, taking classes in Umberto Hall, the arts department. He wondered what classes the guy was taking, or if he was just someone who drew as a hobby, not taking any classes in the arts department.

Looking around the grass lawn, Kenzo spotted Dan reading a book. Dan had been his second hookup on campus, one that only lasted a couple of times for they found they were not compatible, so they became friends, two freshman gay guys who gave each other advice and support. He cut across the lawn to sit with him.

“Kenzo, are you finished with classes?” said Dan.

Kenzo came up close seeing Dan was reading Let the Record Show, a book Dan had mentioned before when making suggestions to Kenzo on what he should read on queer history.

“Yes, another week of classes behind me,” said Kenzo with a smile. “How’s the book?”

“Good. You really should read it.”

“Maybe during summer break. My English Lit class keeps me busy reading and writing papers.”

“Any big plans this weekend?”

“No,” Kenzo replied as he sits on the ground next to Dan. He looks over at the guy drawing, head bent down over the sketchpad.

“Careful, that’s jailbait,” said Dan.

“What?”

“That guy is a high school kid, one of the locals. Ian went over to hit on him a couple of weeks ago and found out he is still in high school.”

“Just a high school kid…don’t need that,” Kenzo uttered as he continued to watch him draw.

The next afternoon, Kenzo headed to the fast-food restaurant on College Street just across from campus to grab a late lunch. He had slept in after sitting up late playing video games. He entered the restaurant from the front door facing the street, requiring him to pass through the dining area to get to the line. As he came in, he saw a sketch pad and backpack at a small table near the front. He looked up to see if it belonged to the high school kid, catching sight of him heading to the bathroom.

He stepped past the table, but stopped, taking a couple of steps back, for he was curious. What was the kid drawing? He slipped his index finger along the side of the pad and flipped it open about halfway down. It was a drawing of a guy lounging on the green lawn. Letting a page slip free, dropping down into view, he saw another drawing of a guy, this one sitting with a book in hand. He released another page allowing it to fall into view, and this time it is three guys sitting together. Kenzo lets a few pages slip past his fingers and he looks at the image laying before him with surprise. It is him sitting on a low wall near Sanford Hall, legs stretched out, arms folded across the chest while looking off in the distance. He remembered the day, how the previous class had been canceled and he had gotten to Sanford Hall early, so he killed time by sitting on the low planter wall watching guys. He didn’t remember seeing the kid, but remembered how there was a bench under a tree on the other side of the entry and from the angle of the drawing that is where the kid had to be positioned.

“Can I help you?”

Kenzo looked up to see the kid approaching. He looked angry and his voice sounded worried.

“OH, hey, sorry but I was curious about what you were drawing. I saw you on campus and…” Kenzo knew he was busted and felt his face flush hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have messed with your stuff.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have,” the kid barked, but Kenzo could sense the kid’s embarrassment knowing how it must look. All the drawings were of guys and the one now visible was of him.

“Hey, let me buy you lunch to make up for it.”

“No thanks, I’m finished,” the kid replied, slinging his backpack over one shoulder then picking up the sketchpad. He didn’t look back as he raced out the front door.

Kenzo watched him go out to the sidewalk along College Street, then head toward the middle of town.

Jasper B. Faulkner

It was late, after two in the morning, and Jasper was still wide awake. He had been fretting all afternoon and evening about his encounter with that guy at lunch. When he saw him looking in his sketchpad, he freaked out. To make matters worse, the guy had found the drawing of himself. It was incriminating, an exposure of his longing for another guy. He wasn’t closeted, but it still rattled him to have his desire for the older boys on campus the object of his fantasies.

He kept telling himself he would not go back on campus until the fall when he would be enrolled in classes at Umberto Hall. He would stay away so as not to get caught again. He knew how the college boys viewed him. That guy named Ian had bolted after learning he was still in high school. He remembered the look when he confessed his age, still only seventeen, and he tried to tell Ian he was a senior, would be eighteen in June, but the words would not come to him. Instead, he had watched Ian walk away and felt like all the other students on the lawn were looking at him as some sort of imposter, a high school kid trespassing in their territory.

The day was perfect. Clear blue skies, so impossibly blue as to seem unreal. Jasper strolled along the sidewalk of the business district that ran along the edge of campus, struggling not to stare at the guys. It was a hopeless endeavor for it seemed all the guys were out to tempt him. Tank tops that revealed shoulders and arms. T-shirts stretched tight over muscular bodies or loose around lean ones. Cargo shorts revealing legs smooth and hairy, jeans that revealed round asses and bulged in the crotch so enticingly Jasper imagined being able to cup them with his hand. There were guys clean shaven, guys with goatees or beards, or just a nice five o’clock shadow that revealed their masculine nature. Different heights, hair styles, hair colors, and those without shades, a display of different eye colors. Because his own eyes were dark brown, it was those with green or blue eyes that captured his attention the most.

Jasper came to The Main Character, the local bookstore that catered to the student population. He slipped through the narrow double doors knowing it was an old storefront by the weathered and scuffed wood doors and the painted wood trim around the windows that showed it had multiple layers of paint applied to it over the years. The store wasn’t like the chain bookstore out by the mall with a wide spacious interior, instead it was narrow, the shelving closer together and right inside the door a wood table covered in staff recommendations.

He moved to his right to the fiction section, eyes scanning book covers turned to face him, and spines of those tightly packed on shelves. He moved past two women, down the side aisle along the wall, eyes going from books to other guys. Holding a copy of The Covenant of Water was a guy with short black hair, rosy cheeks, and trendy black glasses. The body looked lean within the loose-fitting long sleeve shirt; the sleeves rolled up revealing smooth arms. Jasper slipped past him noting the loose-fitting jeans and sneakers of a style he didn’t recognize as he sized him up.

About five foot eight or so, blue eyes, hoop earrings in each ear, long neck with two moles below the left ear, and a pronounced Cupid’s bow of the upper lip giving them a sensuous curvature. Jasper imagined kissing the lips, pressing his own to them as he groped the crotch.

Jasper looked back once, then proceeded down the aisle. At the science fiction section, there was a guy sitting on the floor between two tables positioned opposite the wall shelving. Flaming red hair covered the head that was bent over a novel. The guy looked up as Jasper passed, and he saw the freckled face and vivid green eyes. Irish, he thought as he gave the guy a quick nod of the head for, he had to acknowledge their eye contact somehow. The guy smiled and Jasper suddenly felt flustered. He moved on as he pictured the cross-legged position, the tattoo on the calf of one leg, the elbows resting on them, book in one hand, the other about to turn a page.

Looking to his left, Jasper saw the cute guy was working today, one he had studied from afar many times over the last few months. He knew the name tag said Charlie. He knew from checking out during past visits standing close to him, they were about the same height, Charlie just a bit shorter than his six-foot four. He knew Charlie was just as lean, but more attractive, or at least he thought so. The blonde hair long on top and short on the sides, the blue eyes, and smooth boyish face. Charlie had to be a freshman because he didn’t look much older. But he was a college student, no doubt in that, for he heard him talking to others in the past about their classes.

And Charlie was straight, for he flirted with girls constantly, disappointing Jasper to no end.

Jasper moved toward the back of the bookstore heading toward his favorite section: Art & Architecture. The store used tall shelving perpendicular to the side walls to create alcoves for the different sections contained in the back half of the store. Africa-American studies, LGBTQ studies, History, Science, and finally, in the very last alcove Art & Architecture. He browsed the small tables centered at the entry to each alcove with the latest releases, scanning titles, the staff descriptions tagged below some of them, then he looked into the alcoves, at the books turned to face the customers and any guys browsing them. He came to the rear of the store and to the small table to see the latest releases. Movement in the alcove and he saw it was the guy from the day before, the one who had been looking at his sketches. He froze, unsure of what to do. Flee or stand his ground.

“Oh, hey,” the guy said when they made eye contact.

“Hey,” Jasper uttered in a low voice. He was about to take a step backwards, the first move in his desire to flee.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. That was totally uncool of me. I should not have looked at your sketches…but they are good. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

“Are you going to major in one of the arts?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in…”

“I’ve got to go,” Jasper exclaimed as he suddenly found his legs. He turned and rushed to the front of the store, out the doors to the sidewalk, and he didn’t slow his rapid pace until he was on his street where everything felt normal, a place non-threatening.

Twice in two days. It was too much. Jasper stood in his shower, head under the spray of water, masturbating furiously, urgently, his need for release desperate and afterward, the fatigue would hopefully ease some of his anxiety.

Toweling his long brown hair to get it dry, he looked in the mirror at the body he considered too lean, skinny, no definition over the flat chest, and he considered himself a kid that had to stay away from that campus, at least until the fall. He was determined to work out more over the coming months. Bike rides out into the countryside or to the state park, swimming laps at the Y, and even using his older brother’s weights left in the garage to gather dust.

Ansel Kenzo Sullivan 

The dorm was a riot of sound and disorganization. Boxes littered the corridor and many of the rooms as the sophomores got moved in. Kenzo was ahead of them, having arrived on campus a couple of days before. He lay on his bed glancing over at his new roommate, Jonathan Price from Lexington, Kentucky, majoring in electrical engineering. He had already sized him up. Five seven or so, average build with short brown hair and brown eyes and more importantly, the framed photograph of a girlfriend who was now a freshman on campus.

Kenzo considered what it could have been like if Jonathan had been gay. The probability of sex, then the bigger probability of a disagreement and a whole semester stuck together not getting along.

“So, you’re a graphic artist major?” asked Jonathan as he arranged his desk with a laptop, textbooks, and notebooks.

“Yep.”

“What will you do after graduation? I mean, what does a graphic artist do? Graphic novels?”

“Some try their hand at graphic novels,” Kenzo replied, thinking of the two he had been toying with since high school, now safely tucked away in the bottom drawer of his desk. “I’m planning on doing company branding.”

“Branding?”

“Yeah, you know, company names, logos, graphics for advertisements or interior decor.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What about you? Electrical engineering for building construction or some other field?”

“Energy, like power stations,” said Jonathan stepping back from his desk making sure everything was in place. “I’m finished.”

“You want to grab lunch?”

“Sorry, I’m going to meet Jen for lunch and hang out with her this afternoon.”

“Of course. I bet you’re glad she’s on campus.”

“And away from that father of hers,” Jonathan replied looking around at Kenzo with a grin. “I’ll catch you later,” he added heading out.

“Close the door, will you?”

The door closed muffling the sound of the others out in the corridor and nearby rooms, Kenzo climbed off his bed and went to his desk taking out the small sketchbooks tucked in the bottom drawer. Loose sketches and notes were sticking out of both, and he laid them on his desk and sat down. The top sketch book was his first attempt at a graphic storyline, one of a vampire that preyed on zombies. He looked at it now as childish and silly, wondering if he would ever come back to it. He slid it to the side and opened the next one. “The Boy Who Could Fly” floated over an aerial view of a neighborhood with a boy in flight over it. It was a graphic storyline he had started a month before graduating high school. A story that allowed him to work out his own feelings, of being a teenager, one that was gay. He had his character enter puberty coming to terms with being gay while also developing the ability to fly. Thumbing through the pages he reflected on the storyline, the boy growing older, more mature, getting his first boyfriend, and his first adventure. He looked at the last drawing, one of planes in flight taking his characters to a safe haven, still unsure of how to proceed with the story. He knew the chances of the graphic novel ever seeing the light of day was slim, more so by his lack of confidence it was any good or that it had any real marketability with its gay character.

Sitting back and pushing the chair to roll away from the desk, he slowly spun around with nothing in the room in focus. He was lost to his thoughts. Of being a college student, of being gay and finally able to meet others, and what meaning, if any, it had. What is my purpose? He considered this unanswerable question again, thinking of his grandmother’s religious beliefs in some higher power. He considered his own search for purpose and how college was all about finding or creating it, depending on one’s perspective. No matter how his search progressed, he knew sooner or later, he wanted to find someone to share the journey we call life with someone.

Kenzo entered Umberto Hall, his backpack slung over the shoulders and large black portfolio under his left arm with large sketch pads for his art classes. He moved along the corridors greeting those he knew and eyeing the guys that he found alluring. He turned up the main stair heading to the second floor for his Figure Drawing I class. At the large landing, he circled off the last step to continue upward when he nearly stumbled for coming down was the kid. The high school student from last spring, only now it was obvious the high school student was now a freshman on campus. Backpack over the shoulders and carrying the exact same black portfolio. But the kid looked different, older, more mature. The hair was cut short on the sides but left long on top with a tousled look. Two hoop earrings in the left ear, and from the right, one that dangling from the lobe. Then there was the attire. Black t-shirt, tight around the chest revealing a lean muscular body, no longer the skinny high school kid of last spring. The T-shirt was tucked into black and white plaid pants, with straight legs that accentuated the long legs, and a fit that revealed a narrow waist.

A look of recognition, a smile, and the kid was moving past then down the stairs to the first floor. It was so brief, their passing, but Kenzo had taken full measure of the kid. How he towered over him. How his presence seemed to take up more space than usual. The physical body was revealed by the clothes, one he found himself watching as it descended the stairs.

Jasper B. Faulkner

Jasper entered his second class of the day, Studio Foundations I: Materials and Concepts, still feeling excited and anxious and like he had set out on some long journey, one he wasn’t sure where it would take him. He looked around the room checking out his classmates, seeing a few of the guys looking his way. He knew his attire stood out among the jeans, cargo shorts, and college branded blue and white T-shirts. He had seen the looks in Hardin Center where his English Lit, World History 101, and Pre-Calculus Algebra classes were held. It was among the general student body, students from all the different curriculums and he had made his presence felt. He had been seen. In Umberto Hall, he realized he still stood out, and it made him self-conscious but also feel a bit of a rebel, someone who tried to find their own path. He was eighteen, a freshman, and openly gay, and more than ready to find himself as his older brother referred to it.

The dirty blonde in a Joy Division T-shirt kept looking back at him and he smiled, giving him a slight nod as a means of greeting. The guy smiled back, and Jasper wondered how long it would be before the guy hit on him. Or maybe he would make the first move. The only thing stopping him was the fact he lived at home and thus didn’t have as much privacy as those that lived on campus.

He looked to his left and saw an Asian guy thumbing through a textbook and it reminded him of the guy he passed on the stair, the one he had run into last spring not once, but twice. He was going to pretend not to have recognized him, but the guy stumbled as he stared up at him and Jasper found it amusing. The older guy, the one he had considered so mature last spring, actually stumbled coming up the stairs when he saw him coming down. It was endearing and made him smile with satisfaction.

It had been a surprise to see the guy in Umberto Hall carrying a portfolio like his own, but on reflection, he had seen the guy in the Art & Architecture section in the bookstore. As the instructor came in and captured everyone’s attention, he wondered about the identity of the guy. A name, the place he came from, and what aspect of art he was studying. He wanted to know, and he wanted to know if the guy was gay.

Although his home wasn’t far away, it was too far to go for lunch and get back in time for his afternoon class. Plus, the fact the university had each freshman buy a meal plan card, one for more meals than he needed for it included dinner time meals. He circled through the buildings after leaving Umberto Hall, a path he had learned a year ago that would take him to the side entrance of the nearest cafeteria. He slipped in and crossed the dining hall to an empty table where he could leave his stuff and keep an eye on it while going through the line.

As he strolled to the back of the line, he saw the looks, those curious and those judging, making assumptions about his personality, and he smiled at how some were probably right about him. He followed two girls who were conversing about some of their dormmates. When they got to the end of the line, one looked back at him and smiled.

“Hey, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Jasper.”

He replied friendly enough, even giving her a smile, but he didn’t ask her name hoping it would signal he wasn’t interested.

“I’m Emily, and this is Beth.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“What is your major? Music? Architecture?”

Of course, they considered the more prominent majors on campus for the arts. He knew most considered art a waste of time, that no one could possibly want it as their major.

“No, art. Hey, the line is moving,” said Jasper, pointing over the girls.

“Oh, thanks,” Emily replied.

At the end of the line, the girls checked out, Beth turned to Jasper and smiled. “See you around.”

“Yes, I’ll see you around,” Jasper replied, knowing the chances were slim.

Jasper sat down and began to eat while watching other guys come into the cafeteria, move along the service line, and take seats in the dining room. He sized them up, gave measure to the ones he found alluring, and the ones for whatever reason he felt no desire. The loud jocks three tables over, the guy staring at others with a glare, the two guys either side of a very pretty girl, each vying for her attention. He pulled out Flux, by Jinwoo Chong, his current reading for pleasure, turning his attention to the story unfolding on the page. Eating slowly, his focus more on reading than eating, he turned page after page falling back into the story. The chaotic sound of many voices and sounds in the cafeteria became a white noise, just background to the wider world on the pages of the book. Then a shadow fell across the page drawing his attention away. He looks up and sees his fellow artist, the guy he had passed on the stairs that morning.

“Hey, can I sit here,” the guy asked.

Jasper smiles at him, aware of the anxiousness in the guy’s face, the nervous tone of the voice. He feels confident by the guy’s lack thereof, and marvels at the difference just a few months have made. “Yes, let me move this,” Jasper replies, sliding his backpack off the table and to the chair next to him.

“What’s your name?” Jasper asked after the guy was seated across from him.

“Kenzo.”

“Kenzo? Is that Chinese or Japanese in origin?”

“Japanese. My mother’s grandparents came from Japan back in the early seventies and mom was born here in seventy-eight.”

“Your father…is he Japanese too?”

“Dad?” Kenzo asked, then laughs, the first time Jasper sees him relax a bit after sitting. “No, he’s from Missouri, met mom while stationed in California. My full name is Ansel Kenzo Sullivan.”

“Ansel? Like the photographer?”

“Yeah,” Kenzo replies, leaning back with a grin. “What about you? All I know is you’re from here and a freshman.”

“And I’m majoring in art.”

“And that. What’s your name?”

“Jasper…Jasper Faulkner.”

“Jasper…” said Kenzo, repeating the name as if were learning a new word and how to let it roll off his tongue.

Jasper tells Kenzo of his life in the shadow of the university, the place both his parents work as instructors, his mother in the English department and his father in the math department. He admits to their initial disappointment of his choice of majors seeing Kenzo nod in understanding, wondering if he had suffered the same argument with his parents. Then he steers the conversation to life on campus and Kenzo’s social life, looking for confirmation of his suspicion that Kenzo is gay.

“There have been a few dates and a couple of hook ups.”

Jasper listens to the admittance, waiting, eyes locked on Kenzo as he grins and looks away for what seems entirely too long before turning back to him.

“Yes, I’m gay, but I think you knew that already,” said Kenzo.

Ansel Kenzo Sullivan

He senses Jasper right behind him as they made their way up the stairs in his dorm. They pass the door to the second floor, then the third, before he leads him into a corridor. This time it seems different. The noise muted and far away. There is no one in the corridor but through each open door he sees familiar faces that smile and nod in acknowledgment as he passes, Jasper by his side now that they are in the wide corridor. Room 418 comes up on the right and he knows it’ll be locked, the room inside dark. Jonathan had been spending more time at his girlfriend’s than at the dorm. It seems she was in an apartment with a first cousin, the two sharing expenses and life off campus where their parents foolishly believed they would have less temptation to get into trouble.

It was perfect for Jonathan, and on this particular day, it was perfect for Kenzo. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stood to the side to let Jasper enter first.

“Where’s your roommate?” asked Jasper as he moved past into the dark room.

“At his girlfriend’s,” Kenzo replied, flipping on a light as he followed Jasper into the room.

He felt something he hadn’t felt since his first time. The visiting cousin of Mark from across the street back home. His heart had been racing, palms sweating, and it wasn’t until the older guy was inside him telling him to relax that he finally had done so. Since that first time, the only time he had been on bottom, he had not felt the same nervousness, until now.

Why? What was it about Jasper that made him feel that way. The same heart rate, the same sweaty palms, the same anxiousness. He watched Jasper move to his desk looking at his sketches for a project he was working on, the photographs pinned to the cork board, the books lined up along the back of his desk. Jasper put a finger on top of one book and angles it back and he sees it is one of his favorite novels. Kafka on the Shore. He wants to tell Jasper to put it back. He wants to tell him to read from it, just to hear the voice saying familiar words.

“It’s one of my favorites.” Kenzo finally finds his voice and yet it doesn’t sound like him. The tone was too high and a slight vibration to the words that speak to his nervousness. But it breaks the unbearable silence in the room.

Jasper looks back smiling. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

Jasper moves to the window and looks out. Kenzo wants to go to him, to slip his arms around the lean body, to feel it against his own. But he is frozen in place, just staring with roiling desire that makes him feel breathless.

Jasper moves to his unmade bed and sits down, leaning back resting on his hands. The legs stretch out and they seem so long, reaching halfway across the narrow space between the beds. Kenzo sees the dark brown eyes look up. He sees the smile, then the hand patting the bed next to him.

“Kenzo, come sit next to me.”

Kenzo finally can move, feeling his body take one step then another. It doesn’t feel like his own, but something that belongs to Jasper. A body that willingly does what was asked of it. He eased down next to Jasper and immediately feels a hand on his thigh.

“Why are you nervous?” said Jasper, leaning in close. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yes.”

Kenzo utters the reply like an exhale. Expelling air and a confession. Lips touch his neck, move up to his left ear, then graze it as they move.

“I want you, too. Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

Lips touch the side of his face, and Kenzo turns to them, and they kiss. A hand slips under his T-shirt touching his stomach, then slides upward, over his chest, across hardening nipples, then back down to his stomach until fingers are tracing the skin along the top of his jeans.  

Jasper B. Faulkner

He should feel nervous. Kenzo is older, more mature, and probably more experienced. But seeing Kenzo nervous makes him feel confident. He is controlling the pace of their exploration of each other, knowing what he wants. He worked for this moment, and it had finally arrived.

All summer he worked out, running, swimming, bicycling, then using the weights in the garage. He worked out to the point of exhaustion and muscles burned from their exertions. The first month he saw little change. He actually lost a few pounds at first, but then his body began to respond. Muscles became more defined; his chest no longer flat. He developed biceps and a ripped abdomen, then V-lines that tampered into his jeans. When his brother saw the transformation there was shock, then praise for the hard work he had done.

But it was nothing compared to what Paul Redding did for his confidence. Paul lived down the street, four houses down. He was single and worked in banking, evidently making good money by the M4 sitting in the drive. One day, garage door up, Jasper sweating away with weightlifting, Paul had driven by seeing him shirtless. Two days later, when Jasper was mowing the front lawn, Paul stopped on his way home. It was so blatantly obvious what Paul wanted, with the invitation to dinner, a cookout on the back deck, then maybe a movie.

There had been no movie, only Paul submitting to Jasper, showing him how two men could please each other. 

Jasper now had Kenzo shirtless, and he was tracing the contours of the upper body. The curvatures of muscle, the ribs beneath the skin, the soft areola around the hardened nipple. He traced the circular form then playfully pinched the nipple making Kenzo cry out. Then he retraces the paths of his fingers with his lips.

The skin shivers with every touch. The stomach moves with heavy breath. Kenzo cannot remain still with the pleasure of touch. Jasper moves his lips to the right nipple as he slides his hand up the right thigh, He cups the crotch while tonguing the nipple. He squeezing the growing cock trapped within jeans while dragging lips and tongue over collarbone to the neck.

“Will you be mine,” Jasper whispers.

“Yes.” Unwavering, immediate, the word comes back to Jasper.

He kisses the gaping mouth, feels the lips part for his tongue as he tugs with determination on the front of the jeans. He feels the button slip free loosening the waistband allowing his hand to easily slip within jeans and boxers. Fingers graze over smooth skin then through the pubic hair until he feels the hardening shaft. He traces fingers along its growing length until the spongy head swells with his touch.

Jasper sits up and slides to the floor maneuvering between the legs. He removes Kenzo’s shoes then socks. He sits up on knees and tugs the zipper down until the boxers tent up in the gap. He takes both, jeans and boxers by the waistband and with a pull sees Kenzo lift his head to watch while lifting hips allowing the jeans and boxers to slip under his ass.

Kenzo up on elbows, naked, cock rolling over the abdomen getting harder, longer, and it arouses Jasper, makes him feel his own masculine nature. He slides his hands up the thighs, palms grazing lightly over the skin. He leans down and forward until his nose is pushing into the loose sac. He mouths the orbs within, sucks each into his mouth, tugging on them until the skin shivers beneath his palms. He looks up and sees the glassy eyes staring back. He knows the look. One lost to one’s lusts and desires. He feels the same and leans down rubbing his smooth cheek along the cock until he can turn his head and capture the head in his mouth. Kenzo gasps, moans, and falls back on the bed. The hips move, just the smallest of push upwards, but it speaks to Jasper of need and want.

Jasper sees the white-knuckled fists clutching the bed. He sees the stomach undulating faster with every deep breath. He pushes down, sinking the cock into his mouth until the head is at his throat. He pulls upward, slowly, lips tight around the shaft. He reaches out until touching each hand. The fists unknot, open to his touch and he laces their fingers together and holds each one down as he begins to move his mouth up and down the cock.

Jasper sucks Kenzo, his pace varying from slow and sensuous to fast, urgent, pushing him to the point of release. This sexual connection arouses him until his own cock aches for release. He releases Kenzo’s hands and undoes his jeans as fingers comb through his hair then hold his head as hips pump upward. He frantically pushes jeans and boxers down until they are puddle around his knees and his cock finally freed of its confinement. He strokes it until his hand is slick.

Kenzo cries out, guttural, animalistic, while shoving upward at the hips. Jasper holds his head still letting the cock move over his tongue, hit the roof of his mouth, and push out his cheeks. He feels it swell thicker, then flex on his tongue as it erupts. Wad after wad spurts from it until cum fills his mouth.

He swallows.

Kenzo lays back gasping for breath. His cock is still hard and Jasper strokes it slowly, lovingly, until Kenzo is shivering and pleading with him to stop. He rises to his feet revealing himself to Kenzo. Narrow waist, sac hanging long, and cock hard, sticking straight out, all nine inches of it. He tugs his T-shirt off revealing a lean muscular body, the body of a swimmer, a runner…a man. He steps out of his jeans and boxers, strokes his cock until it glistens with its slick.

“Kenzo,” Jasper utters, and he sees the recognition of what is requested. He sees the hesitation and wonders if Kenzo had ever been on bottom, then he sees the smile, a wicked grin if ever he saw one. The legs raise, hands take each behind the knee, and Kenzo lays spread out before him, nothing hidden from his sight. The still hard cock, the loose sac, and the spread ass revealing its puckered opening.

“Yeah,” Jasper whispers as he bends his knees and rubs his cock up and down the spread ass. It leaves a trail of slick and Jasper doesn’t stop until Kenzo is wet and moaning. Then he puts his cock to the puckered opening and watches the face as he pushes through the tightness. The squeeze on the head of his cock is almost unbearable and he shudders with the feel of it. He sees Kenzo grimace, then tilt his head back and moan as he pushes slowly into him. The head of his cock, then inch after inch of the shaft, he pushes deeper and deeper until Kenzo has almost all of it. He pushes the legs forward then down, pressing thighs to the chest. The legs move ever so slightly with Kenzo’s breathing. He pushes down harder knowing it’ll make Kenzo struggle for breath and begins to fuck. 

He moves slowly at first. The tug outward, the push back in, each one deliberate not passive or sluggish. He wants to feel every inch slipping through Kenzo’s tightness. To be aware of the tight opening as he slides his cock through it. And he wants Kenzo to feel it too. The fullness of penetration, then the brief emptiness when tugged outward until nearly slipping free. Sometimes he does slip free and holds his throbbing cock over the closing opening before punching back through it.

Kenzo cries out with each penetration.

Jasper’s arousal intensifies until he is breathing hard and desperate to increase the stimulation on his cock. He increases his pace, thrusting with greater force, the physicality of their fuck escalates until the sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoes in the room. He feels his body respond to its exertion. His muscles burn, his breathing labored, and he feels feverish, burning up. Sweat beads up on his skin, trickles down his face, chest, and back.

Looking down, he sees Kenzo is nearly the same despite his submissive role. Skin glistens and the stomach moves with labored breathing. When the eyes finally open to look up at him, they are glassy, unfocused, lost to the pleasure of their fuck.

“Jasper,” Kenzo utters breathlessly.

“Kenzo,” he replies as he pushes down on the legs and fucks. Harder, faster, hips banging against the upturned ass. The bed begins to protest, to squeak and rock in rhythm to their fuck. He feels a rhythmic movement against his stomach and knows Kenzo is masturbating. Hand moving on cock in that familiar way. He thrust into Kenzo’s depths as the hand rubs his stomach.

“OH, oh…fuck,” Kenzo exclaims.

Jasper feels the warm cum hit his chest. One wad, then another. The smell of it hits his nose and it pushes him over the edge. He feels his building release, the surge of it, then his cock flexes with every ejaculation as he fills Kenzo with his load. He shoves into Kenzo’s depths with the last of his release, feeling Kenzo’s trickle down his stomach.

Jasper pulls out and stands on knees between the released legs. His cock hovers out in front of him, dripping and still hard. Kenzo stares up at him, then down at his cock.

“Do me again,” said Kenzo as he rolled to his hands and knees.

Ansel Kenzo Sullivan

For just a few seconds he had looked at that tall lean body, shockingly muscular when first revealed. He looked into the eyes, staring down with a hunger he felt. Then he looked at the cock. Still hard, wet, and dripping with its first release. But not its last.

“Do me again,” Kenzo pleaded as he rolls to his hands and knees, ass presented to Jasper for another fuck.

He had never felt like this. This submission to another, the feel of the penetration, then the sheer pleasure of the fuck. His own cock hug heavy between his thighs. He looked down along sweaty skin of chest and stomach, seeing the clear drool hanging from the head of it. He was so aroused it made him feel breathless.

Hands held his waist. Cock rubbed across his ass, then slid back and forth between his cheeks. He moaned and pushed back against it. Then he reached back and took the thick cock and put it to his opening.

“Do it. Do it,” he begged.

The cock penetrated him again, and he moaned while pushing back until his ass was against Jasper. He felt a push against it from Jasper trying to get deeper. Then hands tightened their hold, and he dropped his head to the bed and spread his arms out ready for their fuck.

It was different. No slow fuck this time. Jasper hammered his insides, slamming cock into his depths until he saw stars and his own cock rose up hard. He took it in hand and stroked it with the same furious pace. The bed rocked beneath them, and he heard Jasper’s utterances. At first gibberish, but as he took every thrust into his depths, he became aware of what Jasper was saying.

“Fuck, take me, fuck, fuck, take it, take me.”

He bit the bed, buried his face into it while gasping for breath. He rocked with their fuck, then heard it, flesh smacking against flesh, and he cried out.

“Jesus. Fuck, take me,” Jasper exclaimed.

Jasper slammed against his ass and keep pushing against it. Kenzo felt the hands tighten their grip, and as he felt Jasper’s first load trickle down his thigh, he took the second.

Roughly, without time to realize it, Jasper flipped him to his back. A hand pushed his from his cock, he watched the head move down to it, felt the mouth take him, and the black hair move over his abdomen. The ticklish feel of the hair over his skin and the pleasurable feel of the mouth on his cock. He clutched the bed, pushed up into the mouth and came.

Kenzo strolled across campus heading back to his dorm. He looked at the others going to classes or heading back from them. The girls he found attractive but not desirable, the guys he found attractive but not as much as he found Jasper.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since their first sex, and it still felt dream like. Like some fairy tale one would imagine but never dare hope to become real. But he could feel Jasper’s lips against his own, the memory of it still strong. He could feel the touches, the manipulations that made him so aroused his cock grew hard just thinking of it. Then he remembered the penetrations. Each one, each time a bit different. The first time initially painful but so pleasurable as Jasper fucked him, he had to adjust his cock with the thought of it, not caring who noticed. He wondered how the others really saw him, thinking of the shock when he admitted his relationship with Jasper. He smiled, then laughed aloud with how that freshman had captured his heart.