by Rob Rosen
Dylan, the frat’s resident wine connoisseur, held up his bottle of Ripple bedecked with a shiny red bow. “Impressive? Absolutely. But hey, how come Kyle beat the rap?”
“He didn’t. I’m about to take care of him personally.” The glint in Brad’s eyes was positively evil. “Come on up, roomie.”
Kyle made his way through the throng of fraternity boys, taking the gift as he sat in the overstuffed armchair. While the guys tapped out a fake drumroll, he tore off the paper. “Oh . . . my.” He turned over the box in his hands. Below the garish pink lettering that read PleaseMaster 5000, a scantily clad woman gazed up at him.
“Why, what is that, Kyle? Hold it up.” Brad barely suppressed his giggles.
Kyle did as he was told, turning red as he heard the exaggerated gasps.
Never ones to let an embarrassing situation get resolved quickly, the good brothers of Sigma Chi began to chant, “Read the box! Read the box!”
Kyle mumbled in resignation, eager to end the travesty. “The PleaseMaster 5000 combines space-age technology with quality Swedish design.”
“Speak up!” Brad crowed. “What kind of communications major are you?”
Kyle raised his voice. “Waterproof for the utmost versatility, this device’s awesome power requires just two triple-A batteries.” He shot Brad a glare.
Brad put on an angelic face, making a Who, me? gesture. “Please, continue.”
Kyle spoke haltingly. “With three speeds and five pulsation patterns, the whisper-quiet PleaseMaster 5000”—he sighed—“will send you into orbit.”
The room exploded into laughter, but Brad remained stone-faced. “You’re forgetting something, Kyle.”
“For novelty use only,” the hapless junior dutifully intoned. “Consult a doctor before using on unexplained calf pain.” He narrowed his eyes at Brad. “This isn’t over,” he then mouthed.
Brad grinned, unaware of what he’d just set in motion.
Brad had to give Kyle credit. He had handled the whole gag gift incident with much more grace than he himself would have, given the circumstances. Understandably, Brad’s bed had gotten short-sheeted the following night. Of course, Kyle had swiped the chocolate-chip cookies in the latest care package from Brad’s mom, leaving only the bone-dry oat bars. Still, by the end of the week, Kyle was all sunshiny Midwestern goodwill, just like before. Everything was back to normal.
Yet, Brad couldn’t shake the strange visions that had been haunting him since the party. He’d see his roommate napping, and be confronted with a fleeting mental image of Kyle on his back, shaggy blond strands fanning over his pillow as he teased the PleaseMaster 5000 down his body. As he sat in the stands at Kyle’s water polo matches, he became inexplicably fascinated by the droplets shimmering along his roommate’s broad shoulders. When Kyle raised his head and arched his back to launch the ball, it was too easy for Brad to confuse exertion with ecstasy.
To make matters worse, life in the frat house wasn’t helping. From the pickup games of touch football to the toga parties, every bonding activity was like the setup for a gay porn movie. Kyle was always at the center of it all, laughing and sweaty as he emerged victorious in shirts versus skins, gripping the cue so assertively as he won another round of pool, etc. At least, Brad thought ruefully, they hadn’t had the budget to put in a hot tub.
That’s right, wasn’t that vibrator waterproof? Brad pondered this as he watched Kyle stalk through the bedroom in a skimpy towel before closing the bathroom door. He nearly had a coronary as he heard a loud buzzing, followed by Kyle’s yelp.
Kyle poked his head through the door. “This is the worst electric razor ever,” he muttered. “Are you all right, man? You seem short of breath.”
Brad nodded weakly, praying for winter break to come early.
A glimmer of hope shone through a few days later. Obviously, Brad realized, this wasn’t really about Kyle at all; the vibrator was to blame for the whole thing. Who wouldn’t be curious about something called the Please-Master 5000? Being the raging heterosexual that he was, Brad was drawn in by the large-breasted woman on the box, and then intrigued by all the hype in the product description. Kyle only figured into the scenarios because Brad had given him the toy.
Brad had slept through most of Psychology 101, but this explanation would have to do.
Relief washed over him as he devised his plan. He’d pick a day when Kyle was at water polo practice, and then he’d find out for himself. Brad wouldn’t try it, of course; he was way above that sort of thing. He’d simply take the toy out of the box and see how unimpressive it really was. He smiled, ignoring the flutter in his stomach. This was one letdown that he really looked forward to.
When Kyle left for practice that Thursday afternoon, Brad rushed to Kyle’s closet like a shot and gingerly opened the door. Adrenaline made his hands shake as he pulled out the blindingly purple box, but he managed to remove it without dislodging the rest of Kyle’s gear. He then sat on the edge of his bed and went to work with his pilfered prize.
Brad hadn’t considered the toy’s actual attributes when he bought it. He basically chose the most indiscreet package in the store. And so he now hefted the PleaseMaster 5000 in his hands, not knowing what to expect. The blue, plastic oval fit squarely in his palm, with three small buttons on top. Thankful for the toy’s non-phallic shape, Brad started to relax. Why, Mr. Innocent probably hasn’t taken the thing out of the box yet, he told himself as he randomly pressed buttons. He certainly wouldn’t put in the batteries . . .
At that moment, a loud buzz startled Brad, and the ticklish sensation made him drop the toy. When he picked it up, he noticed that the bottom was coated with some sort of softer material—silicone, the box said—which dragged a little when he rubbed it along his wrist. The clingy sensation was not unpleasant, Brad had to admit. He continued to run it up the inside of his arm. He couldn’t really tell much from that, he decided. Brad’s shoulders were tense lately from all this Kyle business, so he’d see if it really worked as a massager.
A few pushes of the middle button changed the tempo to a deep thudding pulse, which felt pretty good on Brad’s neck. His sweatshirt’s material muffled the sensations on his shoulders, though. Better to take it off, he realized. He tossed the shirt across the room, rubbing the vibrator along his collarbone as he did so. His pulse started to quicken. Apparently, he was more uptight than he’d thought. He needed to lie down. He stretched out on his bed and started to rub the PleaseMaster 5000 over his chest, closing his eyes as he circled it around his nipple. The toy’s hum was strangely soothing, except for that weird clicking noise in the background . . .
“Whoa, dude.”
Brad bolted upright to find Kyle intently staring at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I live here.” There was a strangely hoarse tone to Kyle’s voice. “Practice got canceled. The question is—”
Brad hadn’t heard a word, so intent was he on shutting the damned thing off. Failing miserably, he threw the PleaseMaster 5000 on the bed in desperation. The toy continued to shake, as if it were laughing at him. He saw that Kyle, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing at all. “Swear to God, Kyle . . . ” Brad looked up into the blue eyes that continued to fixate on him. He gulped. “I swear, I never tried it before.”
“Obviously.” Kyle shrugged. “Everyone knows it’s much better when you’re totally naked.”
All the blood in Brad’s body rushed away from his brain. That had to be the reason why one nod from Kyle had him scrambling for his zipper. It was the justification for Brad’s jeans and briefs hitting the floor in record time, for Brad’s willingness to hand the dangerous weapon over to his roommate without a second thought.
“I like the low speed here.” Kyle touched the tip of the toy to the peak of Brad’s nipple, smiling mischievously as he watched it blush and harden. He pressed another button as he teased down Brad’s ribs. “A little faster here.” Brad shuddered, but opened his legs slightly in spite of hims
elf. “And there?” Brad gasped as Kyle made circles over his inner thigh. “The escalation pulse is very nice.”
For more than a year, Brad and Kyle had been inhibited around each other in the way only college roommates can be. Brad’s head spun as he thought of all the effort he’d spent hiding morning erections or pretending he didn’t need to jack off. Now, he was more aroused than he’d ever been, and this same roommate was not only a witness, but the cause of it. Kyle explored Brad’s body with abandon, pressing the toy against his balls before stroking it over his perineum. Yet, Kyle wasn’t touching Brad’s cock at all. Even in his lusty haze, Brad knew this had to be an oversight. Brad’s hand drifted downward, but Kyle blocked it quickly.
“No, Brad. You’re not supposed to touch your roommate’s things.” Kyle’s voice hitched as he moved Brad’s hand away. “And right now, this thing belongs to me.” Kyle looked him in the eye as he closed his hand around Brad’s cock, moving upward with a light but deliberate stroke.
The playful contact contrasted tantalizingly with Kyle’s forceful tone, and Brad wondered what else lay beneath his roommate’s rapidly crumbling gee-whiz facade. While Ridgeston University had outlawed hazing a few years earlier, a large paddle, emblazoned with the Sigma Chi letters, was still displayed in the frat’s basement. Brad wondered if it ever came out for special occasions. As he writhed under the competing sensations of silicone and skin, Brad pictured himself bent over the basement sofa, bracing himself for a blow. Kyle would loom naked above him, the muscles in his arm clenching as he whacked the paddle against Brad’s flesh. Heat rushed through Brad at the fleeting fantasy, and his hips bucked to meet the imaginary smack. “Please . . . ”
Kyle placed the toy squarely on the root of Brad’s shaft, teasing it along the length. He bit his lip as he felt Brad tensing beneath him. “Come for me, Bradley.”
Brad didn’t know if it was the wicked vibration hitting his glans that did it or the feel of Kyle’s breath in his ear. All he could do was moan as his spunk flew in graceful arcs, hitting his neck and chest. Kyle’s free hand moved along Brad’s thighs and belly, working the last remnants of sensation free.
It took a long time for the both of them to catch their breath. Kyle gazed in wonder before leaning into his shell-shocked roommate. “You okay?”
Okay was not an adequate description, but since Brad was having trouble forming complete thoughts, it would have to suffice. “Yeah.” He noticed something as Kyle brushed against him. “You’re . . . hard.”
“Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Kyle’s voice was low. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know.” Brad smiled in amazement, just beginning to comprehend the whole situation. “But you’re really hard.” He couldn’t resist grinding his bare hip against Kyle’s denim-clad crotch, and he chuckled as his roommate groaned.
“You’ll see.” Kyle grinned wickedly at Brad. “I’m going to be very satisfied before we’re through. And so will you.” He raised an eyebrow. “First, we need to clean you up. You could use a good, long rinse.” He caressed Brad’s sticky chest with real affection.
Brad’s head lolled as Kyle moved his hand lower to enclose him. “And a safeword,” he panted.
Kyle stole a quick but ardent kiss that left Brad breathless. “That, too,” he whispered into Brad’s mouth. His eyes sparkling, Kyle took Brad’s hand and led him toward the shower.
GHOSTLY AFFAIR
Karl Taggart
Jason Stark, the stage actor, had been keeping me for about a year when he announced we were moving. “Pasadena,” he said, drawing out the word as if he were playing to a full house. We’d been living in a Hollywood Hills rental. I was happy there. Pasadena conjured up images of the Rose Parade, little old ladies, restraint.
“Don’t frown,” Jason scolded. “It doesn’t become you, and besides, the new place is twice as big. You’ll love it once we’re there. It was left to me by an uncle, and I’m ready for a change, a bit of character, some old-world charm.
Jason was as close to old-world as I wanted to get, but no amount of pouting could sway him, and so we moved into what I initially called—under my breath, of course— “the home.” Since I’d come to depend on the relationship, it was worth my while to see things Jason’s way.
The house had been built in 1914. It was a mansion, stately and dark, with five bedrooms, four baths, a grand salon, a library, a den—well, the list went on and on.
Jason was energized by the change, as if the older house made him feel younger. He fucked me in every room and outdoors as well—in the gazebo in broad daylight, on the lawn under the cover of darkness—and while I loved this revitalization of our physical relationship, I always had the feeling we were being watched. There was nothing visible, no objects moving or doors opening without explanation, just a presence. Often, when Jason had me on my back, pumping his cock into me, I’d look over his shoulder to see if someone was there.
And then one day someone was.
The funny part is, when I finally saw the ghost, I didn’t even flinch. I was so accustomed to sensing the presence when Jason and I had sex that the embodiment merely served as confirmation rather than surprise. Jason’s dick had been buried in my ass at the time and I was working my own prong when the most gorgeous man suddenly appeared beside the bed. He was blond, naked, slightly translucent, and possessed a big, dangling cock that he gripped with his left hand.
He watched us go at it, working himself all the while, and when I came, he fixed on the sight, tongue hanging out as if he longed for a taste. Jason, meanwhile, was nearly there, grunting and pounding away, out of breath, as usual. The ghost had a good vantage point, and let his gaze slide down to focus on the action: Jason’s prick going in and out of my well-lubed hole.
It was when Jason finally came that I noticed the ghost’s dick was soft, which made me wonder whether erections might be something tied to material life. Poor ghost, I thought. As Jason spent himself, then quieted, the ghost let go of his cock, backed away, and disappeared.
Jason collapsed onto me, pulled out, and rolled over. Breathing heavily, he instantly fell asleep. I hit the bathroom to wash up, then returned to the bedroom to stand at the foot of the bed in the hope that the spirit might return. Sadly, he didn’t.
I never mentioned anything to Jason about the intruder. When it became apparent that he hadn’t seen the ghost, I figured the visitor meant to connect with me alone. I decided to find out who he was and what he wanted.
Jason was appearing in a play downtown and spent much of his time rehearsing at the theater. Left on my own, I decided to entice the ghost into making an appearance. So, one afternoon I undressed, picked out a few choice pieces from our dildo collection, set out lube and a towel, then climbed onto the bed for a good solo session.
I was greasing a big pink ten-incher when I felt the presence. Without reacting, I lay back, raised my legs, and started working the rubber cock into my hole. My dick was already hard from just the idea of what I was about to do. I began to fuck myself while jerking my cock, and this—as I had hoped it might—brought the ghost to me.
He stood off to one side, a beautiful specimen, maybe thirty, with curly golden hair and piercing blue eyes. His skin was pale, of course, but not so much so as to turn me off. He had a substantial build as well: broad shoulders, smooth, thick chest, narrow waist, strong thighs, and that big cock, which was still soft even though he had it in hand.
I steadily worked the dildo, making a show of popping it out and then pushing it back in, groaning as if some hot guy was attached to it. The ghost moved closer, watching me intently, so I pulled the dildo out and worked my muscle instead. When he fixed his stare on my pulsing sphincter, I ran my finger over the rim, then went in. With this, my dick started throbbing, and I would have come had I not backed off. I wanted to get this guy involved, sensing he wanted something only a mortal could provide.
I thought of asking him to join me, but before I could say anything to that effe
ct, he sat down on the edge of the bed. His look was calm, with no hint of urgency, and it made me wonder if people could fuck in the next world; if spirits invisible to us were going at it in our midst. The ghost smiled, and I realized he could read my thoughts. Then, slowly, as if it might frighten me away, he reached a hand toward my ass. I withdrew my finger but kept squeezing my prick. He then slowly moved a single finger to my hole. Eager to get him into me, I spread my legs and pulled my buttcheeks wide. As invitations go, I couldn’t get more blatant.
When he stuck his finger in my ass it was like an icy rod going in. I flinched. He pulled out, and we shared an awkward moment before I offered him another welcoming thought. Then he stuck in two fingers. I smiled, despite the frigid cold.
He was tentative, which was fine because I was acclimating to the chill, wondering what his dick would feel like, forgetting, until he took hold of the member in question, that he could read my every thought. I quickly recovered and thought of sucking him off. He stopped working my hole; I think he was surprised by the offer. I hesitated for a moment, and then put my legs down and crawled across the bed to him.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Graham Ellis.”
“Why are you here?”
“It’s my house.”
“Are you related to Jason’s uncle?”
“It’s my house,” he repeated.
“Okay, I’m not going to quibble, but you have to know that I’ve never met a ghost before. That’s what you are, right? A ghost?”
When he didn’t respond, I went on. “Right. Well, that’s what I think you are, only I’ve never heard of naked ghosts sticking their fingers up asses.”
He looked down at my stiff cock, then back up to my face. “Will you do it?” he asked.
