Thursday, March 7, 2024

Coming Out is the Pits (A Repost), Post #260

Image Courtesy of Vecteezy:


Well, did hunky Bunny turn out okay?

 Today, we’ll do a repost, although I can’t find the original post. It had to be somewhere around January of 2008, and I’ve revised it, so hopefully, you won’t mind too much.


* * * *



What is it with this “coming out” crap anyway? It took eighteen years to come out to myself, and only then because this jock cornered me in the upstairs stacks of the school library. My stomach dropped nervously, but my toes curled in excitement when he took what he wanted. When I accidentally—kinda—saw him again, I figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but I was wrong. I got a kick out of reducing that macho hunk to absolute putty. After that, the die was cast.

Eventually, I came out to my best friend and lost a lifelong buddy. My big brother called me a snot-nosed pansy and threatened to beat me to a pulp. My mother cried herself sick, and my father swelled up like a puff adder. At that point, I shut down the “coming out” process.

My parents sent me to an out-of-state university rather than the local community college, probably to get me out of their hair. My name, by the way, is Quentin Utley Ramson, and if my initials didn’t clue my parents, they aren’t the bright folks the neighbors believe them to be. So far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any “coming out” at the U. That’s over. Kaput—except—well, there’s this guy I sorta like. My dorm mate.

Carlton Easton Eaves isn’t the snob he sounds. He puts his pants on and laces his sneakers all by himself like one of the masses. He moves well in the pool, plays a mean set of tennis, and probably polos okay, too. But he rides rodeo, and that’s a plebeian sport if there ever was one. We’ve gotten pretty chummy, and that brings me to the nub of my present problem.

East asked me to double date with him tomorrow night. Damn! Why can’t we just go to the movies together? Why mess it up with a couple of girls?

“Hi, Ram,” he said, materializing at my side on the quadrangle. That was something else I liked about him, he calls me Ram, which sounds—well, studly. The main thing I dig about East is his six-foot, tapered frame with lean hips and a groin to go down for! Of course, his corn-colored hair and curious blue eyes and broad, laughing mouth and bronze skin are considerations also. Why the hell he bummed around with olive-skinned, brown-eyed me, I hadn’t figured out yet. I had quickly learned to avoid the shower room like a vat of acid when he’s in there lest I make a fool out of myself. There’s more than one way of coming out, you know.

“Got a date yet?” he posed the dreaded query.

“Maybe you better get somebody else to go with you,” I blurted in a moment of weakness. “I don’t know any girls yet.”

“No, way! Get a date. It’ll be fun. Catch you later!” He gave me a manly punch on the shoulder and peeled off for his own class.

Mary Quadrill, the girl who sat beside me in Freshman English, was handy, so I blurted out an invitation just as the class settled into the pre-lecture silence.

“Well, Miss Quadrill, please give Mr. Ramson your answer so the class can turn to more mundane affairs,” our prof said dryly.

My ears were aflame, and Mary’s cheeks looked like Bette Davis’s in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

“Uh—yeah. Yes, I’d like to go,” the poor girl stuttered.

Despite that promising start, things went downhill from there. The movie was okay, but cost too much. My arm went to sleep over the back of the seat, and afterward, we went to a beer joint. Frankly, I’m not accustomed to drinking.

When we left the bar, East parked on the bluff above the reservoir and turned to his girl, a blonde named Bunny or Billie or something like that. It wasn’t long before they slid down out of sight, and I was alone in the back with a girl.

We smooched, and to my surprise, I worked up a little steam while listening to the noises from the front. Mimicking what I thought was going on up there, I dug one of Mary’s boobs out of her brassiere and, ignoring her protest, went for the nipple like a newborn babe. I’d just glommed on to the pink little thing when she twisted my ear painfully. My cries of “Oh—oh—oh!” went nasal when she got my nose between two fingers!

“Behave now?” she whispered in a lady-like snarl.

“Yeah—yeah!” I whimpered, nodding my head and earning more pain. The pressure was suddenly released, and I straightened up to rearrange my clothing and dignity. Shit! It wasn’t right; paying with an earache for something I didn’t enjoy. Mary was restoring her tit to its proper place when East popped up and grinned at me knowingly. Hell’s bells! He’d hit a home run, and all I got was a sore nose and bruised ear.

I expected a karate kick to the groin when we took the girls to their dorm door, but she claimed she’d had a good time and said we’d have to do it again.

East was restless and drove around for a few minutes until he found a place to take a piss in the bushes. I wanted to go hold it for him, but couldn’t get up the nerve. I fingered myself through my trousers while watching his broad back and trim butt—a mistake because I had to work hard to hide a horrendous bone when he got back in the car.

“Man,” he moaned as he slammed the door. “I hurt! Haven’t had a nut ache in years.”

I jumped in surprise. He hadn’t made it with Bunny or Billie.

“Lucky dog. Mary’s pretty foxy,” he went on, tearing me away from his nut ache and the mental image that conjured. “At least you’re not in my shape.”

He thought I’d made it with Mary! What the hell made him believe that? Probably those “ohs” and “yeahs” I gave while in Mary’s painful embrace.

I forgot forswearing “coming out” and all that crap and blurted what was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue. “I-I, uh, could help you if you’re suffering that much.

“You’d do that for me even—you know—even though you made it with Mary?”

“Hey, man, what are roomies for? Gotta take care of one another.” Brave words, but my insides were fluttering around like crazy.

“You sure, Ram?”

Not about to let this opportunity get away, I reached over and touched him where it counted.

He leaned back in the seat and breathed an “ahhhh.”

I told my fingers to play it cool, but they jerked at his belt so hard, he finally pushed my hands away and freed himself. My dreams were fulfilled when he was exposed to my eyes. Rigid, rampant, and ready.

I stroked him for awhile bringing little moans and groans out of him, but before long I lost control and did what I wanted. “East,” I said, “this is only for you.”

With that, I lowered my head and was rewarded with the biggest groan of the evening. He enjoyed my ministrations for a few minutes before speaking.

“R-Ram, uh, why don’t we go back to the room. We—oh, man, that felt good—we can get naked and go to bed.”

I came up like a shot. “Deal.”

I had to keep telling him to slow down on the race back to the dorm. Not that I wasn’t in a hurry, but I damned sure didn’t want a cop to stop us. Writing a ticket and suffering his lecture would’ve cost too much time.

And when the door to our dorm room closed behind me, Carlton Easton Eaves stripped me naked and inspected every inch of my body before shoving me down on the bed. Then he and rode me like the rodeo champ he was.


I get the feeling that Ram’s “coming out” was finally successful. What do you think?

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog:



X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.



 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

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