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| Part 2 by Castgimp |
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| It was a cold, rainy, dreary June day in Vermont. I sat at my desk lookingout at the puddles and the driving wet wind and thought to myself that thisreally was a miserable place to live. I had been here for four years,enjoying the "quality of life" and the low salary that go hand in hand innorthern New England. I needed a better climate. I needed a bigger city. Ineeded more money. And let's face it, I needed to get laid, and that wasn'tgoing to happen in Vermont. I couldn't get the dream of Evan out of myhead. It had been one of those dreams that had seemed so real it was hardto dismiss as simply a dream. Evan's body in the car seat next to me,wracked with the pain of a violently crushed ankle, had been so palpable, sohighly charged, so fucking hot, that I simply couldn't clear the image frommy head. Needless to say it was not shaping up to be a productive day atwork. I considered leaving, feigning sudden illness, and simply returningto my bed, where I might be able to conjure the dream again. In the end Idecided against it, unwilling to face the disappointment that would surelycome when I found myself laying awake in bed in the middle of the day,unable to sleep, unable to return to my dream about Evan and his beautifulbroken ankle. My next plan was to hit the men's room and jerk-off again,hopefully taking the edge off my seemingly unyielding and incrediblydistracting erection, and at the same time clearing my head of Evan. Idecided against that as well, remembering that the last time I jerked off atwork I was nearly caught by a co-worker relieving himself in the next stall,and also rationalizing saving my next ejaculation for evening and theprivacy of my own home where I could spend the time to properly build afull-blown Evan fantasy that would put me over the top. I slugged my way through the day, trying to clear my in-box, return mye-mail, respond to the unending stream of voice-mail, and write a reportthat I had been putting off for weeks. I rewarded myself every time Icompleted a task by allowing a brief visit to one of my book-markedweb-sites, toggling between word-processing and carefully selected images ofyoung men in various stages of undress. My collection of favorite sites ranmostly toward feet and ankles and socks, with some other specialized subjectmatter thrown in, including some on-line sports pages that had weeklyathlete injury updates. I worked with my door shut, and was able to shiftpretty quickly from pornography to spread-sheets when I had a knock on mydoor, but riding the edge of nearly being caught with naked feet and erectpenises on my computer screen gave me an edgy hyper-awareness that actuallyhelped me focus and be productive, despite my scattered consciousness. Ibasically liked working hard, which is to say, I enjoyed my work, enjoyedbeing busy and working a lot, and also enjoyed literally working hard, witha rock in my pants. I found the toggle technique, a little writing, alittle sexual imagery, a little e-mail, a few alluringly arched male feet, afew returned phone calls, and a few choice AP photos of football playerslimping off the field, kept me going, and generally worked to help me getthe job done. I was about to call it a day and leave a little bit early, rewarding myselffor a productive day under adverse circumstances, when my phone rang onemore time. It was my secretary. "It's an Evan on the phone for you Pete. He sounds like a student. Hewouldn't say what it was about." My mouth suddenly went dry, and my heartraced. "Thanks Marnie. I'll take it." My semi-swollen cock suddenly lurched toattention, rigid and bent and rough against my underwear. "Evan?" "Pete, hi. I'm sorry to bother you at work. I was just wondering if Icould hitch a ride home today, I mean if it's not too much trouble. My ridefell through, and it's pouring out there. I thought, you know, if it's nottoo inconvenient . . ." "Hey, I'm glad you called. I've been wondering how you were making out.Sure, no problem. I told you to call. When do you want to go?" I wasgrinning uncontrollably, and palming my hard cock through my dress slacks. "Whenever it's good for you. I don't want to be a pain. I can go anytime.I'm ready now, but I can hang out here and go whenever you're ready." "Actually now is good. I was thinking of packing it in a little early todayanyhow. Where do you work? I'll swing by." "I work in the biology lab, in Arnold Hall, over on East Campus. I couldmeet you on main campus if you want." "Don't be ridiculous. It's wet out there. I'll pick you up outside ofArnold in about fifteen minutes." "That would be great, Pete. I really appreciate it." "See you in a few." I was jazzed. I was pumped. I was hard as a rock andsmiling ear to ear. "See," I thought to myself, "If you conjure it, it cancome true." I quickly gathered up my belongings and stuffed them into mybriefcase. I had no idea what I was going to do with Evan once I got him inmy car, but I certainly was not going to let him get away this time withoutat least exploring him a little further. As I pulled up in front of Arnold Hall, Evan was up on the porch of thebuilding, trying to stay out of the rain, leaning on his crutches, hisinjured ankle held carefully up off the wet ground. I honked, and he swunghis head around in my direction smiling. It was pouring rain at thisparticular moment. Evan moved carefully down the wet stone steps,maneuvering his crutches and his uninjured foot to carry himself skillfullyover the slippery marble. He moved slowly, but deliberately, and with anunmistakable grace. I could see that he was getting soaked, and I suddenlyrealized that I should have gotten out of the car and tried to at leastoffer him the shelter of an umbrella, but it was too late. By the time hemade it all the way down the sidewalk to the car he really was drenched. Iflung the door open towards him. "Hop in, hop in, man. Get out of the rain." I was trying to sound jaunty,friendly, less predatory than I feared I had come across last time I gavehim a lift. "Oh shit man I am soaked! This weather fucking sucks. I'm afraid I'mgetting your car all wet Pete." He was clambering in, dripping wet, hishair stuck in dark ringlets around his face. He shook his head, almost likea dog, to free himself of some of the water that was clinging to him. "Don't worry about it. You can't do anything to hurt this old car. I'msorry, I don't even have a towel. I should have brought you an umbrella." "I'm all right. I'm not gonna' melt." There was that cast again, and those beautiful toes sticking out from theend of it, sitting on the floor of my car once again. "Pay full attentionto the road," I silently instructed myself. "I really appreciate the lift, Pete." "No problem. Let's get you home and into some dry clothes." We chatted amiably, about nothing in particular. I learned he was workingas a research assistant in a biotechnology lab for the summer, and that hehoped to go to medical school after he graduated from the University ofVermont. He said he was from Boston, but I knew it must be one of thewealthier suburbs, because his voice contained not a trace of that nasalBoston twang that could be so jarring. Sitting at the intersection of Pearl waiting to turn left, Evan suddenlygrabbed my arm and screamed "Jesus, Pete!" "What!?" I was startled and I looked around, adrenaline racing, to see whatthe problem was. "I'm sorry, it's nothing. I mean, I feel stupid. I just thought I saw thatcar coming toward us, and I thought he was . . . " "You thought he was going to hit us?" "Yeah, it's stupid, I know. He didn't come close. I'm sorry. It's alittle weird. I had . . . oh fuck, never mind." He looked away from me,staring out the passenger window, clearly embarrassed. I managed tonavigate the turn, and headed down town. "What is it Evan? What were you going to say?" "You'll think I'm crazy." He looked back in my direction, catching my eyesdirectly for the first time. "It's just that, well I had this dream lastnight. I was sitting in your car at that intersection, just like now, youwere giving me a ride home, and well, we got hit. I mean in my dreamanother car hit us right back there. It's stupid, I know." I was literally dumbstruck. "You had a dream about us . . . ?" I stammeredstupidly. "Yeah, it was nothing I guess. You know it was probably my brain justreplaying the ride you gave me last week. Anyhow there was this accident.And just now when we were at the corner where it happened, for a minute itfelt like I was back in the dream, like it was happening all over again,this time in real life. Pretty stupid, huh?" "No, not at all. I would have been freaked out too." I was freaked out.More than he could know. "What happened. . . ?" I ventured tentatively. Ihad to know. "I mean, in your dream, when we got hit, what happened?" To mycomplete amazement, Evan blushed. "What do you mean?" He was stammering now, clearly embarrassed. "I mean do you remember what happened, after we got hit?" I pushed forward,hoping against hope that he wouldn't suddenly close-up on me. "Do youremember any more of the dream?" Evan looked away again. "Not really," he said. "It was stupid. Ishouldn't have said anything." I was losing him. I took a deep breath. "Did you break your ankle? Imean, in the dream, when we got hit, did you, did you get hurt? Did yourankle get broken again?" My heart was pounding like it was going toexplode. Evan whipped his head around and looked at me with an almost frightened lookon his face. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "It did. It got fucking crushed.When I woke up, my ankle was really hurting. I was sleeping in a funnyposition. I think that's why I dreamed I broke my ankle again. But how didyou, I mean, why did you ask me that?" "Evan, you're going to think I'm crazy, or that I'm making this up, but Ihad the same fucking dream last night." I was sweating now, and feelingclammy. I was so freaked out my non-stop dick had finally deflated for thefirst time all day, and lay limp and shriveled in my pants. "I swear to godI had the same dream last night. In fact it's been bugging me all day. Ihaven't been able to get it out of my mind. I have this image of youstrapped into the seat next to me in this car, screaming in pain about yourankle, and it just kept replaying itself all day. And then when you calledme for a ride . . ." "You're shitting me . . ." I could tell Evan was freaked out too. "That'stoo fucking weird. What happened in your dream, I mean, after the crash,what happened?" My mouth was completely dry. There was no saliva at all. I hesitated. Hadwe literally had the exact same dream? I fumbled, unsure of myself. "Well,basically, I woke up." "You woke up?" "Yeah, basically. I mean, there were car horns, which turned out to be myalarm clock, and I woke up. What about you? What happened in your dream?" Evan looked me straight in the eye for the second time in our short ridetogether. "Basically, the same thing. I mean I remember the crash, and theterrible pain in my ankle, and then you tried to help me, and then I wokeup." "I tried to help you?" Did he really dream the same thing? Did he dream Iplunged my face into his crotch? Was he hard when he woke up? "Yeah, basically," he looked away again. "I guess I don't remember verywell." I was losing him again. I figured I had nothing to lose at this point, so I forged ahead,recklessly. Besides, we were almost at his apartment, and if I was going tobe able to make anything out of this it was now or never. "Evan?" "Yeah?" "Can I ask you something personal?" He hesitated. "Sure." "Was this dream, I mean, this is maybe going to sound weird, but you knowhow dreams can be confusing, and sort of jumbled." I was losing courage. Ididn't think I could say what I wanted to say. I stalled. "Was this dreamvery real to you? Unusually real, like you could still see it and touch itand feel it when you woke up?" "Yeah. It was." "Was it . . . you're going to think I'm crazy, but, well, was it sexual foryou? Did you wake-up hard?" There was a long silence. "Well you really fucked that one up," I though tomyself. Finally, looking away, out the passenger seat window, and in a verysoft voice, Evan responded. "Yeah. I don't know why, but it was really hot. When I woke up I thought Iwas going to fucking explode." My cock immediately returned to it's erectstate, poking up toward the steering wheel. "How about for you?" I turned to look at him, and he was looking at me, sort of soulful and sad,and scared. "Yeah, me too. It was very sexual." I wanted to reach over andput my hand on his thigh, but he turned away again, and looked out thewindow. He was silent. "Listen, Evan," I hesitated. "If you want to talk about it. . ." "No, it's cool." And that was it. We drove on in silence. Finally Ipulled up in front of his building. The rain had let up a little bit, butit was still coming down. I brought the car to a stop at the curb andturned off the motor. I didn't say anything. Evan didn't move. This wasthe moment I needed to find the right thing to say, or it would be all over.I couldn't just let this opportunity pass me by. It was too rare a chance.There had to be something to this. Evan and I were incredibly tuned to thesame wavelength. I knew this might be a new thought for him, and I didn'twant to freak him out. I sat in silence, not wanting to say the wrongthing. Incredibly, he made the first move. "You want to come up for a beeror something?" Now I knew for sure that I was in love. Lust and destinywere coming together in the front seat of my car and this handsome injuredathlete had just asked me up to his apartment for a drink. I must be doingsomething right, I thought. "Sure. I'd like that very much." |
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