Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2008 14:26:27 -0800 (PST)
From: erik ritler <erikritler@yahoo.com>
Subject: space ship boys, chapter 3 - The Sneak

This chapter was actually quite fun to write, and for the first time I see
things coming into place that will propel the story forward in the future,
although the direction of things will depend greatly on reader feedback,
which is a nice option with serialized fiction. Please feel free to email
me at erikritler@yahoo.com with comments or suggestions -- I'll always
respond to feedback. And I have to thank a recent reader for reminding me
that flannel can be kind of sexy. Their comments resulted in a reworking of
sections of this chapter, and the end result is far better than the
original draft.

As always, for those seeking a quicker and more arousing read, I header the
sex scenes with the phrase `xes' -- just use the find function in your
browser if you get tired of my admittedly lengthy plot. For those who turn
to erotic fiction for a good story, I hope things are shaping up in an
interesting manner. Devon has a lot in store for him, some of it sexy and
some of it scary.

To briefly recap the story so far, our main character, Devon, is a 17-1/2
year old college kid who finds himself on a space ship after the total
destruction of the earth. The ship, part of a huge fleet of ships designed
to help humanity survive when the end of the world came, is on a nineteen
year voyage to a new home planet. This particular ship is comprised of a
slightly odd demographic. Having been located at a boy's college in a low
population town, it's only at about 50% capacity, and the mass majority of
the passengers are college-age guys. At least Devon has his two best
friends, Reid and Patrick, with him, and most his other flatmates are good
guys too.

Being a bored and generally horny kid, one afternoon Devon spies on two
acquaintance friends, Sean and Dog, who he suspects have been sneaking off
to smoke out. He's shocked when he witnesses them mutually masturbating,
and it brings up a lot of difficult questions for Devon. He had a
girlfriend on Earth, although he's also always been curious about guys, and
he wonders if his choice over the next two decades is celibacy or
homosexuality. As part of his job he can get into to the emergency access
tunnels, and he spends the next couple of weeks trying to secretly figure
out what other guys on the ship are up to. He doesn't witness any coupling,
but he does spy on the cute and twinkish Mike jerking off in his room, and
later witnesses the buff and terse Chris violently masturbating in the
shower late at night. Each time Devon gets aroused, and he determines to
explore this new found lust although he suspects it may be a little risky
to continue spying on people.

And that brings us up to chapter three. Enjoy!



Space Ship Boys

Chapter 3 -- The Sneak


i

The more time we spend on the ship, the more things settle into a daily
routine and seem `normal'. After my experience in the bathroom watching
Chris, I decided to lay off the spying, at least for now. I don't know, it
feels kind of weird to be sneaking through the emergency access tunnels
trying to find guys jerking off. At first I did it because I had
unintentionally caught Sean and Dog making out, so it was exciting to think
I could stumble on another free show, but now it makes me feel kind of like
some dirty pervert recluse.

I was dreading work on Thursday because the adrenaline rush from spying on
Chris didn't wear off until 3 a.m., and we've been having early mornings
lately. The good news was that I labored out of bed that morning to see an
alert flashing on my clock informing me that all training was cancelled for
the day and we were to stay in our quarters. I promptly rolled over and
went back to sleep, getting up two hours later and discovering that we were
still confined to quarters.

Being confined to quarters isn't as bad as it sounds. Basically, we have to
stay in our subsection, which means the five dorm rooms, two living areas,
and bathroom in our flat. Between the 24 guys in my subsection it's really
plenty of space, and days we're confined to quarters are kind of like rainy
days on earth. Mostly we watch movies, play games and goof off. It's not
bad if it doesn't drag on too long.

Usually we're on lockdown because of some minor problem with the ship's
systems; the crew just wants everyone in one place while they fix whatever
is broken. Early on we'd end up being confined for days on end, and that
drove us all a little stir crazy, but now the lockdowns are a welcome
break. The bad news this time was that we were confined while the engineers
tried to fix a malfunction in the ship's environmental systems. For some
reason, the ship had raised temperatures by 20 degrees in all sections, and
by noon it was about 93 degrees Fahrenheit in the dorms.

At first everyone was horsing around and in a generally good mood (no work
today!), but eventually it was just way too stifling and we all started
sweating through our clothes. The next half hour was spent lounging
listlessly in the main living room and sharing our general opinions about
the suckiness of the temperature. My roommate Nick emerged from the bedroom
in a terrycloth towel and announced he was going to go cool off in the
shower, which led to some jeering from our other roommate Jacob concerning
what other activities Nick might be planning in the bathroom in the middle
of the day. Nick, Jacob, Reid, Patrick and I shared `C' room in our
subsection. Nick and Jacob were more or less best friends, so the
good-natured ribbing was returned with an equally good-natured sneer and
display of Nick's middle finger.

If Nick did jerk off in the shower he must have done it quickly, because he
returned about three minutes later in boxers and informed us that the water
was at least as hot as the air temperature. He collapsed in an empty spot
on one of the three couches and joined the other eight miserably hot guys
in the room. Patrick eventually suggested that we watch a movie, which Nick
and Reid seconded. He shuffled off to search through his vids to find
something appropriate to the situation, which I assumed would be sci-fi
(he's a pretty huge nerd) and secretly hoped would be set in Antarctica or
similarly cool clime. While he was away, Chris and Peter emerged from their
room at the far end of the section. Chris, who usually wore nothing but his
underwear around the house, was dressed in his trademark white boxer briefs
with the royal-blue waist band, looking all buff and serious. He was
glistening with sweat, which I took to mean the bedrooms were no cooler
than the living room. I coul
 dn't help but smile a little at the memory of what was hidden behind the
prominent bulge in his shorts (I had spied on him jerking off rather
violently the night before), and noted that being sweaty made Chris' six
pack abs and muscular chest look even bigger.

Chris plopped down in an empty chair with an audible grunt. We usually
griped if he sat around the main areas in undies -- not that we cared that
he was always half-naked, but who wants his junk all over the community
couches? He seemed pissy, though, so no one picked a fight today. In his
usually generally irritated tone, Chris asks the room, "Do you mind if we
watch these in here?" Peter held up a couple of vid cartridges. "Beck and
Charlie are playing with their fucking electronica shit and I can't take
any more." Peter nodded in agreement. Beck was a huge audiophile and would
spend hours on his computer messing around. I think he's gotten Charlie
into it too, and they'd been playing moderately loud butt beat music for a
couple of weeks now. Mostly everyone in that room got along, but the heat
was probably pushing their patience.

"What is it?" Reid asked dully, as if bored by his own question. I was a
little curious, but the heat had zapped all my energy. You kind of wanted
something to do because it was really boring in here, but somehow the
energy to find something to do was escaping everyone. I was currently more
interested in noticing that the sweat marks under the arms on my t-shirt
were about to connect with the sweat mark running down the front. Gross.

Peter shuffled the cartridges in his hand, examining the cover of each, as
if he needed to remind himself which movies he brought in here. "Uh, `Bring
It On Home' parts one through five and `The Grid', but we can watch
whatever."

`Bring It On Home' was a really popular series of movies about different
sports. Part one was Football, part two American Football. I don't remember
what part three was about, but I know people hated it. `The Grid' was also
about football, and I had a feeling most of Chris' movie collection ran in
this vein. I mean, they were all pretty good movies -- loud, fast and
pretty cool, so I was fine with their choices. I didn't say anything,
though, and chose instead to pull the front of my shirt away from my body,
letting it slightly cool in the muggy air before dropping it back against
my chest with a wet smacking sound.

Reid mumbled something under his breath, probably `cool' or `ok', but then
he looked over to Milo and Diego from `E' room, who were sitting on the
couch opposite us. They had been there first, and although no one was
watching the tv he probably wanted their agreement before letting Chris and
Peter take over the room. Diego was splayed out in his spot staring at the
ceiling, a bead of sweat lying at the end of his round nose. Milo sat
hunched forward in his seat with his hands folded between his knees,
staring at the blank tv screen as if something incredibly boring was
playing. His long brown hair looked completely soaked, as if he'd just
stepped out of the shower, although I knew it was all sweat. Neither seemed
to pick up on the fact that Reid was deferring judgment on the movie
selection to them so Peter pivoted on his hip and held the vid cartridges
more in their direction, clicking them together like a pair of castanets.

Diego didn't seem to pick up on this signal, but Milo popped back to
reality. "Yeah, that would be ok," he stated. No one was overly
enthusiastic, but I think it was more a heat malaise and indifference than
an objection to the material. I nodded in agreement, figuring I might as
well add my two cents.

Peter took this as consent on their choice in films, and slid a cartridge
into the television. The film, being a bit overly dramatic, began with a
sweeping orchestral piece heavily featuring trumpets. This prompted Grant
and Arlo to come out of their room. They were in `D', which was mostly
older guys (I think they were all juniors and seniors), and we didn't hang
out with them that often, but they were ok. They took the last two seats on
the couches, looking slightly relieved to have something to do to pass the
boredom of being shut indoors in the heat.

About two minutes into the movie (which began with a low, grumbly monologue
about honor and strength and tradition), Patrick emerged from our room with
about thirty vid cartridges in his arms. No one paid much attention to him,
so I was the only one to watch the short but amusing comedy that
proceeded. Patrick first noticed that his seat was now taken, which was
immediately followed by him noticing that we were all watching something
already despite the fact that he had been in his room putting together what
appeared to be a comprehensive choice of films. He looked awkwardly down at
the pile of movies in his arms, then at the screen, which was flashing
`Bring It On Home' in huge gold titles. He pursed his lips and kind of
rolled his eyes -- there was no way Patrick would ever, ever suggest a
football movie. His tastes ran to the slightly more cerebral. I smiled at
him, everyone else's attention on the screen, and he smiled back, taking my
amusement to be commiseration over the
  television being taken over before he could pick a movie, which it kind
of was.

On a normal day he might have gone off to do his own thing in a situation
like this, but I think it was just too hot. He dumped all his cartridges on
the shelf next to the tv, lowered the lights in the room to a more
appropriate movie viewing level, and plopped on the floor in front of Reid,
resigning himself to watch the movie even if it wasn't his first (or even
fiftieth) choice.

About twenty minutes into the movie Reid leaned forward in his seat and
peeled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt. About half the guys were already down
to their underwear, and I guess he decided topless was preferable to
wearing a wet, stinky sheet of cotton. I have to admit I'm a little jealous
of Reid's body. He has a nice tan, and a build that's muscular, but not
overly so, and the only hair on his upper body is a dusting of fine blonde
fuzz. What I'm most jealous of, though, is his abs. His tan stomach is flat
and hard with abs that aren't entirely a six pack, but have a great molded
shape to them, and his obliques run down the sides of his stomach in a
well-defined `v' shape that points seductively towards the bulge in his
shorts. I've seen Reid half naked a lot before, so I don't need to strain
my eyes too badly in the dim light of the room to check him out, but I do
take advantage of this opportunity to watch out of the corner of my eyes as
his stomach, glistening with swea
 t, slowly rises and falls with each breath. He's wearing navy shorts,
which sit low on his hips and highlight the contrast between the material
and his brown skin.

Then I remember my resolution to be less flesh-obsessed and go back to
watching the film. A couple minutes after Reid takes his shirt off, though,
I follow suit, as do Milo and Diego, Diego trying to toss his down the hall
and into the open door of his room. He misses, and the shirt lands against
a wall with an audible splat.

The heat doesn't let up all day, and no one is motivated to do anything
productive. We manage to make it through `Bring It On Home' parts one and
two, skip three in lieu of part four, then consider moving on to five when
Milo recommends something a little less sports-involved. Patrick perks up
at this, probably hopeful that with some support from Reid and me he can
convince the guys to go for one of his films, but before he can suggest
anything Arlo mentions a popular action film called `Bridge 27' and the
guys opt for that. Patrick disappears sometime during the middle of the
movie, having probably had his fill of testosterone-charged movies for the
day. `Bridge 27' is actually pretty long -- the director apparently unable
to tell the story of the ill-fated span in under a hundred and fifty
minutes.

About halfway through the movie our set clicks over to channel one where
ship-wide announcements are made. A rather violent machine-gun battle on
bridge 27 is instantly replaced with the face of Captain James Bianchi --
the skipper of our little space boat. The guys in the room perk up.

"Good afternoon," the authoritative gravelly voice of our fifty-something
captain began, "As you have no doubt noticed, a malfunction in the ship's
atmospheric systems have caused the temperature to rise to, how shall we
say, uncomfortable levels." Chris snorted audibly at this, running his hand
down his sweat-soaked torso. He flicks his wet hand towards Peter, the
sweat flinging into the air and onto Peter's chest. Peter squeals in
protest and punches Chris in the arm, which results in some good-natured
wrestling between the two for the rest of Captain Bianchi's
announcement. On the tv, the captain looks hot and flustered in his
uniform, which I take to indicate that it's no less cool in the command
center. "I'm happy to report that the problem has been isolated and repairs
are underway, although we do not expect to see a return to normal
performance until well past midnight." Groans all around.

"However, it should be noted that the unusually high temperatures are the
only issue currently. The atmosphere is at optimum levels, and carbon
dioxide scrubbing is working perfectly. Also, I should point out that the
livestock and plant life onboard is in no way threatened." I thought about
the farm I had visited the day before -- the stalks of wheat just starting
to thrive, and I was glad to hear that the plants on board would be
unaffected. The faster we got the farms up and running, the faster we could
stop eating the terrible rations we'd been putting up with for months. "Due
to the problems we've experienced today and the surliness I'm sure will be
the result of locking you all in quarters in this heat, we are suspending
all training classes tomorrow, as well as all non-essential work
assignments." A cheer rises from the room, with the exception of Chris, who
swore under his breath. I assumed that meant he had an essential work
assignment the following morning.

Captain Bianchi went on to explain a little more about the problem and work
schedule for the following day, then just as he was getting boring and we
were all tuning him out, he made his biggest announcement of the
evening. "As I'm sure you are all aware, June 13th, which is this Sunday,
will mark our 100th day in space. Heat waves aside, I think you will all
agree that our launch and the subsequent onset of our voyage has been
successful, and an important first step in the preservation of our
race. You have all risen to the challenges of the day, and I believe a
party is in order." At this, everyone perked up for a second time. We had
been expecting one of Captain Bianchi's patented `for the good of humanity'
speeches, but he rarely talked about throwing parties.

"This Sunday night, please join me and the entire crew in the Rear
Observation Deck for the first of what I hope to be many ship-wide
celebrations. Details will be posted by net tomorrow" We all sat in silence
for a second. "And I should point out, I'm bringing the booze." As with any
speech directed at college kids, ending on an announcement of free alcohol
had the desired effect, and cheers erupted from Chris, Milo and Peter, with
more muted exclamations emanating from throughout our flat. I think I even
heard a roar from the subsection next to us, which was unusual because the
walls were great at dampening sound. They must be pretty excited at the
prospect of free beer. Captain Bianchi tipped his hat and pressed a button
on his console, returning our television to the rancorous gunfire of the
movie. Most of the guys chatted amongst themselves throughout the rest of
the film and only paid it half attention, although as a group we endeavored
through to the very predictable a
 nd total destruction of Bridge 27.

As the final credits roll, there's a general agreement that the movie
marathon is over. Other than the occasional bathroom break, I've been
sitting in this same spot for over eight hours, and my body is sore and
annoyed at this; I feel like I'm cloudy-headed, achy and nauseous all at
once. I peel myself from the couch (literally peel, which is a little more
than nasty). Peter turns up the lights and everyone squints in the sudden
brightness. As my eyes adjust, I notice that we all look terrible -- sweaty
and red-eyed and tired. Well, except for Chris, who is still looking pretty
hot. He's completely sweated through his boxer briefs so that the outline
of his penis is visible, as well as the dark patch of his pubes. Being a
guy that walks around mostly naked, he doesn't really seem to care and
heads back to his room, groaning when he opens the door to be greeted by
the thump-thump-thumpa of Beck's music.

The rest of us lounge around a bit before the group breaks up by unanimous
unspoken consent. Reid, Nick, Jacob and I file back to C room. I notice
that Reid's sweat has soaked through the seat of his shorts and has made
two oval shaped dark spots on the butt of his shorts. Reaching around my
own rear, I find that the hours on the couch have left me in the same
state.

Entering our room, I immediately notice that it's, well, not exactly cool,
but cooler than the living room, which was still sweltering somewhere in
the mid-90's. Our room is at least ten degrees cooler. When you enter the
rooms, there are two padded benches to either side of the door that wrap
around the walls and form two symmetrical couch-like seating areas; Patrick
is lying on one reading one of his books.

"Wow, it feels better in here," Jacob points out, mirroring the sentiment I
was about to express.

Patrick looks up from his book, "I managed to get some airflow from the
emergency access tunnel," He points to the open hatch above the two bunks
on the rear wall of the room and we see that he's rigged a sort of
makeshift fan, "The air in there is still hot, but not as bad as the main
vents. It's down to 86 in here, which is still pretty warm, but a little
better."

"A little better?!" Nick exclaims, grabbing Jacob's shoulders from behind
and shaking him slightly. "It's like hella better. In fact, it's so much
colder in here I might just freeze my junk off!" At that he tugs the
waistband of his green boxers away from his body and fans his crotch with
his other hand, as if cooling his testicles. I've plopped down on the couch
opposite Patrick, though, so no good view into his shorts.

I notice that my wet shorts have been rubbing against my legs in an
annoying and uncomfortable manner, and I unbutton the waist and slide them
down over my knees. I'm wearing blue boxers this morning, and although they
are soaked with sweat and clinging to my skin, the material is dark enough
that they aren't providing a peep show of any sort. Reid apparently has the
same idea and shucks off his shorts, revealing that he's wearing a pair of
hip-hugging white briefs. The sides and rear are soaked and transparent,
but the front remains opaque around the fly. I've never seen Reid totally
naked, and although the shorts hide his package, their damp state does
offer a glimpse of his round, muscular butt. Overall, Reid is a really hot
guy, something I might not have noticed back on earth.

Jacob disrobes as well and flings himself onto his bunk. He's also opted
for a pair of white briefs, although they look too shiny to be cotton and
haven't become translucent like Reid's. I note that our room is 50/50
boxer/brief today, and I wonder if Patrick will drop trou to cast the
tie-breaking vote, but he's pretty absorbed in his book and fully dressed
in jeans, a t-shirt and socks. Maybe he has some nerdy scientific reason
for that. He's not visibly sweating at all, so whatever he's doing seems to
be working.

With everyone filing back to the room it almost feels like it's near
bedtime, but it's not even ten o'clock and it's WAY too warm to
sleep. After some deliberation, during which Jacob climbs up on the rear
top bunk to closer admire Patrick's ventilation rigging, we decide to play
cards for a while. Patrick opts out, which he often does on poker night,
usually choosing instead to read and make witty comments from across the
room. Nick pulls a collapsible table and two chairs from the storage space
above the bench where I'm seated and sets them up so the four of us can
play. Poker is a regular activity in our room, and despite the heat, we
soon find ourselves in our usual raucous card-playing manner. Reid gets a
straight, which somehow gets him talking about girls, and two hands later
Nick gets three jacks, which results in more lewd innuendo from Jacob. We
all laugh and continue playing as evening becomes night, forgetting for a
while that we're five uncomfortably sweaty guys
 floating though space at a bazillion miles per hour.

It would be nice to be able to say that this scene developed into something
else; that I was able to manipulate the situation into something sexual,
but that's not how things went that night. Sure, we were all soaking wet,
naked and bored, and I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in Sean
and Dog's bunk right now (you will recall that I caught those two in some
really naughty mutual masturbation three weeks back). But I wasn't brave
enough to start anything, and besides, Reid and Patrick are my best
friends, and I don't think lack of sex was a good enough reason to
proposition them (yet). Not that Reid wasn't completely hot, and Nick was
about as good looking. Jacob was hot in his own dorky way, and hell, even
Patrick was somewhat steamy. Ok, so we were all hot. Five hot and horny
guys. I'd love to get off with any of them, but they're my friends so I
don't think I'll try anything like that (yet).

But I did take advantage of the poker game to check them out. Ok, ok, so I
know I said I was going to stop the voyeurism, but this was a rare
opportunity. We usually wore clothes during poker, and sitting around the
table in our underwear gave me an excuse to get a good look at each guy.

Reid, as we've discussed, is probably the hottest guy in the room. He's
your All-American athletic boy, dusty blonde hair and a killer muscular
torso. I've spent hundreds of hours in the gym with him, and I can tell you
I have nowhere near the definition this guy has. He has a killer smile too,
which is a little crooked and very white. Sometimes I find myself staring
and wondering if his nose isn't a little more crooked than it used to be. I
punched him pretty hard on launch day, and although it's been three months
he still has a slight bruise on his cheekbone.

Patrick is quite different, and from my descriptions of him you probably
think he's a fat nerdy type. He's not, though. When he's not fully clothed
(as he is now), he has a medium frame with a compact, muscular body. He's
not what I'd call buff, but he does well enough in the gym. He's darker
than the rest of us, though; dark skin, black hair, and piercing dark eyes
with bushy black eyebrows, all of which I assume he gets from the Dellano
side of his family. He's also fuzzier than anyone else in the room, with
thick dark hair on his legs and a medium spray of black hair across the
chest. I envy his skin, which I assume never gets sunburned. He has an
intense and intelligent look, but you can also instantly tell he's a nice
guy.

Jacob Hirsch and Nick Laskaway were guys we'd heard of at school, but
neither Patrick, Reid nor I had been directly introduced to either of
them. They were roomed with us at random -- the rooms had six regular sized
bunks with room for two smaller ones, but the permanent crew said we were
under capacity enough so they only had to put four or five per room. My
friend Lee had a class with Nick, though, and told me he was ok. We didn't
spend a ton of time outside the dorms with Jacob and Nick, but they were
cool and we'd all become pretty good friends.

Jacob, like me, had placed at JDU younger than most guys, so he was also
seventeen when we launched, although he'd celebrated a birthday shortly
after. He has a face I'd call cute -- not handsome, but cute, slightly
babyish. I think he compensates for his age and look by brushing his
medium-length dark brown hair straight back, which does make him look a
little (but not a lot) older. One of the things I notice tonight in the
poker game is that his body seems a little `droopy'. He's tall, lanky and
doesn't look like he has much fat on him at all, but everything on him
points in a general downward direction. He has some definition, largely in
his pecs and arms, but his chest looks long, with his red nipples sitting
at the very bottom of this pectorals. His stomach, again not fat at all,
also slopes down and into a round pile of muscle around his navel. His
hands and feet seem really large compared to his long, thin arms, and even
they add to his unique shape. What I notice tonig
 ht, having an opportunity to view Jacob in his undies, is that the outline
of his penis droops in his white shorts. It's clearly somewhat long, since
you can tell the head sits low and in front of his testicles. Remembering
that Sean and Dog taught me that there is a wider array of penises out
there than I had previously imagined, I couldn't help but wonder what the
slightly-dorky-yet-cute Jacob would look like nude and erect.

If I had my choice, though, I might have to choose Nick over Jacob. No, I
would definitely have to. Nick didn't have anywhere near the physique of
Reid, but he made up for it with a beautiful face. I like people's eyes,
and Nick has amazing hazel eyes that are expressive and soft. He also has
the best hair in the room, which he keeps a medium length so it just begins
to flop into his eyes. It's always so shiny and perfect looking -- it's
pretty much the same dark brown that my natural color is, but if my hair
had the texture of Nick's I don't think I'd need to dye it with highlights.

I'm envious of Nick's body as well. He has good muscle tone, but one of the
things I notice tonight is that his body has very rounded edges -- round
shoulders, a round nose, even his long fingers seem slightly rounded. It
gives him a soft looking quality that makes me think he'd be fun to snuggle
with, and that's when I realize he reminds me a little of Allie in that
respect. Nick's physique is not toned like Chris or Reid, but he's
definitely not fat. I wouldn't call him thin either. He's tall and of
average muscle, with a track of light brown hair that runs up his stomach
and makes a t-shape across his broad chest. Nick wears boxers a lot, so you
never see a well-defined bulge, but I have to admit that one morning I was
dozing in my bunk when he got up, and I happened to catch a glimpse of what
looked to be a very impressive tent in his shorts. If I have to put my
money on biggest boner in the room, I'd put ten on Nick, and he's really a
nice guy so I feel he deserves a huge
  cock.

Speaking of boners, I start to get a little chubby thinking about my
roommates, so I cross my legs to prevent further blood flow to my groin. It
works, and no one seems to notice my slightly enlarged penis, so the game
goes on into the night. Around two a.m. there's a perceptible dimming of
the lights and we can hear the fans throughout the subsection engage. Cool
air starts pouring into the room from over the main entryway as an audible
cheer rises from throughout the section. "Oh thank god!" Nick exclaims,
pounding his head lightly against the table and inadvertently showing
everyone his hand. He should have folded -- it sucks.

"I don't know, maybe we should keep the thermostat at ninety degrees from
now on, it was kind of a fun day," Jacob quips.

Reid looks at him sarcastically from the corner of his eyes. "Yeah," I
reply, "except that I spent the whole day almost throwing up, and I've gone
through like three-hundred ounces of water while only pissing twice."
Patrick chuckles from behind his book.

"I think most of those three-hundred ounces ended up in the couch, along
with several gallons from everyone else," he points out. I give a guilty
half smile in agreement, and Reid breaks out laughing.

"Dude, that's so GROSS!" Reid laughs.

"But probably true," I reply, "And as if you haven't been sweating
profusely from your butt cheeks all afternoon."

He's still laughing, somehow finding this line of conversation funnier than
it really is. The room is rapidly cooling, and I think his hysterics are
largely due to heat exhaustion, but they're infectious and Nick and I begin
laughing too. We spend the next ten minutes in fits of giggles trying to
find new and more offensive ways to express how much we've been sweating
today, which puts a stop to the poker game. Once we calm down a little
(which happens after two full rounds of outright laughter), we realize that
we're all totally exhausted, and we clean things up for bed.

Climbing into my bunk -- the top one on the right side of the room, I
realize that I'm completely tired, but not sleepy. Once the four card
players manage to calm down and get all tucked in we say our goodnights,
then Patrick reluctantly stows his book and goes to bed. He's the only one
who bothers to change -- we were all almost naked already anyway. I
consider that maybe I should go rinse off so my sheets don't stink
tomorrow, but I'm too tired and promise myself to do laundry the following
morning. For a while the room is filled with the normal nighttime shuffling
noises of guys moving around, then slowly everything gets quieter and
quieter. Reid, as per usual, is asleep in about twenty seconds, his
breathing reduced to a strong, slow rhythm. Shortly thereafter everyone
else seems asleep, but I just lie there wide awake for a while. Maybe it's
because I slept in that morning or maybe from being so hot all day, but I
am not a bit tired.

Sometimes when I lie awake in the dark, I can't help but think of the
fourteen hours I spent in the launch capsule in those final hours on earth.


ii

As I told you before, we had evacuated to our local escape ship -- one of
thousands built to help humanity survive if and when the end came. Reid,
Patrick and I had made it to the disembarking station and watched as one by
one, our friends and neighbors climbed into the individual launch
capsules. After fighting Reid and forcing him onto the claustrophobic
chamber (you will recall that he totally freaked out and I had to deck him,
breaking two of my fingers in the process), I took my turn and climbed into
the tiny capsule. I also freaked out when it shot me down the long, dark
track towards my fate. In addition to being a scary place, the capsule was
designed to scan you and determine if you got to go with the ship or if you
had to stay behind, in which case we assumed it either euthanized you or
left you to die deep in the earth.

The capsule drugged me when I started to freak, and I fell asleep. When I
woke up, it drugged me again, and I slept some more. The third time I
stayed awake, stuck in this horrible coffin-like capsule. You'd think I
would have spent that time thinking about my parents or my girlfriend
Allie, but mostly as I laid there in the dark all I could think about was
the ultimate cause of all of this -- the escape ships, the DENON project,
all of it.

The end of the earth began back in 2070, a long time before I was born, and
even before my grandparents were born. It's a sad story, really. Mankind
had made it through the social turmoil of the 19th century, the political
turmoil of the 20th and the scientific turmoil of the 21st to emerge
masters of their world. They figured out how to manage the planet while
managing to get along with each other, perhaps the greatest human
achievement. There was no more war and no more hunger, and it was a time of
great advancement and achievement.

MALSNERD was part of this achievement -- a manmade singularity held stable
in a gigantic magnetic field created on an orbiting platform, basically a
human-controlled black hole in a space station. Well, a black hole is
usually an enormous singularity; Malsnerd was designed to create a tiny,
tiny black hole (tiny in black hole terms). It was completely safe and had
the potential to change everything. If the project worked, we'd have
unlimited energy, unlimited resources, unlimited everything.

The singularity was created successfully, and worked as expected for a
couple of years. Then something went wrong and the project went red. There
was a contingency plan, of course, and the orbiting containment platform
was launched into deep space. Just shoot the thing away from you at light
speed and wipe your hands of the failed project.

The problem is, as the station gathered speed and was shot around the sun,
something happened and the singularity grew more instable. The immense
gravity of the sun connected with the field of the black hole, and in an
effect that should have taken a billion trillion times more energy than the
singularity could generate, the space station was pulled into the sun.

No one knew what this meant. About the time the sun's inferno sucked up
Malsnerd, there was rioting, a couple of small wars, and your normal `end
of the world' stuff. But nothing happened. The world watched and waited,
and still nothing happened. Scientists hypothesized that the heat, gravity
and nuclear reactions within the sun must have destroyed the singularity --
it was, after all, tiny in comparison to our primary star.

The world went back to normal, and things moved along fine for more than
two decades. Then the sun started doing funny stuff. Nothing major, just
little fluctuations in its behavior. Probes were sent, measurements taken,
and eventually even a manned mission was sent to get as close as possible
and make observations. It took another twenty years to figure out what was
going on, but eventually scientists made some disturbing conclusions.

The singularity, they determined, had survived the heat and pressure in the
sun just fine, working its way to the center of the star. There, it was
apparently `sucking up' matter from the star's core. In a phenomenon not
totally understood, it seemed to be slowly shrinking the sun's inner
core. Over time, the gravity holding the sun together would lessen, and
ultimately the star would no longer be able to contain the molten outer
material of its chromosphere. When the tipping point was reached, the outer
layers of the sun would rapidly expand, absorbing the first four planets of
the solar system within minutes. At some point, the scales would tip back
the other way and the gravitational pull of the inner core would suck back
the ejected material. The sun wouldn't explode -- it's far too small to go
nova, but it would expand a billion miles into space and contract again,
scorching everything it reached. After that, the sun might stabilize and
the solar system might return to no
 rmal, with the exception that Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars would be
incinerated, their atmospheres blown away into space and their surfaces
glowing red slag heaps.

There was panic again, but the scientific community explained that this
process could take decades -- maybe even hundreds of years, and calmer
heads prevailed. As you probably guessed, it was about this time in human
history that the Denon Project was born. Build a hundred thousand escape
ships and spread them all over the planet. Wait for the sun to get near its
tipping point, and everyone leaves for another habitable world. Goodbye
earth, hello new age of mankind. It's just my luck this all came to a head
just when I was finally getting out of puberty.

That's all I thought about in those fourteen hours before we launched, and
it's all I seem to think about on sleepless nights. In the capsule, I was
forced to dwell on the impending end of the world and how we got there, but
tonight I'm not under any such restraint. Rather than delve into the
nightmare that would eventually have me shaken awake in a cold sweat, I
decide to go for a walk. We don't have work tomorrow anyway.


iii

Sneaking quietly out of our room so as to not wake anyone, I figure I'll go
hang out in the living room until I get tired. The ship quickly brought
everything back down to 72 degrees once the environmental systems were
working, and while it's pleasant enough as far as temperature is concerned,
the room is somewhat rank with the rancid musk of the twelve guys that used
the room as a sauna all day. We may have to burn those couches.

The door to Beck's room is open and I can hear that he's still playing his
music, so I head down the hall to see what those guys are up to. `B room'
definitely stays up later than we do. I mean, we're usually up until
midnight or one a.m., but these guys seem like they never sleep. The rule
in the flat is that an open door is an open invitation, so I head right in.

Beck seems to be the only one at home, and as per usual he's glued to his
console listening to his music. Each room has a partitioned desk along the
rear wall under the two bunks there, and each desk has three stations. We
switch around in our room and no one `owns' a particular console, but Beck
has definitely staked a claim on his computer. He's painted it black
somehow and put stickers all over it -- these wild graffiti designs and
other cool stuff. He's kind of a graphic artist and into that. He nods at
me as I enter the room. "Hey, what's up?" he asks, not bothering to take
off his headphones. At least he has the courtesy to use those late at
night.

Beck is your typical metropolitan audiophile -- thin and pale with a laid
back attitude and a keen sense of sloppy style. His clothes all look a
little retro and a maybe also a little edgy. His long black hair is always
a little disheveled. Recently he put blonde highlights in, which I think
are cool. Well, I have blonde highlights in my own hair, so I guess I
would.

"Couldn't sleep," I respond.

"Ah. Hey, I found some killer new mips from one of the guys up in area
four. All stuff from the last half of the twenty-first, which we don't have
a lot of yet. Some of it's pretty geeky, but it's good for the collection."

Mips were the digitized music files we all used. The ship had a lot in its
databanks, but it wasn't a comprehensive collection. Since we launched,
Beck has made it his personal mission in life to gather together every
single song and movie on board and put it in a gigantic library
somewhere. I think he has something like 2.7 million files right now, but
he's always eager for more. Most of his free time is spent listening,
labeling, and sorting. He navigates through some directories on his desktop
and loads up a file. He turns up the volume a little and a seductive sultry
woman's voice fills the room; the sound is both electronica and bossa nova,
something I've come to learn (in spending hours listening to Beck's
lectures on music history) was very popular during the South American
renaissance in the late 21st century. I don't know what he means by
`geeky', this is actually a pretty sexy song.

"Oh Jesus Christ, does it never end?" a voice exclaims from the
doorway. It's Chris, griping about Beck's music again and back from
whatever late night trouble he's been in. He's with Peter and Bronwyn, his
usual gang, and they all seem visibly drunk. Peter begins dancing in the
center of the room, his footwork to a beat much faster and louder than the
song actually playing. Beck rolls his eyes, turns back to his computer
screen and reduces the volume to a barely audible level.

"D Man!" Bronwyn exclaims, slapping me on the back. When Chris, Peter and
Bronwyn get rowdy they start calling people by annoying monikers, mine
being `d-man'. They're ok guys, just your typical jock types. Into watching
sports, playing sports and talking sports, and always acting a little
overly masculine. Chris is your muscular silent type, Peter the goof-off
and Bronwyn the loud annoying one. Chris made them all work out all the
time, so they were all pretty buff, even though I suspected Peter spent a
fair amount of time in the gym goofing off based on the slight softness to
his build.

Peter tripped on a shirt that had been carelessly discarded on the floor
and collapsed in the nearest bunk laughing; Chris even cracked a smile and
was obviously trying to remain standing without falling over. They all
smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Hey, where'd you guys get liquor?" I ask. There was some on the ship, but
not a lot.

"Something I was saving for a special occasion. Sorry we didn't save any
for you, d-man." Peter slurred from the bunk.

"D-man!" Bronwyn mimicked Peter from behind me.

"It was Charlie's," Chris explained, "he scored two almost full bottles of
whiskey and tequila. We've been over in six drinking it."

Whiskey and tequila? I didn't envy the hangover that was going to
cause. Six was the flat next door, which was full of guys who were mostly
seniors at JDU. Chris' gang spent a lot of time over there. Charlie usually
didn't, but he always seemed to have easy access to alcohol somehow, which
explained why he was invited to hang with these guys tonight. Usually they
ignored him -- he was younger, and a pretty quiet guy. The fact that he'd
been drinking with Chris and hadn't come back with them worried me. Charlie
was seventeen -- one of the younger students at JDU, just like yours
truly. We had actually met at student orientation, which was only ten
months ago, although it seems like a lifetime and a half now. Charlie was
certainly capable of taking care of himself. However, he wasn't a mature
seventeen, and he'd seemed off lately. Drinking a lot, really quiet, that
sort of thing. Maybe this and the bond I felt with him being one of the
younger, former-freshman passengers was fuel
 ing a growing concern for his well-being.

"Where's Charlie?" I ask.

"Don't know," Peter mumbles, "he had like eight shots with us then wandered
off."

Bronwyn adds, "You know how c-man is," (his nicknaming system apparently
seeks brilliance in its simplicity), "he never stays to the end of the
party."

"I think he went up to twenty-four. He hangs there a lot." Twenty-four was
the section above ours, and was comprised of mostly empty dorms. The ship
was less than half full, but we couldn't spread out into every room until
we had the resources. For now, lots of floors are vacant.

Beck brings up the point that since Chris and company got drunk with
Charlie, they should go drag him home. Then a whole argument ensues in
which they say they're not his babysitter and it's not dangerous for him to
hang out in the empty dorms if he wants to. I point out that they didn't
really know for sure if that's where he went, and Beck and I outline at
least five horrible ways Charlie could die by stumbling into the wrong part
of the ship drunk. Sometime in the middle of this conversation Peter passes
out, and Bronwyn looks like he's well on his way. Chris just gets surlier
and more argumentative -- I have a feeling he can be a mean drunk. Tonight
he's mostly just being lazy, although I'm not overly appreciative when he
voices his disapproval at being asked to go find Charlie by throwing a
wadded up pair of dirty underwear in my face. Yuck.

Ultimately, Beck and I decide to be the responsible ones (or maybe the
others decided for us, it was hard to tell). We figure one of us should
stay with the three amigos and one should go find Charlie and make sure
he's ok. I get the feeling Beck doesn't really want to leave the flat, so I
volunteer and he graciously accepts his assignment of doing pretty much the
same thing he's doing now, just with the added duty of making sure Chris,
Peter and Bronwyn stay put until they sober up. Well, I couldn't sleep
anyway, so maybe a little hike would do me good.

So I take off towards area twenty-four to go look for stupid drunk
Charlie. I was a little annoyed at Chris' irresponsibility. The ship can be
a dangerous place if you're not careful, and even though Charlie was
technically an adult, he needed someone to watch out for him a little. He'd
completely fallen apart when we lost earth. I mean, he was pretty sure his
family was dead, and even if some made it to ships he probably wouldn't see
them for twenty years. It was hard on him, maybe more so than some of us
because I think he was really close to them. The more I thought about it,
the angrier I was at the situation.  I mean, if you're going to get smashed
on a spaceship, at least stick together. Charlie could wander into a
mechanical area and get hurt, or fall down a stairway, or whatever. I
didn't think it was really cool to abandon him like that, something I
resolved to talk to Chris about when he was more sober. I didn't care that
he had 40 lbs on me, I was going to have a w
 ord with him.

Although area twenty-four is directly above us, it takes me like fifteen
minutes to walk over there. The ship is pretty huge, and some of the
passageways are really confusing.  You often have to go in a big circle to
get access to other levels. I think it's designed that way for emergencies,
but sometimes it's a pain in the ass.

The floor is totally deserted when I get there. Being an unused level, the
lights are set at one-quarter intensity and it's always really cold. They
still heat it and pump air in, but it's always like sixty degrees in
here. Hmm, we should come down here next time there's a heat wave. The main
hallway is an exact duplicate of the one on our level, and there are about
seventeen subsections on this floor. That means eighty-five bedrooms,
thirty four living rooms and seventeen bathrooms to search, assuming he's
on this floor at all. God dammit, why the hell did I volunteer for this?

I figure the best bet is to assume if Charlie hangs out on this floor, he
may hang out in the bedroom that's the equivalent to his on the other
level. Maybe not, but I have to start somewhere. I try and visualize which
door would lead to this floor's equivalent of E 5C.  I pick a door, which
leads into the same floor plan in our flat, with the exception that this
room has some pretty nice furniture in here -- way better than our living
room. Who knew all the stuff wasn't the same ship-wide?  I make a mental
note to get Reid and Patrick down here to raid it.

This being the main living room, I skip down two doors and enter the
bedroom that would be mine if this was my flat. Dang, it really does look
like our dorm, down to the last detail. I half expect to see Reid, Patrick,
Nick and Jacob snoozing away, but the room is empty and has clearly never
been occupied by teenagers. There are no rowdy boy noises on this floor,
just the general low hum of the ship moving through space. It's a little
creepy, actually, like everyone on the ship has disappeared and left me
alone. I shiver, not sure if it's from the cold air in here or the scary
thought of being alone on the ship.

xes

I go over to Beck's room's doppelganger and peek inside. Sure enough,
there's stupid Charlie lying in the complete dark on what would be his bunk
upstairs. He seems to have just flopped down and passed out, maybe not even
aware he's on the wrong floor and it's freaking freezing in here. See, this
is why I'm pissed at Chris. Charlie would have probably just slept it off
down here, but it's cold enough he could get really sick, something he sure
doesn't need. The kid is in bad shape as it is.

I turn up the light to wake him up and am a bit shocked by his
appearance. Charlie is passed out on his back, shirtless with one arm
draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the side of the bed, an
empty tequila bottle lying on the floor below. He's bare-chested, so I'm
assuming he either thought this was his room and was getting ready for bed
or he meant to sleep here in the unoccupied dorms. He didn't quite finish
undressing, though, and it looks like he passed out about the time he got
his pants unzipped and pulled halfway down his thighs. This in itself isn't
that surprising, but what really grabs my attention is that he's wearing
what appear to be dark brown flannel boxers, only they aren't quite
`accomplishing their mission', so to speak. The fly has popped open, and
Charlie's pink flaccid dick is sticking out, lying at an upward angle
against the brown fabric of the shorts.

I stare at him a moment, then I get embarrassed and look away.  This is a
compromising position to find a guy in. I mean, if he were totally nude it
might be one thing, but something about the unintentional exposure makes
the scene seem both tender and pathetic -- like he's some sort of child
that can't dress himself. And that may sum up what I think about
Charlie. He may be a little older than me, but he sure lacks in maturity
and self sufficiency. At this point, I'm glad I was the one to come up here
to find him, if Chris or any of his other roommates found him like this it
probably would have resulted in weeks of ribbing, and somehow I'm not sure
that Charlie is in quite the state of mind for that sort of boyish
behavior. He copes ok most of the time (except maybe for the drinking), but
like a lot of us I get the sense he's on a short rope. I figure the best
thing is to wake him, pretend I don't notice his state of undress, and
accompany him back up to his real room.

"Charlie," I whisper to him, hoping he'll easily wake up from his drunken
sleep. He doesn't budge. "Charlie," I state a little louder, walking over
to his bedside and nudging his shoulder. I accidentally kick the empty
liquor bottle and send it skittering across the metallic floor of the
bedroom. I shake him a little more vigorously and his whole body sways back
and forth on the mattress, his dick kind of flopping from side to side in
his shorts.  He doesn't move, but somehow his penis slapping around like
that suddenly makes me realize that I have my hand on a mostly-naked
dude. I am instantly super-aware of the softness of the skin on Charlie's
shoulder and the heat emanating from his body. Man, his skin is really
hot. Must be the alcohol burning in his blood. God dammit, I thought I was
putting this male attraction thing behind me.

I sit down on the floor next to his bed, so that my face is more on the
same level as his. I give his cheek a little slap to see if he'll react,
but he doesn't.  He's breathing regularly, his chest rising and falling in
slow, deep movements, so I figure he just got too drunk and passed out.
I've always liked Charlie well enough, but sleeping here like he is I
realize he's a pretty cute kid. He always seems a little sad and morose
when he's up and around. But now, for the first time I remember, he looked
peaceful.  His brown naked torso was completely at ease, and his face had
relaxed into a small smile. I notice that he's built a little like me --
slender and a little lanky, but still putting on the muscle that will carry
him into adulthood.

And here's the dilemma I was in. Here's a totally drunk passed out guy, and
I have the responsibility of getting him downstairs somehow. First, though,
I figure this is my chance to test something out. What would touching a guy
be like to me? Would I gag, or would it feel good? I know it's probably
really wrong to do anything with Charlie like this, but having him here
passed out next to me is a huge temptation.  Besides, I reason, if I take
him upstairs I'll be saving him from pneumonia, right? So he kind of owes
me, right? Maybe his `repayment' can be letting me feel him up a little
while he sleeps off him binge. I chuckle a little out loud. No, feeling up
your friend while he's sleeping is probably a bad idea, but how often do
opportunities like this come around?

Sitting down on the floor right next to the bed, I can feel the heat
emanating off his chest as the air from each exhale breezes through my
hair. I think it's this intimacy, the fact that we're already sitting this
close to one another that makes me decide to take things further. I reach
up over the bed and feel the underside of Charlie's arm just above the
wrist. His skin is super soft, and I look up to his eyes to see if this
light touch will wake him. He doesn't stir at all, so I move my hand over
his arm and to his side, just above where his rib cage presses up against
the skin. I can feel the flexible bones just under the soft, brown
skin. Man, he's so warm -- the alcohol has really turned him into a little
portable heater. He still doesn't move so I get braver and gently run my
fingers across his chest. I can feel his strong, steady heartbeat vibrating
from within. His nipples are small and brown, almost the color of his
hair. I feel one. It's smooth and softer than the
 rest of his skin.  He shifts his weight a little, and for a brief second I
think he's going to wake up. My heart rate increases rapidly and starts
pounding in my chest. He doesn't wake up, but to make sure he's still
deeply asleep I shake him and call his name quietly. I figure I can at
least be careful. I think he's really out of it, though.  The guy probably
won't wake up until morning, even if I carry him back to the dorms.

As I suspected, touching a guy can be arousing. I mean, sure he doesn't
have breasts, which are a lot of fun to play with, but sleeping here like
this, he's so soft and peaceful that there is something both endearing and
erotic about running my hand up and down his chest. And then there's the
elephant in the room. Somehow, in the process of getting undressed he seems
to have, um, popped out of his boxers. His penis is lying flaccid and
exposed, adding an air of the naughty to the otherwise angelic image of
this sleeping boy. Something about the vulnerability of his pose makes the
scene all the more exciting, and I debate whether I should feel his dick or
not.

Having come this far, I reach over and touch it with my forefinger. Wow,
it's even warmer than the rest of his body, but like his nipples the skin
is super soft to the touch. Pressing the shaft of his cock with my
forefinger, Charlie's member rolls further out of the fly in his boxer
shorts so that I can see the full length of it. As I mentioned before, when
I first spied on Sean and Dog I was blown away by the revelation that dicks
can vary so much in shape, and when I notice that Charlie's penis is so
much like mine when limp I wonder if there's a connection between body
frame and shape. I mean, he and I are a similar size physically, so maybe
that makes our dicks somewhat the same. He has a little more foreskin,
however. We're both circumcised, but Charlie has enough foreskin so that
the head of his penis is sitting half in and half out of its sheath. My
finger is resting on the shaft just below the glans, and I exert a slight
pressure to slide the skin down so that Charli
 e's cock head is fully exposed. It's shiny and a little pinker than the
rest of his penis, and I hold my breath as I feel the underside of the
glans with my forefinger, stroking it a little back and forth. Charlie
sighs in his sleep and shifts his weight again, and I pull my hand back as
if I had brushed it against an electric fence. I thought for sure that
might have woken him up, but he's still passed out.

This is the point in the evening where I might have stopped all of this and
called it a night, and if I had maybe my entire life would have taken a
different course. If I'd just been going through an adolescent phase, the
prospect of getting caught probably would have been scary enough to make me
stop. But I didn't, and that may have been largely due to the fire that was
burning and building deep in my loins. At the time, sitting there exploring
Charlie's body, I was probably still telling myself it was just that --
only innocent exploration, but looking back I think this night was when I
was becoming aware of an acute attraction for other guys. Charlie was
adorable, splayed out naked in this lonely abandoned dorm room, and I was
taking advantage of him. Not just out of curiosity, but also out of a
building lust. It was the perfect situation for me, one I couldn't have
ever dreamed would happen. After weeks of spying on other guys and finding
nothing more interesting than a fe
 w solo jerk-offs, here was this beautiful boy, unconscious and putty in my
hands.

Well, not putty exactly. The slight stimulation to Charlie's glans was
resulting in the noticeable thickening of his penis. You could see it
throbbing slightly, and while it was only a little larger than a second
ago, it was clearly growing. It was then that I knew that I didn't want
this to just be an opportunity to feel up another guy -- I wanted it to be
sexual.

All day long I had been wondering about guy's choices in underwear. I'd
been trying not to stare at Reid's white briefs and Nick's sexy
boxers. Charlie's underwear seems like an odd choice for a space ship, but
then I guess he probably wasn't planning on being in space when he got
them. They're clearly a flannel material, but a really thin flannel -- not
thick and fuzzy like a winter shirt. The material is dark brown with a grid
work pattern of slightly lighter lines. I run two of my fingers under the
waist band, feeling the smooth, muscular skin of Charlie's abdomen along
the back of my fingers and the warm sensuality of the cotton against the
front. You'd think underwear would have to be small to be sexy, but there
was something indisputably organic about the material. Ok, so maybe the
whole scene was responsible for the hotness of the situation, but the
shorts were still sexy.

I wanted to explore this, so I reached down and pulled his shorts up so
that his thickening penis slipped back into the fly of his boxers. The
material was thin enough that I could see the outline of his dick pressing
into the fabric, and I began stroking the head through the material the
same way I had been doing skin-on-skin a moment ago. The flannel was soft
to my fingertips and slid frictionless up and down Charlie's penis. Charlie
was now at least seventy-five percent erect so that he was tenting his
shorts pretty seriously, so I wrapped my whole hand around the shaft and
felt the weight and heat of it through the material. It's funny, this
almost seemed more intimate than touching his naked penis.

Although constrained by his boxers, Charlie's now fully-engorged boner is
pointing upwards and out from his body at a 45 degree angle. He seems about
as long as me, but maybe a little thicker. Charlie's a little more
barrel-chested than me too, so maybe that holds with my theory. There's
enough material to Charlie's underwear to allow his erection quite a bit of
space, and I experiment with slowly sliding the material sideways back and
forth along his cockhead. Each time I do this Charlie stirs a little,
almost groaning in his sleep, but the whole situation has me so horned up I
don't stop.

Yeah, ok, I can admit it, I'm horny now. The overall verdict on this grand
experiment is that fooling around is fun, regardless of whether you're with
a girl or with a guy. I thought touching a guy might be gross, but it's
really not. It's actually no different than if I were jerking myself off.
Speaking of which, the whole scene is getting a little hot for me, so I
keep rubbing Charlie with my right hand and decide to relieve the pressure
in my pants with my left. I unbutton my fly and pull my already rock-hard
boner out of my shorts. Oh my god, touching my dick for the first time
tonight seems to be a culmination of all the crazy events of the day -- the
half naked roommates all day, the nudie poker game, and now this, and when
I slide my fist around my erection and pull it out of my shorts, the
sensation is beyond incredible.  My eyes roll back in my skull, and I grab
Charlie a little harder, stroking the length of his fabric-encased
penis. His body responds with a visible
  shudder and a dark spot appears on the material above his tip, which I
take as a sign that he's leaking precum and getting turned on enough to
want his dick out in the open.

I guess I could have tried to push Charlie's underwear down his hips, but
the fly in the boxers is quite large so I decide to just pull his boner
through that and continue stroking him. This time, however, I pull out all
his equipment, including his sack. I discover that one way we differ is
that Charlie's balls that are somewhat larger than mine. Not huge, but
pretty big. Now that he's fully erect (and I have to say, it's really boned
now), I can see he's about six inches long. Like me, his shaft is just
about the right thickness to wrap your hand around, and around it my hand
stays. I stroke him with my right hand while I stroke myself with my
left. I'm kind of ambidextrous, so this isn't as clumsy as it sounds,
although I suppose if I was a really nice guy I'd use my more skilled hand
on Charlie.

When I started this, I wasn't sure how far a guy could go sexually passed
out, but apparently the answer is pretty far. Stroking a little more
rapidly, Charlie begins moving around more and groaning a little in his
sleep. He's beginning to precum quite copiously, and each time his dick
pulses another bead of shiny wet lubrication leaks out of his slit and
slides down the glans. On each up stoke it joins the rest of the sticky
wetness in my hand and further lubricates the shaft, which is starting to
make squishy noises. My entire palm is covered in his juices, which I take
as encouragement to go faster, and which gets me aroused enough to start
wetting up a little also.

All the annoying kind of tensions and conflicts I've been feeling for the
past two weeks kind of melt away for a minute, and I realize there's
definitely some fun to be had with the same gender. I've been jerking off
regularly since coming on board, but man, this is so, so, so much more
erotic. I close my eyes and sit there stroking Charlie and myself, that
familiar squishing sound filling the empty room in stereo. Waves of
eroticism are running through my body. I feel the lust in my chest, down my
stomach and deep in my balls. I bite my lower lip and open my eyes, looking
at this sexy boy lying on the empty cot. His body looks so masculine and
yet still beautiful. A slight sheen of sweat is now coating his torso as I
continue to rhythmically stroke up and down, up and down. I look into his
eyes and...

Oh my fucking jesus shit fuck, he's awake.

Ok, so that's not the brightest thing to have passed through my mind, and I
take a millisecond to make a mental note to expand my vocabulary. Then I
take the rest of the second to totally freeze, stop what I'm doing, and
figuratively crap my pants. I just sit there, the proverbial kid caught
with his hand in the cookie jar, the jar being our dicks in this case. A
bazillion things pass through my brain, foremost of which is a vision of
Charlie telling everyone in our quad what I had been doing and getting my
ass kicked off the level. Here I am, two hot and heavy boners in each hand
sitting about three inches away from Charlie and looking him directly in
his deep brown eyes (note to self: Charlie has pretty eyes). My groin is
pulsing with wet, sticky lust, but my stomach is sitting up in my chest and
I feel like I might just throw up. I figure puking on the guy would be
adding insult to injury at this point. I hold my breath for a second, a
second that seems to last way, way to
 o long. I figure he might punch me, or yell, or maybe he'll throw up on
me.

Ultimately, though, Charlie just kind of smiles at me, as if there's
nothing unusual about waking up to Devon wanking you in your sleep while
stroking himself. Charlie's eyes are glazed over, and I can tell he's still
really drunk, but his smile is wide and sweet. He has crooked incisors on
either side of his mouth, which gives his face an added air of boyish
innocence. In my shock, my hand has slipped off Charlie's dick but is still
resting on his hip. To my immense surprise, the guy reaches down, takes my
hand, and puts it back up against his hard cock. It's not hard to interpret
this, and I get the message loud and clear. I begin stroking him again and
he gasps deeply, repositioning himself on the bed and arching his back a
little. Ok, so obviously he's not totally opposed to what I'm doing. I
figure he may still tell the guys about this, but I might as well do right
by him and finish him off. He may want to kill me in the morning, but right
now he's in serious heat.

I decide to focus on him and take his shaft in my left hand, which is a
little more dexterous.  With my right hand, I pull on his balls and play
with them a little. I like playing with my own balls, so I figure he might
like it too. He clearly does. They're really hot to the touch, but at the
same time very soft and fun to feel rolling around between my fingers. His
shaft feels a little harder, so I make my grasp a little firmer (but not
too hard), and stroke him up and down. He's so wet that his cock slides
fluidly in my hand. He's breathing a lot harder now, and gasping a
little. When I realize he's making those sexual man-gasps I find so
arousing, I feel a slick of precum slide down my leg. My own boner going
unattended, it seems to be furiously expending copious amounts of
lubrication, and I can feel wetness all along my shaft, over my sack, and
in growing pools on my thighs.

I usually jerk off totally naked, but tonight I am struck by how Charlie's
boxers make the whole scene hotter. The soft fabric is pooled around his
crotch, his throbbing equipment rising triumphantly from the oversized
fly. It's like the material frames his dick, drawing all attention in the
room to it (well, my full attention at least), and with each downward
stroke I feel the sensual fuzziness of the cotton. The material tickles my
knuckles each time they scrape against it, a sensation that is subtle but
organic and arousing. It makes me stroke faster and faster, heating the
natural lubrication of Charlie's penis and making him flail and thrash in
ecstasy. I think about the pleasure I'm giving him and my own rigid cock
throbs harshly into the cool air of the room; I almost come without any
direct stimulation.

I grunt, and the sexual energy in the room seems to all at once release in
an intense electrical discharge. All of a sudden, Charlie's body tenses and
his mouth opens wide in ecstasy; he sits up a little in the bed making a
cute barking grunting noise as his penis starts convulsing and spraying
cum. His eyes scrunched tightly closed in orgasmic pleasure, his first shot
of semen flies up at his head and actually clears it, landing against the
wall at the end of the mattress.  The second and third shots hit his chest
and begin to ooze slowly toward his stomach. Wow, you can really feel the
intensity of the orgasm in his penis. With each pulse I feel the strong
muscular contractions that help eject his creamy white semen. As his orgasm
slows and ultimately ends, he continues grunting in an almost pleading
manner and flings himself back down on the mattress with a gasp. A thin
sheen of sweat covers his body, his post-coital recline a picture of happy
male sexual contentment. Even
  his hard dick, still wet and red and large, looks happy somehow.

I massage his cock a little more, but it's clearly overly sensitive and he
giggles and shifts his weight so that it slides out of my hand. We sit
there for a minute, him lying on the bed and me sitting in the floor with
my hand still draped on his stomach. I can still feel his heart beating
through the skin of his belly.  Then he sits up, puts his legs on either
side of me, and drops his arms onto my shoulders.  I kind of guiltily look
up into his eyes, not sure whether he's going to be too pleased about this
or not. "Thanks," he says sincerely to me, but he's still really drunk so
it comes out all funny. In moving around, his penis has retreated back into
the fly his boxers and I find myself staring at his naked upper torso.

Charlie takes his arms off my shoulders, where he had kind of lazily
propped them, and starts running his hands down my chest. Oh god, I haven't
been touched by another person in months, and the sensation of Charlie's
fingertips against my pectorals is electric and intoxicating. I'm in a haze
for a moment, thinking I might cum right then, but when he gets to my
stomach, I realize he's about to try and return the favor. My penis starts
to throb in silent encouragement, but something about it doesn't seem
right. I mean, yeah, I just jerked him while he was passed out without his
permission, but I was the one making the decision to be dirty. He was just
on the receiving end. I didn't want him to sober up and feel like I had
used him (any more than he was sure to already), so I mustered all of my
willpower (which was a ton, I can tell you, because I really wanted him to
jack me off), and pushed his hand away.

He looked at me questioningly. "No, not when you're drunk. I probably
shouldn't have done you either."

His eyes kind of rolled around in his skull and he giggled a little, "I'm
not drunk," he replied, obviously wasted. Somehow, rolling his eyes makes
his head roll backwards, which then makes his shoulders roll, which then
makes him lose his balance and collapse backwards onto the bed. I thought
he was going to pass out again, but he just kind of stares at the ceiling
with a very peaceful expression. If he were sober, he might be
contemplating something deep and intellectual, but given the empty bottle
under the bed I assumed he was mostly wondering why the ceiling wouldn't
stay still.

"Yeah, you're drunk." I stood up, my dick still bobbing out of my shorts. I
reach down around his arms and pull him up and onto his feet, feeling the
soft skin under his arms again. I pull his pants up, which had remained
down around his thighs the whole time, and button the top button.  "Here,
go wash yourself off and I'll take you home." He looked like he was about
to tell me he was home when he realized we were in an unoccupied dorm. He
nodded and headed out to the bathroom, managing to make it out the door by
pinballing into a chair, the other empty bed, and the door frame.

And then, as soon as I heard him enter the bathroom down the hall, I
flogged myself so fast I don't think I've ever jerked that hard. In about
ten seconds I was coming all over the place, and I didn't even care that it
flew all over the mattress, the carpet, and even one shot up against the
far wall. It wasn't just an orgasm, it was like my whole body was exploding
with uncontrolled and unbearable sensations, all of them pulsing from the
spot where Charlie had touched my chest. I felt like I had somehow combined
forty-seven orgasms into one. I huffed a little to catch my breath, then
stowed my still-hard boner back into my shorts and buttoned my jeans.
Fucking hell, what a night.

I was still catching my breath when I heard a muffled grunt and the light
clinking of metal tapping on the metal floor. At first I freaked a little,
thinking Beck or Chris or someone had come up here looking for us, and I
jumped up to my feet, not wanting them to come in here and see the evidence
of our activities. An inspection of the hallway revealed that the flat was
still unoccupied, however, and I could hear Charlie messing noisily around
in the bathroom. I figured I should go help him before he slips and cracks
his skull or something.

Charlie was lying on one of the sinks, his head half under a stream of
running water. Well, that should help sober him up, if it doesn't drown him
first. He's done a reasonable good job of wiping the cum off his chest, and
I help him get his shirt back on. Once done cleaning up, we make our way
back to the occupied dorm areas without too much trouble, even though
Charlie stumbles the whole way and I have to support half his weight the
entire time. By the time we get back, pretty much everyone was finally
asleep in our flat. I put Charlie in bed and then walk across the hall and
crawl into my bunk. I'm asleep in about four minutes, but in that time I
can't help but think about what all happened today. It was fun, sure, and I
wouldn't say I felt guilty about it exactly. To be honest, people who feel
guilty about sex bother me. I mean, do it or don't do it, but don't whine
about it after.

So I wasn't guilty about feeling Charlie up, but I was a little scared. I
mean, the guy is a flatmate, and if he tells everyone what I did I'm not
sure what that would mean for me. Would they beat the shit out of me? Throw
me out? Laugh at me? I just didn't know what would happen if Charlie made
the incident public, and that was a really new fear for me. I mean, when I
dated at school, I practically announced it on television, and a guy that
just got laid is the hero of the moment with his friends. This was
different, and for the first time in my life I realized that there's a
reason some sex is kept secret. At the same time, I kind of hoped Charlie
would want to do that again, and maybe next time he wouldn't need alcohol
to want to run his hands into my boxers. Despite these worries, my sleep
was deep and dreamless that night.


iv

As it turns out, I didn't have a lot to fear. Nothing happened the next day
at all, at least not with Charlie. When I talked to him about his drinking
(admonishing him a little for getting lost on the ship), he confessed he
didn't remember anything after Chris had started doing doubles with him
about an hour before they ran into me at the room. So on the one hand, I
guess I dodged a bullet, but on the other, I have a lot to think about if
I'm going to continue this line of sexual exploration. Maybe Sean and Dog
have the right idea keeping things secret and in dark corners. It was a
little later that afternoon that I learned that not all dark corners were
quite as secret as I might have liked.

We had the day off, and since I had been planning to hang out after work
with Conner, one of my friends from the school who I had been kind of
neglecting since we launched, I called over to his room and let him know I
was available to meet up earlier. He was excited and said to come on
over. Conner was a great guy, but since he was two years older than me and
in a different grade, maybe I assumed he had other friends he'd rather do
stuff with. He seemed lonely in the cafeteria last week, though, so I had
chided myself for assuming things and resolved to spend more time with
him. We had always gotten on well back at school.

Before I went up to Conner's flat, however, I decided to go back to area
twenty-four. I had cleaned up Charlie and my `mess' last night, but then we
kind of rushed out afterwards, me practically carrying the tipsy Charlie. I
wanted to make sure we didn't leave the water running or anything like
that. I also wanted to recycle Charlie's empty tequila bottle. There was no
need for someone to find that and start asking questions.

The hallways of area twenty-four were the exact same as the night before --
cool, dim and deserted. In occupied areas, the lighting and temperature
fluctuated to simulate a daily cycle. Here, though, things were kept
constant. The room was pretty much as we left it, and I had done a pretty
good job wiping Charlie's spunk off the wall (man, the kid could shoot!). I
found one of my socks on the bed and vaguely recalled I had taken them off
when I was fooling around with Charlie. There was no sign of the second
one. Dang it, I didn't want to be losing real clothes from earth, the stuff
on the ship sucked. I'd have to figure out how to ask Charlie if he had it
without making him suspicious enough to question why I was undressing in
here.

The beds were all designed to be stowed in the wall when not in use -- they
slid in and out, and when locked into position, the inflatable mattress
filled with that same `grape jelly' goop I had experienced in the escape
capsule. It didn't grab you, though, which was nice, but you could adjust
its firmness and temperature to your liking. Charlie had apparently
unlocked the two lower bunks, because they were inflated and in the
sleeping position. I decide to stow them. Charlie may come down here often,
I'm not sure, but the beds probably shouldn't be left down either way.

I flick the switch on the side of the bunk and the mattress begins to
shrink into the platform of the bed, its liquid core quickly draining away,
when I notice something odd. The access panel at the top of the rear wall
is off. This is the entrance to the emergency access tunnels, which as you
may recall I spend a fair bit of time crawling around. I'm certain it
wasn't dislodged the day before.

I pull the top bunk on the rear wall down and climb up to inspect the
hatch, which has been removed and left to the side of the tunnel
opening. At first I suspect it must have fallen off somehow, but no, then
it would have clattered to the floor. It was obviously carefully set
aside. I stick my head into the tunnel and although it's deserted, I find
something disturbing.

First of all, I notice it smells faintly of sweat, which it shouldn't since
no one is ever in here. I might consider that somehow the tunnel is musky
because of Charlie and me, but we were in the room fifteen feet away, and I
don't think our smell could travel up and into the small vent on the access
door. My deduction proves correct when I spy the indisputable leavings of
another human being. Crumpled on the floor of the tunnel is a wad of tissue
paper. I pick it up by a corner, and despite the dimness in the tunnel I
can immediately tell that it has the heft and hue of something every teen
boy would recognize instantly. The dried yellowish stains and manner in
which the paper sticks together in a thick wad makes it obvious. This was
someone's cum rag.

"Gross!" I exclaim to the empty tunnel once I realize what I'm holding,
scowling and dropping the wad of tissue.

And that's when the blood drains out of my head, because I realize what it
means. Last night, right after I had come, I had heard a weird noise. I had
assumed it was Charlie, who was also being quite loud on his way to the
bathroom. Now, however, I understand that it wasn't Charlie, and it wasn't
someone out in the hallway. Someone had been up here in the access tunnel
spying on us. Fucking hell.

I was instantly enraged, feeling more than pissed that someone had watched
me with Charlie. Then I had to calm down and recognize that I had been
spending time in the tunnels spying on guys, so I couldn't be that
angry. Except then I was both pissed at whoever had been watching me, and
also at myself. I was even a little enraged at Charlie. Ok, so he didn't
ask to have Devon come up here and make him blow a load, but I was still
mad. And scared.

I liked what I had done with Charlie, but I didn't want the whole world to
know. I mean, my friends were all pretty cool, but I still wasn't sure
they'd deal with me going gay all that well. And what if this guy, this
sneaky wanker, decided to blackmail me? Ok, so now I was getting
irrational. I'm sure no one would do that, would they? Besides, they
couldn't have come here expecting to see what they did. After all, I hadn't
planned on last night's tryst.

At this point, I was running a little late for meeting Conner, so I decided
to let it go for now and put it out of my mind. Someone had probably just
been goofing off and ended up being treated to a show, just like I was with
Sean and Dog. I'm sure it wasn't more than that, although I did feel a
little taken advantage of. I closed the hatch back up and hurriedly
finished straitening the room. I wanted out of section twenty-four -- being
here alone was now a little creepy.

I quickly walked back to the main passageway that connected the various
areas of the ship, heading in the direction of topside, where Conner's
apartment was. Once I got out of the abandoned area, there were various
other people walking through the main hallways and I felt more comfortable,
setting out for Conner's place, which was about a twenty minute walk from
here. Along the way, I thought about the anonymous sneaky wanker. Who was
he? Did he know me?

Did I know him?

Was he cute?

There were no answers forthcoming, and I wondered vaguely if I'd ever find
out more about him. As it turns out, yes, but not for a while, and there
was absolutely no way I could have suspected the long-term implications of
my lewd night with Charlie. For now, though, I was relatively happy --
sexually content, energetic from one of my best night's sleep on the ship,
and excited to go hang out with Conner. Whatever my other worries, I
determined to make this day a great one.