Date: Sat, 4 Mar 2006 05:50:35 EST From: EddyRiha@aol.com Subject: games with stefan 6 The usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction, and those folks who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral preference, or by law should not read any further. All of the characters presented here are fictional representations, including the narrator. Some of the events and characters are inspired by actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray actual, historical persons and events. It's just a story. All stunts were performed by professionals. Do not attempt these at home. No Olympic medalists were harmed in the writing or reading of this story. If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual acts, please do not read any further. Games With Stefan Chapter #6-Stefan's Letter A week after I was back at college, I received a letter from Stefan. The moment I saw his return address, his handwriting, I pocketed the envelope and found an excuse to leave my friends at the mailroom and make my way back to the dorm. I had an hour before my next class, and while I normally ate lunch in the caf during this hour, I knew I'd never be able to sit still while the envelope sat in my pocket. I had good friends in college, but even the best of friends cannot compare to even one phrase sent you by your lover. In my room, I carefully opened the letter. As eager as I was, I did not want to damage this, the first letter Stefan had sent me at college. The following is what he wrote (I fixed any misspellings, of course): Dear Eddy, Sorry for not writing in the fall. I meant to write, I really did, but when I broke my leg, everyone was always around and I couldn't really have written what I wanted to say. Now that I'm doing better, Mom and Dad and Liz all mind their own business, and my tutor doesn't come only three times a week, so today I have some time to myself and can write you a letter. I guess no one at your college will much care what I write, and so I can say what I want to. I wish my Mom would leave my mail alone, but she always opens everything that comes addressed to me. She might do that with this letter, except I'm going to bury it toward the bottom of the outgoing mailbin in my Dad's office. He takes it every morning to the post office and exchanges it for an empty one, so I know I can get my letter to you out of the house without anyone here reading it. My Mom noticed the hickey you left on my left shoulder, she saw it when I was being bathed yesterday. She wondered how I had hurt myself there, but I said I banged against the closet door. I wish you could "hurt" me like that again right now. I would love you to mark me all over my body like that. I miss you so fucking much. As for how I am doing, I'm OK. I miss you so much. So fucking much. As I write this, I have that tube up my ass, wishing that was your dick instead. I'm writing this with my right hand, but my left hand it turning the tube around and around. It feels fucking good, though not as good as your dick. I wish we could play our games today. No one else is home today. I miss you fucking lots. Did I already tell you that? I've tied my feet together with an old belt, and I'm lying here naked in my bed. I've put a bathrobe tie around my dick, and I wrapped it all around tight, but not too much, and then I tied it so it wouldn't come apart. I'm imagining it's your mouth on my dick, that you are sucking me and it feels so fucking good. I wish you could run your hands all over my chest and my stomach, I wish you could lick my nipples and my armpits, suck on my balls and my dick, like you do so well and make me feel so fucking good. Oh, God, I want you so bad! Fuck, someone's home. I need to untie myself. Then go mail this. I wish you could be here. God, I love you so much. Love always, Stefan I set the letter down on my desk. I was so hard I wasn't sure but that I might rip a hole in my jeans. I looked at my watch: fifteen minutes until class. Well, I guess I'd have to take a cut today. I made sure the door was locked, and I undressed myself and crawled under the covers. It felt cool and comfortable with the sheets against my naked body. I closed my eyes and imagined Stefan in bed with me, imagined his lights, sinewy body crawling atop me, imagined his wrists tied, the collar and leash around his neck, imagined his lips pressing against mine. I took from the drawer in the frame beneath the mattress the old t-shirt of Stefan's that I had brought with me to college. I breathed deeply, inhaling Stefan's smell in the old shirt. I imagined breathing that smell from his hair, from his neck, as I tasted his lips, his tongue, his skin. I was imagining those were his fingers on my cock, moving up and down, stroking me and rubbing my precum into my cockhead. Oh, God, but I loved that boy, my fucking lover, my Stefan. And then I erupted, spewing cum all over my abdomen, wetting the upper sheet and my hand. I lay there for awhile, wrapped in the smell and memory of Stefan. God, how I missed him! And that was the first of many letters from Stefan that I received at college. . . .