Well, we made up for that tardiness in the months that followed.
One day in the spring I heard Luke return to his room with what sounded like an extra pair of feet. Curious, I waited a few minutes, then made my way to his door. In view of the circumstances I waited for his “Come in,”’ just this once, before opening it. When I did, I saw he had a visitor, a nice-looking blue-eyed one, a fresh-faced young man in a kilt, who was sitting on Luke’s bed talking across the room to Luke, who sat in one of the armchairs. Though it was the middle of the afternoon they both looked as though they might recently have enjoyed a drink or two. “This is Fraser,” Luke said. “He’s in my geography year.” We shook hands and I took the other chair.
I have to say that Fraser looked very good. He was about my height, I guessed, though of a lighter build, his hair curly and red gold. His top half was quite normally sweater clad. He wore a workmanlike pair of boots, above which big oatmeal socks had been pulled down around his ankles like concertinas, which emphasized the definition of his pleasingly sculpted calves. Those were enhanced with a gossamer fine halo of pale gold hairs. What he was doing, a nineteen-year-old student, attending lectures in kilt and sporran in the middle of the day, was anybody’s guess. But, as on the occasion of my first sex with Luke, when both of us were clad in just the skimpiest of shorts, nobody was going to ask.
“We went for a drink together,” Luke announced, a bit superfluously. “He asked me point-blank if I was gay and I said I was.”
“I’d known him a year and a half,” Fraser explained, “and I thought it was about time I knew.”
“I told him about us,” Luke went on. “He wanted to meet you so I brought him back. I was about to go and knock on your door when in you came.”
I wasn’t sure at that stage whether we were all simply going to have a coffee together and an earnest discussion about the gay community in general and how it dovetailed with society as a whole, or whether we would proceed straightaway to uncomplicated threeway sex. There was a brief silence. Presumably the other lads were pondering that question too. It was Fraser who cast the dice. Leaning back on the bed he said calmly, “Nobody’s asked the obvious yet.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I honestly didn’t know what he meant.
“That hoary old question about guys who wear kilts.”
“You mean whether they’ve got anything on underneath,” Luke helped out. He knew the boy better than I did, after all. Fraser nodded and grinned. Luke said to him, teasingly, “And if we do ask the question do you plan to tell us, or show us?”
Fraser answered without a word. His feet still planted on the floor, he leaned right back across the bed till his shoulders rested on the wall behind him, then pulled and rucked his dark kilt so high around his waist at the front that everything was on show between his bellybutton and his knees, in addition to his lower legs which we’d already seen and approved.
He was fully hard and pointing at the ceiling. His prick was probably about average size but, as it wasn’t particularly thick, gave an impression of considerable length. He was a fair-skinned boy and his member was ivory white. His foreskin was beginning to slide back under pressure from below. Half of his glans had revealed itself: a pretty, round, rose-pink plum.
Like me he had ginger pubes. His didn’t form the dense, expansive thicket of copper brush that mine did. Instead they made a narrow, sparsely woven halo of gold through which his smooth alabaster skin could be clearly seen. His balls, which were clenched up so tightly in their sac that they hugged the base of his cock, were of impressive hens’ egg size. Not extra large, though. Standard.
“Now you have to show me too,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. We couldn’t very well refuse. So Luke and I found ourselves standing and, facing our exhibitionist visitor on the bed, unzipping and pulling our jeans and underpants halfway to our knees. Needless to say, our robust little dicks—though they weren’t quite so small these days—popped out already hard. It felt oddly like being on parade, at some sort of inspection.
Then Luke surprised me by saying to Fraser, voice now throaty with desire, “Can I fuck you?”
And Fraser, perhaps relieved, now that he’d inspected it, by Luke’s prick’s modest size, said, “Yes. That’s okay.” His voice too had changed gear, down to little more than a whisper.
Luke took an awkward two steps toward Fraser, who immediately pushed his kilt back down a little way, just far enough for him to reach inside his sporran. He took out a small packet. “Here. Wear one of these.”
“There really isn’t any need,” Luke said, flushing slightly. “Rufus and I…”
“We all should anyway,” Fraser cut him off. He handed Luke a condom. Luke was momentarily nonplussed, and the helpful suggestions about how to put it on that were made to him by Fraser and myself only served to make it clear to Fraser that I had never used one, and to Luke and me that Fraser hadn’t either. But Luke managed it in the end without either losing his erection or, incompetently, inflating the end of it like a balloon.
Although up to that point none of us had any idea of what positions we’d all adopt, we now found ourselves getting into them instinctively, as if we’d been choreographing and rehearsing the whole thing for days. Fraser raised his already wide-spread knees till his boots were level with the mattress, then as Luke knelt down between them in his half-mast jeans, raised them still farther and carefully (to avoid injuring Luke with his work boots) laid his svelte calves and luscious thighs over Luke’s shoulders, then used that purchase to help him wriggle his bottom right to the edge of the bed, helpfully lining up its center line with Luke’s pointing dick. Meanwhile I’d climbed onto the bed and knelt there, sideways onto Fraser, my jeans around my knees. I thrust my hips forward till the end of my cock kissed the tip of Fraser’s bigger one. Each felt the wetness of the other and when they inched apart stayed chained together by a shining gossamer thread.
Luke, who was well practiced now at fucking me, easily found and explored Fraser’s hole with a spit-wet finger, then thrust his penis in, using his knees, well anchored to the floor through his jeans, as a hinge.
Fraser was quiet now, presumably savoring the strangeness of this new experience in his own private way. Nothing on his face suggested that Luke’s initial penetration had caused him any pain. Then, as Luke began to piston in and out of him, at first tentatively and then with more energy and abandon, I took Fraser’s cock into my hand—it was the biggest one I’d ever held till now—and he took mine in his. With his other hand Fraser gently cupped, then stroked, my diminutive balls. I would have done the same to his much larger ones, but Luke’s dainty elfin fingers had got there first.
There followed a few minutes during which the three of us seemed to find a new, shared level of sensual bliss, evidenced by the shy grins we all exchanged, and then we all began to come. Luke climaxed with a series of deep thrusts into Fraser, each one accompanied with a grunt or gasp. Then Fraser and I shot together, abundantly, as if we’d both stamped smartly on the other’s toothpaste tube. Our white streamers launched into the air between us, then, stalling in midflight, rained pattering down upon us: on Fraser’s naked legs, rucked kilt and pullovered chest; all down the front of my thighs and into my half-shucked jeans; in zigzagged and crisscrossed lines, like fallen moonbeams. It was impossible to know which strands of semen were Fraser’s and which were mine.
We stayed exactly where we were for a moment or two, awestruck by what the three of us had just done, then each of us smiled at the others in turn. At last Luke disengaged himself carefully from Fraser’s inside, got to his feet and stumbled with difficulty to the bathroom, his jeans still gathered around his knees, his cock still stiff and preceding him, wagging as he walked, like the tail of a small dog.