Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

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Unlike my high school reunion, I had no particular qualms or fears about going to a college reunion.

At my high school’s tenth, a dweeb recognized me and came up to me with the greeting: “Hey, chubs!”

Despite the fact I’d lost fifty pounds and shed all my youthful phobias, he saw my face and instantly connected me with my old nickname.

I leaned over him, pushed my chest against his, and curled my upper lip to snarl, “Nobody calls me that anymore.”

The now bald and flabby dweeb said, “Sorry!” and retreated, never crossing my line of sight again.

The college get-together was altogether different, relaxed and random as far as the attendees were concerned. Thousands graduated twenty-five years ago and no more than a couple hundred showed up.

“You know anybody?” my wife Renee asked.

“Not a blessed soul,” I huffed and we chuckled.

“I’m gonna get a wine spritzer,” Renee announced. “Want anything from the bar?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll get a beer maybe later,” I told her and she vanished into a crowd of suit coats and long dresses.

Then a tall gent in horn-rimmed glasses held out his hand. “You look familiar,” he said. “I’m Elliot Mann.”

I said my name, “Rick Dion.” We exchanged a manly handshake. Oddly, he held on a few seconds.

“I definitely think I know you from back in the day,” Elliot insisted. I noticed he used the expression we never, ever said “back in the day.”

Just as I said, “That could be, but I can’t quite place you…” recognition sparked. I scanned his eyes, nose, and big toothy grin and a memory tumbled over my brain.

Spontaneously, I flushed with embarrassment. I think he noticed, although he may not have made the connection yet.

Eliott quickly departed, saying, “Good to see you.”

It must have been during sophomore or junior year. I was living in an all-male high-rise dorm at State U. My college girlfriend—or the one I had at that time—was named Julie. She had gone home for the weekend, as I later found out, to fuck her ex-boyfriend. So, it was just me and my dick, lonely and alone.

I decided to grab a pepperoni pizza and a beer for dinner and then take a shower and go to bed early. I had the same solo Saturday night a month earlier. On that occasion I took a long, hot shower, shampooed my shag hairdo, and carefully shaved the patches of skin between my Fu-Manchu moustache and mutton-chop sideburns in front of the row of sinks, wearing only a towel wrapped around my waist. The porcelain, ceramic tiles, and linoleum gave the dorm lavatory good acoustics with echo and so I started to sing:

“Here it’s another Saturday night and I ain’t got no-body…”

I’m no Sam Cooke, but the reverberation of my voice off the walls made my pipes sound awfully good.

Next thing I knew, a female voice was speaking to me.

“That’s so cool.” A slight girl with short brown hair was standing at the entryway of the men’s bathroom. “Please don’t stop. I like your voice.”

The girl walked up to me as I sang the chorus and second verse, still damp from the shower, clad in a towel that barely covered my ass and junk.

When I sang the line about “a cat named Frankenstein,” the chick laughed, obviously being too young to remember the hit song. I asked her name.

“I’m Steph,” she said. “Remember?”

It turned out I talked to her my first week on campus, sort of hit it off, but soon met other girls and never bumped into her again for something like two years.

“Wanna hang out?” I asked innocently enough.

“You bet!” she said with a not so innocent wink of her eye.

We walked to my room, which was halfway down the hall. I closed the door behind me, which was a signal in our coed culture. You leave the door open for study partners, ajar for friends and family, and closed for persons with whom you have a romantic connection. She let me close the door and lock it.

We made small talk for a moment—she gölbaşı escort commented on my brand of soap—before I said, somewhat playfully, “Now, close your eyes while I get dressed.”

She shut her brown ovals and I dropped the towel. I turned to get some blue jeans and a shirt from my dresser as she chit-chatted about her “gross” Biology class. When I turned around again, Steph was staring dead on, having taken in my ass and now casting her eyes upon Mister Dick.

She laughed, I laughed, and walked over to her. She took my penis in hand and pulled me toward the bed where we sat. We kissed sweetly, more like teenagers than young adults in college. How sexy is it to be naked with a fully clothed girl feeling me up? Steph tentatively lowered her head in my lap and put her mouth on my cock, kissing it and saying I had a “nice one.” I suspected she hadn’t seen too many, though.

After sucking on my cock for a minute or two, Steph returned to jacking me off. When I spilled all over her hands, she giggled nervously and I grabbed my bath towel from the floor for her to wipe off my goop.

Right after giving me the hand job, she said she had to go. I said goodnight and she left me wondering if she loved it or hated it.

So, here I am again, Mister Lonely. This time I sang bubble-gum girl group songs under the torrents of the shower head.

“Tonight you’re mine completely,

“To give your love, so sweetly…”

From around the corner in this artificial echo chamber, a deeper baritone sang:

“Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,

“But will you still love me tomorrow?”

I shut off the water, stepped out of the stall, and peered around the corner. Standing at one of the urinals was a tall, broad shoulder guy with reddish brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore only boxers and positioned himself half a foot from the urinal, holding his wang, directing his spray in an arc.

I saw his cock. I don’t know why I stared at it. It was big and he didn’t seem to have a hard-on.

“I’m Elliot,” he introduced himself. The hand that just held his cock shook mine—my hand, that is.

“I’m Ricky,” I said.

“I live on the tenth floor. I came down here because it’s a zoo up there.” He explained and vigorously washed his hands while I grabbed my towel and covered up.

At the sink, we shaved side by side as he explained he was pre-med. He said he didn’t get along with the other pre-med students.

“They’re all straights,” he said, which in the Sixties and Seventies meant square. “I like hanging out with freaks,” he said, looking at me. A freak was at least a hippie and at worst a stoner. When I rinsed off my face and turned to grab my stuff and depart, he invited to come up to his room to hang out.

“Bring some weed if you got it,” he said expectantly.

“Sure do,” I laughed. “And then some.”

I got dressed, dug out my bag of grass from underneath my mattress, and slipped two tabs of acid into my pocket.

In Elliot’s dorm room, we smoked two bowlfuls of dope through my corncob pipe, drank malt liquor he had stashed against the school’s rules, and popped the LSD while Carol King played on Elliot’s stereo.

“She wrote Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow for the Shirelles, you know,” I informed him.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” he said. “I always thought she sounded like the lead singer in that group.”

I was impressed that a more or less preppy wanna-be doctor was hip enough to notice the similarity in the singers’ voices.

To this day, I don’t know if it was the booze, the acid, or the marijuana or all three, but a surreal cloud enveloped me and my mind began to go places it never went before. A few minutes ago, Elliot and I were talking about chicks, tits, and pussies. Before I knew what was happening, I was kissing his lips, plunging my tongue between his parted teeth, and rubbing his belly and chest with my palms. I abruptly pulled away, keçiören escort he laughed, and cuffed the scruff of my neck to bring me back and we kissed some more. I had never kissed another man before and I don’t think he had either.

I could say I was delirious, out of my head, and blacked out, but I vividly recall every detail. We moved to Elliot’s bed and got undressed, resuming our making out, pressing our naked flesh. I remember his scent, a mix of perspiration odor and Old Spice aftershave. I also remember my hunger to taste his cock.

Before this night I had never so much as kissed another man or given a hand job, but now I was vigorously pumping his long organ’s shaft while licking and sucking his nob. He was salty and delicious. His first few spurts came on my lips. To my delight, my lover boy started messaging my balls and stroking my cock. Then I pulled as much of his big ten-inch into my mouth as I could and sucked down all his stuff.

I kept sucking on his rubbery cock even after he came. Elliot swiveled around to blow me and surprised me by running his finger up my ass crack. He swallowed my load just as he came forth a second time. His warm, thick semen slowly flowed down my throat. When he finished, I kissed the head of his cock and licked the sweaty crevices of his groin.

We lay naked on the bed and smoked another joint in silence. We drifted off to sleep, but it didn’t last long. While kissing my back, neck, and shoulders, I woke to Elliot rubbing his fine young phallus against my buttocks. I won’t pretend he tricked me, snuck up on me, or forced me. I spread my ass cheeks and let him in. First, the head of his cock tickled my sphincter. “Oh, yeah, man!” Then, he pushed a couple of inches inside my anus. “Oh, that’s it.” Grunting and drooling in my ear, Elliot impaled me on his cock. “Yeah, fuck me!” A fellow I never met before deposited his fiery seed in my butt.

The morning after I was still hung over and hallucinating. I managed to get dressed, sneak out of Elliot’s room unnoticed, and return to my dorm room on the third floor. My ass and lips were sore from all our fucking and sucking. I also had the pukes and shits all day. I was remorseful, to say the least. “What the hell did I do?”

I was determined to avoid contact with Elliot Mann for myriad reasons: I was embarrassed, I didn’t want any of my friends to find out, I didn’t want my girlfriend to find out, and I didn’t want an encore because I wasn’t in love and I wasn’t gay.

As things turned out, I didn’t run into Elliot again. Obviously, he didn’t look too hard for me either. The funny thing is that I met up with Steph one more time.

In my senior year, Steph came up to me in the dorm laundry and we got reacquainted as we washed our dirty underwear together. She talked about her practicum in nursing and I told her about my honors thesis, which she was very impressed with. She pronounced it theses, not realizing that was the plural; it sounded like she was saying feces. I tried not to laugh, but her failing in phonetics didn’t stop me from trying to seduce her. The only potential problem was that I forgot her name. Still I got her up to my room and we had another mutual masturbation session. She wacked me off and this time I got to plug her cunt with my finger. She was very tight and sparsely hairy, which I thought was a shortcoming in those days before shaving and waxing the vee became in vogue. I had no guilt because Julie had confessed her two-timing to me. As it turned out, her old beau was the one being cuckolded, since I was the backdoor man all along. I heard they were wed right after graduation.

So, here I am—a quarter century, a solid marriage, and half a lifetime later—at my college reunion avoiding an old lover , not a woman, but a man no less.

“You’re being ass-holy,” my cute wife pronounced. “Not talking to anyone. Don’t know anybody. Not even making conversation with me. This sucks!”

I ankara escort told her, “Go have a cigarette and leave me alone. Make friends with the other nicotine addicts.”

She gave me the finger, usually an affectionate gesture, and headed to the smoking area on the veranda. I took my alone time to go to the men’s room. It was a lavish porcelain latrine fit for a palace. Two men left as I went in. I found a urinal at the far end and took a leisurely leak. Mid stream I sensed someone near me before I heard his voice and felt his touch.

“I’ve thought about you a lot all these years,” Elliot said. He put his hands on my shoulders and nudged me to turn toward him.

“Me, too,” I said, surprising myself. I smelled his odor and it brought back the feelings of that crazy night. I faced him with my dick sticking out of my fly, dripping pee.

Elliot reached between my legs and I pulled back from his grasp.

“Did you turn out to be gay?” I asked him, tucking my junk back in my pants.

“No, married twice, in fact,” he chuckled. “What about you?”

I shook my head. “Married with kids forever,” I told him. Then I said provocatively, “You were the only boy I ever loved.”

Elliot, now balder, pastier, and flabbier, pulled me to his chest and we kissed, just like that night long ago.

He looked into my eyes with an intensity that frightened me. “You gave me the best blow job in my life.”

I almost said, “That’s too bad.” I thought about how Renee’s talent for giving oral was one of the reasons I married her.

“I wanna return the favor,” He said, grabbing me around the waist. By this time, we both had wood tenting in our pants and we started grinding our hips in synch. Ten seconds later, we heard someone approaching and Elliot pushed me into a stall. He clicked the door and I pulled down my pants. I sat on the toilet and he crouched in front of me. He licked my cock, balls, and groin before locking his thin an’s lips around my money-maker and sucking me till I shot. I tried to be cool, but I came so intensely it made me yell.

There was no need to talk. We both wanted the same thing. We switched places. Elliot was still Mister Big Stuff. I knelt and worshipped his beautiful sex pistol with my lips and tongue, sucking the head and then tea-bagging his balls. Before he came, he said, “I wanna fuck you, Ricky.”

I stood, turned, and lowered my buttocks onto his staff. I danced with multiple spasms of pleasure mixed with pain as Elliot made me his bitch for the second time in our lives. He held my ass and lavishly slurped out his own creampie after he finished fucking me.

We reassembled our clothes, dignity, and true identities as best we could and checked out of the men’s room separately.

I reconnected with Renee, who is in a much better mood, a little drunk and happy to have made a couple of friends. She seemed to think I was in better humor, too.

That was just before the nightmare seemed to be unfolding.

Renee said, “You should’ve told me old friends were here all along.”

I looked over her shoulder and saw Elliot, holding hands with a glamorously ugly woman I assumed to be his wife. I was terrified. He had given my wife the revelation and now she was ready to unleash her retribution on me.

“You were quite the man-whore, I hear,” she said and my heart sank.

However, Renee gestured to two women standing off to Elliot’s left. She was smiling and so were they.

“Remember these lovely ladies,” my wife said. It took a moment, but a sinewy chanteuse with brilliant eyes, elegantly long legs, and pointy breasts had emerged from a chrysalis. Her name was Steph. The other woman was short, plump, and grey, but with the same bright smile Julie always had.

“They told me about all your sexy escapades,” Renee said, playfully smacking my butt.

Beautiful Steph said I was a dog in heat. Homely Julie said her husband was still jealous of me. Fortunately, Elliot said nothing.

“I’m the lucky one, I guess.” Renee smiled at me and pinched my cheek.

On the way home, I sang to her in the car.

“Tonight with words unspoken,

“You’ll say that I’m the only one,

“But will my heart be broken, when the night meets the morning sun?”

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