Resident Manager: Part II

I closed the door of the motel room, leaving Brett and Michelle to their own devices, and floated back to my apartment behind the motel office. I kept hugging myself, pretending it was Brett’s strong arms hugging me again.

It was about 2:00am, and the bars were closing, so I fielded a couple of calls from people needing a room. Since we had no vacancies, I got rid of them quickly, and sprawled on my bed in the apartment, naked again and going over every minute of the night’s sexual Olympics, imprinting every detail on my mind, so that I would always be able to recall it.

When I took the job of Resident Manager, the one luxury I allowed myself – sort of a graduation present, from me to me – was to replace the standard double bed that was in the apartment with a king-size. I like to sprawl, and my big bed, with its satin sheets, was always a turn-on for me – now, more than ever, with the fumes of hot, sweaty sex still clinging to me, even after the shower (maybe, especially after the shower with Brett…)

I must have dozed off, but I was awakened by the rumble of Brett’s customized ’67 Mercury Cougar. He pulled in behind the office, behind my car, and I heard a knock at the door of my private entrance (now, there’s a Freudian turn of phrase!) I went to the door still naked, remembering Brett’s comment about “…a few more surprises for you…”, and opened it, standing behind it to shield my nudity from any prying eyes out on the street.

Brett swaggered in, still shirtless, barefoot, and sweaty again on this hot August night, his golden-haired, muscular jock-body still the stuff of which wet dreams (and porn films) are made. There was no sign of Michelle, but right behind Brett was his ‘surprise’ – and a big one it was. His older brother Cory slipped in, and closed the door!

Cory looked me up and down, and said “Damn, you’re hot – I’ve wanted to do this since the first class we took together our freshman year, but I was never sure that you would go for it.” And with that, he pulled me to him and kissed me hard, full on the mouth, and his arms reached around to massage my asscheeks.

Cory, like Brett, was shirtless and barefoot, with only cargo shorts to keep him street-legal. He was smaller than Brett (or me, for that matter), but he worked out at the college gym regularly, and his lean body had well-defined muscles on it, with a patch of long, silky dark hair between his half-moon pecs, traveling neatly down the precise center of his tight six-pack abs, and ending in a tangle of dark, curly pubes. As I said earlier, his face looked a lot like Edgar Allan Poe, but his physique was like Gael Garcia Bernal. My cock was pressed tight against his while we kissed, and I could feel his monstrous member through the cloth of his cargo