Open Door Read online

  Open Door

  A Short Story

  Raleigh Ruebins

  Contents

  1. Copyright

  2. Open Door

  3. More from Raleigh Ruebins

  4. Social Media

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2017 Raleigh Ruebins

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  He was right above me.

  The guy I’d secretly wanted for all of college. He was here, in my room, in the dark, with just enough gray light that I saw him slip inside, climb onto the bed, and straddle me. Oh God. He didn’t touch me yet—just stayed hovering over me, just inches away, as if at any moment he might sink down onto me.

  I was shaking. And so fucking hard, I thought I might actually come.

  My cock throbbed as he bent down toward my face. Was he actually going to kiss me? I didn’t know he even liked me—and he was whispering, deep and low into my ear—Ethan, Ethan, Ethan…

  “Ethan! Are you hiding in here?”

  I blinked. The dark room was gone. My head shot up from the tiny pillow, and all at once I remembered where I was.

  The train. Europe. Our college summer trip. I’d fallen asleep.

  Tommy hadn’t been in bed with me—it was a dream, nearly a fucking wet dream, I realized, as I looked down and saw that my cock had gotten hard in real life, too.

  “Ethan!”

  Shit!

  He was actually there, outside my room, walking down the hallway to my train compartment.

  I sat up from my bed, smoothing out my hair, hoping I looked presentable. I rearranged my pants, deftly concealing my hard-on just in time for Tommy to poke his head around my open door.

  “Hey,” he said, with a smile. Could he tell? Tell that I’d been asleep, that I’d been dreaming of him, that I was still half-erect under my jeans?

  My heart jumped a little when he entered the tiny space, his physical presence seeming to fill the room completely.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice cracking a little.

  “What are you doing in here, dude?”

  “Sorry. Was taking a nap.”

  “Come down to the dining car with us. We’re gonna get some happy hour drinks.” Tommy’s t-shirt was a little too tight. It was always a little too tight, and truthfully, I fucking loved it. He was the quintessential boy-next-door, but somewhere over the course of sophomore year of college, he’d gotten into working out, and it showed.

  I wasn’t usually even into guys like that. But with Tommy, it was different.

  I got up and was forced to stand alarmingly close to him in the tiny compartment. How was I supposed to deal with that? It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once. I expected him to back up a little, but he made no moves to exit into the hallway, despite the fact that the room was smaller than a broom closet. He didn’t seem to mind. I had to hide my quiet torment.

  And had to work to make sure I didn’t immediately get hard again under my pants. The last thing I needed was for him to see that—but being this close to him was already affecting me.

  “Ok, cool,” I said to him. He fixed his grey eyes on me as I slipped on my shoes.

  “You do drink, right?” he asked, looking me up and down.

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, probably too quickly.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know man, you’re always, just like… so quiet at school, I didn’t know if you did. You could come along with us even if you didn’t want to drink, though, of course.”

  I couldn’t think of a response, which honestly pissed me off, because I was just proving him right. I am quiet—quiet, shy, a wallflower, a loner. Whatever you want to call it. Over the years of college, I’d gotten to know Tommy and all of the other people in my tiny major—Cultural Anthropology—but had never really seen them anywhere but class. But now, we were on our senior year class trip to Europe, which I’d been anticipating with equal amounts of dread and glee.

  Because I knew I’d end up in situations like this, with Tommy in my tight little train compartment, me trying my damnedest not to get hard just from standing next to him. I’d had a crush on him for basically all of college, but had never had the courage to act on it.

  “This place is fucking amazing,” he said as we walked out back into the hallway, peering out at the landscape whirring by outside the windows.

  “I know,” I said, “It’s beautiful. I know that’s kind of cliché to say—France is beautiful—but it’s breathtaking to see it in person.”

  We were in the French countryside, between cities, and were taking an overnight train trip. For a minute I’d been worried I might have to share a sleeping compartment with someone, but luckily we’d somehow gotten individual ones.

  Tommy led the way to the dining train, and when we walked in, the place was absolutely packed—partly with people from our group, but also other tourists from all parts of the globe.

  “Wow,” I said, looking around and grinning nervously at Tommy, “This is like a party in here.”

  He laughed, giving me his big smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. “Kinda. Do you go to parties back at school? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there….”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m just more of a homebody,” I said, scratching the back of my neck as we got in line for drinks.

  Tommy shrugged. “Well, this train is your home for tonight, at least. So let’s get wild. I’ll buy the first round. I kinda want to see what you’re like when you’re drunk, anyway.” His smile made me feel like he could see right through me.

  I felt my face grow slightly hot. “Oh—oh, no,” I stammered, “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no problem, dude—really,” he said, and when it was our turn to order a few seconds later, he bought two beers for the both of us.

  “To you, Ethan,” he said, holding up his plastic cup, “and to tonight.”

  “And to France,” I said as I touched my cup to his and took a sip.

  I guess now I can say for sure that the beer was the first of many mistakes that I’d make that night.

  It was normally a struggle not making a fool of myself in front of Tommy and the other people from school—but with 4 beers in me and not much food, it was an impossible task.

  But I hung out in the dining car with them for hours. I didn’t say much, as usual, but just being there with them was incredible—it felt like catching a glimpse into the social world that seemed to have passed me by for most of college. They were fun people, trading stories of debauchery and late nights, recounting times that they’d had while I was likely in my room.

  As the beer warmed me from within and made my cheeks pink, I started losing control of my desire to stare at Tommy. Occasionally I’d catch him staring back at me, once with his head resting in his chin and a smile on his face, and I knew I must have turned fully red. I knew I shouldn’t have been fixating on him, but it was kind of impossible not to—he was a social butterfly, walking up and down the dining car, making friends with tourists who didn’t even speak his language, and of course, hanging out with us.

  He’d just gotten done buying another of beer when he came back to the table I was sitting at. It was the largest table in the dining car, positioned at the back,
and allowed for 6 or 8 people to fit if they squeezed in really tight.

  “Okay guys,” Tommy said, leaning up against the back of someone’s seat, “Let’s play a game.”

  “Oh no,” Cara, another senior, said. “Not one of your games.”

  He let out a small laugh. “It’s not a bad game.”

  Cara raised an eyebrow. “What happened the last time you made up a game? What was it… strip Monopoly?”

  The table erupted into howling laughter.

  “In my defense,” Tommy said, “I didn’t make up that game. It’s just Monopoly… where instead of going to jail, you take off your clothes.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Cara said, “I still haven’t found my bra from that night.”

  Tommy smiled. “I think we should go simple tonight,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Let’s play Never Have I Ever. I’ll ask about something you’ve done, and if anyone at the table has done it, they have to take a drink. And tell us what exactly they did.”

  I swallowed hard, immediately nervous. I’d seen this game played before on countless TV shows and movies, but I’d never participated in real life. Because I didn’t fucking have any sordid sexual history that would make the game interesting.

  “For example,” Tommy said, “If someone said, ‘Never Have I Ever sucked a dick,’ I would do this.” He chugged nearly half of his beer as the table devolved into laughs and groans.

  I felt a surge of adrenaline roll through me. I thought I’d overheard someone in class mention that Tommy had come out as bisexual, but I had never asked, so didn’t want to assume.

  But when he just confirmed that he did, indeed, suck dick, my brain pretty much short-circuited. Because of course, immediately, I thought of him sucking my dick, and it was all downhill from there. My cock sprang into action under my jeans, and I had to quickly perform mental math in my head to distract myself and make it go away.

  “So. First question. Never have I ever fantasized about sex during class, about another classmate.”

  I immediately thought that this was something everyone did—so, not wanting to be the only one left out, I hastily took a big swig of beer.

  Nobody else did except for two girls at the end of the table who had been dating each other for years.

  And then three guys erupted into a chorus of “Ohhhhh shit!” and “Nice one, Ethan!” and I felt a hot shame jolt through me. It felt like standing too close to a fire, and I was immediately gripped with embarrassment.

  I had to get the hell out of there.

  “Uh, gotta go use the restroom,” I said, launching myself from my seat and squeezing past Cara to get out.

  “Come back soon!” Tommy said, and when I met his eyes, he gave me a wink. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

  I was ninety percent sure I was about to faint but somehow I made it past him, down through the hot dining car, and through the narrow door into the next train car. After shutting the door behind me, silencing the noisy dining car and giving way to the silent sleeper car, I paused to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  I knew that for normal college students—ones who went to parties, and weren’t plagued with anxiety—this would have been a totally normal occurrence. They’d probably laugh at me for even caring about a tiny incident like that.

  But I felt demolished. I took a few breaths in the cooler, calmer train car. I used the restroom as I said I would. I splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror and pelted myself with affirmations.

  This is your last chance to have a real college experience.

  You’ve been through years of this, and what do you have to show for it?

  Go back.

  Go back, and sit down at that table, and who cares what anyone thinks.

  There, in the bathroom, I finally felt calmed, nearly even confident.

  But it only took the short walk back to the dining car to have it all get screwed up again. Because the second I started feeling confident, I involuntarily pictured Tommy, on his knees, all beautiful, tanned and broad-shouldered, taking a cock—my cock—into his throat.

  Right as I was about to press through and go back to the dining car, my dick had grown hard again.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, palming myself through my jeans. I was lucky that the hallway in this particular train car was deserted—people either had their compartments shut or they were elsewhere.

  I had to do something about my stupid erection. So I doubled back, striding to my own train car, my own compartment, and slid the door closed. And then I stripped off all my clothes from the waist down. I wasn’t going to waste any time—I needed to get off quick and then head back, with a clearer mind.

  I laid down onto the tiny cot and wrapped my hand around my achingly hard cock. The train’s steady movement occasionally caused a little jostle, but it was nothing too bad. I began to slowly pump my fist, feeling immediate relief, and realizing how turned on I already was. Admittedly, it had been building throughout the entire night, ever since Tommy had come into my room, and had been intensified when he’d talked about sucking cock.

  I could picture it—I really could. He had the type of lips that were so plush, so pink, so quick to smile. It was all too easy to picture them slowly wrapping around the head of my cock, tasting me there, then pushing down to take all of me.

  I shuddered as the image burned into my mind, gripping myself a little tighter and stroking a little faster. It was too good. There had been so many classes where I’d sat at the back of the lecture hall, looking down at Tommy a few seats in front of me, and I’d gotten half-hard just from looking at the curve of his neck, the way his soft hair sat at the nape and the slope of his shoulder under his shirt. I’d felt guilty every time, of course—just like I felt guilty now.

  But the guilt only seemed to make me harder. I watched a small bead of precum leak out of the tip of my cock as I realized how wrong it was to be doing what I was doing. Tommy was just trying to be nice, to include me in the group like no one else would. But his presence turned my brain to mush, made me absolutely nuts—and here I was, fucking into my own hand when I should have been sitting at the table with him.

  In my mind, he wasn’t at the table. He was at his knees, cheeks hollowed around my cock, looking up at me like he was begging me to come.

  I let out the smallest moan, almost pained, as the image rolled through my head.

  And then it happened, in just a split second, so instantly that I never could have prevented it:

  “Ethan? Are you okay?” That voice. His voice. Unmistakeable.

  And then the flimsy plastic sliding door to my compartment shot open, and I froze in place, my hand around my dripping cock, and Tommy looking wide eyed in at me.

  It was almost as if we were both so shocked that for a second, we forgot to freak out.

  And then we freaked out.

  “Oh my fucking God I’m so—”

  “Holy fuck, no—”

  “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry—”

  His hand clasped tight against his eyes as he squeezed them shut, turning the opposite direction.

  I quickly grabbed the sheet on my cot and yanked it over my lap, my entire body burning in shame.

  But Tommy didn’t leave. He covered his eyes, sure; he faced the other way. But he was still there. It would have been so easy for him to run back down the train car, but he hadn’t.

  And God—God fucking damn it—for some reason, being caught like that, dick in hand, by the guy whose mouth I’d been fantasizing about? It had almost fucking made me come.

  I didn’t think I could feel even filthier than I had 10 minutes ago, but fucking hell, I had just outdone even myself. I shook under the sheet, leaking precum and hard as ever, as Tommy stood in my doorway, facing the other way. Despite everything I almost wanted to reach a hand down under the sheet and just finish myself off, with him standing right there.

  Maybe I wanted him to turn around and see me doing it.

&nbsp
; Fuck.

  “I was just—” he started to say, “I was just coming to see if you were alright, I didn’t know if you’d gotten sick—”

  “Nope, definitely not,” I said, noticing my voice was heavier than normal.

  To my surprise, Tommy let out a long breath of air, and actually chuckled. “God, I am so sorry Ethan,” he said, and I could tell he was drunk.

  “You can turn around, if you want,” I said, though I couldn’t believe I was saying it. I was properly hidden by the sheet, with my knees propped up—there would be no way for him to tell I was still so hard.

  “Um… okay, I guess…” he said. I thought he was weirded out, but as he turned around, I realized why he’d hesitated.

  He appeared to be just as hard as I was, under his jeans.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and I noticed a pink flush across his cheekbones.

  “Oh my God,” I said, my voice breaking, and as I saw it—Tommy, like that—I couldn’t stop any longer. I reached my hand down to squeeze my cock under the sheet. It was legitimately painful not to be touching myself.

  “You were just—that was just, really hot,” he said, smiling and looking at the floor.

  I felt like I had landed on another planet. But I tried a few more affirmations, and for fuck’s sake, finally, they fucking worked.

  Invite him in.

  Tell him you feel the same way.

  Ask him if he wants to look again.

  “Come here,” I said, swallowing hard. My voice came out weak, but I was resolute.

  He looked up at me quickly, his eyes widening for a moment, then a small smile playing on his lips. He did as I said, coming toward the bed.

  “You were in here touching yourself instead of coming to hang out with us,” Tommy said, coming to sit on the edge of the cot.

  I didn’t know if he was asking me a question or just stating a fact, so I said simply: “Yes.”

  He eyed me. “And you had to do it right now? Why?”

  I stared right at him, sitting so close to me on the bed. “I don’t know,” I lied.