by Seth King
“Yo, killer,” he laughs. “You glaring at me for any specific reason, or are you just feeling homicidal in general?”
“Oh. No reason,” I say as I turn away. Then I hear him rustling in his bag – and when I turn back around, he’s getting out a jock strap.
He drops his pants, staring directly into my eyes. “Oh,” he says so casually I want to punch him, as his big, soft dick hangs there. “I forgot you were here. You won’t mind if I put this on, right? I’m headed to the gym.”
“The gym? In that?”
“Yeah, it gives me a wedgie, but…I like to feel things deep in there sometimes. Why not?”
I am practically gagging as he slides his legs into the jock strap and then turns around, showing me his round, muscular ass…
“Did you wanna come with?” he asks as his muscles flex and un-flex.
I catch my breath. “Oh. Sure. You’ll probably need protection, anyway, since the sight of you with those visible underwear lines is going to cause a cougar stampede.”
As I slip into my workout clothes I try not to notice how fucking sexy he looks in his barely-there black shirt. I also try not to stare at the way it hugs the curve of his back, and shows off his rippling form underneath…
Shit. We’re not even at the gym and I’m sitting here creaming my panties – it’s obviously going to be a long workout. And he’s already parading himself in front of me like a male stripper…
We hit the treadmill for about twenty minutes, but very quickly I notice something bad – his huge dick is flopping all over the place as he runs. The jock strap isn’t containing him, and in fact he probably arranged for that. Even the women in the gym are stopping and staring. It makes a twinge of protective jealousy sink into my stomach, but I ignore it, just as I’ve been ignoring most things lately.
When we finish cardio, I notice he’s absolutely drenched in sweat, and his shirt is soaked – so he takes it off. The workout has given a temporary boost to his already crazy body, and I can almost feel the temperature rising in the room. Actually, at this point the women in the gym are practically approaching orgasm, and I’m the same. I cannot get him out of my head, cannot stop thinking of how full my mouth felt of him, cannot stop wondering what other parts of him may taste like…
He says that today we should do the bench press to pop out our muscles for the beach tomorrow, and of course I have to go first. We load up forty-fives on each end of the bar, but when I lay out on the bench, there is a new problem – he’s spotting me, meaning he has to stand at the rear of the bar and help me lift it off the rack, with his giant dick hanging directly in my face. The dick I sucked last night.
I try to look past it, but it’s literally inches from my nose, and through his filmy shorts I can see his veins, his throbbing head, even…wait. Is that some seepage? Is he as horny as I am?
I close my eyes and do my ten reps in the dark. When I stand up again, he gets on the bench – only to reveal his huge cock lying against his leg as he prepares to lift.
“That’s it,” I say, turning away. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
I take out my phone and text him instead, motioning for him to check his.
Remember what we talked about last night? I ask, red-faced, half turned-away from him. He frowns as he responds.
Um…yeah?
Well you’re gonna need to put that dick of yours away, because it’s flopping and bouncing everywhere, and it’s SUPER distracting, and I’m gonna have to bring up that deal we made again. Male or female, anyone would be turned on by this, you showboat.
I wait for him to show some emotion – he doesn’t. Instead he stares intently down at his phone and types this:
Actually I feel the same.
You do? I ask, wondering whether he’s being real or just fucking with me.
Yep. Your ass is looking big and plump in those shorts. I’ve been horny, too. In fact, we’d might as well take care of this now, so wanna meet me in the locker room showers so we can get off and then get back to our workout?
You’re serious? What about your drama of the last day or so?
I watch him roll his eyes as he types his response. There’s no drama, weirdo.
Really? You barely spoke to me today.
He blushes, pauses, then types again. That’s because I want to be choking on your cock instead. That was part of the deal, wasn’t it?
Every inch of me throbs. Perhaps the whole jock strap thing was just a ruse to get me horny again, and I was just too dumb and insecure to realize it. Oh fuck, don’t play with me. If you’re serious, look up at me and nod.
He finally looks up, smiles, and nods.
Wordlessly I head to the bathroom/locker room, which is empty – does anyone ever come back here? When I swivel into the large, open shower area, he’s already turning on a faucet behind me, I guess to steam up the room.
I turn back to him, my whole body aflutter. “This is fine, but what if someone comes in?”
“Did you see one guy in that gym?” he asks.
“Oh. Good point. It was all women – women who were staring at that cock the entire time you were running.”
“Shut up.” Something sad comes into his eyes.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s just…ugh, I really do want to do this, but…maybe we’re being dumb. If I get my heart broken by one more girl, I swear I’ll walk off a bridge.”
A new sensation rises in me – pity. And concern, too.
I walk over and touch his nipple. “Don’t, then. Try something else. Try…me. I’m not a girl.”
He licks his bottom lip and then widens his stance. “Okay. You’re the one that’s about to get it, though. But get on your knees first.”
“What?”
“Can you suck me off, to get me going? It felt so good last night.”
“Really? I thought you were freaked out by it…”
“Um, no, I thought you were freaked out by it…”
“Well, I wasn’t. So clearly we’re good to go!”
I drop down to my knees and get up close to him. Shit – he smells so good right now, so manly and pheramonal. I run my fingers along the band of his shorts, then look up at him one last time and wink.
“Get to sucking!” he orders, and I laugh. Finally I slip a finger into his shorts and pull them down. His big dick bounces out, just like that – it’s already ready to go. Fuck. It’s even sexier in the light, all veiny and thick and fleshy. Instead of foreplay, I just lean forward and take him all the way to the base.
“Fuuuck,” he says, gripping me by the head. “Yes, dude, oh, fuck. Yes.”
I feel him deep in my throat, pushing against flesh that feels like it’s almost at my voice box – and it is the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced. Shit, if being curious was this hot, why didn’t we start messing around when we were teenagers?
I take him again, then get an idea. “Fuck my mouth,” I say, my voice low and primitive. “Fuck it like it’s a pussy.”
His eyes roll back into his head as he thrusts his hips forward, making me gag – but not that much, as I had my tonsils and adenoids removed in the seventh grade. He starts pushing in and out, in and out, and I reach down and jack myself off. But suddenly he pulls out. “Shit, have you done this before?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not supposed to be able to take a whole cock, especially not one this fat.”
I blush a little. “Oh, well, I got my tonsils taken out in middle school, if you remember, so I have no gag reflex.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember – you couldn’t eat for two weeks, during winter break.”
“Stop talking and give me cock,” I say as I lean in and take him again, overtaken by desire. He thrusts his hips and gives me exactly what I want. The faces he’s making as he starts fucking my throat again – shit. This is too much. I reach up and run my fingers over his abs, his pecs, his nipples, as I gag and choke lightly on him
. He’s getting close, I can feel it in the way he’s throbbing, so I stop again.
“What now?”
“Suck me,” I say. “I deserve some pleasure, too.”
“You looked like you were pleased enough when you were choking on my meat…”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, though,” he frowns, “maybe I’m not ready for that.”
I stick out my bottom lip. “Please?”
He sets his jaw, but his eyes are honest. “I will by tomorrow, I swear. Just give me time. In the meantime, I’m about to jack off all over your face again.”
“Fine,” I say, opening my mouth.
“Nope, nope – keep it closed, please.”
“Why can’t I taste it?”
“It’s an experiment – I want to know how it looks on a guy’s face instead of a girl’s. Last night was too dark for me to really see.”
“Um, okay…”
Two gaspy minutes later, I stare up at him with his warm liquid oozing down my face. Despite his wishes, a little blob hits the corner of my mouth, and I collect some with my tongue and pause. Again, it tastes so good, so…manly, if that makes sense.
“The verdict?” I ask. His bottom lip disappears into his mouth again.
“Way hotter on a dude’s face. Not even a competition, really. I actually don’t know if I want to go back to women anytime soon…”
“Good news, then – you don’t have to.”
~
An hour later we’re being sat down at a late lunch in a fancy but bland waterfront resort restaurant. I’m across from Beau, who keeps looking at me kind of strangely. What does it mean? Is he still just electrified from what we did? For the life of me I still cannot figure this out. The sex thing has introduced a strange new energy between us. Is he “making eyes” at me, or just glaring at me? Before, I knew exactly how to act around him, because he was Beau – one of my oldest friends, guy who knew all my most embarrassing secrets and didn’t care, etcetera. He’s always been hard to read, but it didn’t matter because I was comfortable with his mystery. I knew exactly who he was, and what he was to me.
But suddenly I am withdrawn and restless. It just gets worse as the meal goes on, too. I keep thinking I’m sitting incorrectly, because if my posture is bad enough I can look like I have a droopy layer of fat underneath my chin from certain angles. Other times I’m positive my voice is sounding too light and airy, so I keep clearing my throat and trying to go deeper. I’ve been around Beau a million times – why am I so suddenly self-conscious? He’s just…him.
We keep meeting eyes again, and then I’ll get a mental image of his dick and his ass and his legs and his abs, and I’ll blush and look away. He keeps blushing, too, and I already want to do something again. But we can’t. We’ve already been disappearing together frequently enough to potentially raise some eyebrows…
Since dessert is being served in a fancy buffet area, we all eventually take our plates and get in line at one end of a curved table. However, when we’re passing an area stacked high with desserts and Danish and pastry, one of our buddies, Lane, makes a comment that sends everything crashing down.
“Nah,” he says when the hotel employee asks him if he’d like anything from the pastry display. “I just came over for coffee, so I can drink more later and not get tired.” Then he turns to Beau and me. “Only fags would want creampuff shit like this, right? Where’s the steak, am I right, you guys?”
Both of us turn red and look away. It is only a split-second comment, but it changes everything about the tone around us. I know Lane doesn’t necessarily mean anything malicious, and that “faggot” is thrown around all the time in the South, but when you toss around words like that, they can still hurt…
And they do. They derail my whole mood, actually. Sure, messing around in privacy is one thing, but what’s going to happen if – or when – we have to face the real world, with our little dalliance still going on behind closed doors? A real world that is apparently so cavalier with its hatred, it throws out slurs at random…
Back at the table, Beau’s face falls, his body language instantly shuts down, and he angles his entire body away from me. Great – reality is already intruding on the perfect little hookup I’ve arranged for myself. Talk about blue balls…
~
Something has changed. Already. Beau barely speaks to me on the way back to the room, and then he swiftly changes in the bathroom and emerges with a bland look on his face. Thanks, Lane – fucking cock block. Ugh.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Nothing at all, dude!” he says breezily. Dude, I think to myself. He’s already friend-zoning me again. Great.
“Oh…cool.”
“Yeah. I was actually just gonna hit up the gym again,” he says in a way that in no way, shape, or form, leaves the door open for me to accompany him. I feel my temper pulsing in my ears.
“Oh, nice…well, what about the pact?”
He looks away and coughs. “Yeah…I don’t know about that. Maybe it was all crazy, lusty, drunk-y talk.”
“Ah. Well, okay then.”
“Yeah. Well I’m off.
“Look,” I say as he turns, making him pause. “It was just an expression. I don’t think Lane knew about us when he used that word.”
He looks off at nothing, then clears his throat in a false-sounding way. “Yeah. But…what’s gonna happen when he does know? How is this going to fit into our lives at all?”
I chew on my inner cheeks. “Um. What happened to living in the moment, Mr. Free Spirit?”
He bites his lower lip, then finally faces me and lets the words explode: “Reality. Reality happened, Nathan.”
“What do you mean by-”
But he’s already gone.
Beau Lindemann
I stomp my way back to the gym for my second workout of the day, but my thoughts are miles away from anything related to cardio.
So. When I was eight, my mom divorced my dad and got my entire family excommunicated from the Catholic Church. I know it sounds ridiculous now, but at the time it became a huge family drama. Religion was always “her thing,” as she had immigrated from Portugal and came from a staunchly Catholic Orthodox family. But that period, when my family literally learned we could not step onto my church’s property anymore, changed everything about the way I viewed the world. I’d been such a black-and-white thinker before, a right-or-wrong guy who’d suddenly been shunned by the very force that was supposed to stand for love and acceptance and all that. If Jesus, who was supposed to love me unconditionally, would kick me out of the back door because of something I couldn’t control, what did “right and wrong” mean in the first place, anyway? What was up, and what was down, in a world that senseless?
I hit the leg machine and kill the fucking shit out of my calves in an attempt to silence the storm in my head. The comment I overheard today was…not ideal. I thought I could throw caution to the breeze and get off with Nathan, but when the whole world will raise an eyebrow, what’s the point? How could I ever relax while looking over my shoulder every other second? How could I live with getting rejected again, like I did back then?
I try to calm myself, and compare this to my experience as a kid. That period was when I learned there really wasn’t any true authority in the world, and therefore you had to make your own rules. Did I feel wrong when I did that stuff with Nate last night? No, not at all. It was maybe a little…jarring, but I didn’t feel any guilt or anything like that in the slightest. So why did Lane’s comment make me want to run and hide, anyway? Why was I listening to him when I’d learned over a decade ago that morality was a sliding scale, instead of the strict set of rules I’d been taught?
As I hit the leg press again I search back for any hints that I was…well, like this. I can’t really think of anything besides the usual experimentation that all my male friends took part in, whether they’ll admit it or not. And fuck, I can’t deny for one second that I’m enjoying what’s happe
ning now. Nate’s lips on my dick, his sturdy back, the curve of his ass…I like all of it. But do I like guys in general, or do I just like Nate, for being Nate?
I always just sort of took for face value that I was straight – that was just it. Sure, I can remember being curious many times, and even checking people out at the gym or at a sporting event – but isn’t that normal? It’s somewhat of a struggle for everyone, isn’t it? Everyone craves the same sex sometimes. Everyone is kept up at night by fantasies of their friends. Everyone would sneak to the back of Target as a kid to stare at the sexy guys on the labels of the underwear packages…
Right?
Actually…come to think of it, I’ve never really heard of anyone else being this torn about it. Hmm…
As I hit the treadmill for my cool down, the mental image of Nate’s dick gives me a chubby, and I realize: regardless of how my brain feels about it, my body is definitely attracted to him. But there’s no way I can change the fact that I am suddenly going crazy over him – nothing will take that away. I never thought this would happen, but I can’t deny that just thinking of his penis – his penis – is making my own penis throb.
I met Nathan Sykes when we were sleeping in Pull-Ups. He knows my darkest secrets and he’s heard me tell the worst jokes I’ve ever told. He knows me back to front, inside to outside. (And now I guess he knows me top to bottom, too. Hehe.) So if we go for this and make a mistake and do it wrong, we’re fucked. Finding new friends just gets harder as you get older, and I know I will never find another Nathan Sykes.
But at the same time, I think I might like him. In a way that is totally different from before. What do I do about it now that my friends are cracking homophobic jokes and we’re all stuck on this tiny little island together?
