Chemical [se]X

by Неизвестный

  Aubrey moaned and shook her head. “I don’t think I need one. Do you?”

  In response, Terence spun her around, bracing her against the counter where the chocolates still sat. The box dug into her back, but that was far less noticeable than the fact that her husband had started to harden again.

  “Definitely not with a wife as sexy as you,” he said.

  They were already at it when Terence swept his arm behind her and knocked the box off the counter, and both of them moaned as the chocolates scattered across the kitchen floor.

  (du)X

  Dario Dalla Lasta

  I have never been a fan of chocolate. When presented with a box of Nuts and Chews from See’s Candies or offered delicate Godiva truffles, I wave them away like I’m swatting at flies. Honestly, I just don’t possess the gene that turns normal people into raving lunatics when chocolate comes around. The magnetic pull that the cocoa bean holds over my family and friends has been nonexistent in my life.

  Until now.

  Here’s how my new obsession with chocolate began—in a bathroom stall at a roller rink, of all places.

  Last Friday night, my friend Allan turned 40 and celebrated with a big birthday blowout at the Complexx, a monstrous gay dance club on the West Side Highway in Manhattan known for its circuit parties, celebrity sightings, and rampant drug use. One night a month the club turned its dance floor into a roller skating rink, thereby shooing away the typical shirtless, Ecstasy-fueled partiers for a night dedicated to bell bottoms, ’70s and ’80s music, and the rental of roller skates.

  Essentially, my kind of night.

  Although I had not strapped on a pair of roller skates in more than 20 years, birthday parties at the downtown roller rink in my small California hometown had trained me well, and I was excited to show off in front of Allan’s friends. To get in the mood before I left home, I poured myself a double Fuzzy Pussy (Absolut Mandrin, soda, splash o’ cran), dressed in my most inspired vintage outfit, and listened to the Disco station on my television’s music channel. Preening in front of the mirror, I admired my silky yellow Dolphin shorts from my college days, blue and green-striped tank top that matched my eyes, knee-high athletic socks, and a short, blond surfer-boy wig from Ricky’s NYC that swooped back from my face like feathers. My dream of having a full head of sun-bleached locks was now a reality, and a radical departure from my own clipped one. If I may be so blunt, after smoking a blunt it perfected my look to a tee. Soon enough I was off and riding the subway downtown with only a modicum of embarrassment. After all, it wasn’t Halloween, yet I certainly appeared to be dressed in a costume. I’m glad I was a bit buzzed.

  The party was in full swing when I arrived, the disco ball spinning like a globe of encrusted diamonds over an oblong space large enough for a hundred skaters or more to circle the rink. Allan had gathered a group of about 25 friends and almost everyone had dressed the part. I received several screams and fits of laughter when I strolled in wearing my wig and slinky shorts. “Kokomo” by The Beach Boys echoed through the cavernous club, and I had never felt more like a California surfer boy in my life. After describing the contents of a Fuzzy Pussy to the dim-witted yet gorgeous bartender, I sucked a few slurps down before gaining the confidence to sashay all over that rink in my skates. As for my roller disco moves? Well, let’s just say that my skills have turned a bit rusty over time. At least I didn’t fall or spill my drink.

  The libations flowed, I tried to be a hotshot by skating backwards without landing on my ass and, once I got my nerve up, I sidled over to Sage during Sister Sledge’s classic, “He’s the Greatest Dancer.” Sage truly was a great dancer, in addition to being a hot, bearded, hairy-chested stud who always had a boy on his arm and a coke bag in his pocket. Even though we had never been good friends back in my halcyon days of nonstop New York clubbing, we had always shared a nice rapport. That was ten long years ago. Now he looked even better with age and, for once, didn’t have a boy clinging to his arm. Nor did he have some silly costume on. I felt like a dork in my get-up next to Sage, who looked like a hot lumberjack in his checked flannel shirt and worn-out jeans. His masculinity never failed to turn me on.

  After catching up over the years we missed during our endless circling to “Boogie Wonderland,” “Ring My Bell,” and other charming throwbacks, he invited me to the bathroom. That could only mean one thing with Sage—sex. No, I take that back. Two things—sex and drugs. I would take either or both with Sage. I’d been yearning for him to ring my bell for years.

  So off we went, stumbling in our skates as we left the rink and hit the carpet, tittering like kids on a first date. The bathroom was thankfully empty, a complete anomaly compared to the circuit parties I had attended previously. We cruised over to the last stall on the left past the sinks and urinals. Sage slid the lock shut with a smirk, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. I gulped and rubbed both of my hands on my skimpy shorts, noting for the first time how clammy they were.

  “I gotta take a leak first,” advised Sage. He unbuttoned the fly of his faded 501s and pulled out a thick, beautiful cock, just like I had imagined. “Looks good, huh,” he observed. I nodded my head in agreement; it looked better than good. It looked downright succulent. I watched him urinate with a ferociousness I could only attribute to a steady flow of alcohol or a wide urethra. I didn’t care why his gorgeous arc of piss came out so strongly, all I knew was that I had to put that piece of meat in my mouth pronto. Maybe even drink from his fountain of golden delight. After finishing, he flushed, buttoned up, and turned to me with a wicked grin. We barely fit in the small space together, and his hairy arm kept brushing my soft one. The bristles made me hard.

  “Look what I have,” he crooned, pulling a little gold box from the pocket of his jeans and holding it out to me as though it contained the actual chemical Au from the periodic table of elements. I was surprised it wasn’t a baggie of cocaine.

  “What’s in there?” I asked.

  “Only the best shit ever made,” he bragged. “Dude, it’s chocolate.” I made a face. “Don’t worry, it ain’t like any kind of chocolate you’ve ever tasted, little surfer buddy,” he continued with a wink. “This little duck-shaped thing right here,” he stopped to open the box and show me what was inside, “this, my friend, will change your life. Your sex life, I mean.” For a moment I was offended. Did he think I couldn’t get it up or something? I frowned while inspecting the item in his hand. He was right, the box contained a piece of duck-shaped chocolate. I shrugged. Even when tempted with edible desserts made of marijuana, I’m still not a connoisseur of sweets. The huge smile Sage displayed over this small piece of candy was contagious though, and since I had just memorized the size and shape of his gorgeously hung penis, I decided to play along. Perhaps I would be able to suck him off after all. And what the hell, being stoned with Sage didn’t sound half bad.

  “Yummy,” I responded, the faint note of sarcasm hanging in the toilet stall. “That looks good,” I added, lying. Sage laughed and took a bite of the duck, handing me the other half. I popped it in my mouth. Almost instantly, the duck melted on my tongue, coating it with the most mouthwatering goodness I had ever experienced. “Mmmm!” I hummed, enjoying the flavors that swam throughout my mouth. Besides a rich, dark chocolate taste, there was a heady mixture of earthy tones underneath: dirt, grass, flowers, life itself. But not weed; I didn’t detect that green herb’s distinctly singular flavor. I swallowed, shuddering as the chocolate coursed down my throat and headed straight for my privates. I closed my eyes and felt Sage’s strong arms curl around me.

  “They’re new,” he whispered, his bushy beard scratching my cheek. “From somewhere exotic, like the Brazilian rain forest or something. My dealer calls them ‘Afro-sleaziacs,’ you know, like a sexualized aphrodisiac.” I opened my eyes at that point to see Sage looking moony and dreamy.

  “An Afro-sleaziac?” I repeated. “What’s gonna happen, I’m about to grow curly hair and become a sleazebag? That’s ridiculo
us.”

  “Oh, you don’t even know how ridiculous, Turner.” He only called me by my last name, which I found quite endearing. “And it won’t make your little crew cut grow out, so grow up. It will make you pretty slutty though,” he finished with a lick of his lips. “Speaking of ridiculous, can you please take that stupid wig off? It’s freaking me out.” I chuckled and did as he asked, placing it on the toilet tank where it resembled nothing more than a dirty mop. “Thank you. Now just you wait, this duck’ll go right to your head.” Snickering, he added, “And I don’t mean the one on your shoulders.” I couldn’t help but laugh, Sage was being so cute and paying me all this attention. I basked in the glow, forgetting we were in the bathroom of the Complexx for Allan’s birthday party. I even forgot we were wearing roller skates.

  “How did you get this?” I asked. “It’s not like you’re rich or anything.” It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea what Sage did for a living. “Are you?”

  “Nah. I got me a sweet ass connection, dude. I know the friend of a friend of the second cousin to one of the inventors or, I dunno, someone like that. All I know is this guy and I fucked our brains out after eating one of these chocolates. After that, I was in.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Just wait,” he answered. “It’ll hit in a minute. The D-U-X kicks in pretty fast.”

  “The D-U-X? What the hell is that? Is that like GHB or something?” If so, I wanted no part of it.

  “Nah, don’t worry,” Sage reassured me, adjusting his crotch. My eyes went straight to the bulge in his tight jeans. “You probably didn’t notice the lettering because I ate half before giving you the rest. There are three letters printed on each chocolate duck. The letters d, u, and x. Get it? It spells Dux. Like the animals, you know? It’s actually printed on the chocolates as open parenthesis, lower case d and u, closed parenthesis, then a capital X. Isn’t that cool? It’s like the name of a new chemical element.”

  “Yeah, that is pretty cool, but what does it actually do?”

  He took my hand and placed it on his package. “This,” he said.

  Instinctively, I rubbed my hand on his rising mound, feeling the contents expand by the second. Damn, he felt good, so good I could hardly believe it. That’s when I realized my dick was stretching the thin nylon of my shorts to almost comical proportions. Sage’s hand lunged to grab me down there, eliciting a weak moan from me.

  “Feels good, don’t it?” Sage asked.

  I sighed. “Uh huh. Yeah, it really does. God, that feels fucking fantastic!”

  Sage agreed and leaned in for a kiss. Our tongues tangled like chocolate-covered serpents while our hands continued groping each other’s junk. I honestly felt hornier than I ever thought possible. I didn’t care what the fuck (du)X was, only that I already loved it. Chocolate had never tasted better before in my life.

  All of a sudden, voices carried into the tiled bathroom as skaters careened in, whooping and carrying on as only inebriated club goers in roller skates can. I froze, mid-kiss, until Sage pulled away and put a finger to his lips. I nodded, motioning that my lips were locked and the key thrown away. My other hand didn’t leave his heavy pouch though; I could keep quiet and fondle him at the same time. Besides, I enjoyed the thrill of hiding out in a bathroom stall with a handsome man while sharing an illicit drug and touching one other in an inappropriate manner. I felt like a randy juvenile delinquent.

  Sage whispered, “Shhh,” and knelt down on the floor in front of me, skates askew, eyes imploring me to pull my shorts down. Without hesitation, those flimsy things were down around my ankles, hanging over my skates. With no underwear to restrict it, my boner stood straight up, rigid and crimson and angry-looking, resembling a red missile lethal enough to destroy any throat or asshole it struck. A throat was first. Sage licked the underside of my glans, eyes up at me before swallowing me down to the base, his nose tickling my pubic hair. I almost screamed. The pleasure was so intense, so personal, so bat-shit crazy that I couldn’t be silent. I moaned. Sage stopped sucking, peering up at me with a warning look in his eyes even as those twinkling sex-crazed orbs made sweet love to me.

  Toilets flushed, faucets opened, hand dryers blew. “Come back to the party soon, boys!” Allan called out, giggling in his good-natured way. The birthday boy knew we had traipsed off to the bathroom together and didn’t seem to mind that we were still in there fooling around. Okay. Cool. The coast was clear, now back to business: Sage’s mouth on my cock.

  He sucked me like no one had ever sucked before. There should be a new medical term for fellatio besides “oral stimulation of the penis,” because what he was doing to me down there was ten times that and involved a stimulation of all five senses. My mind reeled and every synapse in my body fired off sparks of desire. Suddenly I wanted Sage’s prick in my mouth like I needed oxygen, the sheer compulsion rendering me dizzy and light-headed as if I had just blown up a balloon.

  With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I managed to wrench his warm mouth off of me, pull up my shorts and lift him up to a standing position before my skates skidded on the floor. I crashed down hard, my left skate slipping out from under the stall door before I was properly situated. Although my knees throbbed from the impact, I didn’t give a shit. How could I, when sex-fueled chocolate coursed through my body, putting all vestiges of pain on hold? I fumbled with Sage’s buttons, fingers shaking, until I peeled his jeans down. His white Jockey briefs were cute enough, but it was the erection inside of them that unlocked my jaw until it hung open in disbelief. As if on cue, I heard Hot Chocolate’s “You Sexy Thing” belting throughout the club. I believe in miracles, where you from, you sexy thing. Sage’s fat hard-on snaked all the way to one side in his underwear, the tip peeking out in anticipation, already expelling a thin stream of clear pre-cum. I almost fainted. Instead, I licked the wetness eagerly, savoring the salty essence tinged with a sweet, dessert-like aftertaste. I had to eat that. With a grunt, I yanked his underwear down and ogled the heavy tool springing up in release. Sage’s circumcised masterpiece sported a mushroom head, long plump shaft riddled with popping veins, and a bulbous sack of hairy balls.

  Essentially, my dream dick.

  I hadn’t noticed many details when he peed earlier. Now I could discern every single ravishing inch. I located each follicle of hair and traced his heartbeat to where the blood pulsed. My throat ached with loneliness, desperately needing that cock inside of it. I obeyed the need. He felt so good in my mouth, I think my eyes rolled back in my head. At first, all I tasted was piss and skin and sweat which, don’t get me wrong, is one of my favorite combinations when it comes to a lip-smacking blowjob. After a few moments, however, his dick tasted markedly different. It tasted like chocolate, and I’m talking the real deal, Godiva, See’s, all that kind of stuff I could take or leave before. Not any more.

  I pulled away and looked up at Sage, who smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “Tastes good, don’t it,” he marveled.

  This time I didn’t make a face or tell a lie. “Tastes delicious,” I replied before getting down to business. Sucking that man off felt like the most important job in the world, and luckily I was the only applicant hired for that honor. I devoured Sage like a ravenous beast, slurping him down my gullet over and over again, choking and gurgling, before working my way back up to his hefty head, loving his bucking and growling and moaning and cuss words spitting from his snarling, bearded mouth. The salty-chocolate duo of his drooling member blew my mind, and I think I blew him better than any other guy ever. Why? Because this was different in every single way. Besides getting me ridiculously hard and horny, the (du)X filled every molecule in my body with sexual awareness. Every inch and gallon and parcel of me wanted, needed, craved sex. It’s like my body was turned inside out, and when it reverted back to its natural state, my skin and bones, my organs, my blood, even my guts reeked of sex.

  I was stunned and hurt when Sage slipped his engorged piece from my mouth until he motioned for me to stand
up. Once again I obeyed, regaining my balance with shaky legs atop eight wheels. When he pulled my little shorts down again, we both noticed the lemon-colored material was already marked with a splotch of my seed. “Nice work. Now get these all the way off,” he said in a husky drawl. Over my skates they went, discarded hurriedly on the floor. Sage sat down on the toilet seat, his cock swollen and bobbing about, waiting for me to wrap my whole body around it. “Here, sit down facing me, I wanna watch your face while I fuck you.” I did as instructed without slipping in my skates, and slowly eased my puckered asshole down onto his dripping wet pole, sucking in air, panting as he eased it deeper inside of me. The agony was exquisite. Every pinpoint of each nerve ending in my asshole flared up to caress Sage’s welcome intrusion. He filled me so fully and wholeheartedly that I heard myself gasping. When his bushy pubes finally grazed my ass cheeks, we groaned in unison. If I tell you we looked deeply into each other’s eyes and let our two souls mingle into one as we fucked, would you believe me? It’s true. He filled me to the brim in every way imaginable, and I rode that sexy cowboy’s cock like a bucking bronco, surprised that I didn’t yell “Yeehaw!” in the echoing bathroom. Up and down I went, over and over again, hooked on the feeling of Sage’s manhood sliding in and out of me with determined fervor, and I nibbled on his whiskery lips while he pumped away beneath me like a well-oiled machine. Under my breath, I sang, “That’s the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh,” the DJ mixing in KC & The Sunshine Band as though I had personally requested it. In far less time than I wanted, I grabbed my oozing dick and, with a yelp, squirt all over his shirt, creating a fountain of stains like a mosaic overlaying the checkered print.

  “Yes, goddammit!” he roared, dumping load after load into my willing ass. With my senses on high alert, I all but felt, saw, tasted, and heard every creamy convulsion Sage pumped inside of and throughout my body. I sat there on top of him with his hardness held within me and made out with him for what seemed like hours. I could feel his semen coating my insides like chocolate syrup.