The Sublime Cock
Working stiffs/282.

Working stiffs/282.

Working stiffs/281.

Working stiffs/281.

Working stiffs/280.

Working stiffs/280.

Working stiffs/279.

Working stiffs/279.

Working stiffs/278.

Working stiffs/278.

Working stiffs/277.

Working stiffs/277.

Working stiffs/276.

Working stiffs/276.

Working stiffs/275.

Working stiffs/275.

Working stiffs/274.

Working stiffs/274.

Working stiffs/273.

Working stiffs/273.

Working stiffs/272.

Working stiffs/272.

Working stiffs/271.

Working stiffs/271.

Working stiffs/270.

Working stiffs/270.

15B:  I AM JACK’S DICK…THINKING

Jack knew on an intellectual level that it was a very bad idea to spend the Christmas holidays fucking me in the ass after we had mostly managed to stay within some fairly elastic and often shifting boundaries, boundaries that had nevertheless always kept our dicks out of any kind of hole in each others’ bodies (except for a couple of heady hours when we were 17 and Jack had decided that he did want to at least try to fuck me after all). 

To the extent I had any cards to play in response to Jack’s brilliant moves, the ace up my sleeve was my inside knowledge that Jack’s brain and cock rarely communicated with each other, except to occasionally shout ‘No, fuck YOU!’ back and forth along the neural network that led to and from Jack’s glans. Jack’s brain did not want Jack any more emotionally entangled than he already was with the apparently unstable individual who happened to share precisely 100% of Jack’s DNA. Jack’s cock thought Joe’s ass looked like it needed fucking…and that it appeared to be a 100% fucking-A good tight fit. Jack’s cock thought Joe’s ass might even be a good place to live, and not just visit. ‘No, fuck YOU!’ Jack’s cock shouted at Jack’s brain. But even Jack’s brain wasn’t always an asshole, and sometimes it would say, ‘Well, maybe, I’m not really sure…probably just one or two brief visits wouldn’t hurt anything…’  Jack’s cock thought, ‘Fuck that, we’re moving in,” but since Jack’s cock was even smarter than Jack’s brain, Jack’s cock just smiled and didn’t say another word.

*****

Just as I had begun to think I might have a decent chance that the wall built by Jack’s rational self would crumble, caving in to his lusty sensual self, which would result in Jack fucking me in the ass but good at least once or twice over the holidays, which was exactly what I wanted and had planned, that sneaky, devious bastard of a twin (we were carbon copies of one another, after all) had intervened with my boyfriend and very probably dashed to smithereens my completely artificial and wholly unjustifiable January timetable for John’s cock to make its belated entry into my rectum. Immediately after that intervention, I seriously wondered if I could even keep John at bay until I retreated the next morning to the stacks to write my seminar paper.

In all candor, I have to admit that I wanted to win “the game” Jack and I were playing and bend Jack to my will mostly because he had denied me for years what I had most wanted sexually from him, an oral relationship: I wanted to suck Jack’s cock more than I wanted to breathe oxygen. Jack had probably known or at least intuited (correctly) that if he had ever let me get that large dick-shaped, flesh-colored pacifier in my mouth, he would have had a very hard time in prying it out again. At the bottom of it all, we both just wanted to win the fucking game because games were invented for winning, not losing, and we both played for keeps. My default response to Jack’s masterful fucking game, if not overridden, would be to join battle by launching an intricate and fiendishly-designed counter-offensive. That’s how we always played the game.

As I had finished reading the remarkable dialogue between Jack and John and prepared to talk to John about it, I had initially thought that my first - and difficult - task was to identify all of the actual stratagems that Jack had launched - a reasonable step if one intended to erect defenses and prepare a counterattack. Jack’s real game might be no more than making what appeared on its face to be a long, sometimes crude, sometimes funny, often endearing and just as often infuriating dialogue whose stated objective was to provide a few “helpful hints” to a virgin top about how to first go about building an unshakable trust between himself and his virgin bottom boyfriend (me) and then how to exploit that trust to get me well and truly fucked. I calculated that John was already primed by Jack’s “hot as fuck chatter” to start playing hide the knob in the hole -  likely just as soon as he and I got through talking about all the “great advice” Jack had helpfully provided to John. Jack’s advice, while cleverly camouflaged, was in fact designed solely to break down my defenses and have me literally begging John to fuck my ass without mercy.  And Jack had simultaneously coached John to do exactly that, despite any promises he might have to make to the contrary. 

Jack would have my lights fucked out well before midnight if I weren’t very careful. And that was just the visible tip of Jack’s iceberg, its most visible and “well meaning” elements. Why, my sweet, considerate brother was only trying to help along the stifled lust of a couple of neophyte lovers. Bless Jack’s heart. And his equally transparent invitation to John to hurry his big swinging dick straight over to Mississippi, just as soon as he flew home to Dallas and took care of some family business, so that he could pin me to my own spooge-soaked mattress in my brother’s and my own cum-splattered love nest - just in case I had somehow managed to avoid the buttfucking in St. Louis that I so richly deserved - was elegant in both its simplicity and good down-home manners!  (Indeed, I was embarrassed to death that I had not thought to invite John myself). 

The true elegance of Jack’s manipulative scheme was that it was not only transparent, but it also left me helpless to stop it  - so I would lose the game with full awareness of what was going to happen. After all, what was I going to do, explain to John that the only reason Jack was trying to get my boyfriend’s big cock balls deep in my ass in such a hurry was that I had been trying to manipulate my twin brother into fucking me in the ass before I yielded it to John? Nor could I very well revoke Jack’s invitation for John to visit us the next weekend on the grounds that I had already planned to spend those days (and nights) with my brother’s cock slamming into and out of my ass. 

While I suspected from Jack’s usage of our secret vocabulary throughout his chat with John that he might be running some inscrutable double or even triple game, mostly Jack just wanted me to see how fucking clever he was and that my own game was all but up. He was saying to me, in effect, “Sorry, bro, but I won’t be fucking you in your already-fucked asshole this Christmas, after all.” I was in awe, as a practitioner of the manipulative arts myself, at the sheer beauty of Jack’s craft. And unless I had totally missed my guess he had made a major mid-conversation course correction - really a whole new and far better scam than the original one, seemingly thrown together on the fly. I gave him extra credit for that. 

All of my anxiety lay in knowing that (1) given my remaining exams and paper to write, and the academic hole I had dug for myself by lip-locking John’s cock for the last two+ months, I simply did not have the time or energy to unravel, let alone thwart, Jack’s whole plan, and (2) I probably wasn’t going to get my way anyway, and I fucking hated to lose to Jack.  And before I could even begin to untangle Jack’s whole web, I had to give John some attention right that fucking minute before he started getting out the condoms and lube. 

And then, just as I turned to hand John’s phone back to him, I had one of those near-perfect moments of startling clarity that we so often need and so seldom receive. ‘So what if I “lose”?’ I thought. ‘I can’t “lose” if I don’t play.’ Because I knew in that moment that the “consolation” prize I had been so desperately trying to avoid - a healthier and hopefully lasting relationship with John, who I had grown to love and not just like a lot - was really what I wanted. I had just become so fucking blinded by playing the game with Jack that I had lost sight of that fact. 

And I remembered that I had started this game myself with a late-night text to Jack, half-jokingly imploring him to break my ass in before John split it in two. I had known Jack and I were done, or all but done, or would be irrevocably done by the spring, anyway, and I had believed there was no fucking way Jack would agree to fuck me in my ass. When he, half-drunk and with his cock in some coed’s mouth, had instantly agreed - thinking I was running some new misdirection operation - I was, I admit, elated. And when he tried to rescind the next morning, I wouldn’t hear of it. That’s how this game had really started.  As much as I had wanted to “win” the game by “making” Jack fill my ass up with his big beautiful cultural taboo of a cock, thankfully some other part of me recognized that I couldn’t really lose this particular game - unless  (1) I played it too hard (and thereby hurt John); or (2) I allowed myself to believe I had  somehow “lost.” 

And then I had an even greater revelation:  If I stopped playing the game and just played the hand that I was now holding, if I was perfectly amenable to either outcome - John fucking me this week or at the latest next weekend in Mississippi, and being the first one to fuck me in the ass, OR  John fucking me in the ass next weekend in Mississippi, allowing for the slight possibility of, but not insisting on, Jack fucking me in the ass first during the brief window of opportunity before John arrived on our doorstep, I might just get to eat my cake and have it, too. 

Given Jack’s momentum in the master game he was still playing and that I had just resolved to exit - and the critical fact that Jack’s cock would do all of his thinking if I could just quit provoking his brain - I recognized that by ‘surrendering,’ I had just created a win/win situation for myself. Moreover, the added benefit of such a minimalist approach was that I wouldn’t have to lie to John quite so much.

And Jack’s cock really DID want to fuck me.

**************

"Well," I said, handing the phone back to John, "that wasn’t so disturbing…interesting for sure, but when you said ‘disturbing,’ I’ll admit you had me a little concerned, like Jack had totally flipped out or something."

15B: I AM JACK’S DICK…THINKING

Jack knew on an intellectual level that it was a very bad idea to spend the Christmas holidays fucking me in the ass after we had mostly managed to stay within some fairly elastic and often shifting boundaries, boundaries that had nevertheless always kept our dicks out of any kind of hole in each others’ bodies (except for a couple of heady hours when we were 17 and Jack had decided that he did want to at least try to fuck me after all).

To the extent I had any cards to play in response to Jack’s brilliant moves, the ace up my sleeve was my inside knowledge that Jack’s brain and cock rarely communicated with each other, except to occasionally shout ‘No, fuck YOU!’ back and forth along the neural network that led to and from Jack’s glans. Jack’s brain did not want Jack any more emotionally entangled than he already was with the apparently unstable individual who happened to share precisely 100% of Jack’s DNA. Jack’s cock thought Joe’s ass looked like it needed fucking…and that it appeared to be a 100% fucking-A good tight fit. Jack’s cock thought Joe’s ass might even be a good place to live, and not just visit. ‘No, fuck YOU!’ Jack’s cock shouted at Jack’s brain. But even Jack’s brain wasn’t always an asshole, and sometimes it would say, ‘Well, maybe, I’m not really sure…probably just one or two brief visits wouldn’t hurt anything…’ Jack’s cock thought, ‘Fuck that, we’re moving in,” but since Jack’s cock was even smarter than Jack’s brain, Jack’s cock just smiled and didn’t say another word.

*****

Just as I had begun to think I might have a decent chance that the wall built by Jack’s rational self would crumble, caving in to his lusty sensual self, which would result in Jack fucking me in the ass but good at least once or twice over the holidays, which was exactly what I wanted and had planned, that sneaky, devious bastard of a twin (we were carbon copies of one another, after all) had intervened with my boyfriend and very probably dashed to smithereens my completely artificial and wholly unjustifiable January timetable for John’s cock to make its belated entry into my rectum. Immediately after that intervention, I seriously wondered if I could even keep John at bay until I retreated the next morning to the stacks to write my seminar paper.

In all candor, I have to admit that I wanted to win “the game” Jack and I were playing and bend Jack to my will mostly because he had denied me for years what I had most wanted sexually from him, an oral relationship: I wanted to suck Jack’s cock more than I wanted to breathe oxygen. Jack had probably known or at least intuited (correctly) that if he had ever let me get that large dick-shaped, flesh-colored pacifier in my mouth, he would have had a very hard time in prying it out again. At the bottom of it all, we both just wanted to win the fucking game because games were invented for winning, not losing, and we both played for keeps. My default response to Jack’s masterful fucking game, if not overridden, would be to join battle by launching an intricate and fiendishly-designed counter-offensive. That’s how we always played the game.

As I had finished reading the remarkable dialogue between Jack and John and prepared to talk to John about it, I had initially thought that my first - and difficult - task was to identify all of the actual stratagems that Jack had launched - a reasonable step if one intended to erect defenses and prepare a counterattack. Jack’s real game might be no more than making what appeared on its face to be a long, sometimes crude, sometimes funny, often endearing and just as often infuriating dialogue whose stated objective was to provide a few “helpful hints” to a virgin top about how to first go about building an unshakable trust between himself and his virgin bottom boyfriend (me) and then how to exploit that trust to get me well and truly fucked. I calculated that John was already primed by Jack’s “hot as fuck chatter” to start playing hide the knob in the hole - likely just as soon as he and I got through talking about all the “great advice” Jack had helpfully provided to John. Jack’s advice, while cleverly camouflaged, was in fact designed solely to break down my defenses and have me literally begging John to fuck my ass without mercy. And Jack had simultaneously coached John to do exactly that, despite any promises he might have to make to the contrary.

Jack would have my lights fucked out well before midnight if I weren’t very careful. And that was just the visible tip of Jack’s iceberg, its most visible and “well meaning” elements. Why, my sweet, considerate brother was only trying to help along the stifled lust of a couple of neophyte lovers. Bless Jack’s heart. And his equally transparent invitation to John to hurry his big swinging dick straight over to Mississippi, just as soon as he flew home to Dallas and took care of some family business, so that he could pin me to my own spooge-soaked mattress in my brother’s and my own cum-splattered love nest - just in case I had somehow managed to avoid the buttfucking in St. Louis that I so richly deserved - was elegant in both its simplicity and good down-home manners! (Indeed, I was embarrassed to death that I had not thought to invite John myself).

The true elegance of Jack’s manipulative scheme was that it was not only transparent, but it also left me helpless to stop it - so I would lose the game with full awareness of what was going to happen. After all, what was I going to do, explain to John that the only reason Jack was trying to get my boyfriend’s big cock balls deep in my ass in such a hurry was that I had been trying to manipulate my twin brother into fucking me in the ass before I yielded it to John? Nor could I very well revoke Jack’s invitation for John to visit us the next weekend on the grounds that I had already planned to spend those days (and nights) with my brother’s cock slamming into and out of my ass.

While I suspected from Jack’s usage of our secret vocabulary throughout his chat with John that he might be running some inscrutable double or even triple game, mostly Jack just wanted me to see how fucking clever he was and that my own game was all but up. He was saying to me, in effect, “Sorry, bro, but I won’t be fucking you in your already-fucked asshole this Christmas, after all.” I was in awe, as a practitioner of the manipulative arts myself, at the sheer beauty of Jack’s craft. And unless I had totally missed my guess he had made a major mid-conversation course correction - really a whole new and far better scam than the original one, seemingly thrown together on the fly. I gave him extra credit for that.

All of my anxiety lay in knowing that (1) given my remaining exams and paper to write, and the academic hole I had dug for myself by lip-locking John’s cock for the last two+ months, I simply did not have the time or energy to unravel, let alone thwart, Jack’s whole plan, and (2) I probably wasn’t going to get my way anyway, and I fucking hated to lose to Jack. And before I could even begin to untangle Jack’s whole web, I had to give John some attention right that fucking minute before he started getting out the condoms and lube.

And then, just as I turned to hand John’s phone back to him, I had one of those near-perfect moments of startling clarity that we so often need and so seldom receive. ‘So what if I “lose”?’ I thought. ‘I can’t “lose” if I don’t play.’ Because I knew in that moment that the “consolation” prize I had been so desperately trying to avoid - a healthier and hopefully lasting relationship with John, who I had grown to love and not just like a lot - was really what I wanted. I had just become so fucking blinded by playing the game with Jack that I had lost sight of that fact.

And I remembered that I had started this game myself with a late-night text to Jack, half-jokingly imploring him to break my ass in before John split it in two. I had known Jack and I were done, or all but done, or would be irrevocably done by the spring, anyway, and I had believed there was no fucking way Jack would agree to fuck me in my ass. When he, half-drunk and with his cock in some coed’s mouth, had instantly agreed - thinking I was running some new misdirection operation - I was, I admit, elated. And when he tried to rescind the next morning, I wouldn’t hear of it. That’s how this game had really started. As much as I had wanted to “win” the game by “making” Jack fill my ass up with his big beautiful cultural taboo of a cock, thankfully some other part of me recognized that I couldn’t really lose this particular game - unless (1) I played it too hard (and thereby hurt John); or (2) I allowed myself to believe I had somehow “lost.”

And then I had an even greater revelation: If I stopped playing the game and just played the hand that I was now holding, if I was perfectly amenable to either outcome - John fucking me this week or at the latest next weekend in Mississippi, and being the first one to fuck me in the ass, OR John fucking me in the ass next weekend in Mississippi, allowing for the slight possibility of, but not insisting on, Jack fucking me in the ass first during the brief window of opportunity before John arrived on our doorstep, I might just get to eat my cake and have it, too.

Given Jack’s momentum in the master game he was still playing and that I had just resolved to exit - and the critical fact that Jack’s cock would do all of his thinking if I could just quit provoking his brain - I recognized that by ‘surrendering,’ I had just created a win/win situation for myself. Moreover, the added benefit of such a minimalist approach was that I wouldn’t have to lie to John quite so much.

And Jack’s cock really DID want to fuck me.

**************

"Well," I said, handing the phone back to John, "that wasn’t so disturbing…interesting for sure, but when you said ‘disturbing,’ I’ll admit you had me a little concerned, like Jack had totally flipped out or something."