The Sublime Cock
Tugging on a friend/395.

Tugging on a friend/395.

Leading with his chin/3.

Leading with his chin/3.

Leading with his chin/2.

Leading with his chin/2.

Leading with his chin.

Leading with his chin.

Friday feet/578.

Friday feet/578.

24A:  MY BROTHER’S KEEPER, Part 1

"Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father’s heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?"

'Look Homeward, Angel'
Thomas Wolfe


“We shall not cease from    exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

'Four Quartets'
T.S. Eliot

•••••••

I was so close to the Camp that I could smell Jack. And taste him. All of my senses were alive and electric not just to the possibility but finally to the reality of Jack. I could see him in my mind’s eye and I knew what he was wearing. I felt his sweet firm peach of an athletic ass gripped in the palms of my hands, and I remembered the curly dark blond hair barely spilling out of the crack between his cheeks. I could taste his clean, active saltiness, and the slightly salty-sweetness, with the faintest metallic hint, of Jack’s semen. Though I had never, or as good as never, truly sucked Jack’s cock, I had tasted his cum more times than I could count, likely more times than I had tasted cornbread over the past six years.  

Of course I could hear him, Jack’s voice more like my own to my ear than my own was, still echoing in my ears, but I discounted that sensory perception because we had been talking for most of the last 150 miles or so, on and off, finally hanging up for the last time as I had left the highway at Exit 174 and headed mostly back north for about 3 miles; taken a left and driven west for 2 miles; taken another left and gone mostly southwest for about 3 miles down a dark, curving, hilly two-lane county road; and finally turned right onto a gravel road leading to “the Camp”where Jack was waiting for me in the swirl of his scents and tastes and textures.

I could feel his lithe and graceful strength, his smooth, hard, well-muscled body and, of course, I could feel the part of him I had touched most often over the past seven years, his soft, meaty dick, his hard, surging, kinetic and  bursting cock…but that feel was very different now because I was feeling that part of Jack in interior places where he’d never before been. 

More than any sensation, though, the closer I got to his actual physical presence, I could smell Jack’s clean and earthy and fresh scent, like the scent of fresh baked bread that had just been turned straight out of the richest, blackest delta soil, with a whiff of autumn leafiness. The masculine version of  ‘the exquisite smell of the south,’ not funky but fecund. Jack had always been to me a fertile and nourishing olfactory aphrodisiac. 

God, but the scent alone of Jack, waking together any morning, had always made me hard. And I suddenly knew why the Incubus had held such an intoxicating power over me…Andrew had smelled almost exactly like Jack, a familiar scent that, unbelievably, I had not been quite able to put my finger on and identify but that made me feel oddly comfortable, secure. Of course my own specially-conjured incubus not only would have smelled like Jack, it would have made sure that I hadn’t recognized that fact. That kid had fucked like a demon, too, and I wondered, not idly, if that meant Jack fucked like a demon or, if somehow, that kid had fucked like Jack. 

As I turned off the gravel road into the lost lane end that led up to the cabin,  it was just after 10:00 p.m., and it was clear and cold - well, cool - for mid-December in Mississippi - shirt-sleeves weather for natives of St. Louis. This far from the interstate and further from even the smallest communities there were virtually no lights and it was very dark, and that meant the Milky Way would be splashed across the sky tonight in all of its awesomeness, above and visible from the wooded knoll on which “the cabin” had been built. 

That structure was hardly a ‘cabin,’ and the property even less a ‘camp,’ but those were the good southern words that people who came from money in our part of the world used offhandedly or pseudo-disparagingly to describe their bucolic weekend ‘retreats’ or ‘compounds’ so as not to be said to be ‘putting on airs.’ I laughed to myself as I considered how I would like to describe the ‘cabin’ if I were ever to write about it:  “an architectural gem constructed of rich-grained non-native hardwoods, fieldstone and shimmering glass, but mostly glass, an enclosed airiness tucked away in the forested hills of north Mississippi near where the delta and hill country abruptly abut one another but do not in any sense of the word ‘converge’…where the twin scions of that house very nearly fucked each other demonically to death one Christmas season…” 

I rounded the last bend in the lane and saw the cabin on the far side of the hilltop against the starry sky, and Jack standing in the clearing around the cabin gazing up, filled with awe and wonder as he always was no matter what held his attention - if something held Jack’s attention, it filled him with awe and wonder, and if that thing on which his gaze fell did not fill him with awe and wonder, it did not hold his attention, not for long, anyway. I can’t imagine that I will ever lose that image of my first sighting of Jack in all of his innocence and beauty after so many months. 

Jack broke off his stargazing and  turned as he heard my Jeep, its lights and engine killed, coast to a stop. He let out a raucous and joyous whoop and then he was running toward me, and I was out of the vehicle and running toward him, we were colliding and laughing and embracing and lifting one another up into the chill apple-crisp night air, we were tipping over and tumbling down and rolling around in each other’s arms in the fading near-winter grass…and then Jack had pinned me, as he usually did, and sitting on top of me, my back flat on the ground, he was looking at me in awe and wonder and I was breathing again, not realizing until that moment that I had been holding my breath, deprived of oxygen, for four long months. 

Jack laid one palm against the side of my face deliberately, as if the gesture were somehow a vital aid to his sight or to my understanding, and he said quietly, “Don’t ever be away that long again.” 

And when I said simply, “I won’t,” with silent tears brimming in my eyes,  Jack bent over and pressed his open mouth to mine. When our tongues and then our lips parted and Jack lifted his head a few inches so that he was looking directly into my eyes, I found I could barely speak. “Are we going to fuck in the yard?” I managed to ask in a gasping voice that sounded very much like I hoped the answer would be an urgent ‘yes.’  

Jack laughed easily and answered, “We can. But let’s don’t. At least not yet. Can you wait?” And when I nodded, he was off of me and pulling me up with one hand, his other hand finding the bulge in my jeans as I came to my feet. 

"I think you’re almost as glad to see me as I am to see you," Jack laughed. 

"I am," I said, accepting that invitation to close my hand on the rise in his jeans, and I felt that same electric jolt I had felt the first time I had ever glommed another guy’s cock through clothing.

"Told you I’d be up for you…C’mon, Joe, it’s fucking cold out here," he said. "I’ve got a big fire going and the smoothest single malt ever…and I was assured that Glenlivet 18 pairs very well with semen…" 

"Fucking 18?" I asked in disbelief, "Jesus, Jack, you splurged."

"Fucking 18, Joe," he said, "we were three when it was casked. And speaking of fucking…the only problem with fucking, you know," Jack continued as we walked toward the cabin, ‘is that no one’s figured out how two guys who are desperate for one another can both be inside each other at the same time…have they?"  

"If they did, I missed that news flash." I thought a second and asked, "Us two guys? Are you desperate to fuck me,  because if you are—"

"No…not desperate to fuck you…just desperate for you, Joe…and desperate for me."

"Fuck, Jack…where’s that coming from? And why now?" I asked. Then after a split-second, said, "Oh shit, that’s too heavy, not the first conversation I want to have."

"Yeah, we’ll have that conversation, I promise. Not yet, though, ok? Most of that’s real good stuff, but it’s connected, sort of, to some shit that blows. We’ll get there."

"In your time, Jack, no problem," I said, then quoted from distant memory, ‘Have patience and belief, for life is many days, and each present hour will pass away.’"

"That’s good…you make that up on the spot?" Jack asked.

"Science majors…jeeze," I said. "Not hardly…same guy who said you can never go home again."

"Whatever…that sounds like bullshit, bro, because we ARE home again…but anyway, for right now, whether it’s for one night, a couple of weeks, or months and months," Jack said as he put an arm around my shoulders, "if it turns out we that we really can’t keep each other, I still want us to have something of eye-popping wonder that we can keep forever, that we can look back on and fucking marvel at it."

"That’s good, too…you make that up on the spot?" I asked.

"This very second," Jack said. 

"Deep…for a science major," I replied.

"Balls deep," Jack laughed. "And I’ll tell you something else good, but incredibly shallow, over an 18, OK?" 

"That’s a deal," I answered. ‘Months and months’ was new and it sounded good. ‘IF it turns out we that we can’t keep each other,’ was also new but the possibility it conceded was too good to even consider

24A: MY BROTHER’S KEEPER, Part 1

"Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father’s heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?"

'Look Homeward, Angel'
Thomas Wolfe


“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

'Four Quartets'
T.S. Eliot

•••••••

I was so close to the Camp that I could smell Jack. And taste him. All of my senses were alive and electric not just to the possibility but finally to the reality of Jack. I could see him in my mind’s eye and I knew what he was wearing. I felt his sweet firm peach of an athletic ass gripped in the palms of my hands, and I remembered the curly dark blond hair barely spilling out of the crack between his cheeks. I could taste his clean, active saltiness, and the slightly salty-sweetness, with the faintest metallic hint, of Jack’s semen. Though I had never, or as good as never, truly sucked Jack’s cock, I had tasted his cum more times than I could count, likely more times than I had tasted cornbread over the past six years.

Of course I could hear him, Jack’s voice more like my own to my ear than my own was, still echoing in my ears, but I discounted that sensory perception because we had been talking for most of the last 150 miles or so, on and off, finally hanging up for the last time as I had left the highway at Exit 174 and headed mostly back north for about 3 miles; taken a left and driven west for 2 miles; taken another left and gone mostly southwest for about 3 miles down a dark, curving, hilly two-lane county road; and finally turned right onto a gravel road leading to “the Camp”where Jack was waiting for me in the swirl of his scents and tastes and textures.

I could feel his lithe and graceful strength, his smooth, hard, well-muscled body and, of course, I could feel the part of him I had touched most often over the past seven years, his soft, meaty dick, his hard, surging, kinetic and bursting cock…but that feel was very different now because I was feeling that part of Jack in interior places where he’d never before been.

More than any sensation, though, the closer I got to his actual physical presence, I could smell Jack’s clean and earthy and fresh scent, like the scent of fresh baked bread that had just been turned straight out of the richest, blackest delta soil, with a whiff of autumn leafiness. The masculine version of ‘the exquisite smell of the south,’ not funky but fecund. Jack had always been to me a fertile and nourishing olfactory aphrodisiac.

God, but the scent alone of Jack, waking together any morning, had always made me hard. And I suddenly knew why the Incubus had held such an intoxicating power over me…Andrew had smelled almost exactly like Jack, a familiar scent that, unbelievably, I had not been quite able to put my finger on and identify but that made me feel oddly comfortable, secure. Of course my own specially-conjured incubus not only would have smelled like Jack, it would have made sure that I hadn’t recognized that fact. That kid had fucked like a demon, too, and I wondered, not idly, if that meant Jack fucked like a demon or, if somehow, that kid had fucked like Jack.

As I turned off the gravel road into the lost lane end that led up to the cabin, it was just after 10:00 p.m., and it was clear and cold - well, cool - for mid-December in Mississippi - shirt-sleeves weather for natives of St. Louis. This far from the interstate and further from even the smallest communities there were virtually no lights and it was very dark, and that meant the Milky Way would be splashed across the sky tonight in all of its awesomeness, above and visible from the wooded knoll on which “the cabin” had been built.

That structure was hardly a ‘cabin,’ and the property even less a ‘camp,’ but those were the good southern words that people who came from money in our part of the world used offhandedly or pseudo-disparagingly to describe their bucolic weekend ‘retreats’ or ‘compounds’ so as not to be said to be ‘putting on airs.’ I laughed to myself as I considered how I would like to describe the ‘cabin’ if I were ever to write about it: “an architectural gem constructed of rich-grained non-native hardwoods, fieldstone and shimmering glass, but mostly glass, an enclosed airiness tucked away in the forested hills of north Mississippi near where the delta and hill country abruptly abut one another but do not in any sense of the word ‘converge’…where the twin scions of that house very nearly fucked each other demonically to death one Christmas season…”

I rounded the last bend in the lane and saw the cabin on the far side of the hilltop against the starry sky, and Jack standing in the clearing around the cabin gazing up, filled with awe and wonder as he always was no matter what held his attention - if something held Jack’s attention, it filled him with awe and wonder, and if that thing on which his gaze fell did not fill him with awe and wonder, it did not hold his attention, not for long, anyway. I can’t imagine that I will ever lose that image of my first sighting of Jack in all of his innocence and beauty after so many months.

Jack broke off his stargazing and turned as he heard my Jeep, its lights and engine killed, coast to a stop. He let out a raucous and joyous whoop and then he was running toward me, and I was out of the vehicle and running toward him, we were colliding and laughing and embracing and lifting one another up into the chill apple-crisp night air, we were tipping over and tumbling down and rolling around in each other’s arms in the fading near-winter grass…and then Jack had pinned me, as he usually did, and sitting on top of me, my back flat on the ground, he was looking at me in awe and wonder and I was breathing again, not realizing until that moment that I had been holding my breath, deprived of oxygen, for four long months.

Jack laid one palm against the side of my face deliberately, as if the gesture were somehow a vital aid to his sight or to my understanding, and he said quietly, “Don’t ever be away that long again.”

And when I said simply, “I won’t,” with silent tears brimming in my eyes, Jack bent over and pressed his open mouth to mine. When our tongues and then our lips parted and Jack lifted his head a few inches so that he was looking directly into my eyes, I found I could barely speak. “Are we going to fuck in the yard?” I managed to ask in a gasping voice that sounded very much like I hoped the answer would be an urgent ‘yes.’

Jack laughed easily and answered, “We can. But let’s don’t. At least not yet. Can you wait?” And when I nodded, he was off of me and pulling me up with one hand, his other hand finding the bulge in my jeans as I came to my feet.

"I think you’re almost as glad to see me as I am to see you," Jack laughed.

"I am," I said, accepting that invitation to close my hand on the rise in his jeans, and I felt that same electric jolt I had felt the first time I had ever glommed another guy’s cock through clothing.

"Told you I’d be up for you…C’mon, Joe, it’s fucking cold out here," he said. "I’ve got a big fire going and the smoothest single malt ever…and I was assured that Glenlivet 18 pairs very well with semen…"

"Fucking 18?" I asked in disbelief, "Jesus, Jack, you splurged."

"Fucking 18, Joe," he said, "we were three when it was casked. And speaking of fucking…the only problem with fucking, you know," Jack continued as we walked toward the cabin, ‘is that no one’s figured out how two guys who are desperate for one another can both be inside each other at the same time…have they?"

"If they did, I missed that news flash." I thought a second and asked, "Us two guys? Are you desperate to fuck me, because if you are—"

"No…not desperate to fuck you…just desperate for you, Joe…and desperate for me."

"Fuck, Jack…where’s that coming from? And why now?" I asked. Then after a split-second, said, "Oh shit, that’s too heavy, not the first conversation I want to have."

"Yeah, we’ll have that conversation, I promise. Not yet, though, ok? Most of that’s real good stuff, but it’s connected, sort of, to some shit that blows. We’ll get there."

"In your time, Jack, no problem," I said, then quoted from distant memory, ‘Have patience and belief, for life is many days, and each present hour will pass away.’"

"That’s good…you make that up on the spot?" Jack asked.

"Science majors…jeeze," I said. "Not hardly…same guy who said you can never go home again."

"Whatever…that sounds like bullshit, bro, because we ARE home again…but anyway, for right now, whether it’s for one night, a couple of weeks, or months and months," Jack said as he put an arm around my shoulders, "if it turns out we that we really can’t keep each other, I still want us to have something of eye-popping wonder that we can keep forever, that we can look back on and fucking marvel at it."

"That’s good, too…you make that up on the spot?" I asked.

"This very second," Jack said.

"Deep…for a science major," I replied.

"Balls deep," Jack laughed. "And I’ll tell you something else good, but incredibly shallow, over an 18, OK?"

"That’s a deal," I answered. ‘Months and months’ was new and it sounded good. ‘IF it turns out we that we can’t keep each other,’ was also new but the possibility it conceded was too good to even consider

Leading with his chin.

Leading with his chin.

23B:  I AM JACK’S BALLS…FULL OF SEMEN

I had cleared Sikeston, Missouri, by 6:00 p.m. and was closing in on Arkansas (already 200 miles south of St. Louis!) en route to my rendezvous with Jack at our family’s camp in Mississippi, when I had gotten a text message from a number I had saved as ‘Bellhop.’ I couldn’t believe that little fucknut (with a very large penis) had the nerve to chime into my personal space after he had just set me up for the easiest imaginable take-down and then tried to ruin my life.

••••••••

Bellhop: Hi Joe what’s up?

'Are you fucking kidding me?' I thought, 'the only reason I'm not driving straight home to advise my father that I've been expelled at the end of my seventh semester in college for buttfucking a Future Dead Person in the goddamn library basement while I was wearing nothing but a pair of striped Smartwool socks (Christmas gift from Mom the last year) is that said Future Dead Person sucks ass at blackmailing.' I ignored the FDP and started to call Jack.

Bellhop:  Joe can I call you to say sorry/thanks?

That really took the cake. ‘Fucking call me?’ I thought, ‘I really have to invent a Death Ray app that incinerates with one tap of the screen selected annoying callers and texters…then it wouldn’t matter if I were expelled from college and denied admission to every accredited law school in North America…because even at .99 a pop I’d be the richest cocksucker in North America. If as a liberal arts student I couldn’t quite connect the dots on my envisioned Death Ray app, I was going to have to come up with a zipper lock and get into law school.

I mean, what the fuck had I expected from an “incubus,” by definition a demon that ends up fucking you to death, one way or the other? Not to send me a “thank you” note for waltzing right into its lair•trap, that was for sure. But goddammit, my real problem in those days was that it was all too true that if you baited my trap with penis, you’d catch me every time…and that sad fact about myself  really seemed so unfair.

Lacking a Death Ray app at that moment, I elected to send a verbal death ray, best I could do under present circumstances.

•••••••

Me:  You are dead to me

Bellhop:  Joe you saved my life yesterday so I know you can’t mean that

'Saved HIS life? The only way I had 'saved' that cum•stain's life is by not dropping a dime on him - yet - to the homeys I played b-ball with in the park…those dudes fucking loved my liberal jump-shooting white ass…we were practically blood bros…they'd do anything for me…

Bellhop:  did u really save copies of the pix on his phone? could I buy one of the shots of me fucking him in the ass?

I mean they’re of me so technically they’re like mine…but I’ll pay $$

Bellhop:  joe? please? he’s fucking killing me

Me:  if you use my phone no. again in any fashion you’re 1st on the list for a drive-by

••••••••

'Fuck Andrew,' I thought, 'for making me think of him while I'm trying to keep my Jack-wood eight-hour boner standing tall.' Still, his message was just strange enough to make me wonder if maybe there wasn't more to the story than I knew. But Andrew's problem then was that I just didn't want to hear any more of that story, whatever bullshit he might have to offer. My problem was that of course I was never going to physically hurt him, despite all my threats…but I couldn't be sure the deranged little fuck wouldn't hurt himself if I pushed him too far. It would be just my luck if Andrew fucking offed himself and ruined my Christmas with Jack. But I wasn't going to actually speak to him. That was too much to ask.

••••••••

Me:  what? and you better say it in 25 characters or less

A few minutes passed while Andrew was no doubt composing his succinct explanation.

Bellhop:  so sorry, M thrtd me w M+me pix

'Fuck it all to goddamn hell,' I thought, 'that makes way more fucking sense than that hot little hairy-assed gymnast turning - out of the fucking blue - on the one guy who ever fucked him like he gave a shit about him. Which had not sucked.' I knew 'M' was Miller, the incredibly arrogant (and stupid) little prick who had shown up at my apartment at noon that day demanding the return of his phone. I had made him show me his I.D. (which I had photographed) before I handed over his phone. I had wanted his name and address for obvious reasons, but that kid looked even younger than Andrew, so I also wanted to be damn sure he was 18 before I kept (or transmitted) any photos of a high school sophomore 
blowing Andrew, getting fucked in the ass by Andrew, etc.

The breathtakingly incompetent little blackmailer kept smirking at me right up until the moment he opened his phone and found all of his favorite pictures vanished, including a very explicit folder I had not noticed during my original inspection of the phone in the lair. Somehow it had never occurred to Miller that I might look at his photos, let alone delete them…or take ownership of them from him. I did not have the energy or the time to properly scare Miller with his imminent disappearance from the face of earth if he fucked with my career path, as I had Andrew (obviously to no affect). When I told him I had also saved three complete sets burned to discs for the purpose of ensuring that he never caused me any more trouble, he had started crying, and at that point it would have felt like piling on by threatening him with a drive-by shooting. I did have the advantage, too, of having already seen plenty of photos of Miller’s unimpressive dick, so I didn’t have to worry about being beguiled by this snot-nosed brat suddenly unzipping an 11-incher.

Really, these stupid fucking children playing idiotic games with their phones…but I did have to give Andrew credit for bringing his apologetic and thoroughly informative message in at 24 characters, not counting spaces between words (“So sorry, Miller threatened me with pictures of him and me” - and I had seen plenty of those pictures, so I gathered Miller had been blackmailing Andrew for some time. When he had gotten wind of me, he had ‘forced’ Andrew to set me up; in light of what incompetent criminals they both were I had no difficulty believing that Miller had ‘taught’ Andrew what little he knew when he had set out to blackmail me - and I had fucked him in the ass - the first time).

Me:  I get it. I’m  furious w/ u for going along. But just chill, ok? Leave me totally the fuck alone & I’ll call u in 2-3 days. I’ll send 1 pic now that shd get u out of M’s clutches

Me:  [[photo of smiling 18 y/o Miller on his back with his small penis fully exposed…and about 8” of  Andrew’s cock (presumably) buried in his ass.]]

Bellhop:  thx joe u just saved my life again I owe u everything. B safe & have fun.   /Andrew

I had another disturbing thought so I followed up with Andrew, for what little good I thought it might do:

Me:  andrew, remember you never know what a cornered rat will do - use pic only on defense - dont scare the fucker into jumping off a bridge for chrissakes - wd ruin both of our holidays

Andrew:  I promise thx again

••••••

I deleted the conversation and the only photo of Miller I had on my phone, and finally called Jack after I had crossed the state line into Arkansas. He answered on the first ring.

Jack:  Bro, you are AWOL. Expected your call two hours ago…

Me:  A word to the wise…Never buttfuck a psychopathic freshman, just not worth the trouble. More on that later.

Jack:  No worries on that front. So where are you now?

Me: Just blowing by Blytheville at 85 mph, already halfway to the Camp. I could be there in…oh…three more hours?…well, no, I’m going to have to stop for food, piss, etc.

Jack:  You’re killing it, man, slow down or you’re gonna beat me there. I was thinking ETA closer to midnight than 10 P.

Me:  10 or 10:30’s about right for me but take your time, I’ll be fine if I get there first

Jack:  Nah,  I’m loading up now, will be there way before you …Hey, you want anything special to drink? I’m making a stop on the way out.

Me:  Semen?

Jack:  (laughing) That I’ve got plenty of…haven’t blown a load since this morning…routine pre-exam stuff,  you know?

Me:  Right (laughing). Anything else you bring is just gravy. And I’ve got plenty of cold beer.

Jack:  I’ve got something special in mind.

Me:  More special than semen?

Jack:  (laughing) Let’s say this should pair well with semen…

[[I hadn’t really meant to say ‘semen’ when Jack had asked me what I wanted to drink. I could’ve kicked myself when I had blurted out the word in a context so fraught with frustrated expectations…but I had to say that little exchange had worked out pretty well.]]

Me:  (screwing up courage) Hey, Jack…I need to tell you something before I get there…can you spare some minutes from loading up?

Jack:  Sure - but it’s gonna cost you.

Me:  How much?

Jack:  Just a cockbyte or two of info…Confirm the timeline I laid out for Big Tex being in your ass on Monday night, plus—

Me:  I can’t do that.

Jack:  Why not? I know I was right…because I FELT it…just want to hear you admit Jack was right.

Me:  Because we fuck—  because John fucked me in the ass twice Monday night, and you weren’t specif—

Jack:  Ha Ha! I fucking knew it! I nailed when he was nailing you!  And you, was it as good for you as it was for me…you ok?

Me:  Well…I did mention that we did it again…

Jack:  So you did…and I didn’t get a whiff of that one…I think I must have been so wrung out from getting fucked by remote control I went straight to sleep after your post-fuck non-denial…But my ‘plus’ —

Me:  Plus what?

Jack:  Plus confirm cobra cock entered your not-so-sacred precincts at precisely 12:15 last night. THAT sweet fuck waked me up…

Me:  12:15 a.m. on the button. That did happen. My turn? This is way more important than you having a spy-cam in my bedroo—

Jack:  More like hard-wired to your very busy ass, stud. But, yes, it’s your turn. Just don’t be fucking morose, OK?

Me:  I’m never fucking morose. Here’s the thing…I guess I need to say this…before we see each other…give you a little time to…process if…you need it…

Jack:  Joe, you over-analyze shit way too much…spit it out…whatever you say, I’m still driving north by 7 P.

Me:  I feel so bad about something I did, Jack…I’ve practiced admitting this to you in the truest possible way almost every day since it happened…since the summer before last—

Jack:  Oh, shit, Joe, you ARE being fucking morose. Just stop it right now…whatever you think I have to hear, you’re wrong…it’s not essential. So forget it.

Me:  It is essential—

Jack:  No, it’s not, not essential to me.

Me:  Then it’s essential for me to say it. (But I couldn’t!)  So…um…

Jack, if you invoked Truth Serum and asked me to tell you the one thing that I least wanted to tell you I’d done…to you—

Jack:  Are you fucking kidding me? I’d never fucking do that shit. Never…you may toss nitroglycerin around like its candy corn but—

—Oh, fuck, Joe…don’t tell me you—

Me:  Jack, the truest possi—

Jack:  Joe, don’t, please don’t tell me you’ve been—

Me: —ble way to say this is I viola—

Jack:  Stop talking. Please. Because if you’re about to tell me you’ve been beating yourself up for 18, no, 17 months because you sucked my dick for…like 15 seconds…for 15 very pleasant seconds…when you thought I was asleep, then I’m the shittiest brother you’ve ever had—

Me: You’re the only brother I’ve ever had…and the one whose trust I violat—

Jack:  Please don’t even try to say that to me again. I’m serious. Because you’re about to make me the shittiest brother who ever lived for NOT saying to you, when you…just stopped…and went and got into your own fucking bed, either one of the two things I almost said that ni—

Me:  Jesus Christ, you had a fucking spy-cam in OUR crib too?…and it was way more than 15 seconds… Wait, what two things did you almost say?

Jack:  Fuck no, I don’t have a spy-cam anywhere…who the fuck sleeps through a blow job? Or the start of one?

But the first thing I almost said…because I thought, you know, ‘Joe’s just reciprocating for TFI, granted, a little late, but WTF, you know, reciprocating…for the time I…’

Me:  Reciprocity for…the thing that ‘never fucking happened?’

Jack:  No, goddammit. It did fucking happen and telling you that me sucking your cock ‘never fucking happened’ is the…second wor— third or fourth worst thing I ever did to you.

Me:  Well, maybe you’ve been keeping more secrets than I have…but you were about to tell me the two things you thought about saying when I stopped sucking your cock and got into my own bed…

Hey, let’s see how clairvoyant you really are…did I jack off or not, after I got into my own bed?

Jack:  Wrong question, but the answer is ‘fuck yeah you did’ and you busted a huge nut in like 30 seconds…which is the main reason I never thought you were going to nail yourself to a fucking cross over…basically…barely dampening my dick. Now,  if you had ejected yourself from my bed after removing your mouth from my magic wand and then gone over there and curled up in a morose little ball…THAT would’ve worried me. I woulda said something…reaffirming, you know?

I mean, I’m thinking you had like the best self-inflicted O you ever had for so little work, am I right?

Me:  Yeah you are. That shit landed in my hair.  But what was the right question?

Jack:  The RIGHT question was whether I jacked off after you…left me high and dry.

Me:  Did you? I mean really? Shit, Jack…

Jack:  Fuck yeah I did. And I know what I probably ought to say right now is that I was thinking about you blowing me when I busted a nut…but the truest possible way to describe what was going on in my head would be to say that your mouth got me going, but I was visualizing our knob-in-the-hole…

…and when my cum shot all over my chest, you and I weren’t just play-fucking, we were fucking for real and it was perfect. And, by the way - real life - you were snoring by then.

Me:  Hey, Jack, does talking about all this make you hard?

Jack:  As Chinese arithmetic. You?

Me:  Yeah  it does…let’s don’t jack off now, though. You know?

Jack:  No way, not now.

Me:  I’m holding you up…so before my sucking your cock for 15 seconds resulted in all that wasted semen on opposite sides of the room…what two clever things were you thinking about saying?

Jack:  Right…my first thought was, ‘this is just reciprocity, cool, and there would’ve been nothing more reciprocal I could’ve said then than, 

'Thanks, even though that 'never fucking happened.' Isn't that what you told me?

Me:  It is. That was the best blow job I never had.  (laughing)

Jack:  (laughing)  And the second thing I nearly said to you, the better thing to have said to you…the second or third worst thing I ever did to you was NOT saying, 

'Come back over here and finish what you started.'

But, Joe, the worst thing I ever did to you I just found out a couple minutes ago…I never fucking dreamed you would feel guilty for 17 months over…THAT. Jesus Christ, if I’d had any idea you’d feel bad about that…I’d—

Me:  Now you stop, Jack. Just stop it. Okay, so neither one of us can read minds 24/7. Big deal. I shouldn’t have done what I did - and I’m glad, way beyond glad, you didn’t see it like I thought you would.

And you feel bad for not dropping a line or two, either one of which, by the way, would have been killer. But you actually made the right call, by letting me finish in the right way something I shouldn’t have started in the first place…OK? Let’s both be done with that night.

Jack:  OK, fair enough.

Me:  But, Jack…well, I keep telling myself…’just play it by ear, go with the flow, keep your options open, keep Jack’s options open, too’…but…

…um… if you’d like to finish those couple of things that we’ve already started…things that did in fact fucking happen…I’m up for that…I mean, I’m straight up (with a slight left lean) for that right now…

Jack:  (laughing) I told you I’d be up for you when you get in…and I’ll bring the semen. I’ve got tons of it.

Me:  OK, go pack and get your semen in the car…I’m getting close to West Memphis and have to stop for gas. Oh, give Mom and Dad my love, will see them tomorrow…afternoon, etc.

Jack:  Late afternoon.

Me: Indeed. Anyway, call me back when you’re underway, ok, so we can knock out a couple of the logistics for our surprise for Scott and his douche bag tomorrow night…like who makes male mail with who…This is going to have to be a real quick operation, especially for a double double…because Scott’s going to be wary as hell of both of us…and my guess is he won’t go any fucking where near you…thinking we have to cut & cull the precious new BF almost immediately before Scott locks her down.

Jack:  Right…and you don’t know the half of how wary he’s gonna be…I fucked him but good and it’s not something he’ll ever forget…or forgive.

But I follow you exactly. That’s why your midway costume change is so fucking brilliant…but to sell this it’ll take first and second imprints as strong as vinegar. I’ll fill you in on what I’m thinking when I call back in about 30…but I see you doing the male mail with the new BF leading with his chin, then switcheroo, re-imprint…and then I paint all over Scott’s canvas.

Me:  10/4.  Sounds like we’re going to need a lot of semen, too.

Jack:  Yeah, and I hate to waste it on that cocksucker…it’s chock full of your awesome DNA.

Me:  You got that right…shit, I just had a great idea for locking down the imprints…but we’ll need a shill, a girl…someone already invited to the party, who Scott knows and, regrettably for him, he trusts…a sweetheart who would very plausibly plant a big kiss on my cheek - and help us fuck him over - so—

Jack:  Mary’s coming. You really are good at this shit. Perfect fucking setup.

Me:  Bingo. Sweet Mary. Alright, I’m pulling off to fill up…but I can’t stand it…what’s the other worst thing you ever did to me, real quick?

Jack:   Yeah, I could see I was going to have to give that up…because it directly impacts tomorrow night’s TFI. Mary’s kiss, though, should seal that deal.  

I’ll fill you in on the details of how I screwed you over when I get on the road and call you back. But one thing …you were right last weekend, we were talking about the TFI you suggested running on John—

Me:  YOU suggested that.

Jack:  Whatever…anyway you said that it’s possible to run a close quarters solo TFI. I knew you were right - because I’d already run the perfect solo TFI on Scott - with male mail - and without the slightest hiccup  So Scott’s already made the mistake once of having been convinced that I was you.

Of course, he’s dumb as dirt, so he can be gulled again. Oh, man, Joe, but that first play was so fucking good it would’ve earned me a left-handed salute…except that I couldn’t tell you how fucking badly I had trashed your good name.

Later, bro.

Me:  Later, you rotten motherfucker.
••••••••

I had a pretty clear idea of what Jack had done to Scott, and I was right as far as I went, but I failed to take into account just how wicked the fine print can be.

23B: I AM JACK’S BALLS…FULL OF SEMEN

I had cleared Sikeston, Missouri, by 6:00 p.m. and was closing in on Arkansas (already 200 miles south of St. Louis!) en route to my rendezvous with Jack at our family’s camp in Mississippi, when I had gotten a text message from a number I had saved as ‘Bellhop.’ I couldn’t believe that little fucknut (with a very large penis) had the nerve to chime into my personal space after he had just set me up for the easiest imaginable take-down and then tried to ruin my life.

••••••••

Bellhop: Hi Joe what’s up?

'Are you fucking kidding me?' I thought, 'the only reason I'm not driving straight home to advise my father that I've been expelled at the end of my seventh semester in college for buttfucking a Future Dead Person in the goddamn library basement while I was wearing nothing but a pair of striped Smartwool socks (Christmas gift from Mom the last year) is that said Future Dead Person sucks ass at blackmailing.' I ignored the FDP and started to call Jack.

Bellhop: Joe can I call you to say sorry/thanks?

That really took the cake. ‘Fucking call me?’ I thought, ‘I really have to invent a Death Ray app that incinerates with one tap of the screen selected annoying callers and texters…then it wouldn’t matter if I were expelled from college and denied admission to every accredited law school in North America…because even at .99 a pop I’d be the richest cocksucker in North America. If as a liberal arts student I couldn’t quite connect the dots on my envisioned Death Ray app, I was going to have to come up with a zipper lock and get into law school.

I mean, what the fuck had I expected from an “incubus,” by definition a demon that ends up fucking you to death, one way or the other? Not to send me a “thank you” note for waltzing right into its lair•trap, that was for sure. But goddammit, my real problem in those days was that it was all too true that if you baited my trap with penis, you’d catch me every time…and that sad fact about myself really seemed so unfair.

Lacking a Death Ray app at that moment, I elected to send a verbal death ray, best I could do under present circumstances.

•••••••

Me: You are dead to me

Bellhop: Joe you saved my life yesterday so I know you can’t mean that

'Saved HIS life? The only way I had 'saved' that cum•stain's life is by not dropping a dime on him - yet - to the homeys I played b-ball with in the park…those dudes fucking loved my liberal jump-shooting white ass…we were practically blood bros…they'd do anything for me…

Bellhop: did u really save copies of the pix on his phone? could I buy one of the shots of me fucking him in the ass?

I mean they’re of me so technically they’re like mine…but I’ll pay $$

Bellhop: joe? please? he’s fucking killing me

Me: if you use my phone no. again in any fashion you’re 1st on the list for a drive-by

••••••••

'Fuck Andrew,' I thought, 'for making me think of him while I'm trying to keep my Jack-wood eight-hour boner standing tall.' Still, his message was just strange enough to make me wonder if maybe there wasn't more to the story than I knew. But Andrew's problem then was that I just didn't want to hear any more of that story, whatever bullshit he might have to offer. My problem was that of course I was never going to physically hurt him, despite all my threats…but I couldn't be sure the deranged little fuck wouldn't hurt himself if I pushed him too far. It would be just my luck if Andrew fucking offed himself and ruined my Christmas with Jack. But I wasn't going to actually speak to him. That was too much to ask.

••••••••

Me: what? and you better say it in 25 characters or less

A few minutes passed while Andrew was no doubt composing his succinct explanation.

Bellhop: so sorry, M thrtd me w M+me pix

'Fuck it all to goddamn hell,' I thought, 'that makes way more fucking sense than that hot little hairy-assed gymnast turning - out of the fucking blue - on the one guy who ever fucked him like he gave a shit about him. Which had not sucked.' I knew 'M' was Miller, the incredibly arrogant (and stupid) little prick who had shown up at my apartment at noon that day demanding the return of his phone. I had made him show me his I.D. (which I had photographed) before I handed over his phone. I had wanted his name and address for obvious reasons, but that kid looked even younger than Andrew, so I also wanted to be damn sure he was 18 before I kept (or transmitted) any photos of a high school sophomore
blowing Andrew, getting fucked in the ass by Andrew, etc.

The breathtakingly incompetent little blackmailer kept smirking at me right up until the moment he opened his phone and found all of his favorite pictures vanished, including a very explicit folder I had not noticed during my original inspection of the phone in the lair. Somehow it had never occurred to Miller that I might look at his photos, let alone delete them…or take ownership of them from him. I did not have the energy or the time to properly scare Miller with his imminent disappearance from the face of earth if he fucked with my career path, as I had Andrew (obviously to no affect). When I told him I had also saved three complete sets burned to discs for the purpose of ensuring that he never caused me any more trouble, he had started crying, and at that point it would have felt like piling on by threatening him with a drive-by shooting. I did have the advantage, too, of having already seen plenty of photos of Miller’s unimpressive dick, so I didn’t have to worry about being beguiled by this snot-nosed brat suddenly unzipping an 11-incher.

Really, these stupid fucking children playing idiotic games with their phones…but I did have to give Andrew credit for bringing his apologetic and thoroughly informative message in at 24 characters, not counting spaces between words (“So sorry, Miller threatened me with pictures of him and me” - and I had seen plenty of those pictures, so I gathered Miller had been blackmailing Andrew for some time. When he had gotten wind of me, he had ‘forced’ Andrew to set me up; in light of what incompetent criminals they both were I had no difficulty believing that Miller had ‘taught’ Andrew what little he knew when he had set out to blackmail me - and I had fucked him in the ass - the first time).

Me: I get it. I’m furious w/ u for going along. But just chill, ok? Leave me totally the fuck alone & I’ll call u in 2-3 days. I’ll send 1 pic now that shd get u out of M’s clutches

Me: [[photo of smiling 18 y/o Miller on his back with his small penis fully exposed…and about 8” of Andrew’s cock (presumably) buried in his ass.]]

Bellhop: thx joe u just saved my life again I owe u everything. B safe & have fun. /Andrew

I had another disturbing thought so I followed up with Andrew, for what little good I thought it might do:

Me: andrew, remember you never know what a cornered rat will do - use pic only on defense - dont scare the fucker into jumping off a bridge for chrissakes - wd ruin both of our holidays

Andrew: I promise thx again

••••••

I deleted the conversation and the only photo of Miller I had on my phone, and finally called Jack after I had crossed the state line into Arkansas. He answered on the first ring.

Jack: Bro, you are AWOL. Expected your call two hours ago…

Me: A word to the wise…Never buttfuck a psychopathic freshman, just not worth the trouble. More on that later.

Jack: No worries on that front. So where are you now?

Me: Just blowing by Blytheville at 85 mph, already halfway to the Camp. I could be there in…oh…three more hours?…well, no, I’m going to have to stop for food, piss, etc.

Jack: You’re killing it, man, slow down or you’re gonna beat me there. I was thinking ETA closer to midnight than 10 P.

Me: 10 or 10:30’s about right for me but take your time, I’ll be fine if I get there first

Jack: Nah, I’m loading up now, will be there way before you …Hey, you want anything special to drink? I’m making a stop on the way out.

Me: Semen?

Jack: (laughing) That I’ve got plenty of…haven’t blown a load since this morning…routine pre-exam stuff, you know?

Me: Right (laughing). Anything else you bring is just gravy. And I’ve got plenty of cold beer.

Jack: I’ve got something special in mind.

Me: More special than semen?

Jack: (laughing) Let’s say this should pair well with semen…

[[I hadn’t really meant to say ‘semen’ when Jack had asked me what I wanted to drink. I could’ve kicked myself when I had blurted out the word in a context so fraught with frustrated expectations…but I had to say that little exchange had worked out pretty well.]]

Me: (screwing up courage) Hey, Jack…I need to tell you something before I get there…can you spare some minutes from loading up?

Jack: Sure - but it’s gonna cost you.

Me: How much?

Jack: Just a cockbyte or two of info…Confirm the timeline I laid out for Big Tex being in your ass on Monday night, plus—

Me: I can’t do that.

Jack: Why not? I know I was right…because I FELT it…just want to hear you admit Jack was right.

Me: Because we fuck— because John fucked me in the ass twice Monday night, and you weren’t specif—

Jack: Ha Ha! I fucking knew it! I nailed when he was nailing you! And you, was it as good for you as it was for me…you ok?

Me: Well…I did mention that we did it again…

Jack: So you did…and I didn’t get a whiff of that one…I think I must have been so wrung out from getting fucked by remote control I went straight to sleep after your post-fuck non-denial…But my ‘plus’ —

Me: Plus what?

Jack: Plus confirm cobra cock entered your not-so-sacred precincts at precisely 12:15 last night. THAT sweet fuck waked me up…

Me: 12:15 a.m. on the button. That did happen. My turn? This is way more important than you having a spy-cam in my bedroo—

Jack: More like hard-wired to your very busy ass, stud. But, yes, it’s your turn. Just don’t be fucking morose, OK?

Me: I’m never fucking morose. Here’s the thing…I guess I need to say this…before we see each other…give you a little time to…process if…you need it…

Jack: Joe, you over-analyze shit way too much…spit it out…whatever you say, I’m still driving north by 7 P.

Me: I feel so bad about something I did, Jack…I’ve practiced admitting this to you in the truest possible way almost every day since it happened…since the summer before last—

Jack: Oh, shit, Joe, you ARE being fucking morose. Just stop it right now…whatever you think I have to hear, you’re wrong…it’s not essential. So forget it.

Me: It is essential—

Jack: No, it’s not, not essential to me.

Me: Then it’s essential for me to say it. (But I couldn’t!) So…um…

Jack, if you invoked Truth Serum and asked me to tell you the one thing that I least wanted to tell you I’d done…to you—

Jack: Are you fucking kidding me? I’d never fucking do that shit. Never…you may toss nitroglycerin around like its candy corn but—

—Oh, fuck, Joe…don’t tell me you—

Me: Jack, the truest possi—

Jack: Joe, don’t, please don’t tell me you’ve been—

Me: —ble way to say this is I viola—

Jack: Stop talking. Please. Because if you’re about to tell me you’ve been beating yourself up for 18, no, 17 months because you sucked my dick for…like 15 seconds…for 15 very pleasant seconds…when you thought I was asleep, then I’m the shittiest brother you’ve ever had—

Me: You’re the only brother I’ve ever had…and the one whose trust I violat—

Jack: Please don’t even try to say that to me again. I’m serious. Because you’re about to make me the shittiest brother who ever lived for NOT saying to you, when you…just stopped…and went and got into your own fucking bed, either one of the two things I almost said that ni—

Me: Jesus Christ, you had a fucking spy-cam in OUR crib too?…and it was way more than 15 seconds… Wait, what two things did you almost say?

Jack: Fuck no, I don’t have a spy-cam anywhere…who the fuck sleeps through a blow job? Or the start of one?

But the first thing I almost said…because I thought, you know, ‘Joe’s just reciprocating for TFI, granted, a little late, but WTF, you know, reciprocating…for the time I…’

Me: Reciprocity for…the thing that ‘never fucking happened?’

Jack: No, goddammit. It did fucking happen and telling you that me sucking your cock ‘never fucking happened’ is the…second wor— third or fourth worst thing I ever did to you.

Me: Well, maybe you’ve been keeping more secrets than I have…but you were about to tell me the two things you thought about saying when I stopped sucking your cock and got into my own bed…

Hey, let’s see how clairvoyant you really are…did I jack off or not, after I got into my own bed?

Jack: Wrong question, but the answer is ‘fuck yeah you did’ and you busted a huge nut in like 30 seconds…which is the main reason I never thought you were going to nail yourself to a fucking cross over…basically…barely dampening my dick. Now, if you had ejected yourself from my bed after removing your mouth from my magic wand and then gone over there and curled up in a morose little ball…THAT would’ve worried me. I woulda said something…reaffirming, you know?

I mean, I’m thinking you had like the best self-inflicted O you ever had for so little work, am I right?

Me: Yeah you are. That shit landed in my hair. But what was the right question?

Jack: The RIGHT question was whether I jacked off after you…left me high and dry.

Me: Did you? I mean really? Shit, Jack…

Jack: Fuck yeah I did. And I know what I probably ought to say right now is that I was thinking about you blowing me when I busted a nut…but the truest possible way to describe what was going on in my head would be to say that your mouth got me going, but I was visualizing our knob-in-the-hole…

…and when my cum shot all over my chest, you and I weren’t just play-fucking, we were fucking for real and it was perfect. And, by the way - real life - you were snoring by then.

Me: Hey, Jack, does talking about all this make you hard?

Jack: As Chinese arithmetic. You?

Me: Yeah it does…let’s don’t jack off now, though. You know?

Jack: No way, not now.

Me: I’m holding you up…so before my sucking your cock for 15 seconds resulted in all that wasted semen on opposite sides of the room…what two clever things were you thinking about saying?

Jack: Right…my first thought was, ‘this is just reciprocity, cool, and there would’ve been nothing more reciprocal I could’ve said then than,

'Thanks, even though that 'never fucking happened.' Isn't that what you told me?

Me: It is. That was the best blow job I never had. (laughing)

Jack: (laughing) And the second thing I nearly said to you, the better thing to have said to you…the second or third worst thing I ever did to you was NOT saying,

'Come back over here and finish what you started.'

But, Joe, the worst thing I ever did to you I just found out a couple minutes ago…I never fucking dreamed you would feel guilty for 17 months over…THAT. Jesus Christ, if I’d had any idea you’d feel bad about that…I’d—

Me: Now you stop, Jack. Just stop it. Okay, so neither one of us can read minds 24/7. Big deal. I shouldn’t have done what I did - and I’m glad, way beyond glad, you didn’t see it like I thought you would.

And you feel bad for not dropping a line or two, either one of which, by the way, would have been killer. But you actually made the right call, by letting me finish in the right way something I shouldn’t have started in the first place…OK? Let’s both be done with that night.

Jack: OK, fair enough.

Me: But, Jack…well, I keep telling myself…’just play it by ear, go with the flow, keep your options open, keep Jack’s options open, too’…but…

…um… if you’d like to finish those couple of things that we’ve already started…things that did in fact fucking happen…I’m up for that…I mean, I’m straight up (with a slight left lean) for that right now…

Jack: (laughing) I told you I’d be up for you when you get in…and I’ll bring the semen. I’ve got tons of it.

Me: OK, go pack and get your semen in the car…I’m getting close to West Memphis and have to stop for gas. Oh, give Mom and Dad my love, will see them tomorrow…afternoon, etc.

Jack: Late afternoon.

Me: Indeed. Anyway, call me back when you’re underway, ok, so we can knock out a couple of the logistics for our surprise for Scott and his douche bag tomorrow night…like who makes male mail with who…This is going to have to be a real quick operation, especially for a double double…because Scott’s going to be wary as hell of both of us…and my guess is he won’t go any fucking where near you…thinking we have to cut & cull the precious new BF almost immediately before Scott locks her down.

Jack: Right…and you don’t know the half of how wary he’s gonna be…I fucked him but good and it’s not something he’ll ever forget…or forgive.

But I follow you exactly. That’s why your midway costume change is so fucking brilliant…but to sell this it’ll take first and second imprints as strong as vinegar. I’ll fill you in on what I’m thinking when I call back in about 30…but I see you doing the male mail with the new BF leading with his chin, then switcheroo, re-imprint…and then I paint all over Scott’s canvas.

Me: 10/4. Sounds like we’re going to need a lot of semen, too.

Jack: Yeah, and I hate to waste it on that cocksucker…it’s chock full of your awesome DNA.

Me: You got that right…shit, I just had a great idea for locking down the imprints…but we’ll need a shill, a girl…someone already invited to the party, who Scott knows and, regrettably for him, he trusts…a sweetheart who would very plausibly plant a big kiss on my cheek - and help us fuck him over - so—

Jack: Mary’s coming. You really are good at this shit. Perfect fucking setup.

Me: Bingo. Sweet Mary. Alright, I’m pulling off to fill up…but I can’t stand it…what’s the other worst thing you ever did to me, real quick?

Jack: Yeah, I could see I was going to have to give that up…because it directly impacts tomorrow night’s TFI. Mary’s kiss, though, should seal that deal.

I’ll fill you in on the details of how I screwed you over when I get on the road and call you back. But one thing …you were right last weekend, we were talking about the TFI you suggested running on John—

Me: YOU suggested that.

Jack: Whatever…anyway you said that it’s possible to run a close quarters solo TFI. I knew you were right - because I’d already run the perfect solo TFI on Scott - with male mail - and without the slightest hiccup So Scott’s already made the mistake once of having been convinced that I was you.

Of course, he’s dumb as dirt, so he can be gulled again. Oh, man, Joe, but that first play was so fucking good it would’ve earned me a left-handed salute…except that I couldn’t tell you how fucking badly I had trashed your good name.

Later, bro.

Me: Later, you rotten motherfucker.

••••••••

I had a pretty clear idea of what Jack had done to Scott, and I was right as far as I went, but I failed to take into account just how wicked the fine print can be.

sublimecock:

20B:  I AM JOHN’S DICK…MEASURING UP

John had just fucked me in the ass for the first time a few minutes before - and had then very nearly seen (had he seen?) the incriminating message notifications on my phone as he handed it to me.

I opened the messages in the kitchen while John was in the bathroom. I could only hope he had to take a dump instead of just whizz… I checked Jack’s message first:

••••••••

Jack: IM SO FUCKIN HARD 4U…
but Im felng bad im nt comunic8ng well whn im tryin 2 fix sum shit 

u&i will b cool whtevr u & tex do, ok? 

Me:  no worries - it’s all good jack
bt cant talk now

Jack: NP - was just reading my surrender conv & it hit me that u cd read my tex cmts as a condition 4 the rest - not wht I meant @ all 

u do ur thing ur way, we’ll do our thing(s) whether u do tex or not

later bro

•••••••

I still hadn’t re-read my conversation with Jack but I could see that I was not going to get to do that, because I couldn’t risk John somehow reading it too.  I reluctantly deleted all of my texts to & from Jack, as I should have done earlier. And I continued to marvel at Jack’s timing - he sent helpful but unsolicited pointers on positions and cock size shortly before I surprised John by insisting that he fuck me;  and then after having pleaded with me at noon to let John fuck me so as not to fuck up his perfect setup for us (a connection I still did not understand), almost as soon as John had finished fucking me in the ass,  Jack was back telling me that his setup for me was not dependent on what John and I did. At the time Jack was urging me to let John fuck me that night, I had already decided to just that, but I had not told Jack that.

•••••••

#314xxx:   u wanna fuck me again
in the library? 

it’s Andrew btw

txt me back

[[No shit it was  Andrew. Who the hell else did that hot little ‘bellhop’ think I had been fucking in the library?? And how the fuck had he gotten my cell number? When I had offered to be a friend that he could talk to about shit I had intended to give him my number - but I’d never gotten around to doing that. I saved his number to my contacts.]]

Me:  Maybe, but cant talk tonite.

I hav 8am exam - shd b thru by 930 - lets talk then - meet me o/s library 

pls dont text back tonite

•••••••

I wiped out that little chat and was turning off my phone when John came looking for his beer. “Just Jack, encouraging me to put away my books and bend over for you,” I laughed. The thought of bending over then and there did have a certain appeal, though…

"You lay Jack’s concern to rest?" John asked as I handed him a beer.

"Nah, but I didn’t tease him either. You know I won’t be able to keep myself from telling him what a great fucker you are, and I hope you don’t mind too much that we share as much as we do,  but the news about how fucking happy I am and why is for another day. It’s still just ours, you know? I mean like what? I haven’t even caught my breath yet…look, my legs are still trembling." And they were.

But my stupid fucking cock was stirring at the thought of bending over and getting my ass plowed again…like right  then. My brain didn’t think that was a very good idea and my ass would have shrieked in alarm if it had known what my cock was thinking. 

John took a big chug of his beer. “Damn, that hits the spot,” he said. I matched his and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” I said, “you sure earned it.”  “What about you? Are you ok?” John asked. “I mean, you know, is your—”

I laughed, “You mean how’s my asshole now that you’re through tearing it up? I’m fine, a little tender…but no big deal. Really.” I thought a second and added, “John, you were…perfect. I never imagined how that could be…”

I had wanted to ask John to describe what he had been thinking and feeling when I had put my knob in his hole…but I didn’t want to take away from his moment. Plus, I really was tired of talking about fucking. But then I started talking about fucking…again.

"Hypothetically speaking, I’m just…curious…could you fuck me again now…or in a few minutes…if you wanted to?"  I asked - but I had very nearly said ‘…if I needed you to?’  My cock barometer started to rise at the thought of bending over and being filled with John’s cock again…and by the sudden and unexpected flash through my brain of young Andrew bending over and me filling him up with me. I quickly pushed that intrusive but hung bellhop out of my mind. 

John took another swig of his beer and considered the question. “If you’re  asking me if I could get it up,” he said as he playfully took the head of my surprisingly perky dick between his thumb and index finger, “the answer is yes. But if you’re asking me if I think that’s a good idea - for you - I’d have to say it’s not.”  My cock cleared half mast and more as John gently squeezed and then sort of…”rolled” the head of my cock between his fingers. I’m not quite sure what he did, but that’s when I started thinking solely with hormones again. My ass was about to be toast…I hoped.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you WERE to, say, bend me over right here, could you - being only as gentle as you needed to be, not as gentle you can be - could you get off pretty quick…if that’s what I wanted?" I wondered where that fucking hormone-laden question had come from, as John’s hand slid softly down my mostly erect cock and cupped, then squeezed, my low hangers. His own fat dick was getting fatter, too, I noted, and I took his balls in my own hand as my breathing definitely changed.

"You mean," he asked, "could I get off in your sweet ass without overstaying my welcome?"

"Something like that," I mumbled as John dropped to his knees and started sucking my nuts."See…I’m thinking that by…tomorrow night my asshole is going to be just as tight as it used to be…ohhh…" I panted. That had been a finger slipping into my asshole. Which did not suck.  "…or almost as tight…but right fucking now…it’s…mmm….almost the right size…maybe…" and then I was on the  floor with John becoming a 6 to his 9. But not for very long.

"John…" I said as I pulled myself away from his cock, tonguing the rim of his portobello, just before detaching. I’m going to bend over the big cushy arm of that chair [pointing] while you find some lube…and then you’re going to fuck me as hard and fast as…um…present circumstances…allow, right?"

"Right." 

"And pay some attention to how deep your cock goes in…if you think about it…I wanna ask you to show me the high water mark on your dick when we’re done," I said as I started to bend over the chair.

 As hard and fast as present circumstances allowed was not all that hard or fast - but it was hard and fast in comparison to Round 1. John was able to penetrate and ‘engage’ much more quickly this time, spreading my ass wide with his hands and pushing the head in almost like it belonged there. I asked him to pause again when he gained “traction” and I savored that sick fucking mojo of craving ‘more more more.’ Then John fucked me as hard and fast as he gently could, and I kind of figured out when and how to push back - also gently.

"Oh fuck yeah" I all but screamed when he reached around me and squeezed my balls at the same time he thrust into what must have been his ‘high water mark.’ Boom! I shot my wad all over that overstuffed armchair with one good nut squeeze. I was still milking out the rest of my cum as John pushed in hard, wrapped both arms around me, and ejaculated, pulling back and pushing in just a liitle more with each spurt of cum…and then we both really were completely spent. That guy could fuck. He was a born top, with just enough bottom in him to make him a great top. Naturally, I would fuck that sweet deal up, and sooner than I had figured, but I couldn’t help myself. That’s later, though.

"Jesus, Joe," John said as he withdrew his still hard cock, "what got into you?"

I kind of yelped when the last of his cock pulled out, and then said, still panting, “Apparently a great…big…HUGE…fucking…cock… Show me how deep, ok?”

John laughed and made a loose fist, sliding it down just past his mushroom head. “The knob,” he said and slid his hand down maybe another inch. “That’s about where I paused both times…and where you went fucking wild both times,” he said, laughing.

"Gosh," I replied, "that’s what…maybe 3 inches? And there’s still so much more…" 

"Yeah, I’d say 2 and a half or 3…" then moving the ring made by just his thumb and index finger down a couple more inches, he said, "that’s about 5…probably as deep as I went the first time but…mostly I was at, say, 4," and he slid the circle back up an inch.  

"So…what you’re telling me…" I said, "is that you fucked the shit out of me with me just half your dick?"

"Not quite half,"  he laughed, and then moved  his fingers down a couple of more inches. "That looks like about 6…and I’d say that’s about as much as ever went in…about when you came." 

"Yeah, about then…Ok, now eep your fingers there," I said, as I slid my hand underneath his and measured with the gap between his fingers and the base of his cock. Holding up my thumb and index finger, and apprising the gap between them, I said, "That looks like about 3 inches to me…3 inches of your cock that never had the pleasure of my ass…" 

"Keep in mind," John interjected, "that I’m not as hard now as I was then, so…"

"So," I said, "even more than 3 inches hasn’t had the pleasure of my ass…yet." Then I measured the same distance from the tip of John’s cock and closed my fist around it there, and said, "And about the same amount of cock that it took to drive me fucking wild. 

"I thought you told me your cock is 8 inches hard…" I said as I did the math.

"I never said that," John smiled, "you did."

"No fucking wonder you’re so good at the department store game," I said, dredging up from nowhere what by then seemed liked ancient history.

"Killer," John replied.

"By the way, keeping in mind that my cock’s not quite as thick as yours," I continued, as I moved my hand up to about 2.5 inches below the end of John’s dick, "that’s about where I stopped during your knob test." I was enjoying holding John’s cock.

"Before or after?" John asked.

"Oh, before," I replied, "after you…uh asked me—"

"You can say ‘begged,’" John said.

I laughed and said, “That was NOT begging. I know because I’ve begged…so after you ‘asked urgently’ for me to push in deeper - and we agreed that my going deeper would not break my promise not to fuck you so long as—”

John was laughing now. “Joe, everybody knows that in/in/in is NOT fucking…while in/out/in very clearly IS fucking…”

"Let’s just say, then, that you came as close tonight to getting fucked in the ass as you can get without getting fucked in the ass. So the FIRST time you urgently asked for more, I parked my cock at about here," I continued, moving my hand down and giving his softening dick a couple of shakes. "About 4 inches of Joe up your ass. How’d that feel, big guy?"

"I’ll answer that, but first show me your final parking place," John said.

"About here," I said squeezing his dick tight enough to make it hard. "Maybe 5 inches."

"Alright, then 4 inches of Joe up my ass felt superb…but not nearly as good as 5 inches of Joe."

"Right…Joe is standing there with all but a couple inches of his poor little dick in your very tight ass, which by the way, was contracting, crushing  my cock like you’re some badass boa constrictor…which is why I had to pull out so fast…to keep from cumming in your ass - which most people would have confused with buttfucking."

"I see your point," John laughed. "But seriously?  Having your cock inside me made me feel like I wanted you to fuck my brains out."

"I would never say you’ve got the soul of a bottom…but you do have potential. And it’s a good thing you didn’t ask…" I said, "or I would have fucked you without further ado. As you found out just a few minutes later, I’ve basically torn up that rule book."

"God, what a surprise that was, what a wonderful fucking surprise…you don’t have any regrets do you?" John asked.

"I’ve got an 8 o’clock so I’m going to bed before I make you fuck me again.

sublimecock:

20B: I AM JOHN’S DICK…MEASURING UP

John had just fucked me in the ass for the first time a few minutes before - and had then very nearly seen (had he seen?) the incriminating message notifications on my phone as he handed it to me.

I opened the messages in the kitchen while John was in the bathroom. I could only hope he had to take a dump instead of just whizz… I checked Jack’s message first:

••••••••

Jack: IM SO FUCKIN HARD 4U…
but Im felng bad im nt comunic8ng well whn im tryin 2 fix sum shit

u&i will b cool whtevr u & tex do, ok?

Me: no worries - it’s all good jack
bt cant talk now

Jack: NP - was just reading my surrender conv & it hit me that u cd read my tex cmts as a condition 4 the rest - not wht I meant @ all

u do ur thing ur way, we’ll do our thing(s) whether u do tex or not

later bro

•••••••

I still hadn’t re-read my conversation with Jack but I could see that I was not going to get to do that, because I couldn’t risk John somehow reading it too. I reluctantly deleted all of my texts to & from Jack, as I should have done earlier. And I continued to marvel at Jack’s timing - he sent helpful but unsolicited pointers on positions and cock size shortly before I surprised John by insisting that he fuck me; and then after having pleaded with me at noon to let John fuck me so as not to fuck up his perfect setup for us (a connection I still did not understand), almost as soon as John had finished fucking me in the ass, Jack was back telling me that his setup for me was not dependent on what John and I did. At the time Jack was urging me to let John fuck me that night, I had already decided to just that, but I had not told Jack that.

•••••••

#314xxx: u wanna fuck me again
in the library?

it’s Andrew btw

txt me back

[[No shit it was Andrew. Who the hell else did that hot little ‘bellhop’ think I had been fucking in the library?? And how the fuck had he gotten my cell number? When I had offered to be a friend that he could talk to about shit I had intended to give him my number - but I’d never gotten around to doing that. I saved his number to my contacts.]]

Me: Maybe, but cant talk tonite.

I hav 8am exam - shd b thru by 930 - lets talk then - meet me o/s library

pls dont text back tonite

•••••••

I wiped out that little chat and was turning off my phone when John came looking for his beer. “Just Jack, encouraging me to put away my books and bend over for you,” I laughed. The thought of bending over then and there did have a certain appeal, though…

"You lay Jack’s concern to rest?" John asked as I handed him a beer.

"Nah, but I didn’t tease him either. You know I won’t be able to keep myself from telling him what a great fucker you are, and I hope you don’t mind too much that we share as much as we do, but the news about how fucking happy I am and why is for another day. It’s still just ours, you know? I mean like what? I haven’t even caught my breath yet…look, my legs are still trembling." And they were.

But my stupid fucking cock was stirring at the thought of bending over and getting my ass plowed again…like right then. My brain didn’t think that was a very good idea and my ass would have shrieked in alarm if it had known what my cock was thinking.

John took a big chug of his beer. “Damn, that hits the spot,” he said. I matched his and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” I said, “you sure earned it.” “What about you? Are you ok?” John asked. “I mean, you know, is your—”

I laughed, “You mean how’s my asshole now that you’re through tearing it up? I’m fine, a little tender…but no big deal. Really.” I thought a second and added, “John, you were…perfect. I never imagined how that could be…”

I had wanted to ask John to describe what he had been thinking and feeling when I had put my knob in his hole…but I didn’t want to take away from his moment. Plus, I really was tired of talking about fucking. But then I started talking about fucking…again.

"Hypothetically speaking, I’m just…curious…could you fuck me again now…or in a few minutes…if you wanted to?" I asked - but I had very nearly said ‘…if I needed you to?’ My cock barometer started to rise at the thought of bending over and being filled with John’s cock again…and by the sudden and unexpected flash through my brain of young Andrew bending over and me filling him up with me. I quickly pushed that intrusive but hung bellhop out of my mind.

John took another swig of his beer and considered the question. “If you’re asking me if I could get it up,” he said as he playfully took the head of my surprisingly perky dick between his thumb and index finger, “the answer is yes. But if you’re asking me if I think that’s a good idea - for you - I’d have to say it’s not.” My cock cleared half mast and more as John gently squeezed and then sort of…”rolled” the head of my cock between his fingers. I’m not quite sure what he did, but that’s when I started thinking solely with hormones again. My ass was about to be toast…I hoped.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you WERE to, say, bend me over right here, could you - being only as gentle as you needed to be, not as gentle you can be - could you get off pretty quick…if that’s what I wanted?" I wondered where that fucking hormone-laden question had come from, as John’s hand slid softly down my mostly erect cock and cupped, then squeezed, my low hangers. His own fat dick was getting fatter, too, I noted, and I took his balls in my own hand as my breathing definitely changed.

"You mean," he asked, "could I get off in your sweet ass without overstaying my welcome?"

"Something like that," I mumbled as John dropped to his knees and started sucking my nuts."See…I’m thinking that by…tomorrow night my asshole is going to be just as tight as it used to be…ohhh…" I panted. That had been a finger slipping into my asshole. Which did not suck. "…or almost as tight…but right fucking now…it’s…mmm….almost the right size…maybe…" and then I was on the floor with John becoming a 6 to his 9. But not for very long.

"John…" I said as I pulled myself away from his cock, tonguing the rim of his portobello, just before detaching. I’m going to bend over the big cushy arm of that chair [pointing] while you find some lube…and then you’re going to fuck me as hard and fast as…um…present circumstances…allow, right?"

"Right."

"And pay some attention to how deep your cock goes in…if you think about it…I wanna ask you to show me the high water mark on your dick when we’re done," I said as I started to bend over the chair.

As hard and fast as present circumstances allowed was not all that hard or fast - but it was hard and fast in comparison to Round 1. John was able to penetrate and ‘engage’ much more quickly this time, spreading my ass wide with his hands and pushing the head in almost like it belonged there. I asked him to pause again when he gained “traction” and I savored that sick fucking mojo of craving ‘more more more.’ Then John fucked me as hard and fast as he gently could, and I kind of figured out when and how to push back - also gently.

"Oh fuck yeah" I all but screamed when he reached around me and squeezed my balls at the same time he thrust into what must have been his ‘high water mark.’ Boom! I shot my wad all over that overstuffed armchair with one good nut squeeze. I was still milking out the rest of my cum as John pushed in hard, wrapped both arms around me, and ejaculated, pulling back and pushing in just a liitle more with each spurt of cum…and then we both really were completely spent. That guy could fuck. He was a born top, with just enough bottom in him to make him a great top. Naturally, I would fuck that sweet deal up, and sooner than I had figured, but I couldn’t help myself. That’s later, though.

"Jesus, Joe," John said as he withdrew his still hard cock, "what got into you?"

I kind of yelped when the last of his cock pulled out, and then said, still panting, “Apparently a great…big…HUGE…fucking…cock… Show me how deep, ok?”

John laughed and made a loose fist, sliding it down just past his mushroom head. “The knob,” he said and slid his hand down maybe another inch. “That’s about where I paused both times…and where you went fucking wild both times,” he said, laughing.

"Gosh," I replied, "that’s what…maybe 3 inches? And there’s still so much more…"

"Yeah, I’d say 2 and a half or 3…" then moving the ring made by just his thumb and index finger down a couple more inches, he said, "that’s about 5…probably as deep as I went the first time but…mostly I was at, say, 4," and he slid the circle back up an inch.

"So…what you’re telling me…" I said, "is that you fucked the shit out of me with me just half your dick?"

"Not quite half," he laughed, and then moved his fingers down a couple of more inches. "That looks like about 6…and I’d say that’s about as much as ever went in…about when you came."

"Yeah, about then…Ok, now eep your fingers there," I said, as I slid my hand underneath his and measured with the gap between his fingers and the base of his cock. Holding up my thumb and index finger, and apprising the gap between them, I said, "That looks like about 3 inches to me…3 inches of your cock that never had the pleasure of my ass…"

"Keep in mind," John interjected, "that I’m not as hard now as I was then, so…"

"So," I said, "even more than 3 inches hasn’t had the pleasure of my ass…yet." Then I measured the same distance from the tip of John’s cock and closed my fist around it there, and said, "And about the same amount of cock that it took to drive me fucking wild.

"I thought you told me your cock is 8 inches hard…" I said as I did the math.

"I never said that," John smiled, "you did."

"No fucking wonder you’re so good at the department store game," I said, dredging up from nowhere what by then seemed liked ancient history.

"Killer," John replied.

"By the way, keeping in mind that my cock’s not quite as thick as yours," I continued, as I moved my hand up to about 2.5 inches below the end of John’s dick, "that’s about where I stopped during your knob test." I was enjoying holding John’s cock.

"Before or after?" John asked.

"Oh, before," I replied, "after you…uh asked me—"

"You can say ‘begged,’" John said.

I laughed and said, “That was NOT begging. I know because I’ve begged…so after you ‘asked urgently’ for me to push in deeper - and we agreed that my going deeper would not break my promise not to fuck you so long as—”

John was laughing now. “Joe, everybody knows that in/in/in is NOT fucking…while in/out/in very clearly IS fucking…”

"Let’s just say, then, that you came as close tonight to getting fucked in the ass as you can get without getting fucked in the ass. So the FIRST time you urgently asked for more, I parked my cock at about here," I continued, moving my hand down and giving his softening dick a couple of shakes. "About 4 inches of Joe up your ass. How’d that feel, big guy?"

"I’ll answer that, but first show me your final parking place," John said.

"About here," I said squeezing his dick tight enough to make it hard. "Maybe 5 inches."

"Alright, then 4 inches of Joe up my ass felt superb…but not nearly as good as 5 inches of Joe."

"Right…Joe is standing there with all but a couple inches of his poor little dick in your very tight ass, which by the way, was contracting, crushing my cock like you’re some badass boa constrictor…which is why I had to pull out so fast…to keep from cumming in your ass - which most people would have confused with buttfucking."

"I see your point," John laughed. "But seriously? Having your cock inside me made me feel like I wanted you to fuck my brains out."

"I would never say you’ve got the soul of a bottom…but you do have potential. And it’s a good thing you didn’t ask…" I said, "or I would have fucked you without further ado. As you found out just a few minutes later, I’ve basically torn up that rule book."

"God, what a surprise that was, what a wonderful fucking surprise…you don’t have any regrets do you?" John asked.

"I’ve got an 8 o’clock so I’m going to bed before I make you fuck me again.

20B:  I AM JOHN’S DICK…MEASURING UP

John had just fucked me in the ass for the first time a few minutes before - and had then very nearly seen (had he seen?) the incriminating message notifications on my phone as he handed it to me.

I opened the messages in the kitchen while John was in the bathroom. I could only hope he had to take a dump instead of just whizz… I checked Jack’s message first:

••••••••

Jack: IM SO FUCKIN HARD 4U…
but Im felng bad im nt comunic8ng well whn im tryin 2 fix sum shit 

u&i will b cool whtevr u & tex do, ok? 

Me:  no worries - it’s all good jack
bt cant talk now

Jack: NP - was just reading my surrender conv & it hit me that u cd read my tex cmts as a condition 4 the rest - not wht I meant @ all 

u do ur thing ur way, we’ll do our thing(s) whether u do tex or not

later bro

•••••••

I still hadn’t re-read my conversation with Jack but I could see that I was not going to get to do that, because I couldn’t risk John somehow reading it too.  I reluctantly deleted all of my texts to & from Jack, as I should have done earlier. And I continued to marvel at Jack’s timing - he sent helpful but unsolicited pointers on positions and cock size shortly before I surprised John by insisting that he fuck me;  and then after having pleaded with me at noon to let John fuck me so as not to fuck up his perfect setup for us (a connection I still did not understand), almost as soon as John had finished fucking me in the ass,  Jack was back telling me that his setup for me was not dependent on what John and I did. At the time Jack was urging me to let John fuck me that night, I had already decided to just that, but I had not told Jack that.

•••••••

#314xxx:   u wanna fuck me again
in the library? 

it’s Andrew btw

txt me back

[[No shit it was  Andrew. Who the hell else did that hot little ‘bellhop’ think I had been fucking in the library?? And how the fuck had he gotten my cell number? When I had offered to be a friend that he could talk to about shit I had intended to give him my number - but I’d never gotten around to doing that. I saved his number to my contacts.]]

Me:  Maybe, but cant talk tonite.

I hav 8am exam - shd b thru by 930 - lets talk then - meet me o/s library 

pls dont text back tonite

•••••••

I wiped out that little chat and was turning off my phone when John came looking for his beer. “Just Jack, encouraging me to put away my books and bend over for you,” I laughed. The thought of bending over then and there did have a certain appeal, though…

"You lay Jack’s concern to rest?" John asked as I handed him a beer.

"Nah, but I didn’t tease him either. You know I won’t be able to keep myself from telling him what a great fucker you are, and I hope you don’t mind too much that we share as much as we do,  but the news about how fucking happy I am and why is for another day. It’s still just ours, you know? I mean like what? I haven’t even caught my breath yet…look, my legs are still trembling." And they were.

But my stupid fucking cock was stirring at the thought of bending over and getting my ass plowed again…like right  then. My brain didn’t think that was a very good idea and my ass would have shrieked in alarm if it had known what my cock was thinking. 

John took a big chug of his beer. “Damn, that hits the spot,” he said. I matched his and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” I said, “you sure earned it.”  “What about you? Are you ok?” John asked. “I mean, you know, is your—”

I laughed, “You mean how’s my asshole now that you’re through tearing it up? I’m fine, a little tender…but no big deal. Really.” I thought a second and added, “John, you were…perfect. I never imagined how that could be…”

I had wanted to ask John to describe what he had been thinking and feeling when I had put my knob in his hole…but I didn’t want to take away from his moment. Plus, I really was tired of talking about fucking. But then I started talking about fucking…again.

"Hypothetically speaking, I’m just…curious…could you fuck me again now…or in a few minutes…if you wanted to?"  I asked - but I had very nearly said ‘…if I needed you to?’  My cock barometer started to rise at the thought of bending over and being filled with John’s cock again…and by the sudden and unexpected flash through my brain of young Andrew bending over and me filling him up with me. I quickly pushed that intrusive but hung bellhop out of my mind. 

John took another swig of his beer and considered the question. “If you’re  asking me if I could get it up,” he said as he playfully took the head of my surprisingly perky dick between his thumb and index finger, “the answer is yes. But if you’re asking me if I think that’s a good idea - for you - I’d have to say it’s not.”  My cock cleared half mast and more as John gently squeezed and then sort of…”rolled” the head of my cock between his fingers. I’m not quite sure what he did, but that’s when I started thinking solely with hormones again. My ass was about to be toast…I hoped.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you WERE to, say, bend me over right here, could you - being only as gentle as you needed to be, not as gentle you can be - could you get off pretty quick…if that’s what I wanted?" I wondered where that fucking hormone-laden question had come from, as John’s hand slid softly down my mostly erect cock and cupped, then squeezed, my low hangers. His own fat dick was getting fatter, too, I noted, and I took his balls in my own hand as my breathing definitely changed.

"You mean," he asked, "could I get off in your sweet ass without overstaying my welcome?"

"Something like that," I mumbled as John dropped to his knees and started sucking my nuts."See…I’m thinking that by…tomorrow night my asshole is going to be just as tight as it used to be…ohhh…" I panted. That had been a finger slipping into my asshole. Which did not suck.  "…or almost as tight…but right fucking now…it’s…mmm….almost the right size…maybe…" and then I was on the  floor with John becoming a 6 to his 9. But not for very long.

"John…" I said as I pulled myself away from his cock, tonguing the rim of his portobello, just before detaching. I’m going to bend over the big cushy arm of that chair [pointing] while you find some lube…and then you’re going to fuck me as hard and fast as…um…present circumstances…allow, right?"

"Right." 

"And pay some attention to how deep your cock goes in…if you think about it…I wanna ask you to show me the high water mark on your dick when we’re done," I said as I started to bend over the chair.

 As hard and fast as present circumstances allowed was not all that hard or fast - but it was hard and fast in comparison to Round 1. John was able to penetrate and ‘engage’ much more quickly this time, spreading my ass wide with his hands and pushing the head in almost like it belonged there. I asked him to pause again when he gained “traction” and I savored that sick fucking mojo of craving ‘more more more.’ Then John fucked me as hard and fast as he gently could, and I kind of figured out when and how to push back - also gently.

"Oh fuck yeah" I all but screamed when he reached around me and squeezed my balls at the same time he thrust into what must have been his ‘high water mark.’ Boom! I shot my wad all over that overstuffed armchair with one good nut squeeze. I was still milking out the rest of my cum as John pushed in hard, wrapped both arms around me, and ejaculated, pulling back and pushing in just a liitle more with each spurt of cum…and then we both really were completely spent. That guy could fuck. He was a born top, with just enough bottom in him to make him a great top. Naturally, I would fuck that sweet deal up, and sooner than I had figured, but I couldn’t help myself. That’s later, though.

"Jesus, Joe," John said as he withdrew his still hard cock, "what got into you?"

I kind of yelped when the last of his cock pulled out, and then said, still panting, “Apparently a great…big…HUGE…fucking…cock… Show me how deep, ok?”

John laughed and made a loose fist, sliding it down just past his mushroom head. “The knob,” he said and slid his hand down maybe another inch. “That’s about where I paused both times…and where you went fucking wild both times,” he said, laughing.

"Gosh," I replied, "that’s what…maybe 3 inches? And there’s still so much more…" 

"Yeah, I’d say 2 and a half or 3…" then moving the ring made by just his thumb and index finger down a couple more inches, he said, "that’s about 5…probably as deep as I went the first time but…mostly I was at, say, 4," and he slid the circle back up an inch.  

"So…what you’re telling me…" I said, "is that you fucked the shit out of me with me just half your dick?"

"Not quite half,"  he laughed, and then moved  his fingers down a couple of more inches. "That looks like about 6…and I’d say that’s about as much as ever went in…about when you came." 

"Yeah, about then…Ok, now keep your fingers there," I said, as I slid my hand underneath his and measured with the gap between his fingers and the base of his cock. Holding up my thumb and index finger, and apprising the gap between them, I said, "That looks like about 3 inches to me…3 inches of your cock that never had the pleasure of my ass…" 

"Keep in mind," John interjected, "that I’m not as hard now as I was then, so…"

"So," I said, "even more than 3 inches hasn’t had the pleasure of my ass…yet." Then I measured the same distance from the tip of John’s cock and closed my fist around it there, and said, "And about the same amount of cock that it took to drive me fucking wild. 

"I thought you told me your cock is 8 inches hard…" I said as I did the math.

"I never said that," John smiled, "you did."

"No fucking wonder you’re so good at the department store game," I said, dredging up from nowhere what by then seemed liked ancient history.

"Killer," John replied.

"By the way, keeping in mind that my cock’s not quite as thick as yours," I continued, as I moved my hand up to about 2.5 inches below the end of John’s dick, "that’s about where I stopped during your knob test." I was enjoying holding John’s cock.

"Before or after?" John asked.

"Oh, before," I replied, "after you…uh asked me—"

"You can say ‘begged,’" John said.

I laughed and said, “That was NOT begging. I know because I’ve begged…so after you ‘asked urgently’ for me to push in deeper - and we agreed that my going deeper would not break my promise not to fuck you so long as—”

John was laughing now. “Joe, everybody knows that in/in/in is NOT fucking…while in/out/in very clearly IS fucking…”

"Let’s just say, then, that you came as close tonight to getting fucked in the ass as you can get without getting fucked in the ass. So the FIRST time you urgently asked for more, I parked my cock at about here," I continued, moving my hand down and giving his softening dick a couple of shakes. "About 4 inches of Joe up your ass. How’d that feel, big guy?"

"I’ll answer that, but first show me your final parking place," John said.

"About here," I said squeezing his dick tight enough to make it hard. "Maybe 5 inches."

"Alright, then 4 inches of Joe up my ass felt superb…but not nearly as good as 5 inches of Joe."

"Right…Joe is standing there with all but a couple inches of his poor little dick in your very tight ass, which by the way, was contracting, crushing  my cock like you’re some badass boa constrictor…which is why I had to pull out so fast…to keep from cumming in your ass - which most people would have confused with buttfucking."

"I see your point," John laughed. "But seriously?  Having your cock inside me made me feel like I wanted you to fuck my brains out."

"I would never say you’ve got the soul of a bottom…but you do have potential. And it’s a good thing you didn’t ask…" I said, "or I would have fucked you without further ado. As you found out just a few minutes later, I’ve basically torn up that rule book."

"God, what a surprise that was, what a wonderful fucking surprise…you don’t have any regrets do you?" John asked.

"I’ve got an 8 o’clock so I’m going to bed before I make you fuck me again."

20B: I AM JOHN’S DICK…MEASURING UP

John had just fucked me in the ass for the first time a few minutes before - and had then very nearly seen (had he seen?) the incriminating message notifications on my phone as he handed it to me.

I opened the messages in the kitchen while John was in the bathroom. I could only hope he had to take a dump instead of just whizz… I checked Jack’s message first:

••••••••

Jack: IM SO FUCKIN HARD 4U…
but Im felng bad im nt comunic8ng well whn im tryin 2 fix sum shit

u&i will b cool whtevr u & tex do, ok?

Me: no worries - it’s all good jack
bt cant talk now

Jack: NP - was just reading my surrender conv & it hit me that u cd read my tex cmts as a condition 4 the rest - not wht I meant @ all

u do ur thing ur way, we’ll do our thing(s) whether u do tex or not

later bro

•••••••

I still hadn’t re-read my conversation with Jack but I could see that I was not going to get to do that, because I couldn’t risk John somehow reading it too. I reluctantly deleted all of my texts to & from Jack, as I should have done earlier. And I continued to marvel at Jack’s timing - he sent helpful but unsolicited pointers on positions and cock size shortly before I surprised John by insisting that he fuck me; and then after having pleaded with me at noon to let John fuck me so as not to fuck up his perfect setup for us (a connection I still did not understand), almost as soon as John had finished fucking me in the ass, Jack was back telling me that his setup for me was not dependent on what John and I did. At the time Jack was urging me to let John fuck me that night, I had already decided to just that, but I had not told Jack that.

•••••••

#314xxx: u wanna fuck me again
in the library?

it’s Andrew btw

txt me back

[[No shit it was Andrew. Who the hell else did that hot little ‘bellhop’ think I had been fucking in the library?? And how the fuck had he gotten my cell number? When I had offered to be a friend that he could talk to about shit I had intended to give him my number - but I’d never gotten around to doing that. I saved his number to my contacts.]]

Me: Maybe, but cant talk tonite.

I hav 8am exam - shd b thru by 930 - lets talk then - meet me o/s library

pls dont text back tonite

•••••••

I wiped out that little chat and was turning off my phone when John came looking for his beer. “Just Jack, encouraging me to put away my books and bend over for you,” I laughed. The thought of bending over then and there did have a certain appeal, though…

"You lay Jack’s concern to rest?" John asked as I handed him a beer.

"Nah, but I didn’t tease him either. You know I won’t be able to keep myself from telling him what a great fucker you are, and I hope you don’t mind too much that we share as much as we do, but the news about how fucking happy I am and why is for another day. It’s still just ours, you know? I mean like what? I haven’t even caught my breath yet…look, my legs are still trembling." And they were.

But my stupid fucking cock was stirring at the thought of bending over and getting my ass plowed again…like right then. My brain didn’t think that was a very good idea and my ass would have shrieked in alarm if it had known what my cock was thinking.

John took a big chug of his beer. “Damn, that hits the spot,” he said. I matched his and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” I said, “you sure earned it.” “What about you? Are you ok?” John asked. “I mean, you know, is your—”

I laughed, “You mean how’s my asshole now that you’re through tearing it up? I’m fine, a little tender…but no big deal. Really.” I thought a second and added, “John, you were…perfect. I never imagined how that could be…”

I had wanted to ask John to describe what he had been thinking and feeling when I had put my knob in his hole…but I didn’t want to take away from his moment. Plus, I really was tired of talking about fucking. But then I started talking about fucking…again.

"Hypothetically speaking, I’m just…curious…could you fuck me again now…or in a few minutes…if you wanted to?" I asked - but I had very nearly said ‘…if I needed you to?’ My cock barometer started to rise at the thought of bending over and being filled with John’s cock again…and by the sudden and unexpected flash through my brain of young Andrew bending over and me filling him up with me. I quickly pushed that intrusive but hung bellhop out of my mind.

John took another swig of his beer and considered the question. “If you’re asking me if I could get it up,” he said as he playfully took the head of my surprisingly perky dick between his thumb and index finger, “the answer is yes. But if you’re asking me if I think that’s a good idea - for you - I’d have to say it’s not.” My cock cleared half mast and more as John gently squeezed and then sort of…”rolled” the head of my cock between his fingers. I’m not quite sure what he did, but that’s when I started thinking solely with hormones again. My ass was about to be toast…I hoped.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you WERE to, say, bend me over right here, could you - being only as gentle as you needed to be, not as gentle you can be - could you get off pretty quick…if that’s what I wanted?" I wondered where that fucking hormone-laden question had come from, as John’s hand slid softly down my mostly erect cock and cupped, then squeezed, my low hangers. His own fat dick was getting fatter, too, I noted, and I took his balls in my own hand as my breathing definitely changed.

"You mean," he asked, "could I get off in your sweet ass without overstaying my welcome?"

"Something like that," I mumbled as John dropped to his knees and started sucking my nuts."See…I’m thinking that by…tomorrow night my asshole is going to be just as tight as it used to be…ohhh…" I panted. That had been a finger slipping into my asshole. Which did not suck. "…or almost as tight…but right fucking now…it’s…mmm….almost the right size…maybe…" and then I was on the floor with John becoming a 6 to his 9. But not for very long.

"John…" I said as I pulled myself away from his cock, tonguing the rim of his portobello, just before detaching. I’m going to bend over the big cushy arm of that chair [pointing] while you find some lube…and then you’re going to fuck me as hard and fast as…um…present circumstances…allow, right?"

"Right."

"And pay some attention to how deep your cock goes in…if you think about it…I wanna ask you to show me the high water mark on your dick when we’re done," I said as I started to bend over the chair.

As hard and fast as present circumstances allowed was not all that hard or fast - but it was hard and fast in comparison to Round 1. John was able to penetrate and ‘engage’ much more quickly this time, spreading my ass wide with his hands and pushing the head in almost like it belonged there. I asked him to pause again when he gained “traction” and I savored that sick fucking mojo of craving ‘more more more.’ Then John fucked me as hard and fast as he gently could, and I kind of figured out when and how to push back - also gently.

"Oh fuck yeah" I all but screamed when he reached around me and squeezed my balls at the same time he thrust into what must have been his ‘high water mark.’ Boom! I shot my wad all over that overstuffed armchair with one good nut squeeze. I was still milking out the rest of my cum as John pushed in hard, wrapped both arms around me, and ejaculated, pulling back and pushing in just a liitle more with each spurt of cum…and then we both really were completely spent. That guy could fuck. He was a born top, with just enough bottom in him to make him a great top. Naturally, I would fuck that sweet deal up, and sooner than I had figured, but I couldn’t help myself. That’s later, though.

"Jesus, Joe," John said as he withdrew his still hard cock, "what got into you?"

I kind of yelped when the last of his cock pulled out, and then said, still panting, “Apparently a great…big…HUGE…fucking…cock… Show me how deep, ok?”

John laughed and made a loose fist, sliding it down just past his mushroom head. “The knob,” he said and slid his hand down maybe another inch. “That’s about where I paused both times…and where you went fucking wild both times,” he said, laughing.

"Gosh," I replied, "that’s what…maybe 3 inches? And there’s still so much more…"

"Yeah, I’d say 2 and a half or 3…" then moving the ring made by just his thumb and index finger down a couple more inches, he said, "that’s about 5…probably as deep as I went the first time but…mostly I was at, say, 4," and he slid the circle back up an inch.

"So…what you’re telling me…" I said, "is that you fucked the shit out of me with me just half your dick?"

"Not quite half," he laughed, and then moved his fingers down a couple of more inches. "That looks like about 6…and I’d say that’s about as much as ever went in…about when you came."

"Yeah, about then…Ok, now keep your fingers there," I said, as I slid my hand underneath his and measured with the gap between his fingers and the base of his cock. Holding up my thumb and index finger, and apprising the gap between them, I said, "That looks like about 3 inches to me…3 inches of your cock that never had the pleasure of my ass…"

"Keep in mind," John interjected, "that I’m not as hard now as I was then, so…"

"So," I said, "even more than 3 inches hasn’t had the pleasure of my ass…yet." Then I measured the same distance from the tip of John’s cock and closed my fist around it there, and said, "And about the same amount of cock that it took to drive me fucking wild.

"I thought you told me your cock is 8 inches hard…" I said as I did the math.

"I never said that," John smiled, "you did."

"No fucking wonder you’re so good at the department store game," I said, dredging up from nowhere what by then seemed liked ancient history.

"Killer," John replied.

"By the way, keeping in mind that my cock’s not quite as thick as yours," I continued, as I moved my hand up to about 2.5 inches below the end of John’s dick, "that’s about where I stopped during your knob test." I was enjoying holding John’s cock.

"Before or after?" John asked.

"Oh, before," I replied, "after you…uh asked me—"

"You can say ‘begged,’" John said.

I laughed and said, “That was NOT begging. I know because I’ve begged…so after you ‘asked urgently’ for me to push in deeper - and we agreed that my going deeper would not break my promise not to fuck you so long as—”

John was laughing now. “Joe, everybody knows that in/in/in is NOT fucking…while in/out/in very clearly IS fucking…”

"Let’s just say, then, that you came as close tonight to getting fucked in the ass as you can get without getting fucked in the ass. So the FIRST time you urgently asked for more, I parked my cock at about here," I continued, moving my hand down and giving his softening dick a couple of shakes. "About 4 inches of Joe up your ass. How’d that feel, big guy?"

"I’ll answer that, but first show me your final parking place," John said.

"About here," I said squeezing his dick tight enough to make it hard. "Maybe 5 inches."

"Alright, then 4 inches of Joe up my ass felt superb…but not nearly as good as 5 inches of Joe."

"Right…Joe is standing there with all but a couple inches of his poor little dick in your very tight ass, which by the way, was contracting, crushing my cock like you’re some badass boa constrictor…which is why I had to pull out so fast…to keep from cumming in your ass - which most people would have confused with buttfucking."

"I see your point," John laughed. "But seriously? Having your cock inside me made me feel like I wanted you to fuck my brains out."

"I would never say you’ve got the soul of a bottom…but you do have potential. And it’s a good thing you didn’t ask…" I said, "or I would have fucked you without further ado. As you found out just a few minutes later, I’ve basically torn up that rule book."

"God, what a surprise that was, what a wonderful fucking surprise…you don’t have any regrets do you?" John asked.

"I’ve got an 8 o’clock so I’m going to bed before I make you fuck me again."

How we jack/1990.

How we jack/1990.

Breaking in the roommate/3.

Breaking in the roommate/3.

Breaking in the roommate/2.

Breaking in the roommate/2.

"I’ll have the large cock au jus, please."

"I’ll have the large cock au jus, please."

Mountains of the moon, milk river.

9.21.14

Mountains of the moon, milk river.

9.21.14