Chapter 23: Passive Aggression
His cock was amazing. Long, thick, bursting with power, it grew from its base with strength and girth. Near his balls, it was wide enough that I would probably not be able to encircle it with thumb and forefinger. It extended to just beyond his belly button, curving in a gentle but definite arc so that when he stood, it would point slightly upward. As it was, while its head dented his belly, the central section of the shaft rose almost an inch off his abdomen. As large and solid as it was, the skin on it hung loosely. He was uncut, the entire organ sheathed in a baggy sweater of skin. Its crown could have been the model for an Indian arrowhead. Flared, pink, glistening, it drew the focus of the eye to it like God's finger in the painting of the Creation of Man.
The effect was immediate. To say I was boned would be like saying the Titanic took on a little water. I was just as sunk. His dick took my entire field of vision. The fog had become solid, as if I was moving through partially set Jell-O. Still, my hands continued their job, despite the lack of help from my brain. I moved above his head and wet his chest with the rag. Looking down on his face in repose, I was struck by an uncharacteristic moment of clarity. He was not perfectly beautiful. There was an asymmetry to his features that would have barred him from a modeling job. Still, he was a picture of perfect and raw sexuality. He hadn't shaved that day, the stubble adding to his roguishness. Yet he had a few freckles across the bridge of his nose that I hadn't noticed before. His eyebrows were strong and forceful, but his cheekbones not particularly pronounced. Relaxed as he was, his thin lips were parted and his tongue was again resting on his lower lip. He was boy and man within the same package, and I realized that while he may have hit puberty at ten, he was, in no sense, finished developing.
I was lathering his chest, scrubbing his mighty pectoral muscles in sweeping, circular strokes. Unable to stop myself, I began rubbing his aureoles and nipples with soapy fingers. Even after they were beyond clean, I continued, enjoying their feel as they engorged with blood. His cock twitched in appreciation and he heaved a great sigh.
I rinsed his chest and with tremendous care to keep the water out of his face, wet his hair. Placing a dollop of shampoo in my palm, I began to work it into his hair. My fingers learned the bumps and rises of his skull as I used the shampoo as an excuse to give him a luxurious - for both of us - scalp massage. I knew I was doing it right. His toes curled.
I rinsed and repeated. Didn't really need to, I thought, but what the hell? How often would I have this opportunity? Might as well follow the directions to a word.
His abdomen was next, which required me to treat, at least in a cursory way, his dick. With utmost professionalism, I moved it out of the way with the back of my hand while I lathered beneath it. I would not have been the least bit surprised if it had left an imprint on my skin. It was extraordinarily heavy - the strength of his erection making it fight to return to horizontal. I washed his belly, his abdominals, the trail of longish black hairs that began at his belly button, broadening out to his curly, full pubic bush. With the washcloth, I abraded the skin. I loved having my pubes scratched, and guessed the feeling was somewhat universal. Rinsing the area, I returned his dick to its resting position, and worked down his legs.
I paid particular attention to his feet. They must take quite a beating, I thought, so I changed technique when I got there from one primarily of ablution to one primarily of massage. I worked the tiny muscles of the ankle, attacked with brutal force his instep, punched his heel, stretched the ball of his foot and gave each toe its due.
Having spent some time on his feet, I returned with eager anticipation to his midsection. Dropping the washcloth into the bucket, I lathered my hands generously and took his heavy, distended ball sac into them. The seat of his power, I thought. The genesis of his effect on me. I was lovingly tender with his great balls, swirling around them with my fingers, playing with the skin and hairs that grew there. A hint of smile appeared on his lips, and his dick began to leak a little - a single pearly drop of precious fluid appearing at its mouth. I played as a child would - discovering their weight, their size, their contour with my manipulations. Satisfied that we were, for the time being, well enough acquainted, I reluctantly rinsed them free of suds.
He was clean, now, stem to stern, and the only thing that remained was to raise his centerboard. I ringed its base with my hand, drawing it away from his body. It was a mast and it was making me three sheets to the wind. Dizzy for want of it, I bent down and brought my lips to it. When I made contact, but before I could engulf it, Adam opened his eyes and hooked my chin with his hand, lifting me gently off him.
"That'll do, pig," he said warmly, "that'll do."
"Huh?"
"That was great. Just what I needed. But that'll do for now."
"Don't you want to get off?"
"I can do that later. Listen," he said, pulling my face close to his, "I'm very happy, and very happy with you. You're doing this for me? Then stop now. You okay with that?"
I nodded. He brought his mouth to mine and kissed me briefly. One full sweep of his broad tongue against mine. He let me go and sat up. "You done good, Mark," he said hopping off the table. He stretched - one long, luxurious, leonine curve of body. "Why don't you come to our room later. We'll have a talk." And with that, he left.
I have never jacked off more quickly or more explosively in my life as in the three minutes after he had gone.
Having wiped down the table and mopped the floor, I set off for my room wondering again what to do about Matt. I couldn't avoid him. That would just hurt him. Nor could I continue to lead him on. If I said something, he would be hurt, and it would be weird for the rest of the summer. If I didn't, he'd figure it out for himself, it would hurt more, and it would be very weird for the rest of the summer. Besides, passive aggression wasn't my style. I was more confrontational than that. As I entered the dorm, no answer presented itself to me. Perhaps Mr. Daniels would help, I thought.
But it wasn't to be. I passed Brad's door on the way to my room. It was open and he lay, stripped to the waist, on his bed inside. When he saw me pass by, he called out.
"Heeeeeywood,"
I stopped at his doorway and leaned in.
"You can't be serious," I said. "It's a thousand degrees."
"Heeeeeywooooood," he crooned, smiling.
"Can't it wait, Brad? I'm really not in the mood."
"I got a woodie that won't quit. Look!" he said. He peeled the front of his shorts down. He wasn't kidding. The blond pole stood proudly erect on his belly.
"Give me a break, Bradley. I'm exhausted, wet and really pissy right now."
"But it's calling for you, dude. See?" he said. He took the head and positioned a finger on each side of the piss slit. Pulling the two small lips apart to make it look like a tiny mouth, he raised his voice to a falsetto and called, timing the opening and closing of his miniature, southern oral orifice with his words, "suck me. Suck me!"
Despite myself, I laughed. "You're too much, Brad."
"Coolness," he said, seeing that I was relenting, "you're the best, dude." I walked in the room and closed the door.
"I'll jerk you off, okay? Just a quickie."
"Okay," squeaked the diminutive mouth at the end of his dick. I took it from him, finding the familiar feel of it in my hand pleasant despite myself.
"But if you want to get off, you need to talk," I said.
"Okay, dude. No problem. What do ya like? Stroke my hot meat, faggot? That kind of thing?"
I turned to speak with the head of his cock. "Look, little dick," I said to it, "tell the big dick up there I'm not joking. If he doesn't treat me right, he's going to be getting to know his own right hand pretty fucking well for the rest of the summer. Got it?"
"Got it," Brad squeaked, contritely, but in his dick voice.
Ringing his flesh in my hand, I sat down on the bed next to him and started a gentle rhythm.
"How long have you and Wendy been going out?"
"Coupla years."
"You ever cheat on her?"
"Not once," he said to the guy who was jerking him off.
"Just with guys?"
"That doesn't count."
"How do you meet them? I mean, when you're not actually provided one by your coach."
He laughed. "This is the first time he's ever done this, you know," he said. "Most of us thought it was a pretty cool idea."
"I bet," I said. "Glad to know I'm a ground breaker. So how did you use to find guys?"
"It's not that hard. I got a bod that gay guys really like." To stress the point, he took one wrist in the other and pulled in isometric opposition. His pecs, biceps and triceps flared in response. "And we can tell who you guys are pretty easy. So when we'd go to away meets, I'd just...I don't know...scope for who was scoping me."
"They come up to you, or did you approach them?" I began to thumb the sensitive junction of his glans lightly.
"Mostly me. We tend to intimidate gay guys. You're different," he said. "Most guys think we'll beat the crap out of them or something if they ask. Usually the ones that ask are old disgusting guys."
"So, what? You just walk up to a guy who's scoping you and say, 'hey, want some of this?'" I added a squeeze of his dick for emphasis.
He giggled. "That's pretty much it. You don't have to work that hard with most gay guys. Much easier than girls. You could teach them a thing or two, you know."
"Yeah," I said, "but I don't think they're particularly interested in learning how to be more like men."
"Too bad," Brad said. "Put tits and a pussy on a guy, and you got the perfect date."
I continued to stroke him in silence for a bit, making sure not to let his fever rise. He laid his head back into the pillow and shut his eyes.
He was so stunning, I thought. Beach bum surfer dude soccer jock all rolled into one. Of course he had a cavalier attitude about his body. Who wouldn't? How could you be that beautiful and not be intimately aware of it and the effect it had on other people? Still, I found what he was saying distasteful. How many young Matts had been ruined by a boy like him, I wondered? And this Wendy! Either she allowed him his egocentricity because he was so gorgeous - which did not speak particularly well of her - or, as I hoped, she was as stunning as he was and used him as fully as he used her.
"So when you would meet a guy, you'd ask him if he were interested..." My inflection indicated I wanted him to continue.
"...Yeah. And we'd go somewhere - usually to his place. On the road, we have to share hotel rooms. Sometimes we're four to a room -- and then I let him do me."
"You ever do him too?"
"Naw. I want to get off, and they're grateful to do it. Kinda like you."
I let go of his dick, which flipped back to his abdomen with a thud. "That what you think?"
"Shit yeah, dude. Most of them are amazed I'll even talk to 'em, let alone let them blow me. It's a pretty good deal, if you ask me."
"You know, Brad, I changed my mind," I said. "I think I will give you a blowjob."
"Cool, dude!"
"My absolute pleasure," I said, bringing my lips to his head. I engulfed him and with the assistance of both hands, started an assault that was bound to bring him off within seconds.
"Holy shit!" he cried, surprised at the vigor with which I was pleasuring him. As predicted, before very long at all, I could feel his testicles begin their telltale rise. I was deep throating him when they began, and as they did, I withdrew so that just his head was in my mouth and began sucking it like a vacuum cleaner. With a few well-placed ministrations of my hands, I felt the first squirt of cum hit the back of my tongue.
As expected, his hands flew to the back of my head which he held in place while his hips thrust his dick into me in one convulsive spasm. Not before, however, I was able to tighten my jaw just a tad and remove my lips from their protective station over my teeth. As he shoved his dick fully down my throat, the length of it passed over my teeth, which were spread apart a millimeter less than the width of his dick.
He howled, half in the ecstasy of the orgasm, half in pain as my enamel scored the skin atop and below his sensitive dick. For a split second, he didn't know what to do - leave it in or take it out. As my tongue swept the abrasion, though, he quickly decided and pulled my head off him faster than you can say, "was it good for you?"
Wiping a line of cum from my chin, I looked at him cup his groin in pain. I hadn't drawn blood, but he would have a couple of nasty scrapes that would take a week to heal.
"You're right, Brad," I said, cheerily, "that was satisfying. Thanks!" I left the room.
Okay. So sometimes passive aggression has its place.
It had been a long, difficult day, and it still wasn't done. From Brad's room I walked down the hall and stopping just before my door, turned right.
Beyond the door now in front of me was something I knew I wanted. Beyond the door was what had lurked just beneath my consciousness all day as I sat, sweated, cleaned, watched, bathed, blew. I had not thought about it. I had not analyzed, I had not reasoned, I had not rationalized the decision I was about to make. Instead, I had let sensation percolate up through my psyche until it had suffused my soul. I did not consider why. I did not understand. Still, there was a part of me that knew, with absolute surety, it was right. Beyond the door was what I needed and beyond the door was what enjoyed my need. I knocked.
"Yo," I heard from inside.
I opened the door to the Lair, and stood on the threshold. Dan was alone, sitting on his bed and thumbing through a Sports Illustrated. The sweet smell hit me like a wall. It was addictive, I realized.
"Can I come in for a sec?"
"Sure," he said. "Pull yourself up a piece of mess."
He wasn't kidding. The place was a disaster zone. Every piece of clothing they owned was on the floor, tangled up with magazines, playing cards, chess pieces, CDs. I found a path to what I guessed was a chair. Indeed, lifting the underwear, sneakers, jeans and a couple of Hostess Cupcakes (I think) revealed a chair below. I stood with the pile of crap in my hands, looking for some guidance as to where it should be placed. Getting none, I sat down in the chair and simply dumped it next to me. This seemed to be the correct thing to do, as he paid no particular attention to it.
"Listen, Dan," I began, "this afternoon didn't go anywhere near the way I wanted it to. I'm really sorry."
He shrugged and kept reading his magazine.
"No, this is serious. We both know I have the propensity to say the wrong thing when I'm nervous. The truth is, what you said about me is absolutely right."
He nodded.
"And as for your inclinations," he looked up at me warily, "I don't understand them. I don't understand them at all. I think I point completely to the other side of the compass. I don't think I could ever understand what you were talking about on an intuitive level because it's so foreign to the way I feel." He nodded again, inviting me to continue. "You see, the thing is, well...I'm actually not quite sure how to put this, but...Dan..."
"Well?"
"This is a bit uncomfortable for me..."
He frowned and waited, wordlessly, for me to continue, staring at me over the magazine. I became lost, again, in the blue on blue of his eyes.
"The thing is...Dan...that I think I could fall for you in a major kind of way."
"Despite my 'inclinations?'" he asked.
"Actually..." I stammered, "I think because of them."
He looked at me for a long time, then smiled.
"Well, it's about fucking time," he said.
"Pardon?"
"It took you long enough. Jesus! I've been waiting for two weeks."
"You have?" I asked in stunned naiveté.
He nodded.
"Wow. Where was I?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Fighting the fog."
I laughed. We sat there looking at each other in silence. When the pause began to make me uncomfortable, I asked, "So what now?"
"Well, you sure you want to start something?"
"No."
"You understand what you're getting yourself into?"
"No."
"Good answers, Mark. So now we just see what happens. In the meantime, no cumming."
"Ummm...that's going to be a little problematic," I said. "There's kind of...a situation."
"It's not going to be a problem at all," he said with confident authority. "Deal with it."
I nodded. I sat there wondering if I should join him on the bed, wondering if I could kiss him, wondering what I was doing there, wondering what my future would hold. He sat there watching me wonder, taking, I think, some delight out of my confused indecision. Before I could bring myself to act or commit more fully to inaction, though, the door open and Adam burst into the room.
"Fuck me, I'm hot!" he said, announcing his entrance as clearly as Gabriel.
"We have a visitor," Dan said to him.
"So I see," replied Adam, walking over to his bed and stripping off his shirt.
"It seems our little friend wants to take a walk on the wild side."
Adam slowly turned to look at me, fixing his gaze on mine. I felt very small.
"Well it's about fucking time!" he said, breaking into a smile. "Now go get a towel. We're going swimming."