I wrote this story on a rare burst of inspiration and energy. Infrequently, I write fun fictional pieces such as this.
Now, this story takes place somewhere in the 2nd half of the '90s, in and around Boston and maybe some of New England. The characters are real only in that each one is a collage of people I know. It's a slice of myself, though, as the main character is a part of me that I needed to express at the moment. I won't be censoring the words and ideas - should you be offended please remember that it was your choice to read. Should you be amused - feel very encouraged to contact me.
THE STORY::::
The pretty, fluffy trance music was conjuring up little pixies prancing around on the clouds in my head, infusing me with relaxation and feelings of pink and baby blue.
"Fluffy-fuckin'-pretty music. Fairy shit", I muttered to Lena - a purist junglist - at my side.
"Yeah, dude. Well", she sighed, fluffing up the back of her meticulously accomplished hairdo (an iron-flat swath of hair on either side of her face and a chaotic pin bed of hair at the back - lacquered to a T). "Jungle's next". Something suddenly poked me in the back. "What?!? Jimmy here doesn't like the fairy shit?" Damn, the Fucker's here.
Trying to keep my scowl from twitching into a big-ass grin, I turned around and cuffed Francis on the side of his black-visored-buzz-cut head. Laughing, we gave each other a quick bear hug.
I looked at his outfit. "Y'think this dark get-up'll make you look all tough n' shit?" I sneered at the black visor pulled down low over his eyes, the black hooded sweatshirt, and the big black pants he was wearing. He can't ever not look cute, can he? That not-quite-pug nose, those heavy-lidded eyes, those full lips (the lower of which was encircled by a hoop - gross on most other people).
"Bitch!" he reached up to pull my caps' brim from being centered over my right eye to over my right ear. "Tougher than this country club fag shit!"
I laughed at that, looking down at my sweater vest and khaki cargoes.
Lena turned towards us with an exasperated old bitch's look on her face. "All right, asshole, quit picking on Jim and bust out yer bowl." She glanced at me knowingly. Being one of my girls, she knew of my crush on this kid.
"Word", Francis said, putting an arm around each of Lena's and my shoulders. "Let's boogie to my car. I left my bowl there so mothas like you two wouldn't mooch, but, oh well..."
If Lena and I weren't familiar with the people throwing the house party and the people attending, it probably would have been obnoxious of Francis to not let go of our shoulders as we squeezed our way out of the densely packed apartment. Little things like that were what endeared me to the guy in a week's time.
I had met Francis around a week-and-a-half ago at his cousin Jade's house. Jade lived in Boston, but Francis was on a solitary road trip that had begun in Orlando, FL. Jade was having a small gathering in the college ghetto area - nothing big, maybe a dozen people hanging out and getting fucked-up. Being a new face that happened to be very attractive, I made sure Francis enjoyed chilling with me that very first time. We had each other laughing like madmen in no time. I had not only managed to entertain the guy, but had given him what he called, "My Best Friend In Boston." He discovered a day or two later that I was a 21-year-old party kid who would buy him booze (he'd just turned 20) and enjoy getting sloshed with him. He had, in his car, a 2 gallon Coleman jug that we filled up with ice, Bacardi rum, and pineapple juice and took to the Fenway Park one afternoon. We'd invited a few people to come sit with us by the nasty lake/river, and some had passed by, but it was us two who demolished the booze. He had rolled up his pants legs at one point, letting me see his feet (not bad) and his shins and calves (very fine brown fuzz evenly distributed over thin but not scrawny legs-wow). I had seen him once since then and before tonight - at The Eagle's Nest where we stood together and made fun of people dancing. He'd mentioned something about hooking up with some chick, but told me that he'd tell me all about it later because he wasn't sure. Needless to say, it is pretty strenuous being the best friend of someone you're obsessing about!
We didn't exert too much effort on being discreet in this ghetto neighborhood, so we hung around half a block down by Francis' 4-door black Honda and passed a blunt around. Lena was going through Francis' music and put a jungle mix tape in. I started dancing on the sidewalk, already feeling very baked (on top of a little acid and beer). Lena guffawed and squealed at me from the drivers' seat, and from the black shadow in the back seat, "isn't he cute?" Damn, I love it when straight guys say that about me. I allowed myself a little shiver. We finished half the blunt as I busted more moves for my audience and then stubbed it out to go back in.
The jungle set was in full swing as we squeezed our way back into the apartment.
"Nice", I murmured. "The half-assed ones are bailing." It was approaching dawn, and the place had emptied out to a comfortable density. There was enough space to dance if you wanted to and enough space to stand around smoking your butt without having to worry about burning someone else. Lena and I did a few moves together, but I stopped to watch Francis when I noticed him dancing on the other side of the room. Very cute. He did mostly minimal, controlled moves that occasionally dipped into powerful squat-spins when he had enough space.
Lena motioned me down to her mouth. "You're so in love, dude, aren't you?"
I shrugged. Fuck, yeah. "I'm trying not to be..."
Francis came up to me at around 6 a.m. "What are you doing after this?"
"Well, I should go home and sleep a little. I've got work this afternoon."
"Can I come over and chill at your place?" he asked, rubbing his thumb on his slightly-stubbled chin. "That way, I can give you a ride too so you won't have to take that fuckin' train."
Oh, my heart melts. "Well, you're probably gonna be bored. Nobody else is coming over, and I'm just gonna pass-the-fuck-out." My place never was a hang-out, and I always felt awkward about having people over. My ex-raver roommates (the worst kind if you're still one) weren't in town, though, so I felt a little less funny about Francis coming over. Besides, he was Francis.
We stopped at a convenience store somewhere along the way and Francis went in while I smoked in the car. "You're lucky to be my boy, my stepmother chokes me with money and credit cards so I won't be asking my Dad for attention. I'll hook you up, kid!" He said, dropping the paper bag in my lap. A glance inside revealed three packs of smokes as well as half a dozen assorted bagels and some chocolate and gum. Raver food.
The sun was coming in pretty strong this morning, making him get out of his black hoodie. He half-spoke, half-motioned me to get the sunroof open while he drank coffee, munched on a bagel, and drove. I would have slung something witty at him as I was doing it, but I didn't even have the energy to make a complete sentence.
"Y'all cracked out, buddy?" he asked, hitting my knee. I nodded and grunted a yes, and found out that I had enough energy to focus on looking at his arm and hand, which were the only parts of him I could stare at without looking stupid.
He had on a flannel gray short sleeved T-shirt that must have shrunk a bit because the sleeves rode up pretty high, affording me a view of the lower half of his upper arm down to his hand. His arm was long but cut, like he had done some sports or was active but didn't do gym stuff. Not very hairy, I noticed while watching the muscles play under his pale but flushed skin as his long fingers shifted gears. Images of his torso flashed across the uncontrollable landscape of my cracked-out mind as I turned to look out the window. My whole body tingled and the bastard under my zipper reminded me of his presence without waking up.
"You like guys, huh?" Francis asked causally while I was lighting another cigarette. "Can I have that one? Thanks, dude." He grabbed it out of my mouth. What a rude fuck!
"Why, do I strike you as a guy who likes guys?" I light another cigarette for myself. I'm suddenly awake again...
Francis shrugged. "Nah, you actually don't. I just overheard your name in a conversation and so I asked someone and it turns out that everyone knows Jim likes guys. I honestly would not have been able to tell from the way you act and shit..."
"Well, I can act like a flamer too, for your information, mofo."
"Ha, I'm sure you can!" I half-turned to face him. "Why, are you a fag too, punk?"
"Me? Nah. Actually, you're the first homo-boy I ever considered a friend.
He, he. I mean, I don't attack gay people and all, it's just that I never knew any who were cool. I mean, they were cool, but none of them were my boys, y'know?" Another goofy-sexy grin.
"Or, numbnuts, you didn't know that some of the kids you found cool and hung out with were actually gay," I said. I'm gonna start calling him Frankie.
Francis nodded. "Right."
It was only some really crappy house mix tape making noise for the rest of the 10 minutes it took us to get to my place. I stood and watched him take a black messenger bag out of the trunk and sling it across his broad shoulders. Just to look at his backside, I deviously maneuvered myself behind him as we walked up the ramp to the front door of my apartment building. Like how his wide shoulders taper down to his waist? And there's no denying that tight little booty beneath those oversized pockets.
I gave him a quick tour of the house and ran into the bathroom - I could no longer deny my angry tummy. Some weird shit's goin' on, I told myself as I sat on my white porcelain throne. I looked down at Junior and tugged at it.
Bastard's tired.
Before positioning myself in front of the mirror for my daily "pantomime", I unlocked the bathroom door and left it open a crack; I sometimes think I'm claustrophobic. I must have forgotten that I wasn't home alone, so I jumped at the sudden knock and creak of the door as it opened. Stiffening up and holding my breath, and then realizing I wasn't naked and had boxers on, I let out my breath. "Dude, you fucking scared me!"
"I'm sorry, I-" Frankie said from the door frame.
"No, I just forgot that I wasn't alone in the house. It's cool."
"Can I come in then? Why, what were you doing in here? Beating the meat? Pulling the pudding?" Snigger. Sarcastic laugh from me, then "I'll be done in a sec, then it's all yours."
But he was already inside the door and was heading around me for the mirror, which was wide enough for two anyway. He'd changed into a pair of boxer-like sweat shorts and was shirtless.
Moles on his smooth back, the small but evident butt under the shorts, the reflection of lean, long, hairless (except for a little line of fuzz under his outsy belly button going down to..) torso, the small, reddish-brown nipples. The coltish calves dusted with fine brown fur...grrrrrr. I needed to be vigilant or else something would soon be poking out of my boxers' fly.
He heaved his ass up onto the sink's counter and sat there facing me, his arms around his bent knee. "Oh, I saved you the trouble of telling me to make myself feel at home". Grin.
I shook my head in mock exasperation. "Yeah. One week of being friends and you're acting like we're married. Fuckin' raver." I laughed. "I was just, y'know, posing in front of the mirror and spending time with myself."
"You spend time with yourself in your underwear?" Just then, his upraised leg moved slightly and I caught a glimpse of some slightly darker toned flesh up his pants leg. What was that? Damn, it was too fast...
"Well, yeah, most of the time. I don't feel comfortable running around naked." I smirked, and then changed the expression on my face to grill him.
"So, Frankie, you never fooled around with other guys? I mean, being a raver and all, there must have been some incident somewhere or something..."
He made a grin that was half a grimace. "By accident, yeah. You know, kissing and shit when you're rolling too hard."
"And I guess like every American boy, you experimented with your buddies when you were little up in your tree houses." Damn this fuckin' neck! I poked at the muscles that were stiff where my neck and my shoulders met.
Frankie winced at me wincing. "Dude, let me get that. Then it's my turn."
He jumped down and got behind me. I felt his big hands ease away the knots. With precision, he targeted the stiff parts and forced them to loosen. He then went down my back and worked more wonders. Sweet thing he was, he ended the backrub with a quick, crushing bear hug.
"Can we do this in front of the TV or something?" I asked as he put himself in front of me. "I just wanna sit, y'know."
He didn't seem to care, so we went to the living room and plopped on the carpet. He rolled on his stomach and rested his chin on his hands. "Hey, just sit on me and give me one of those full body rubs."
My heart was about to explode. "What the fuck?" I laughed nervously.
"Just don't, y'know," he looked at my crotch, "stick it to me without my permission." I punched his shoulder, "oh, yeah, and what the fuck makes you think I'd wanna fuck you up the ass, you fuckin' slut? Jeez!"
"Don't talk shit! Lena told me you thought I was yummy. Admit it. And yummy was your word." He began to poke my sides, making me squirm violently and laugh.
"Quit!" I gasped for breath, shoving him away. That bitch!
"The truth," he taunted, winking. Is he asking for something? I immediately caught that thought. Watch it, don't get your hopes up!
"Yeah, I'd hook-up with someone like you. But since I hang with you, I won't. Too much drama. Satisfied?"
"So I guess you don't get to hook-up much, seeing how you like hanging out with just about everyone." He scratched at his crotch. "Do you really think I'm yummy?"
I shook my head. "Are you trying to seduce me, ass-wipe? Quit, because I won't!"
"Why should anything change because of a small hook-up incident?" He rolled on his side and propped his head up on his hand. That's his dick, right there. Caught in the fold of his shorts. I looked away, wondering if he noticed. My eyes were drawn to the line of fuzz below his belly button.
"Look. I'm not gonna suck your dick just because you're cute and in need of relief." I said, trying to sound firm and final. "Besides, do you really wanna make-out with me, or do you just wanna expand your ego by adding me to your list of dripping cunts?"
He looked at me in silence for a minute or two. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind fooling around with you."
"Wouldn't mind?! That should convince me! You're so full of shit, dude!" I stood up and got out to the front porch. I stood facing out, thinking a mad jumble of no-thoughts.
He was behind me almost immediately, even before I had taken the first drag off my butt. His arm snaked around my shoulders. It felt awkward on me but I didn't shrug it off. That would be too sulky. I felt his warm, soft skin on mine. The scratch of the hair under his arm on my shoulder. The smell off his deodorant. I reached up and perched my hand on his shoulder. We were about the same height, 5'10". He might have been half an inch taller, but it wasn't much.
"I meant that. I mean, I actually do wanna try doing shit with you. Swear-to-fuckin'-god!" Grin and Goofy Grin.
"I have to be convinced," I commented coolly, responding to his 'give me a toke of that butt' gestures by holding my cigarette up to his pursed lips.
He turned to face me and put both hands on my shoulders. "I promise to not change after this. We'll still hang out and be best buddies like we were last week. You promise not to tell anyone what we -"
"Ha, me not tell anyone? You already crack jokes about me n' you to peeps that ask. And when they ask me, I play along too, of course. I tell them that you can't get enough...the horny slut that you are."
Frankie burst out laughing. "Right on!" He pulled me in for another of his crushing hugs. This one wasn't quick, though. His embrace loosened up slightly after a moment, and I had one hand running through the buzz of hair on his nape and the other one going up and down his back. He had both hands rubbing my back. Our heads were each kind of nestled in the crook of the other one's neck. I felt a hand migrate to the front of my torso and touch it. This is what he does to his chicks, I bet. And that one too.
To my slight surprise and utter amusement, he began to kiss my neck. Each little kiss moved closer to my mouth. Even though I was right then starting to poke out of the fly of my boxers, I avoided his mouth, starting a chase. I managed a look down and saw my boner totally poking out of my shorts, sending a rush of embarrassment through me that I didn't act upon. Sweet surrender. Ahhh, there you go, mofo! Frankie had a boner too, it pushed out the front of his sweat shorts. If you were to approach us from our side, you would see a cute 7 shaped tent on the front of his shorts.
"Does this convince you, oh high Queen?" he murmured, closing in on my mouth. Fuck, yeah.
Frankie had the very arousing habit of running his hoop-armed lower lip over my lips. We played lipsies for a while, during which I took the opportunity to poke around down there. I easily found his boner with mine, and his followed mine when I pulled away.
I suddenly realized that we were on my front porch and my apartment unit was on the first floor. Two half-naked young guys making out, their hard-ons sticking out, were in almost plain sight of the street, sidewalk, and entrance to the building. I pulled away from Francis. "Dude, look how fucking retarded we are! Man!"
Francis looked around and laughed, then looked down at himself and slipped his hand under the elastic waistband of his shorts. He scratched around a bit down there. His upper body was flushed, there were tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip, and there seemed to be a spot on his shorts.
I lit a cigarette and tucked my thing under the elastic of my boxers. "How many inches ya got there, Frankie?" I asked, gesturing.
"This?" he held it loosely through his shorts. "It was almost 6" when I last put a ruler to it, but I was, like, 14 or 15." He came up to take a few puffs from my fingers again, meanwhile my other hand reached down and gave him a little squeeze-feel.
He doesn't seem to be regretting this. He sure seems like he needs to get his rocks off. Hehehe. I looked steadily at his face as he looked away for a moment. "So..." I began as soon as he caught my glance. "Feeling weird so far?"
His eyebrows knotted over his eyes, giving his face an 'i can't really explain' expression. "Yeah, fuckin' bizarre shit, but...I'm definitely having fun," he said, lifting his gartered waist away from his belly and leaning in towards me. "Jeez, Einstein, can't you tell?" His pale, smooth dick stood out in the semi-darkness inside his shorts. It jutted out of it's dark bush, seemingly straight up at me.
"Aight, bonah-boy. Time to hide this shit from the neighbors." I pushed him, then myself in the sliding door and closed the slats behind us. The room would've been dark if it weren't for the flickering dance of light and shadow from the TV set we didn't turn off. I went to the kitchen to drink some water and he followed me.
"Some fuckin' soldier ya got there, dude. It hasn't even twitched, huh?" It was still in the same condition, but maybe the spot was bigger now.
"The sluts back home used to call him Old Faithful or Old Ironsides. Shit like that. I was the only reliable dick around for those cracked-out nymphos, y'know. Once it gets up, it stays up."
"Huh," I muttered, turning around to wash the glass I was holding. Not a second later I felt his presence behind me. I felt his arms go under mine and around to my stomach. Down went the drinking glass and rinse went the soapy hands at about the same time I felt his hard-on press against the crack of my ass.
His mouth placed little, wet dots around the back of my neck and my upper back. He was rubbing my nipples like he would with a chick's tits - which wasn't objectionable, it felt nice - but I took one of his hands down for some naughtier stuff. I left his hand - which was the same squarish shape and size as mine except for the slightly longer fingers - right under my belly button and on the waist of my boxers. Right away, I felt his palm go down and over my cotton-covered dick. Fingers went into my fly, found my bone, and pulled it out. I felt him grind against my ass and his hand jerk around my cock, but I wanted to do my own shit.
"Relax, jerk-off," I said, turning around. I put my mouth on his and sucked his lips between mine, and then I licked them lightly before parting them. He let my tongue in with no resistance and met it with his. I held on to his back with one arm, sending the other one down into his shorts. My hand fit comfortably around his dick, and his pretty heavy nut sack fit nicely in my palm. In the meantime I was slowly pushing him backward into the living room. We both unfolded the sofa into a futon. Frankie flopped back-first on it on one side. I got up from the other side on all fours and crawled toward him, pushing him down when he tried to get up. With both hands I pulled his stained and sticky shorts down, first over his erection in the front, and then from under his ass as he lifted up. We were now facing each other in opposite directions
His firm thighs framed a nice package. His dick rose straight up, not a single blemish on it, not even a circumcision scar. The shaft was almost cylindrical in its' consistency. Dick head was just a bit wider around than the shaft, just enough to make a distinction between the two parts. Under it hung his balls, surprisingly not cramped up tightly. The sack was smooth and pinkish, weighed down by his heavy nuts. I took these in my hands as I ran my tongue along his dick. Salty, sweaty raverboy. He squirmed. I could feel his eyes on my face as I fit my lips around his dick. I made sure the barbell in my tongue rubbed against him.
Hands began to rub my belly and then travel down my waist, pulling my boxers down along with it. I sucked harder as I felt him begin to jerk me off. I felt something wet, soft, and warm on my dick. His tongue! I guess the taste was acceptable to him; the tongue continued on. He stopped when I suddenly took my mouth off from around his end.
"Whatup?" he asked, bewildered. I shrugged, giggled, and fell on him, crushing my mouth to his. I sucked on his tongue when he offered it to me. I lay on top of him, his tongue in my lips, our dicks rubbing up alongside each other.
He rolled us around 'til he was on top, and we continued on with him in the lead. He seemed to be slower than me, with more soul. He made longer, steadier thrusts with his dick against my belly and my dick, and his mouth wasn't always on mine, but also on both sides of my neck and shoulder area. His lips and tongue traveled a lot, sucking here, licking there, tasting here. He probably left lots of little hickeys on me. The motherfucker even bit me .
"I'm really close," he whispered under my ear. I felt him speed up, so I did too, I held his ass with both hands and pulled him closer to me. I felt him licking and kissing the right crook of my neck. He began to whine kind of, and I felt his warm, wet explosion on my belly as his teeth clamped down on my skin. When the pain registered I came too, screaming, "Owww! You fucking asshole!"
We lay close to each other gasping for a moment or two. We drew apart, looking down at each others' and our own sticky bodies. Our eyes met and we burst out laughing.
"Asshole. What the fuck's up with that Dracula shit?" I scowled, trying to look at the bite mark.
"Well, you liked it. It was what made you bust your nut, right?"
"I lose. Fine. So what do you think of hooking up with guys now, straight boy?" I asked. He gave me a little slap on the cheek. "This was definitely an experience. Hardcore. You're not gonna see me doing this shit with other guys, though. Still gonna be bonin' those pussies -- coz they gonna be getting' me high..."
"So I can call you a crack whore and myself-" I start to say.
"Francis Abernathy's Private Fag. Yup, that's you! And, I will personally bust your faggot-ass if you start making peeps believe that we really did hook up and that it wasn't a joke after all."
"Don't forget that you're now a fag too. Homo!"
We gave each other a quick hug, momentarily forgetting how sticky we both were.
"Motherfuck!"
"Fuckin' sick!" We both shoved each other away, laughing hard. I sent him to take a shower, which I did not take with him, but I did sit on the toilet and gave him a hard him while he did.