So, now that I lost my staff-writing job at CBS, I figured I'd give writing bad net-fiction a shot. Wish me luck.
Dreamy Damien and his Delicious Dong
So, he's cute, right? I mean, sure, he's cute, but...I dunno...I wanna make sure that it isn't just me. No, it can't be just me. He's so sexy. Wait, I moved from "cute" to "sexy" in about two sentences. Fuck! Okay, so maybe Matt's right, maybe I do have a crush...
Oh, there he is. Taking his shirt off, showing his smooth skin and tight stomach. Hint of a six-pack. That's so fucking hot. Actual six-packs are kind of gross, but the hint of one? Insta-boner!
Here come the shorts. He wears boxers, unfortunately. Didn't use to, but does now. I can understand why, though: if I had a cock his size, I'd probably a) try to keep everyone from seeing it, and b) get sick of stuffing that much meat into a pair of briefs. Just seems painful. Still, it's such an amazing thought that--
A sharp jab to my side made me look away from the cornea-scorching hotness.
I looked to my left and saw Matt giving me the OK sign with his fingers.
"Subtle," he said approvingly.
"What?!" I demanded.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but laughed a little.
By the time I looked back, he had already pulled his speedo up. I turned back to scowl at Matt.
"Sorry," he said with a half-hearted shrug.
He fuckin' should be! I only get to see this three times a week. Matt just cost me 43% of my weekly wank material! They cane you in Singapore for shit like that, you know.
So, anyway, back to the hotness. He was tying the drawstring on his speedo. Ooh, he wore his red ones. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he did it just for me. Those are my favorite! It makes his junk look a bit smaller, yeah, but it's so ginormous that you don't really notice. But it does make his ass look bigger and more delicious.
He grabs his goggles and heads out, sort of glancing my way as he exits the locker room. I, of course, stare down at the ground as he leaves.
"Smooth," Matt said scornfully. He started taking his clothes off and I followed suit.
"I dunno how to act around him!" I said defensively.
"Ya know, the whole school knows he's gay. You could--"
"Offer to clean the little puddle of drool off his shoes? I dunno how not to perv on him. And anyway, yeah, he's gay, but so fucking what?! He's fucking popular, and gorgeous, and he's packing--"
"Okay, TMI!"
Matt's been my best friend since, like, he saw me streak at a party about two years ago. We were the only two who had the balls--well, perhaps not physically, but whatever... Shut up! We were, like, twelve and shit!--to actually do it. Funnily enough, back then, he was gayer than me. We wanked together cos he wanted to. Back then, I looked at boys just fine and all, but I didn't really care about it all too much. He really liked mine and I was kinda flattered, so we jacked many a time together. Then we turned thirteen, and my balls dropped, and he discovered the internet. After that, I was all about boys, and he was all about boobs. (I know. Kinda two of the same thing, innit?) Shame, too, cos Matt's kinda cute. Since then, I think he recoils at all the times he wanted to see my dick, so he's kinda sensitive about things like my drooling over cock.
"Well, anyway, Damien could have whoever he wants. Why would he want a scrawny little freshman like me?"
Matt brought his index finger up to his lips and pretended to think for a second.
"You make a good case."
"Thanks, dude."
"Well...ya know...how d'you expect me to act? You always talk about him."
"Huh?!"
"Damien. You always stare at him and talk about him and..."
"Are you jealous of him?!" I demanded.
I honestly couldn't believe it.
"Well..."
"Okay, you're straight. I've been on your computer. I've seen the evidence."
"I know. But, like, I'm 97% naked here too. I wear the same bathing suit he does, and you never..."
"Matt, you want me to perv on you? Would that make you feel attractive?"
"Well, no, but, like, a quick glance every now and then, maybe..."
It was too stupid to be a lie, and the earnest look on my best friend's face confirmed it. He was straight as they come, but I guess he kind of missed when I had a harmless crush on him and stole glances of his junk. Neither one of us was particularly popular with...our desired sex, so perhaps it was up to us to make each other feel wanted.
"You're a weird fuckin' dude," I said with a grin. He blushed a little. I glanced down at his speedo-clad package, and I was actually sort of mesmerized. I forgot how yummy Matt's cock and balls looked in lycra. I stared thoughtfully at his junk. As a matter of fact--
Matt put his hands in front of his goods and told me to look up at his face.
"Okay, good enough," he said sheepishly. "I feel sexy again."
"Good, cause now I'mma get you drunk and get me some of that."
"Psh!" Matt said and playfully punched my shoulder on his way out to the pool.
"C'mon, Shap, before coach makes you do laps on the track instead of the pool!"
"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed as I hastily tied my drawstring and ran out to the pool.
So, would now be a good time to introduce the pertinent members of our little saga? Well, sit there cos I'mma do it anyway. Kthx. I'm Llewelyn Shapiro. I know. Yes, I know. Believe me, I know! Go ahead, get it out. Laughter's good for the heart, they say. ...Done? Good. Yeah, I can't explain it either. My parents probably felt bitter when the condom broke. They couldn't take it out on the good people at Trojan, and my dog's fucking adorable, so it was up to me to take a hit for the team. (Kidding, mom and dad, should you be reading this! I love you guys and I know you love me, and I approve of you not supporting the evil-baby-name-book industry. I hear they experiment on the elderly. I still don't get why you named me Llewelyn, but hey, adversity builds character.) So anyways, I'm fourteen and I live in Santa Barbara, California. I go to school at Bristol High. I'm obviously a freshman. Which...really sucks. No, not for the generic waa, waa, pimples, waa, waa, seniors, waa, waa, Jared Leto's too high to date me reasons. If my parents had just had sex three years earlier--hey, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say. ...Again--I'd be seventeen and a very eligible gay senior. And then I'd walk up to Damien and be all, "Sup." And probably wink. And he'd be like, "You're creepy and weird," and walk away. But at least I'd have talked to him! As it stands, I don't have the balls to even ask him for some gum. Which, according to Matt, I need frequently. My orthodontist looks like a fat Tina Yothers, so I hope you can understand my reluctance to go as often as I should. (And no, that's not redundant. She lost the weight on Celebrity Fit Club. Jeez. I dunno how you can live without bad reality TV. When I grow up, I either wanna marry Tila Tequila or Bret Michaels. And Damien can be our "pool boy." And I can pound him in our pool. Then everyone's a winner! Mmmmmmm, sticking it in someone who's got an abnormally large cock is so sexy. It's, like, talking dirty to someone who's deaf. ...I'm really fucked in the analogy section of the SATs, huh?)
Anyway. Since I just mentioned pounding his tight ass, now's as good a time as any to introduce the resident sexy bitch. He's Damien Stevens. (That bitch gets two first names. I couldn't even get one. ...Still love ya, mom! Can we have chicken tomorrow?) So. Damien. Seventeen. Brown hair. Foppy and emo-ish. Given to wearing skinny jeans and fitted shirts. Amazing brown eyes. Yummy lips. Killer bod. Nice, tight stomach and smooth legs. Tight, fuckable ass. And, OMG, the BIGGEST cock you've ever seen! Well...maybe not the biggest one I've ever seen, cos I'm fourteen and have internet access (oh, xtube, why you so good to me?), but probably the biggest one you've ever seen unless you've actively looked. So... Where was I? Oh, yeah, my favorite subject: Damien-cock. Thick. Cut. I dunno how big it is hard, but soft, it's about seven-and-change. In my head, it's ten inches hard. Course, in my head, I ride it like a pony every day of the week and twice on Sunday. (Hey, if God didn't want me to fantasize about big cocks, he wouldn't have invented them. Ha! Take that, Reverend Jacobs! If I'm going to hell for sinning against the baby Jesus, I'm taking you with me! I'm...not sure how, exactly. Most of my half-brained ideas revolve around getting Damien to become my boyfriend. Or, at the very least, my plaything. Perhaps once I solve that riddle, I'll figure out a way to get that creaky old gasbag to take a sleighride to hell with me. So.)
Oh, yeah, back to the story, as it were. He trims his pubes. Which...we all do, right? But it looks sexy on him. Makes his monstrous cock and giant balls look bigger. Fuck. Why the tease?! Like, you know how they say straight boys are irresistible cos they're unattainable? Well, Damien's yet more irresistible cos he's theoretically attainable. I'd rather he be straight. Then I'd know I don't have a shot in hell. But he's just like me! Well...if I were funny and popular and gorgeous.
Anyway. My sidekick in these misadventures is my best friend Matt Fowler. Remember him? Odd dude who wanted me to perv on him just a tad so he could feel hott? Yeah, him. He's a great guy. Hopefully we'll go to the same college and get drunk every weekend and have sloppy, amazing sex. I mean, he's my best bud, but he's also kinda cute. And staring at his junk reminded me that if wishes really don't come true--I was saving the birthday candle-one and any shooting stars I see to give me an opening with sexy Damien--then Matt could be a solid Plan B.
Oh, who gives a fuck if he's straight? It's 2009, maaaaaaaan. Haven't you heard The Emo Song? Two dudes can make out without it being gay. Damn you, Matt, for outgrowing your sexual bicuriosity!
But the story's not named "Meaty Matt and his Magnificent Manhood," is it? Nope. (Mental note: Great story title for later.) So perhaps I should get back to the real story here before you guys realize what a crap writer I am and start reading, like, literature or something. I'd never forgive myself if I let that happen.
So. Now that you know my band of merry men, back to the "plot." (Hey, least I'm honest.)
After swimming, and after leering at Damien as long as possible before he caught me and came over and gouged my eyes out like Moe, me and Matt walked home.
"You could just ask him out," Matt said again.
"And you could walk up to...um...shit! This example worked really well in my head before I realized that I dunno the names of any popular cheerleaders. Bah."
"Lotsa things work really well in your head, crackie." A big smile crossed my face. "Ew!"
"You. Me. Damien. Circle-jerk!"
"That just wasn't necessary," Matt said, honestly to himself cause he knows once I start, I can only be contained by either pornography or velcro. ...What?! It's compelling stuff, dude! It, like, sticks together, but then it doesn't. Dude who invented that must live like a total pimp. Fuck! I wanna have bitches too! I better get back to the story before I start pouting. ...Where was I? Oh, yeah, making Matt regret the day he met me.
"And by circle-jerk, I mean that I'm jackin' you both while you both jack me."
"I just don't understand why this needs to happen to me."
"And I'd use his precum to--"
"I mean, I give money to homeless people when I can. I helped my cousin learn to ride a bike. I even bought some muffins from that church bake sale last week."
"And his delicious dong would...wait, muffin?"
(Oh yeah. Food too.)
Matt grinned.
"Yeah."
"You braved church food?"
"I figure if God really is everywhere, he's seen both the stuff on my hard drive, and the unspeakable things I do while looking at it. Maybe a muffin'll give me one less week in purgatory."
"Dude, I've seen both the stuff on your hard drive, and the show you put on. How big was this muffin?"
"Normal-size?"
"Gonna take an industrial-strength muffin, my lad."
"So. Tomorrow's Friday."
"And? We have no lives."
"Well, that's where I was going with that, yeah. Wanna come over and flick my Bic?"
Relax, old-pervy dude with your wang stickin' out your fly in front of your screen. He means his lighter.
"I'm not lighting shit on fire with you anymore."
"But it burns!"
"Last time we lit that dog food can on fire in the alley, the kids across the street looked at us with such disappointment."
"...And?"
"They're fucking middle-schoolers!"
"Even Meathead?"
"Especially Meathead!"
Meathead is my eleven-year-old neighbor. Kid's like 6'3" and such. Scares the fuck outta me. He's a friendly dude, but every time he raises his hand to wave, I think it's a menacing gesture, and I get the odd compulsion to scream like a woman and run.
"Oh, shit. Well. I don't wanna jack off for hours again, Shap!"
"Is that why you didn't wanna hang out last week?!" I demanded.
Matt grinned shyly.
"I had a good rhythm goin'," he said cheerfully.
"Well, we can always go to the mall. Give our generation a bad name and such."
"Hmm. My dad said he'd give me money if I mowed the lawn."
"Gay."
"I know. He figures that'll motivate me or something. I know he's gonna gimme the money anyway."
"Sweet. You bring the cash, I'll bring my pert little ass."
"Ugh. When're you gonna dump those fucking skinny jeans?!"
"I can't lose `em until Damien agrees to move to Vermont and be in a civil-union with me!"
"Can I be your best...civilian?"
"Well, if you--"
"No circle-jerk!"
I stuck my bottom lip out.
I love Matt, but honestly, sometimes he's such a diva.
So the next week at school (Aren't you glad me and Matt spent all that time talking about what our plans for Friday were, just for me to skip that altogether and jump straight to Monday? I love my fucking story! It's so bad!), I was sitting by the vending machines waiting to see if anyone dropped any change. My mom made a lunch, but it was all nutritious and such. I refuse to eat anything unless I'm sure it's gonna significantly shorten my life-expectancy.
So, there I was, sitting by the vending machine, when I see Matt and Damien's cock coming at me. ...Oh, I guess the rest of him was technically there too, but he was wearing his skinny jeans. All I saw was penis. Eventually, my brain remembered that you see with your eyes and hear with your ears, so it started registering some of what Matt and Damien (and his cock) were saying.
"I hate to bug you, but you're one of the seniors and all."
"No, I'm glad you came to me. Brad's a douche and I'm pretty sure Alex's a date-rapist."
"Oh. Um, thanks for the heads-up. So. This's my friend Lle...um...Shapiro. We call him `Shap.'"
"Shap?" Damien repeated, looking at me.
Don't worry, by the time they were reasonably close to me, I was able to tear my eyes away from the world's greatest sextoy. Of course, it took me thirty seconds to realize that he'd said something to me. It took another thirty seconds for me to realize that I should probably reply. Ten seconds after that, Matt put on his best, "You're dumber than that can of dog food stuffed with litter and prunes that we lit on fire that one time" look.
I looked at Damien and his cock and I attempted a smile. If we'd been playing Charades, and I got Bell's Palsy as a clue, I'm pretty sure that "smile" would've conveyed it perfectly.
"Hi Damien. No one calls me Matt but Shap. And that's mainly cos he doesn't know anyone. What a loser! I, on the other hand, know tons of people. ...People like Meathead. You don't know him. He goes to another school."
Oh yeah! Since I stuck the landing, the judges just gotta give me the gold!
Damien (and his cock) shook his head and turned back to Matt.
"So, what've you guys been struggling with?"
"The breast-stroke," Matt replied.
"Geometry," I replied at the same time.
Matt looked at me, incredulous. You think he'd know after all this time that I'm more or less hopeless.
"Well, I'm pretty good at math, but I'm not sure I'd make much of a math tutor," Damien said, clearly amused.
"Well, then help us with the breast-stroke, then," I said quickly. "I dunno why I said that. I don't even take geometry."
"So anyway," Matt said quickly, trying to change the subject before I managed the rather impressive achievement of putting both feet in my mouth, "think you can help us out? We'd really appreciate it."
Damien looked at Matt, then at me.
"Do both of you really need help?" he asked simply.
"Yes," I said.
"Not really," Matt replied at the same time.
We looked at each other, then we both switched our answers. Too bad I wasn't really fat. Then Matt could be my David Spade.
Damien grinned.
"You can leave now," he said to Matt. Matt looked at me helplessly. "I'll return him in one piece."
Matt looked at me and knew I wanted him to stay, and he was about to say so. But then he totally punked out and backed away, forgetting to close his mouth. Damien (and his cock) sat next to me.
"Whatcha doin'?" he asked simply.
"Waiting for someone to drop change on the floor so I can swipe it and buy myself a lunch that my mother would never approve of," I said in one breath.
Damien nodded. I don't think he believed me.
"So many guys're bi-curious," he said thoughtfully. "I think it's the new emo."
"You're emo," I bleated out. Oh, if you think that that had nothing to do with anything and was a stupid thing to say and that I dunno how to handle myself around gorgeous boys, then you're stupider than you look and your parents were related and you suck at life.
"But I think you're the real deal," he continued.
"Oh, the realest."
"You must be gay. You're always looking at my junk."
"You can't say always!" I said, genuinely offended. Damien (and his cock) looked at me with his eyebrow raised. "Look, always' means all the time.' I'm not always looking at your huge, sexy cock all the time. Like, right now, for instance. I'm currently looking at your face. But now," I looked down at his lap, "I'm looking at your crotch." I then looked back up at his face. "Face." Then back down again. "Crotch." Then up. "Face. Down. "Crotch." And then I think maybe all the attention was getting to his delicious dong, and it perhaps started growing a bit. Needless to say, I kept my gaze down. Damien had to nudge me to get me to look up.
"Yes?" I asked simply.
He grinned at me.
"I've never had someone so sexually inept interested in me. This's kind of adorable, I'm not gonna lie."
I got hung up on the first half of that sentence, and completely overlooked the second half.
"Hey, you dunno how many women I've been with! Tons! Wait...I mean...not women, but... No, actually, can you imagine how much play I must have if cougars want me. Oh, and they do. Fat Tina Yothers kinda winked at me last time I went for a cleaning, and that was before my last growth-spurt. If she saw me now, she might gas me and--"
"Let's go to the bathroom," Damien interrupted.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
Okay, look. Confession time: when I was seven, my cousin Jesse dared me to run into a wall. Let's just say that no one ever questioned my courage after we got back from the hospital. Concussions make me gassy.
"Because you need to pee," Damien (and his cock) said as he stood up and pulled me to my feet.
"I don't think I do," I said, unsure of even that much at this point.
"Sure you do," Damien said cheerfully as he dragged me along.
As soon as we were in the bathroom and he confirmed we were alone, he gently pushed me against the wall.
"You're cute," he whispered.
"That's what my gammy says," I whispered back.
"I don't think you're very bright," he whispered again.
"I know. Someday, when I'm rich and famous, I'mma buy the state and kick Jesse out of it."
He leaned forward and kissed me. Did it change my life? Pfft. Fat Tina gave me more than that. Oh, wait, is that his tongue passing over my bottom lip?! Ooh... Sorry FTY, but I'll see you when my parents can afford braces.
So. Damien-kisses? The seventh wonder of the world. ...Oh, really? No shit! Fuck you, Taj Mahal! You suck on my tongue and then we'll talk!
So, after that mind-blowing experience that made my dick leak like a broken fucking faucet, I looked up at Damien, confused.
"Thank you?" I said dumbly.
"More?" he asked playfully.
"I don't have any money," I told him sadly.
What a fucking jerk! God, I'm a moron. He looked confused, and then angry. I decided my grave wasn't deep enough, so I got my shovel.
"No, I mean, a guy like you'd need to be paid to be with a guy like you. But a guy like me can have anyone you want, and I need--"
He leaned forward and kissed me again. This time, I decided to put my hands on his waist and back and pull him into me. It was my first/second kiss, so I was determined to make the most of it. He responded by murmuring his agreement and kissing back more passionately.
After a few minutes, he finally broke off. He smiled when he saw the look on my face, which I imagine is much like a breast-fed baby whose tit was just taken away. I was just about ready to cream my pants. A look down confirmed that he, too, was hard as fuck. He put his hand under my chin and forced my head up.
"I'm a person too," he said seriously. "I have a brain. I'm not just a piece of meat. If this's gonna work, you need to see that."
"If what's gonna work?"
He reached into my pocket, groping for my phone. He touched my dick a little accidentally, and I was sure I'd wank to that memory until the Republicans were back in office. He flipped it open, dialed a number, and waited a few seconds. "Thinking of You" started blaring from his own pocket. Satisfied, he put my phone back in my pocket. Perpetual Wank Memory, the Sequel. Featuring all the original cast members! I love when that happens!
"Can I reach for yours?" I mumbled.
He giggled and kissed me quickly on the lips.
"You know, you're the reason I stopped wearing briefs in the locker room."
Fuck. Matt was right! It's actually best to assume people aren't legally blind. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck that.
"Really? I'm sorry! I'll stop staring! Just bring back the goods!"
He smiled again and gave me a playful spank.
"I've got your number now," he said with a grin. "And you've got mine. We're going on a date sometime soon. Dress cute and if you stare at my junk all night, you're gonna find yourself walking home."
He gave me another quick kiss and walked out. I stood there, dumbfounded. I...couldn't believe that had happened. I pulled out my phone to call Matt. Me and Damien's firstborn Vermontese son was gonna be called Matt. It was a foregone conclusion. I looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.
Ha, Edison, you punk-bitch, you never invented anything this fucking awesome...
Okay. That's it for now. There may or may not be a second part. It may or may not be radically different from this one. And you may or may not give a fuck. :-)
P.S. I've never worked for CBS. Ew.