Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, with only a slight resemblance to real life facts, people and/or events. It contains descriptions of partial sex between teenage boys. If you are under 18 yrs of age be forewarned of some graphic language and content.
Author's Note: Written with mad props to the style of Bret Easton Ellis' Rules of Attraction, also to Jt for the inspiration!! Comments are always welcome! xanderlaveiie@aol.com
Me and Jt by Cameron
"Sup?" he asks, content with himself as he sits on the couch next to me, watching the muted television that my parents bought me last fall when I moved to this bleak town to attend the University. His name is Justin, and I know him as the seventeen-year-old football player who'd been coming over to my place to get high for about a month. He claims it's the only safe place to do so in town.
He's already finished one joint but his rich-boy cologne gratefully overpowers the horrid bud smell.
"Nothing. Just me," I note as I lift my bare foot onto the couch, my eyes constant on his perfect, hard body. He turns his usually stunning blue eyes, now blood shot, to me and slowly rolls them in disgust. "Don't say that gay shit."
Bigot. I sigh and look away from him. He smells good so I turn my face back to him. He's again caught up in the muted television, fingers buried under the waist of his jeans. Tease. I dig my toes into his thigh.
He doesn't react.
"Can I suck your dick?" I ask innocently.
"No."
"Handjob?"
"No."
Calm as usual, he sinks his fingers deeper into his jeans and scratches his painfully hidden balls. I wonder if he gets off on teasing me.
I turn back to the television as if I'm interested as my hand slinks around to the back of his head and my fingers play in his short dark hair. He looks to be enjoying it for a moment, eyes half closed, but then he uses his free hand to push me away.
"Stop." He's high but not enough to alter his judgment.
Me: "I think we've done this dance before."
Justin: "You just want my cock."
Serious faced. "No, I want your superior intellect."
He does look so good in the dim room light, wearing those faded jeans and blue button down that I can easily imagine removing with my teeth; one button at a time, slowly.
He flashes a small smirk towards me then raises his hand. For an instant I think he's going to grab me. He flicks me off. Back to the television.
I ask, "How's Kate?" Girlfriend.
"Don't talk about her."
"Did she let you do her up the ass yet?" Vulgar on my part, but he gets the point and shoots me a quick grin. I think it's a grin. He's so hot.
"Fuck you," he slurs a bit, tired.
"Please?" I perk up slightly, letting my body from the back of the couch to adjust my sweater. It's itchy--hopefully on the floor soon.
He laughs and his head falls back. He's partly asleep, but it's barely ten, when I move in. I straddle his body making sure not to put my light weight on him and wake him up. My hands slip around to the sides of his head, fingers running gently through his hair. I lean down, holding my breath, face red, heart racing loudly, groin aching, toes cold, and kiss his half open lips.
That makes him open his eyes and he stares up at me. Not a bad sight, I take care of myself better than most boys I know. But I'm not a woman and I feel his hands on my hips, lifting me off him.
"Stop," he says, not-so-convincingly. But before I can protest he widens his eyes, more than I though he could in his state, and turns his body slightly towards me. "Cameron, I'm cool with the fact you're gay. But I'm not."
My heart sinks, he's serious. All the weeks of playing around, joking, he's still a straight bigot asshole.
I press my back to the arm of the chair and watch him watching me. There's an awkward silence in the air before he unzips his jeans. My curious eyes dart to his crotch.
"But you can suck my dick," he smiles. It's a trick. I do nothing. His fingers enter the dark hole in his jeans. They withdraw his semi-hard meat, the perfect mushroom head angled at me. He's serious.
Fuck him. "Fuck you...." Cock-Tease. "...Tease," I add after a moment of gawking.
"Seriously, Cam," he pleads in his most pathetic-sex deprived-voice.
I look to the television. Fucking News. Anchorman is kinda cute, Weatherman too. Momentarily distracted from Justin and when I look back, he's still staring at me.
Me: "What?"
Him: "Suck it."
He grabs the back of my head. His grip is strong. It feels nice. I sigh and shift my body closer, trying to prolong the eager erection in my slacks. He applies some pressure to the small of my neck and I make some sort of protesting noise but end up with my lips inches from his now hard cock.
I can feel the warmth coming from his open fly and smell his young eager flesh aching up at me. We have done this dance before. He's playing his part nicely tonight. It'll be over soon.
I lick the slit, the circle the underside of the sensitive head with my tongue. He groans. I kiss down the shaft. He moans. I wrap my lips around the very tip. He pushes on the back of my head. I have him entirely in my mouth. I draw up then back down. His fingers take hold of my short hair, though longer than his, and lift my head up.
"Cam, chill." Bastard. Smirking bastard.
I tongue my lips as he releases me and puts himself back into his jeans. Fucker. I collapse backwards, miss the arm of the chair, and plummet back first onto the floor, my legs still caught on the couch. He begins to roll another joint. I sigh loudly.
"Sup?" he asks.
"Nothing," I sigh again and look down. "Just me."