Part IV
In the morning, Duke passed me in the hall, seeming to ignore me, although I could see his smile curl. I didn't want to be the first of us to talk, lest I say something wrong.
I was groggy, after all. I hated Mondays.
I had gotten a job as a desk clerk, which was just as well. I liked to spend time there anyway. I was afraid to process what had happened, and was glad to grab dinner at the on-campus commons.
I didn't return to my room till it was late, and the only light was the foggy lamppost.
Duke's room was quiet. Maybe he was already asleep. I breathed slowly, appreciating the time to process in private. When I closed my eyes, little silver worms seemed to crawl across my lids.
What had happened? What did I want next? Light seemed to flicker and dance past my eyelids.
I opened one eye.
The green laser light did a figure eight over the cup.
Tentatively, I put it to my ear.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey Duke," I said softly.
"Did you like last night?"
It was--the hottest night ever.
I sighed.
"I wish you cuddled with me."
"I'm not your boyfriend, Holden."
Pause.
I felt a sinking feeling, but I shook it away.
"Honestly, I'm still getting over Joey. I'm not sure I need a boyfriend right now."
"And in the meantime, you wanna be my cocksucker."
I couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question.
"Duke..."
"You want my big, hot cock sliding down your wet throat."
"Duke..."
"Stroke yourself. I know you want to."
There was something safe about stepping back into what we had been doing before.
I grazed my hardening dick. "I like seeing you happy, Duke."
"Owning a bitch makes me happy."
Pause.
"I'm yours, Duke."
He exhaled sharply into the cup. "Do you want to suck my cock?"
Pause.
I wasn't sure what to say. A part of me wanted him, of course. But if I didn't have any future with him—what was the point?
He hadn't even KISSED me.
Quiet lingered.
Duke pouted. "What the hell are you waiting for? If I wanted mind games, I'd bang a girl. You are a fucking waste of my time."
The line went silent.
"Duke?" I asked. "Duke?"
I spied on him through the hole. He had turned away from me and covered himself with a blanket.
I went red.
I wanted to stand up for myself—because if I wasn't his boyfriend, what was I?
In a moment of indecisiveness, I had protected my pride...so why did I feel as though every fiber of my being ripping?
Over the course of the week, I couldn't tell if Duke was spiting me or playing with me.
On Tuesday evening, I came back to find a bunch of glowing purple spheres floating around my room. One of them hit me in the face and popped, spraying me with soap.
It was a bubble. Duke had put some kind of transparent soap-blowing machine against the hole in the wall and it was spawning a new bubble every few seconds. There must have been a blacklight behind it because everything glowed.
The hole seemed a little bigger than it did before. Was Duke expanding it?
I could find the resident assistant and try to get Duke in trouble, but I didn't want to. Part of me felt I deserved this, in some way, somehow. I didn't want to escalate things. If I just took this lying down, maybe he would forgive me.
I made sure all my electronics were covered or stored and crawled into bed, hiding under my blankets like Duke had the night before. The glow of the blacklight made it hard to sleep, but I got used to that after a while.
The truth was, part of me was amused.
Although, I could do without the noise of the bubbles fizzing.
Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip. Bip.
On Wednesday, the bubbles were gone.
Instead, there was a beam of light branching out of the hole, casting an image on some of my furniture and the far wall. Duke had set up a projector. Who knows what department he had lifted it from. Hopefully he returned it quickly—I doubted it was easy to come by. Duke hadn't set up sound, so I couldn't hear anything, but I recognized the picture.
It was Guys and Dolls.
I watched for a while as I curled into bed, but soon I found myself dozing away.
On Thursday, there were glowing orbs floating around my room again, but this time they flitted about randomly, their lights shifting on and off.
Fireflies.
I shook my head. I used to catch them when I was a kid. They were harmless, but they didn't make good pets.
I opened my window. A few of them took the chance to escape, while most of them continued bobbing up and down around my room.
They weren't terribly clever.
Hopefully most of them would be gone by morning.
When I woke up on Friday, there was more ice and another popsicle in the hole.
I pulled it out and slurped on it, shutting the window.
Most of the fireflies had escaped, but the few that didn't had crumpled to the floor. Worse, a big fat fly was buzzing around the room.
When I got down far enough, I read the joke written on the Popsicle stick.
<Arnold Schwarzenegger has a big one, Michael J. Fox has a small one, The Pope has one but doesn't use it, and Madonna doesn't have one at all. What is it?>
I flipped it over.
I shook my head. The stick also had his phone number scrawled on it, so I saved it into my ghetto flip phone. Then, I got dressed and headed off to class.
When I got back to the dorm I went to the desk to check out the vacuum and fly swatter.
I managed to whack the fly on my fourth attempt. I vacuumed him up along with the half-dozen unlucky fireflies that didn't make it through the night. They made a disturbing clicking noise as they bounced around inside the machine.
I finished cleaning the room, feeling a rush of excitement building. I was heading home for the weekend, and this time, I would get to see a couple of my old high school friends, several of whom were seniors now. My friend Erica had texted me that the gang was going to Gameworks, then meeting at Sonic for a late-night snack.
It was taking a while to make new friends, unless you counted Duke. It would be nice to just relax for a change and not worry as much about what people thought.
Though I still worried a little.
I ate a light dinner with my parents, saving room for a slushy.
I decided to skip Gameworks and just meet them at Sonic later. I really just wanted to kick back.
Erica honked when she pulled up in her jeep.
She leaned over and hugged me once I got in. "Mmmm. I missed having your awkward ass around all the time, let me tell you."
"Hello to you too," I said.
"You seem different," she said. "Did you change your hair or something?"
I shrugged.
It was nice being back with the high school crowd, laughing and reliving that sickly, nostalgic feeling of being trapped in a shoebox together.
In college, you can do whatever the hell you want and next to nobody gives a shit. But that can backfire. In high school the teachers care about your future—or at least know your name. In college, that's a rarity.
On the way home, Erica stopped at a red light and took the chance to look me in the eye. "It's not your hair that's different. It's how you carry yourself. You seem—a little looser—a little more lighthearted. What's going on with you?"
"Joey and I had a fight," I said. "Partly because of the changes you mentioned. Does it seem bad?"
The light switched and Erica saw it in the corner of her eye. She turned back to the road. "Only if it's not what you want." She shook her head and stepped on the gas. "I would have guessed you grew closer to Joey. You look happier and more alive than before. Maybe it's just college life."
"Perhaps." I looked down and told her about Duke, softening some of his phrasing, and leaving out the part where I sucked his cock.
"So—do you think he is mad at me?" I asked.
"Maybe. He might feel rejected. He tried to initiate something and you didn't respond. You might have damaged his pride, so you'll have to swallow some of yours to set things right with him. But honestly, the stuff he's been doing this week—he might have meant it flirtatiously. Floaty, shiny stuff is often thought to be romantic, so it might just be his weird way of trying to win you over. He's either a mediocre punisher or a terrible flirt."
"Or both." I sighed. "He made it seem like he would never cuddle or kiss me."
"Some guys do that at first. He could just be compensating for his own perceived weakness, or it could be simpler than that. He could just be a douchebag through and through. It's impossible to tell, really. If it's the second one, it doesn't matter what you do. Just do what you want I guess; it won't make a difference. Either way, then you shouldn't push him to do anything he doesn't want to. Don't threaten his masculinity. Let him figure things out on his own time. Just play along for a while. Then, if you are lucky, he'll come around."
We reached my home and I hopped out of the jeep. Erica waved me goodbye.
I went to sleep thinking about what she said.
She was right, I decided. Duke might have felt insulted. I was protecting my pride and damaged his instead.
All I wanted was for him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me. Was that too much to ask?
He didn't seem interested in that kind of intimacy.
I mulled it over on Saturday while I helped my parents with chores around the house.
It was true. I was focused on what I thought I wanted. Part of me wanted to make Duke happy, and in order to do that, maybe I should be focusing on what he wanted instead.
I wasn't sure I was ready for a new relationship anyway. And in some ways, Duke didn't seem like boyfriend material. He lacked focus and had a questionable attitude. He was just a smoking hot rebound, wasn't he? That's how he wanted to be seen, so that's how I would see him.
If I didn't rock the boat, the sailing sure would be smoother.
I got a text from Joey. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't been thinking about him more. Our breakup had become conflated with Duke in my mind, so it didn't just made me sad; it made me confused and a little turned on.
<Hey, I saw Erica's picture of you guys at Sonic posted on facebook. It looks like you are having fun back in town. Can you stop by my apartment on your way back to the U? I want to talk.>
I messaged him absentmindedly.
<OK.>
On Sunday, I was glad to be back on the subway.
I closed my eyes and listened to the haunting noises of the track as we trembled underground. It was nice to just lose myself in the moment. The train track might go on forever; I couldn't see the tunnel end.
In movies, the worn line so often is, `Are we there yet?' Though I've never really identified with the idea. I love being a passenger. It's one of the few times when it is acceptable to simply exist. No doing, no acting, no stressing. Just being.
Sometimes as I get close to the destination, it fills me with dread, even if I thought I was excited to get there—because it means the journey is over. It's a shame to end something so peaceful.
I got out my phone and texted Duke.
<I'm really sorry about my hesitation earlier. I'm desperate to make it up to you. You've really gotten inside my head... I'd do anything for you.>
The response came quickly.
<I'm busy, bitch.>
Is it weird that it made me smile when he called me a bitch? It's not exactly a term of endearment, but it was starting to take on that quality. It was enjoyable somehow. Playful.
It even made me a little hard.
I tried to push him out of my mind when I got out at Joey's station.
It was only about a block to his place.
When I knocked on the door, he sighed and pulled me into him.
"I don't like fighting," he said softly, nibbling my ear.
My knees buckled. "Joey—stop," I whispered. It felt good, and part of me missed it—being held especially. But he had to know what had happened.
He let go, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Joey, you can't just break it off with me and then erase everything with one casual text message."
"Break it off? When did I break it off?"
"When I asked when you wanted to see me again and you slammed the door in my face."
"That was one fight! It wasn't even a big fight. We can work through it, can't we?"
"It was a big fight to me," I said. "I traveled all the way here and you weren't even happy to see me. Even a douchebag like Duke spends more quality time with me than you."
"So suddenly he is your knight in shining armor."
"So what if he is? I'm tired of feeling as though I'm not supposed to like him. I do like him. He doesn't shame me—everyone who judges me shames me."
"You are deluded. He's been walking all over you from the moment he met you. He's a shell of a person, a hollow contraption of muscles and Axe built to bully and bamboozle."
"Maybe you are jealous of him, have you thought of that?" I asked. "It's okay to be shallow sometimes. It's not the end of the world. And we were hollow in our own way. I see it now. Our pretentious cliques of preps, thinking we were better than everyone because we couldn't see past our noses in our little diorama of the real world."
Joey shook his head. "He's poisoned your mind. You need to stay away from him. Find your roots—before it's too late."
"It's already too late, Joey."
"You haven't—surely you haven't—copulated?"
I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. Then I nodded.
Joey sunk slowly back into a chair. "What's happened to you? I don't know you anymore." He sniffed, his eyes welling. "How was it, then?"
"Tame. Nothing to worry about."
The strength slowly returned to Joey's voice. "Let's take some time to think things through. It's hard to look at you right now."
I rubbed my thumbs in my hands.
"I'll see you again, Joey," I said.
On the subway back, I couldn't stop shaking. The visit with Joey left me feeling more fragile than before. I could have taken the chance to be intimate with him, but my mercurial sense of honor got in the way. Now I felt deprived and restless. I closed my eyes.
The ride seemed to go on forever—and inside that forever, I felt serene.
When I finally keyed into my room, I checked the hole. It was empty, and Duke's room was dark. I sighed. It was the weekend still, technically. Maybe he was out partying. I imagined him in his small black tank top, sliding up and down on some girl, flooding her senses with Axe.
I grimaced before stripping down, crawling into bed.
Then, I did a double-take at the hole in the wall. The opening should have been in front of me now, a few feet above my mattress. But it wasn't `open' anymore. There was something waiting for me that wasn't there before.
In some ways, it was a pity I couldn't see the hot body attached to it. I closed my eyes for a second and imagined the perfection on the other side of the wall.
In other ways, though, this was perfect. There is something about a solitary cock—a thick, long, veiny, impatient monster. It was jutting out at me, pulsing and starting to leak. It felt—not allowed.
The cockhead was caught in the glare of the light, emphasizing how luscious it was, and drawing me in.
I realized that the hole really must have grown bigger since the first day, back when I could barely see Duke's eye on the other side. Duke must have been drilling it wider while I was away.
"I was afraid you wouldn't give me a second chance," I whispered.
"Aren't you going to take your present today?" Duke asked, his voice muffled.
I noticed a string looped around his cock, a small note hanging from it. I sighed and pulled it off. It only had two words written on it.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Instead, I found myself sinking down to my knees, and smirking.
I dragged my tongue over the top of his cock, making the long journey over the flared bulb, the thick pink band of skin, and the powerful vein that piped the base. Duke's breathing condensed. When my tongue got to the barrier, I swirled over to the left side of his cock and lapped at his shaft from the base to the head. I tongue-flicked it twice, then switched to the right side and reversed course. Finally, I lied flat on my stomach, looking up into the endless voyager from below.
The belly of the beast. The most sensitive part, besides the head. This was the part that had driven Duke wild last time, compelling him to abuse my face.
I craned my neck, curled my tongue around his shaft, and licked slowly from the base to the head.
"Fuckin faggot," he gasped.
I took the head into my mouth, closed my lips, and sucked.
"Oh fuck!"
I wrapped my fist around the base and started to slowly pump. I drooled freely on his cock, slicking it up, so that my pumping was smoother. I licked the bottom of his shaft slowly one more time, slurping at his big vein as it wavered.
His cock started to slowly move back and forth, and I moaned softly, picturing him humping the wall on the other side. I moved as slowly as humanly possible; I inched more and more of his cock down my throat. When he got impatient and tried to slam more of his cock through the wall, I backed off. I knew he wanted me to take more, and faster—but there was little he could do about it—except whine like a dog.
"Holden," he said. "You said you would do anything. Suck it deeper. Suck it now."
I closed my lips around his cock—I had about half of it in my mouth now—and slurped hard.
"Fuck," he whispered.
I traced the surface of his cock with my tongue. I lapped at it slowly—tightening my fist around the base. It felt so warm in my mouth. Even though the core was hard, the outside was fleshy and firm. It leaked onto my tongue and I tasted his blend of sweetness, saltiness, and—juiciness. I closed my eyes and moaned.
I started bobbing up and down faster, taking more and more of his cock down my throat. I started to gag, but pushed through it. I shoved my face further and further, impaling myself deeper on his monster until my nose and lips touched the wall.
"Wait," he said.
I slowly pulled off.
He retreated out of the wall and back into his room. I could hear the slap of his palm; everything was a blur. He rubbed against the wall; then, slowly, his balls swung back in forth in front of the hole.
"I didn't put anything on them today. You wanted to taste my body grime, so go ahead. Worship my dank balls."
I didn't miss a beat. With my face as close as possible to the hole, I stuck my tongue through and licked his dripping, sticky sack.
Fuck yeah.
The taste of Axe was gone, replaced by the pure, salty, musky taste of meat.
I slurped all of his ball sweat down. Each one snuggled into my tongue as I massaged and sucked it. I moaned and let the sweat run down those swinging balls, down my tongue, and into my mouth.
Duke's breathing grew uneven and he started to rock slightly, like a cradling child.
I licked his balls until I couldn't taste them anymore.
Then I pulled my tongue back and waited.
Duke backed up, letting go of his cock and letting it fall. He gasped slightly when he realized my throat was waiting at the hole for him. I closed my eyes and imagined what it looked like to a horny stud like Duke. He spent so much time trying to cajole people to suck his monster cock, and now not only did he find someone willing—he found someone desperate.
"You like this more than I do, don't you bitch?"
"Mmm."
To Duke, there was a hole in the wall—and behind it, nothing more or less than a tight, warm, soft fuckable throat. I had turned the tables. My solitary lips glistened—waiting for him to fill them. Now I dangled what he wanted at the hole and it was up to him to take it.
He didn't hesitate. I could hear his palms smack against the wall before he plunged his cock through. I forced myself not to back up—I would take it all for the life of me. He started to piston in and out—I was gagging—but I wanted it. I pulled my dick out and touched it lightly. It was so hard I was afraid to jack it.
I moaned around his cock. I could hear his hips slamming against the wall as he fucked through.
His words were muffled by the wall, but I could make them out.
"Yeah, bitch. Open that throat up and take my cock. Fuck yeah, cocksucker. Oh, FUCK yeah."
His words were replaced by incoherent groans as his cock slammed in and out of the wall. He chuckled and found his voice again.
"I am going to breed you," he growled. "And you are going to swallow."
It could have been a statement or a command; regardless, I had come to terms with the reality that I was his cocksucker. I was dying to taste him again.
Each time he shoved his cock down my throat I sucked hard; each time he pulled out I opened wide.
He raced, solidifying his thrusts, and snarling.
Then, suddenly he stopped. I thought he might feed me his ball sweat again, but instead he waited.
"Duke," I whimpered.
"Don't call me Duke while I fuck you."
"What should I call you?"
Pause.
"Manpike."
"You come up with that all by yourself?"
"Yeah. And I'll remind you what you keep admitting in the middle of the night."
"Which is?"
"You are my BOYHOLE. That's right, bitch. You dream about taking my cock. It's your heart's desire. Admit it."
"I want your cock inside me," I whispered.
"So let's drop the farce that I need to be the instigator here. You crave me."
"I want you, Duke—Manpike." I felt silly saying it, but it made my dick jolt. "Please...I was wrong to defend my pride. Please, let me be your boyhole."
"You'll suck me on command?"
"Yes."
"You'll take my abuse lying down?"
"Yes."
"You are mine?"
"Yes, Du--Manpike, yes."
"Suck my cock, boyhole, and don't stop sucking till my cum is deep down your throat."
He shoved his cock back through the hole and I pounced on it, sucking it as deep as I could. I couldn't help but gag, but I pushed through it with a whimper. Hopefully my throat's contractions felt good to him. I moaned as he humped my face.
My gaze caught the jeans jammed between the bed and the wall. I grabbed the pant leg and wrapped it around my dick, jacking roughly. The felt coarse, yet cool and soft. They were the jeans from our first night together—Duke's jeans—that he had left me as a prize.
Soon, my dick was on the edge.
"Suck harder, bitch."
I tried to comply. His cock had distended my mouth, inflating my cheeks and expanding my throat.
On the next upstroke, I let his cock fall out, licking every inch of the surface again.
His cock jumped.
"SUCK IT NOW, BOYHOLE."
I lunged down on his cock.
Faster and faster he clogged my throat; I opened wide; I tightened the fabric of the jeans around my dick; I ground my face up against the hole, contracting my lips and becoming a receptacle.
"I own your fuckhole of a head. Admit it. You—are—mine."
I moaned; sweat plastered my palms to the wall; I jacked as hard as I could on my dick.
Then, I lost it, shooting wave after wave of cum all over his jeans for the second time.
The intensity sent spasms through my body, culminating in my shivering mouth.
"FUCK," he growled. "That feels so good, bitch. Fuck yeah. Shit. I'm gonna dump my load."
He sprayed the inside of my mouth with sharp cum.
I swallowed; he buckled; he shot more inside me; I swallowed again. This cycle repeated with him pulling out slowly, feeding my throat, my mouth, my lips—and then, with one final pulse, painting my face.
I collapsed on my stomach, catching my breath.
A minute passed.
When I regained enough strength to get on my knees, I peered through the hole. Duke was lying on his side, turned away from the hole, on the verge of sleep.
"Duke?" I asked.
Silence.
"Duke? Manpike?"
It was hopeless, however. He was finished with me for the night.
I flipped off the light and crawled into bed, feeling alone. I felt fabric brush against my knee and realized it was Duke's jeans. I crumpled them into a ball and held them into me tightly. Then, I brought them to my face and breathed in.
"Duke," I whispered.
I held the jeans into my chest, wrapping my arms around them and leaning back and forth.
"Duke."
My mouth curled into a smile. The lamppost light flooded over me and I floated in its haze. My thoughts unraveled into wisps and danced before my eyes, in time with sensation of the subway still echoing in my mind.
--- Hope you liked it. I always appreciated feedback: krazytop@gmail.com Tumble me: http://krazytop.tumblr.com/