Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica (4 page)

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Authors: Unknown

BOOK: Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica
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Eventually everyone got too drunk and too tired. By three-thirty, only a third of the partygoers were left. This was the wind-down. Music was turned low, conversation grew sparser. Deeper? Someone started arguing about politics. All I got from it was: McCain shoulda won, Obama was a socialist Muslim who palled around with terrorists, and Sarah Palin was a mavericky VPILF. The conservative rhetoric killed my boner. I stumbled into a bathroom for a piss, fifth time that night, at least, and didn’t bother to close the door
 
As I was zipping up, the Viking passed by. I slumped against the door frame. He laughed and stopped. I got lost in the tangle of orange hair on his forearm when he braced himself against the wall.
 
“Hey,” he said. “Marx, right? If you need to crash, man, my casa is your casa.”
 
“You live here?”
 
“Yeah. So if you need my bed, it’s all yours, buddy.”
 
I smiled and leaned my head against the door frame, and my eyes smiled too. My hand found his arm, and I pushed down on it, getting him to lower it. “Thanks,” I said. He walked toward his room and I followed him closely. He looked back and chuckled.
 
“I’m ready to crash now,” I said, rubbing my face.
 
He opened the door and showed me his king-sized bed. Football posters covered the walls, along with magazine cutouts and a jersey. I had guessed by then he was a football player. He had the look. I hopped on the bed, crawling across its expanse, sticking my butt out. I do this gay Bambi shit when I feel drunk and cute enough.
 
“Feels good,” I said falling on my stomach, melting into his cool comforter and pillows. He shook his head and laughed and went into the bathroom. I snuggled more deeply into the sheets.
 
He left the door open and I heard him pee. And pee. And pee. The man was a beast. A pee beast. (Oh, yeah, this isn’t a water sports story, sorry guys, not my thing. Just a detail.) I was so drunk that I passed out before he finished pissing.
 
 
When I opened my eyes, they burned. I was under the sheets and comforter. The house was silent. Dull blue morning light seeped in under the blinds. I had left my fucking contacts in. I blinked painfully and bumped something hairy with my foot. A fucking leg! I shifted to turn and look. The Viking! He was in bed with me! My heart leapt into my throat. He was sound asleep on his stomach, no shirt. The blue light fell on his pale, sculpted body. He was freckled lightly on his back and shoulder blades and biceps. His arms were sprawled out, one hand over his pillow, one under and close to where my head had been. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to disturb him. I was still dressed. I quickly pulled my wife-beater off and threw it to the floor. Hey—I was hot. And bothered. Then I fished the eyedrops out of my pocket, put drops in to ease my burning eyes, and pulled off the cords, leaving me in my boxers. I got comfortable.
 
The Viking shifted; his arm moved. Some of his long hair fell over his face adorably. I snuggled under the covers, feeling cute and ballsy, so I edged closer to his body. I figured: if he’d gotten in bed with me, that should have counted as a first move, right? Then again, it was his bed. Fuck it. What did I have to lose? I had just met this gang of meathead morons, and I had been a hit at the party, and I’d feel no remorse if I lost them because of a gay come-on. I didn’t find the idea of being their token fag all that appealing, anyway, now that I was mostly sober.
 
I brushed my cheek against the Viking’s hand, which was larger than my face. I grazed over his fingers. My lips brushed a knuckle. I brought my other hand to his arm and traced gently on his muscle with my fingers. I felt mischievous: I could play this off as a joke if I had to, I hoped.
 
He shifted suddenly, eyes still closed. I raised my head slightly and froze to see where he was going.
 
His right arm swooped up and smacked me hard in the face.
 
Fuck. That fucking hurt.
Right in my nose, my big fucking nose. It hurt. I grabbed my face and he awoke.
 
“Whoa, sorry,” he said.
 
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice muffled by my hands. The embarrassment hurt more. I saw a smile through my fingers, and then he gently pulled my hand down. His touch was oddly intimate.
 
“Looks okay,” he said quietly. He looked at my skinny body.
Okay, he noticed I’ve taken off my shirt.
He didn’t seem fazed. Just tired. The blue light caught his eyes. His gaze was back to my face. “I’m fine,” I said. “You can go back to sleep.”
 
He groaned and smiled like a Cheshire cat and turned onto his back, sighing and resting his hands on his pecs. His arms were turned inward awkwardly and he traced his fingers on his chest. Odd.
 
I fell back down, on my side facing him, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling…in my hurt nose. I had to say something. I groaned: “What time is it?”
 
He looked over at the clock on his side. “Six-thirty.”
 
“Fuck. I’m going back to sleep,” I said. I snuggled against his arm, tentative. He predictably jerked his arm away.
Okay. Fun’s over. Never mind
.
 
Then his arm laced under me, to my utter surprise, leaving an open pathway for me to snuggle against him. His hand, now planted firmly on my back, fingers on my spine, willed me to push closer.
 
Every muscle in me tightened.
Every
muscle. Yeah, even that one. I wanted to stop myself, but I was definitely getting hard. And that part of me was very, very close to his hip. I forgot about my nose.
 
I wrapped my arm around his torso and pushed myself up to rest my head on his chest. My lips rested close to his nipple. I sighed into his chest.
Was this real?
He sighed in return, and his fingers traced around my spine. “You’re bony,” he said plainly.
It was real.
 
“Thanks.” I knew there was some sexual innuendo I could have thrown after that one, but all that came out was “thanks.” I was terrified. Fear dulls my cleverness. The most I’d ever done with a straight guy was a meaningless hand job in a meaningless circle jerk that everyone pretended didn’t exist after it happened. And my history with gay guys? Meh…I’d rather torture myself with attempted conquests of unattainable guys like this Viking than with the shallow prancing douche bags in the drug-infested club scene.
 
And as conquests go, this was coming along.
 
“I’m not a fag,” he said. Right. The fingers tickling my back lisped otherwise.
 
“Yeah,” I said feigning confusion. “I hate fags.”
 
He still wasn’t fazed, and he looked at me. And with terrifying seriousness he got very close to my face and said, “Good, because I fucking hate fags.”
 
See. This scared me. I was half joking. Yeah, I “hate” fags, but I don’t
hate
fags. The Viking, on the other hand: his pugnacious voice pierced me. But I laughed lightly, if awkwardly.
Ha ha, we’re still joking, right?
Those fingers felt good.
 
I was hard as a rock. I was a porn cliché. I was dripping in my boxers. To hide from his eyes, I shifted back down on his chest. His other hand came around to my head and pulled off my beanie. This felt intimate too. He did it gently. His big fingers massaged my shaggy hair, my scalp. So fucking nice. Fingers on my spine. On my scalp. I did the next logical thing and pressed my lips to his nipple. I kissed it amidst the curly orange hair, carefully, unsure, and drew my fingers down his side, to his hip and stomach, feeling the hard grooves that framed his belly button. His fingers on my scalp turned into a strong palm, pressing me down. I put my lips around his nipple and licked and sucked, and he pressed harder and I sucked harder. The hand on my back clawed into me, scratching. Fuck. The tide, the mood, was shifting. This was fucking for real. This wasn’t a joke anymore. This was the point of no return. I gulped for breath and slid to his other nipple and moved to straddle him.
 
When I landed on him, he was fucking naked! I froze. A hard smooth cockhead pressed against my ass through my boxers. We had been under the sheets the whole time. I hadn’t seen how very nude he was. I looked at him, and his eyes burned into mine. Like a fucking hungry animal. I bucked my ass gently against his cock, getting a feel for it, letting it slip back and forth across my asscrack and hole. Each pass made my cock throb, and the wet patch on my boxers grew. I leaned forward and my hands rested on his solid pecs. His hands gripped my bony sides, tight over my ribs, under my arms.
 
He licked his lips. I leaned in gently, but he grabbed my face. Fucking grabbed it! And pulled me in and conquered my mouth. I fell on his chest, his lips devoured mine, and he held my face with those monstrous hands and his tongue fucked my face, as deep into my throat as he could get. I almost gagged. I almost fucking gagged on his fucking tongue. Fuck. He had a bear grip on me. I almost couldn’t breathe. I fought back with my lips, sparring with him. His stubbly beard tickled. His hands pulled at my skin, my sides, my back, jolts that tickled, and hurt. We were now two dogs fighting for the same bowl of food, gasping, panting, licking. I’ve never had a guy bury his tongue in my mouth like him. I tried to slow him, but he wouldn’t let up.
 
A hand flew down hungrily to my boxers, and he fucking pulled them down with one hand. One hand! My uncut cock bounced out, five and a half inches. Hey—I’m travel size, remember? He got the boxers down to my knees. I was no match for him. I couldn’t fight this even if I wanted to. His strong hands gripped me again, and suddenly I was on my back and he was on top of me, a monstrous naked Viking, terrifying and comforting all at once. He pulled my boxers completely off, past my feet, threw them on top of my beanie. I was completely naked. He hobbled on his knees, around my chest, his low-hanging balls grazing my stomach. His knees reached the sides of my face and he held his cock at my lips. I devoured it, forcing my head up to draw his meat into my mouth. I grabbed his hairy asscheeks and forced his cock down my throat. I gagged and pulled away and shoved him in again and he groaned and bucked and grabbed my head and shoved my nose into his red bush. I heaved and gagged and my goateed chin burrowed into his balls. He face-fucked me, his cock plowing all the way in. I tried to swallow, gagged, closed my throat around him, started to choke. I braced my hands against his rippled stomach and tried to shove him back.
 
Finally, he got the hint and pulled out, and I fell back, gasping. I told him to come around behind my head and face-fuck me from the other side. He flipped around and rested his knees against my ears. He grabbed my jaw and pulled my mouth open.
Fuck, man. I think I can open my mouth myself.
But I didn’t mind. He shoved his cock in and it slipped way past any point a cock had been in my throat before. I thought I’d choke but I snarled through my nostrils with each thrust. He fucked and bucked like a feral beast. His balls slid back and forth over my nose and my closed eyes. I was relaxed, and my throat accommodated him nicely. I loved the feeling of his ball hair. Both his hands had a firm grasp on my torso for balance. Then he circled my neck with one of his gigantic hands, grunted that he wanted to feel his cock filling my throat. I choked, panicking, groaned and gurgled. His hand gripped my neck tighter as he fucked and I gagged, but when my body spasmed he paid attention and eased his hand from around my throat. His pace picked up and I waited to feel his cum shooting down my throat, but he stopped and pulled out and dropped down and grabbed my face and kissed me upside down, savoring his own saltiness.
 
He said against my lips: “I want to fuck you,” his first words in what seemed like forever. And I begged for it. I fucking begged for it. He swooped to his drawer and got a condom on and lathered his cock with lube like a fucking machine on overdrive. I spread my feet and he came up on me, grabbed both of my legs and thrust himself in, pressing hard against my eager asshole. He fell forward, grabbed my face again with lube-greased hands. He kissed me, consumed me. His hair fell around my face. I could barely see him through a curtain of soft red. I curled my legs around his waist and rested my feet on his back and bucked my ass up in the air, and he thrust his cock harder against my willing bud. It puckered out and in and welcomed his cockhead. His jaw dropped with surprise as he slipped into me, and he sighed and rose and grabbed my waist on both sides and his painful gorgeous thickness penetrated me. I relaxed. I was so fucking horny. I pushed hard against him. His cock filled me. He was monstrous. I welcomed the pleasure of the pain.
 
“God, you’re fucking tight,” he panted. His fullness was buried in me. I had only been fucked once before, ineptly, painfully. Now I knew I had been saving myself, denying myself, waiting for someone worthy of my ass. My Viking was worth it.
 
“Fuckfuckfuck.” Precum streamed out my cock, onto my stomach.
 
He grabbed my cock, and it was like getting hit with a Taser. His cock tunneled deeper yet, past my prostate, and I groaned, growled, screamed, and he grabbed my mouth, covering it with a death grip. He didn’t let up. He fucking fucked me. He pulled all the way out and shoved back in, and my tight ass gaped and gasped for every inch, all eight inches, of his cock. I groaned against his hand; my eyes rolled back. He pumped my uncut cock and bucked his hips. His cock burned in and out; even more of my precum oozed over his fingers.

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