Two Thousand Pounds Per Square Inch (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 5)

BOOK: Two Thousand Pounds Per Square Inch (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 5)
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The Real Story Safe Sex Project

 

 

TWO THOUSAND POUNDS
PER SQUARE INCH

 

A Story About Safe Sex Starring
Geography Club
's Russel Middlebrook

 

By Brent Hartinger

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2014 by Brent Hartinger

 

 

 

I was deep underwater, miles beneath the surface of the ocean. I could feel the pressure of millions of gallons of dark, heavy liquid pressing down on me from above, suffocating me, slowly compressing my head and chest. Even if there had been air, the pressure was too much. I wouldn’t have been able to breathe.

Then the nurse looked up at me and said, "Okay, that's the sample I need. It'll be about twenty minutes before we have the results, so why don't I let you talk to a counselor until then?"

Okay, so I wasn’t really several miles below the surface of the ocean. My name is Russel Middlebrook, I’m a teenager, and I’d come to a gay health clinic to get a HIV test. HIV is the virus that causes a disease called AIDS.

Let’s just say that getting tested had seemed like a good idea at the time. Or rather, it had seemed like a good idea
before
the time. Now that I'd come, I really couldn’t breathe. What if I was HIV-positive? Suddenly, it felt like I had two thousand pounds per square inch of pressure bearing down on me from above.

Part of me wondered if I was being stupid. I mean, I'd only been with three different guys in my whole life—four if you count the latest guy, Wade, but that one is complicated. And I'd mostly had safe sex.

Then I'd read this article about how many gay and bi guys actually have HIV. It turns out it's around one in five. In some cities, like New York and San Francisco, it might be closer to half. Half! And young gay and bi guys are getting infected faster than ever before, and almost half of them don't even know they have the virus.

I hate to admit this, but let's just say that one of the three guys I was with, well, he seemed exactly like the kind of guy who might be HIV-positive and not know it. I'm not saying all HIV-positive people are sluts or whatever, but this guy literally tried to talk me into having unsafe sex. More than once!

And I know that AIDS isn't necessarily a death sentence or anything, not like it used to be back in the 90s. Thanks to anti-viral medications, a lot of people with HIV and AIDS live normal lifespans. But plenty still do die—at least six thousand gay men every year. It's a really serious disease with a lot of really bad side effects. And the drugs you have to take? They're really, really expensive, thousands of dollars a year. Being HIV-positive also means having to go to the doctor and getting tests over and over again for the rest of your life. Then there's the question of having to tell every guy you ever date that you're positive.

So I really, really didn't want HIV, even though I was now totally convinced that I already did.

The nurse gave me a piece of paper, then led me down a long hallway to an office at the end. The linoleum was warped, and the air smelled like Indian curry. And as I walked down that hallway, I couldn't help but think back on the experience that had led me here in the first place. It was with Web, this guy I'd met the summer before when I was a counselor at a camp.

 

"Suck me," Web said, lying back naked in the water at the very edge of the lake. It was night, and we'd been fooling around in this little hidden lagoon not far from camp.

"Huh?" I said. I'd always had a way with words.

He nodded down to the cock between his legs. It was stiffening again, rising up his stomach in twitches like some kind of snake charmer's cobra, even though he'd already cum about five minutes earlier. I'd cum too, but the weird thing was I was already horny again. I hadn't expected that. Having sex with a person wasn't like jacking off. When you came after jacking off, you stayed satisfied, at least for a few hours. But when there was a hot naked guy in front of you, especially a hot naked guy with a rapidly stiffening cock, it was hard for you not to get hard again.

It wasn't just his cock. Web was just
so
hot. I mean, he was tall and ripped with a tattoo on his stomach (a little wreath of thorns around his belly button). He was somehow the perfect cross between cute and handsome. Even worse, there was something about his cocky confidence that was just a total turn-on.

And, well, it was also his cock. The size didn't hurt, but it was more than that. It was just shaped right, like a sports car or something—sleek and hip and aerodynamic.

Even so, I wasn't too sure about sucking him off. I mean, we'd just kissed and sort of rolled around before, thrusting our hard-ons against each other. He'd sucked me some underwater (which was
amazing
), and played with my balls, but I hadn't sucked him at all. I mean, I knew sucking a dick was safer than other stuff, but not completely safe. And how well did I know Web? Even back then, I was thinking, Has he been tested?

His dick flexed, and I stopped thinking about tests. It was back to being completely hard, pulsing and twitching. If it really had been a car, it would be revving its engine right now.

Basically, it was impossible not to suck. I still didn't understand how I could be so horny again, but I was. It was almost worse than before, like an echo off the lake coming back louder than before.

So I crawled through the sand and water, and leaned down to suck him. But before I went to town, I looked up at him and said, "Don't cum in my mouth, okay?"

His dick flexed again, harder, like a wave across the ocean. "Yeah, okay."

I took him into my mouth. I could taste the lake water on him, earthy and wet and real.

I hadn't given many blow-jobs, and I had no idea if I was any good, but I gave it my best shot. I tried to take him as far in as I could. I stroked the shaft with my hand and then played with his balls the way he'd done to me. Web started fucking my face.

It wasn't long before I could taste something else, something other than the lake, something salty. Web's precum. Wait, was precum safe? It probably wasn't, but to tell the truth, it was really hot, and I didn't want to stop. Web's dick was doing race laps in my mouth. If it really had been a car, he was definitely near the finish line.

Before I knew it, it broke. Something flooded my mouth, and it didn't taste anything like the lake. It was thick and rich, but also a little tangy. Web was cumming, even after I told him not to!

I started to pull away, but then I felt the pressure of his hands holding my head. If they'd been there before, I hadn't felt them.

"Suck it!" he groaned. "Swallow my seed!"

I didn't have a lot of choice at that point, so I started swallowing (and there was a lot of it, even in round two). I was annoyed. I'd been very clear: don't Goddamn cum in my mouth! And here he was doing it anyway, and going even further and not giving me any choice about it.

But if I'm going to be totally honest, it was also kind of hot. I'd never had a guy cum in my mouth before. And this was the really weird thing: even though I was annoyed at Web and totally pissed off at him, another part of me kind of liked that he was making me take it. It's hard to explain, but even though he was holding me, it felt kind of liberating, something I totally hadn't expected. What the hell was
that
about?

Just to be totally clear, I was still pissed. It was the first sign I had that Web really was a selfish jerk. But because it was hot, and because I didn't yet know that Web was an asshole, I stupidly ignored it.

 

There was a man in an office at the end of the hall. He was probably in his early forties, with a shaved bald head and hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Hey, there," the man said. "My name is Brent." He waited until I'd closed the door, then took the piece of paper I'd been given from the nurse. He read it and said, "It says here you've never been in for a test before, so why don't we talk for a few minutes as we wait for the results?"

"Uh, okay," I managed to say. It's not like I had anything better to do.

"Just so you know," he said, "the test we do, we measure the antibodies in your blood, not the virus itself. And it can take time for antibodies to form—up to three months. What this test today is really saying is what your status was three months ago."

That was good news if I was negative. I hadn't had sex in months. I guess a shitty love life had
some
advantages. Although there was a potential new guy, Wade, which is partly why I'd come to this clinic in the first place.

"So," he said. "I was hoping I could talk to you about safer sex."

He wanted to talk about sex? Here? Now? Nobody said we'd be talking about sex! Between waiting for my HIV test results and now having to talk about sex, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to breathe again.

He sat down in a swivel chair across from a small sofa.

"How about I just go over the basics?" he said. "Then you can ask me any questions, okay?"

I wanted to tell him, "I already know all about safer sex!" Problem is, if you can't breathe, you can't talk.

And then I thought, Do
I know all about safer sex?
Isn't it just using a condom when you fuck? Or is there more to it than that?

I was still having a hard time breathing, but I was also kind of curious. So I took a seat on that sofa.

"First the good news," Brent said. "HIV is really hard to catch, and it's really easy to avoid."

I squirmed. It was one of those Ikea sofas that look good, but where it's impossible to get comfortable.

"You might already know that when a guy is infected with HIV, the virus gets into his blood and his cum and precum. The only way for the virus to infect someone else is if that blood or that cum gets into the blood of another person. Does that make sense?"

I squirmed some more. Had this forty-something guy really just said the word "cum" to a teenager?

"So when it comes to sex," Brent said, "to keep from getting infected, you just need to make sure that another guy’s blood or cum or pre-cum doesn’t get inside your bloodstream. There are a lot of things you can do sexually that have basically no risk of that at all. You can kiss and stroke and jerk a guy off, you can lick a guy all over, even his balls and cock, provided you don’t get his cum or pre-cum into your mouth or in cuts or sores. And you can dry-fuck. That’s when you rub your dick against another guy's crotch or butt, but the dick doesn't go inside. The only absolutely sure way to avoid transmitting HIV is to not have sex, but you can do all the things I just mentioned, and you don’t really have to worry about HIV at all. Oh, but gay guys shouldn't share razor blades or toothbrushes."

And I’d been embarrassed by the word "cum"? Had this guy really said all that about licking a guy’s cock and balls, and dry-fucking? Suddenly, the pressure on my head and lungs increased by another thousand or so pounds per square inch.

At the same time, I couldn't help but remember the very first time I'd had sex. It had been more than a year ago, with Kevin Land, the first guy I'd ever dated.

 

The air was cold on my skin.

Kevin and I were out in the woods, under the stars, and our shirts were off and our pants and underwear were down around our ankles. We'd been kissing for a while, but now we just faced each other, staring, taking each other in.

There was dark hair on his chest, not a lot, but some. Meanwhile, the hair in his crotch was thick and black, a lot thicker than mine. But there was one mystery even the thick night shadows of that crotch could not contain: his dick pointing right up at me.

We were both hard.

I reached out and touched him. It was the first time I'd ever touched a cock other than my own. I could feel it pulsing in my hand

it was surprisingly warm. It was both very familiar yet totally alien. I'd never touched a dick from this angle. And my dick wasn't really anything like his.

We were both about the same size, although his was thicker. It stuck up more too, in almost a perfect arch. Mine angled up too, but the shaft itself was straight.

I wanted to be looking at two places at once, into his eyes, and also down at his dick. But that was impossible.

Or was it? Without even really thinking about it, even though this was the first time I'd ever had any kind of sex with another person, I sank down onto my knees in front of him. I shivered, but not from the cold now. From anticipation.

I pressed my whole face right into Kevin's crotch, my mouth and nose against his tight ball sack, his sweaty hard-on stiff and upright, butting against my forehead. I inhaled, smelling his crotch, which wasn't at all what I expected (it was better). Then I looked up at his face, clearly visible in the moonlight and looking tenderly down at me.

It WAS possible to stare at his dick and stare into his eyes at the same time! It was like I'd discovered one of the secrets of the universe, or at least one of the secrets of being a gay man. I'd seen a million porn movies (the internet, what are you gonna do?), and I'd heard a million times how gay guys "got down on their knees" before other guys. But I hadn't known it could be like this, so loving, so tender—that I could feel so connected to him.

I stayed that way, my face in his crotch, his cock pulsing against my skin. I could feel the heat of him, hotter than any camp bonfire, right in front of me.

I reached up and touched the tip of his dick, now bubbling with precum. Then, still holding his eyes with mine, I started licking his shaft, careful to avoid the tip. At one point, I dipped down and licked his balls too, feeling the incredible softness below his hardness. I inhaled more of him, the smell of soap, the smell of sweat, the smell of Kevin.

BOOK: Two Thousand Pounds Per Square Inch (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 5)
12.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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