Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I’m hard like a rock from having Candy kiss me and Joel touch me, and my tongue is loose from the Scotch. My limbs are loose.

  I’m melding with the sofa, melting into it. The only hard part about me is my dick that’s trapped painfully in my jeans, and not for the first time today. If I don’t come soon, I’ll burst.

  And he’s right here, flushed and just as hard, glaring at the booze as if it’s to blame for our state. For being left here, together, without a girl between us to justify any lust we might feel.

  Well, guess what? I’m not letting it go. I’m not going to bed without coming—and if he doesn’t want to participate, then fuck him.

  Though the way he keeps glancing at me, angrily and appreciatively, makes me want to push him some more. He’s relaxed, too, not drunk but buzzed, and oh man, that hard-on has to be painful.

  “You look like you need some help.” I nod at the big bulge at his crotch.

  I’m all about helping him. If he takes me to bed, then I’m taking him in hand. A fucking pity Candy had to go. I was looking forward to testing the waters—getting Candy off as he watched to see what he’d do—but there’s still stuff we can do without turning too gay for Joel’s comfort.

  If he agrees.

  He reaches down a hand to help me up. “Come on.”

  I grab his hand, tug on it. Surprise flickers over his face. He yelps as he starts toppling over me and manages to catch himself with one hand on the back of the couch.

  He’s arched over me, his crotch almost in my face. “What the hell? Jet—”

  I cup his hard-on and get another yelp out of him.

  Two in a day. Way to go. I knead the hard flesh through the fabric, cupping my own dick with my other hand.

  “Jet…” This time his voice is breathless, and he hasn’t moved from what has to be an uncomfortable position.

  I give my dick one last squeeze and grab his shoulder, pulling him to me. He curses as I twist and push him underneath me on the sofa.

  “What are you doing?” he sputters.

  “Getting us off.”

  “I don’t need your help for that.”

  “Yeah, you damn well do.” He struggles beneath me, and I’m sure he can throw me off him if I let him. “Stop fighting me, dude. Afraid of getting cooties? I promise you won’t touch my naked dick, so relax.”

  “What, then?”

  I glance down at this broad chest that’s rising and falling as if he’s run for miles and wink. “We’ll play. I got toys.”

  “What sort of toys?”

  He’s right to be suspicious. It’s not like I’ve ever mentioned my toys, and we’re practically dick to dick, every slight movement bringing them close enough to touch. Every time that happens, we both gasp.

  “Sex toys. You don’t have to use one if you don’t like it.” I shrug. “You can watch.”

  I know I have him at that, his pupils dilating, his hips rolling upward. Of course that means our hard-ons brush together, and I can’t help a moan.

  “Fuck. Need to come,” he grinds out, his hands clenching against the sofa cushions. “You crazy fucker. Get off me.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself.” I’m more horny than angry, but I’m seriously put out by these people. First Candy runs off, now Joel. Given I want them both plastered on me, touching me, fucking me and getting fucked by me, I’m fucking annoyed.

  And did I mention horny? My balls ache, and my dick’s dripping so much I have a stain on the front of my jeans.

  I climb off him awkwardly, my head more than a little buzzed after all. Has to be why I threw caution to the wind and groped Joel, then told him I’m about to play with some sex toys if he wants to watch. Don’t I have any shame?

  Looks like I don’t, not when I’m drunk. Huh.

  Because even as I’m thinking all this, even as Joel straightens and glares at me, I’m turning around and heading to my room.

  If he doesn’t care about coming, his loss.

  Sexy idiot.

  ***

  Closing the door to my room, I head straight to my closet and rummage inside before yanking out the small box with my secret helpers. I open the box and upend it on the bed, dumping everything on the quilt.

  I’ve rarely used anything but the dildo, but tonight? I need, and fuck caution anyway. I need some pain, I need something to fill up the void.

  A slim vibrator I haven’t used in ages catches my eye. Yeah, this. And what are those? Oh yeah. I lift the small nipple clamps, connected with a slim steel chain. Why the hell not?

  I strip quickly, pulling my T-shirt off and throwing it to the floor, then pushing down my pants, freeing my hard cock. I give it a good squeeze, my breath coming out in a long hiss, and I sit back on the bed, not sure where to start.

  My dick is weeping, so yeah, the clamps can wait. Not sure I want them yet.

  I grab my bottle of lube from the box and squeeze out a good amount in my hand, then spread it on the vibrator and spread my legs.

  The blunt head of the vibrator penetrates me, sleek and cool, the sensation making my toes curl. I push it in deeper and activate it.

  A deep moan escapes me. I grab my dick and start stroking myself. I’m so close, so fucking close.

  A noise has me opening my eyes. Shit, I hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut.

  The door to my room is opening, and Joel is standing there, frozen.

  “Holy fucking hell, Jet.” His voice is faint. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m…” My voice breaks on another moan. Damn this vibrator is good, though I need something bigger, something hot. I need Joel, goddammit. “Fuck.”

  “What the…” He approaches the bed, and I can’t move, can’t do anything but keep stroking myself. “Oh hell, dude.”

  I expect him to turn around and go. Move out. Move to another country, perhaps.

  What I don’t expect is for him to sit on the bed and lean back, cupping his hard-on. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, his eyes slightly wide. “You do that often?”

  “Why?” I lick my lips. “Wanna give it a try?”

  He shakes his head so fast it’s fucking funny. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Hurt? It feels fucking good.” I release my dick to brush my hand over the vibrator, and it slips a bit deeper, making me groan out loud. “You came,” pant, “here,” pant, “to watch?”

  “I came to see if you were okay, but…” He bites his lip, and damn that’s distracting. “Jet.”

  “Wha?” My eyes are falling shut again. My balls are drawn up tight. I tug harder on my dick, my breath catching.

  “Goddammit, you’re hot,” he says, unless I’m imagining the words, this whole encounter in my room, and I manage to open my eyes just enough to see him unzip his pants and take out his cock.

  Fuck, it’s a damn big cock. I know I’ve seen it before, but its size always shocks me. In a good way.

  And the thought of that cock filling me up, spreading me, is enough to snap the pressure behind my balls. I come like a freight train, a strangled cry leaving my throat raw as I shoot all over my chest.

  I fall back on the bed, and fuck, the vibrator is still jolting me from the inside. Have to pull it out. I groan, still shaking with my release, my hand wrapped around my spasming dick.

  “Son of a bitch, Jet.” Joel’s gaze is glued to my dick and to the vibrator still stuck inside me, his hand stroking his cock hard and fast, from the base to the purple, wet head. “Take that thing out of you. Slowly. Keep stroking yourself as you do it.”

  I grimace as I reach for the vibrator, riding the last wave of pleasure, his order bypassing my conscious brain and shooting straight to my nerve endings.

  With a shaky hand, my other hand clenched around my softening dick, I turn the vibrator off and tug it out of me, inch by inch, and as it slips free, I hear Joel groan out loud.

  He’s coming, his cum hitting his pecs in long spurts. I stare a
t his jerking cock and his open mouth, dazed, thinking, this is for me. Not for Candy or any other girl.

  He was hard for me, came for me. Right? Christ, I really hope this won’t come back and bite me in the ass in the morning.

  As if that’s possible. I never learn, do I?

  ***

  I wake up in the night in my bed, covered up to my chin, trembling with some half-remembered nightmare and Joel standing at my door, asking if I’m all right.

  Then it’s morning and the smell of coffee draws me out of my den. Scratching at my naked chest, watching white flakes flutter to the floor—dried cum, oh great—I pad to the kitchen.

  Joel is leaning against the table, a mug in his hands. “Morning. Wanna go running with me today?”

  I take in his running shoes, track pants and hoodie, the lines of sweat at his chest. “You just went.”

  “A short run, in the park.”

  I grab a mug, pour myself some coffee, add sugar. Take my damn time. “Why?”

  “You and I need to talk,” he says and fuck, my blood pounds in my ears.

  “Sure we do.”

  “We could…Why the fuck are you butt naked?”

  I turn around, prop my hip against the counter and sip my coffee. “Nothing you ain’t seen before.”

  Or last night.

  He opens his mouth, closes it. It’s kinda funny. Makes me feel a little guilty for making him uncomfortable.

  But hey. He’s seen me naked a thousand times at the gym showers. And if he’s uncomfortable because last night he came as he watched me fuck myself on a vibrator, well… Accepting he likes dick as well as pussy won’t end his world.

  It sure as hell didn’t end mine, and I had worse to contend with back when I realized.

  Yeah, I’m in full fuck-you mode today, and I’m not even sure why. It’s Sunday, and Joel wants to go running with me.

  Oh, and talk.

  Dammit.

  It doesn’t help that he’s openly staring at me, at my dick that’s up to greet the new day. Hey, morning wood is a fact of life, and damn but Joel looks good all sweaty, manly and broody in the watery sunlight spilling through the kitchen window.

  “So talk,” I mutter.

  He walks to the sink, giving me his back. Probably so that he won’t stare at my dick anymore while talking. “About last night.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m not gay, man.”

  Fuck’s sake. So predictable, Joel. “Fine. You’re not. Happy?”

  He turns to give me a sharp look. “I mean it. I’m not into guys.”

  “Then why are you looking at my dick?”

  He curses and turns back around, his back a rigid line.

  Stop pushing, I tell myself. Remember he’s your best friend. He’s your only family. This isn’t worth it.

  I sigh. This is a fucked-up way to start a Sunday. “Look, J…” I scratch the back of my neck. “It’s okay.”

  “I liked… being with Candy and you.”

  The quiet confession startles me. I feel my eyes going round. “You did?”

  I mean, I knew he liked watching. Maybe that’s what he means?

  “I liked touching you both. Having you both follow my directions. Feeling you both there.”

  Okay, this is much more than I expected Joel to admit to. And it scares me a little, because it gives me hope. More hope than I can afford.

  “But that’s it.” A tremor goes through his strong back. “I don’t wanna kiss you, or blow you, or fuck you, okay?”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time. You’re not gay.” I put my mug down on the counter, not to throw it at him.

  No point in explaining again what bisexuality means, that it’s normal to like both genders, that there’s nothing evil about it.

  I’m not gay either. I like both. And in my case… I need both. I don’t know why—and I guess I never will—whether it was my fucked-up childhood or if the necessity was always in me.

  “I’m gonna head out again,” he says after a moment. “Coming?”

  “Nah, you go ahead.” I draw a deep, calming breath. “Got stuff to do.” Which isn’t a lie—I should do a load of laundry and study for my GED—but it still sounds oddly petulant in my ears. “Maybe some other day,” I add, to soften it.

  “Jet.” When I don’t turn around, he moves closer, the heat of his body palpable.

  He’s still here, and I need to clarify something. “So you liked it.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “The threesome. You’d do it again.”

  It’s not a question, but it’s meant as one, and he seems to realize that. This guy knows me better than anyone.

  “Yeah, I enjoyed it,” he says, his voice gravelly, and it sends a bolt of lust through me. “I want… I want to try more.”

  ‘More.’

  That word. The word that’s been on my mind all this time, with all its implications.

  “So we’ll do that,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, soft. “One of these days.”

  “Yeah.” He exhales, his breath warm on my bare shoulder. God, he’s so damn close. I close my eyes, resisting the urge to turn and kiss him, grab him and slam him against the wall while I devour his mouth. “Catch ya later, fuckwit.”

  He ruffles my hair and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me torn between frustration and laughter.

  Grinning, I turn around and watch him go. I hear the apartment door click shut a moment later, and all I can think of is, he wants more.

  And God help me, so do I.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CANDY

  Title: Where Are the Fairies?

  From Candy Boys (Blog serial)

  “This ain’t no fairytale,” J-One drawls. “Betcha people in fairytales don’t fuck all the time.”

  “Stop being a caveman for a minute,” J-Two mutters. “We don’t fuck all the time. What about that kiss we shared last night, huh?”

  I lift my hand. “That kiss totally counts.”

  But if it was a fairytale, wouldn’t the kiss mean we’ve reached a happy ending?

  Brylee was drunk when I got home last night, and her rambling didn’t really make any sense—except for this: Ryan told her he wasn’t interested, and it was clearly the end of the world.

  Now it’s morning time, and she’s avoiding me. When I knock on her bedroom door, she doesn’t respond.

  I push it open and enter anyway. I know she’s up—I saw her earlier with a cup of tea and her cell phone in her hand.

  “Bry.”

  She’s curled up on her bed, ginger locks messy. “I don’t want to talk,” she mutters.

  “Well, I do. You said very little last night.” And you pulled me away from my fantasy boyfriends before anything much happened, which sucks balls, but I’m not telling her this when she’s down already.

  Plus, I’m confused enough as it is. They both kissed me. Was it a contest? Was it a test? Did it mean anything at all—or were they as tipsy as I was and fooling around?

  Strange how I want it to mean something. Fantasy or not, I like these boys. I love how they care for each other. And they’re both so hot… God, it’s enough to make a girl stupid with lust.

  Stupid, period.

  “I’m so angry with him,” she whispers. She’s checking messages on her phone, and she’s made up like she’s about to head to a club—but her eyes are red-rimmed.

  Oh, Bry…

  I sit down beside her and squeeze her shoulder. “Talk to me. I’m your friend. I’m supposed to suffer from your incessant chatter and hold your hair back from your face when you puke your drunken ass off after parties. Don’t make me lose my job.”

  She sniffs, but her mouth quirks. “I didn’t puke last night.”

  “There will be another time, don’t worry.” I pat her back. “Now… Ryan. What the hell happened?”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He won’t go out with me.”

  “You asked him?” Somet
imes she’s so conservative I never thought she’d break tradition and be the one to do the asking.

  “Couldn’t wait forever, could I?” She turns toward me, shutting off her phone and shaking it at me. “He should have asked me out already. I was only speeding things up a little.”

  “He just said no?”

  “He said he’s not interested.”

  Given that Brylee has been after him for God knows how long—a year?—and he never showed any hint of interest, well… That should have been a clue.

  Then again, who am I to talk, huh?

  Fresh tears well in her eyes. “Why is he fighting it? It’s obvious he wants me.”

  “Come again?”

  “We’re meant to be,” Brylee whispers.

  “Meant to be? What, like in a fairytale?”

  “Yes! What if I was like Cinderella and we met at a party and—”

  “You’re not Cinderella. You’re Brylee.”

  “Brylee Cindy Ella,” she says, pouting.

  “No way… Seriously? That’s your name?” I try not to gape at this bit of info. Okay, but it doesn’t matter. “His name isn’t prince… is it?”

  She won’t meet my gaze. “And if it is?”

  “Ryan Prince? Are you kidding me?” Another thought strikes me and no way… “Is that why you want him? You think you were meant to be?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jeez. I don’t even know what to say.

  All this time giving me shit over my fantasy with two guys, over my imaginary boyfriends, when she’s been living a fantasy full time. Not to mention, my imaginary boyfriends are turning out to be all too real.

  ***

  Sunday is spent at home, in front of my computer, chatting with Connie. I have my phone beside me, in case Jet or Joel call, but they don’t, and I don’t find the courage to call or text them myself.

  Not yet.

  Besides, Connie is distracting me.

  “You what?” she writes, adding a row of emojis slapping their cheeks and screaming. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You were at their apartment. And J-One cooked. And you cuddled with J-Two on the sofa. And you made out with both. That about right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Screw you, bitch. Eat shit and die.”