Funny Bone

by Daniel W. Kelly

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Chris & Jake: Straight to Bed

  Gay Man on Campus

  Till Death

  The Drinks Are on Me

  Boy’s Daddies…

  Chris & Jake: Hard at Work

  Discharge

  Trash Talk

  Chris & Jake: Wearing Fur on a Snowy Night

  First and Foreskin

  Gay Man Off Campus

  The Doctor Is In

  Cherry Pops

  All the Way in…At Last

  Gay Man Whore On Campus

  White Meat

  Chris & Jake: Happily Ever After

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  We all want a guy with a great sense of humor, so why should the chuckles stop once we see him naked?

  Men get into all kinds of predicaments that poke at the funny bone in this amusingly erotic collection. A witty gay guy turns stand-up comedian when his straight co-worker offers to bottom for him. College party boys make their gay virgin dorm mate into a sex machine with no off button. An employee journeys to the private island home of his boss to advocate for same-sex spousal benefits and gets scared silly by a proposal he can’t refuse. A doctor explains why his specialty is the butt of jokes. A newly single man discovers that nothing puts a smile on his face quite like a cherry pop.

  And the punch lines just keep coming. Burly bouncers, gym bears, rest stop rednecks, military men…they’re all lusting for laughs in Funny Bone.

  Funny Bone

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Funny Bone

  © 2016 By Daniel W. Kelly. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-684-5

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: July 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  By the Author

  Combustion

  No Place for Littles Ones

  Rise of the Thing Down Below

  Wet Screams

  Funny Bone

  Chris & Jake: Straight to Bed

  I fucked a straight guy last night.

  No, really.

  I know. Every gay guy has an “I fucked a straight guy” story, but I wouldn’t make something like this up because I’m not particularly into straight men. First, for the obvious reasons: they are usually slovenly, crass, disgusting, bossy—you know, all that good stuff that makes women so attracted to them. The not liking dick angle is also problematic for me. But the real big speed bump that flattens my tire? I’m not a top, so chances are slim that I’d be the one fucking anyone.

  So anyway. It started at a bar. Yeah, yeah. All these stories of seducing a straight guy begin with liquor. However, now I have firsthand proof that these tall tales must be based to some extent on fact, because I was a key player in it actually happening.

  Jake, this work buddy of mine, is one of those guys who never expresses any opinion about gays. He’s not anti-gay at all; he’s not pro-gay. He doesn’t try to get in on the gay lingo with you, doesn’t concern himself with whether gay guys are checking him out, doesn’t do any harmless flirting. He’s completely indifferent. Which is just the way I like my straight pals.

  Have I mentioned he’s HOT? It was one of those things I noticed automatically when we first met (he has this “testosteronic” presence), but I squelched any desire fast. Just did the admiring thing, because he dresses so modestly sexy and keeps himself well groomed. He has clearly taken some pointers, maybe not directly from one of us, rather as a result of gay influence on cultural trends. He usually wears tailored pants with sensible shoes and a button-down shirt that simply clings to his upper body because he’s so large. He’s a gym whore with a widely developed upper body and arms, a midsection that is lean and tight, and thick legs and ass. What a body. Yet he doesn’t do anything extreme to show it off. The most casual of clothes land so right on his perfect form you can’t help but notice how in shape he is.

  I really hate when straight guys look better than me.

  But Jake is such a great “buddy” type that I can overlook it.

  A bunch of us go to happy hour at the local bar after work on Thursday nights—you know, jump-starting the weekend. Some of us walk over together; others trickle in depending on when they get their work done.

  As usual, Jake stopped by my cubicle at about five minutes after closing time and said, “Chris, you heading over?”

  I replied affirmatively, said my good-byes to an IM pal, and then shut down my computer.

  Happy hour ended up being a bust for our group. Jake and I were the only two there. It didn’t matter. We were hanging, talking, getting pretty buzzed. Before you know it, it was like three hours after the happy one ended. The bar had cleared out. Jake suggested we grab our drinks and move into one of the booths in the back corner. Even with no one in the place, Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” was blasting through hidden speakers. Blech. I hate straight bar music. What was next? “Margaritaville”?

  “‘Margaritaville’! I love this song!” Jake’s own brown eyes gleamed, drunken and watery, as we slipped into the wood-finished booth.

  “What a surprise.” I clanked my mug of light beer down a little too hard on the table.

  “Hey! I like that stuff you throw in my cloud, too. Lady Gag On It and all that stuff,” Jake insisted before chugging down his beer. The liquid glistened on his oversized upper lip as he also clanked his mug down on the table.

  “Actually, I prefer Man Gag On It,” I teased him, completely out of character for our dynamics. But hey, I was drunk; he was drunk. We were alone for once.

  “It’s cool, man. You know it’s cool, right, Chris? I mean, we never really talk about this stuff, but you know none of that stuff bothers me, right?” Jake’s tone entered awkward, drunkenly serious territory.

  “Of course I know. Would you be hanging out with me at happy hour for four hours if you were all weird about knowing a gay guy?” I pointed out.

  “Nah. I mean, hanging out is one thing, but, you know, we can talk about stuff. I mean, if you got a boyfriend or stuff, or wanna talk about a great piece of ass you had last night, I’m cool with it,” Jake insisted. He hand-combed the short bangs of his somewhat dated Caesar cut (Okay, he had a couple of fashion flaws, but it was still cute as hell on his square head). “I’m a guy. I like talking about sex, but trying to talk to straight guys about this stuff, it’s all dumb bragging bullshit. I wanna talk to somebody about serious stuff that comes up with my girlfriend and stuff, you know?”

  “I…am your private dick…spying into the minds of women’s feeling,” I slurred only slightly, my words wetly punctuated. “I know how girls feel. We talk about these kinds of things because we all have the whole liking dick thing in common.”

  “No doubt.” Jake’s eyes stared intensely
at me despite being glassy from the liquor. “You probably know more about women than I do.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far—”

  “So. What’s your deal? You seein’ anyone?” he asked.

  “Uh…yeah. Jake, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Leftie.” I held up my southpaw. “We’ve been exclusive for years.”

  “That’s some funny shit, man!” He guffawed, literally. I actually felt some beer from a recent sip shower my face. “That’s what I mean. You gay guys got it made. You can whack off whenever you want. My friggin’ girlfriend got pissed off that I still jerk it alone when I have her around to screw.”

  “Shh!” I giggled, looking around.

  He hunkered his ridiculously broad shoulders over the table to move in closer and managed to lower his volume as he continued, “She thinks it’s gross. Man, I get off on the idea of her watching me beat it, and she was grossed out by the whole thing. Are all girls like that, or is it just her?”

  “I could introduce you to a coupla girls—”

  “And my nipples, right? I got really sensitive nipples. They’re always hard. Look at this. You see this?” He leaned back in the booth and stuck his chest out to show me the protrusions against the cloth of the cotton T-shirt he was wearing under his now unbuttoned and untucked work shirt.

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed…” My mouth was ripe for the cotton pickin’.

  “She got weirded out when I asked her to lick them. Said it was gay.”

  “Maybe you could play with them yourself,” I suggested.

  “I’ve done that when I’m doing her doggy style. But as soon as I let go of her hips to grab them, she looks over her shoulder and tells me I should want to yank on her tits instead.”

  “Wow” was really all I could think of to say. What I could think enough not to say was, I’m so glad I’m gay.

  “I know, right?” He threw his hands up in a “what the hell is that all about” gesture, unintentionally making his huge biceps bulge from under his elbow-length sleeves. “Chris, this body is one huge erogenous zone, and she barely even wanted to touch my cock.”

  “That’s more than I’m getting.” I smirked and pointed to my left palm.

  “It ain’t enough, and you know what I’m talking about.” He was quiet for a moment, looking troubled, or confused, or nervous. “I gotta ask you somethin’, man, but you can’t laugh at me or anything. Something about sex.”

  “Sure. While we’re on the topic,” I quipped.

  “Don’t be a dick, man.” Across the table, his hand shot out and gave me a “love tap” on the shoulder that nearly knocked me into next Valentine’s Day. “I’m serious. You gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Is everything okay?” I kind of sobered up since he sounded so nervous. I’ve had a couple of friends tell me some disturbing sex things, but heading into that zone of revelation never got easier. Especially at times like this, when I was being dragged there, too inebriated to kick and scream.

  “You know I go for my high colonics once a month, right?” Jake asked, his tanned features further darkening with a blush.

  I knew very well. The health freak that he was, he was always talking about his natural practices of keeping his body in tip-top condition, from herbal supplements to spiritual exercises. Therefore, I just nodded my head.

  “Okay. Now, you’re not gonna laugh or anything, right?” he double-checked.

  “Jake.” I leveled with him drunkenly, fighting not to giggle. “Your tight ass is no laughing matter. Just tell me what the deal is.”

  He sucked his lips, perhaps trying to get the slightest bit of liquor remnants in him to work up the nerve to say what he needed to say. He released a whoosh of air with a pout and leaned in real close again. “I get a frickin’ hard-on when the chick sticks the nozzle up my ass.”

  “That’s the big secret?” I asked, confused.

  “Yeah. Is that normal? I mean, she gives you the option of doing the insertion yourself, or having her do it because she’s—you know—an expert. And I like to have her do it. Man, I get wood like you wouldn’t believe. I got a gown over me and all, but I know she can still see it. She plays it really cool, though, like nothing’s wrong. She must think I’m a freak…or gay.”

  “Jake,” I began, then paused for a quick sip of my light beer. “I bet you she sees that kind of thing all the time. It happens. Happens with butt doctors, too. Your prostate’s up in there. It’s all connected. And some guys, including myself, are really sensitive. A guy gets inside of me and I nearly pass out from the incredible feeling of his dick rubbing up against—”

  I stopped myself. Jake was staring at me, wide-eyed.

  “Oh. Sorry. Am I grossing you out?”

  “Hell, no. This is what I wanna hear, man. I wanna know what it’s like. I been going on whole websites dedicated to this. And I mean, straight guys who love this. Message boards. Guys saying they love when their wives or girlfriends strap one on and bend them over and shit. How whacked is that?”

  “It’s a new millennium,” was all I could come up with.

  “And the chicks are totally into it, too!”

  Jake looked adorably bewildered. I hated myself for suddenly feeling this surge of sexual tension that I knew he wouldn’t feel as well.

  “If I’d ever asked my girlfriend to do that—damn, I couldn’t even ask. She dumped me over the nipple thing.” He gave me another flash of that adorable bewilderment, accompanied by a shrug of those massive shoulders.

  “Wait…she dumped you?” I asked, surprised he hadn’t told me sooner and too drunk to even realize he’d been talking about her in the past tense the whole time.

  “Yep. I’m on the meat market.” Jake shrugged. “Which is fine with me. Now I just gotta figure out how to score a girlfriend who is into the freaky deaky stuff. You know. Ass play.”

  Yes, I know all about how freaky deaky my sex life is supposed to be.

  “You really think you’d be that into it?” I asked instead, drawn in by his straight honesty. He was so going to hate himself if he could remember this tomorrow.

  “Man, all I know is, something good goes on up there. And why the hell should the gay guys be the ones to have all the fun, you know? It’s good, right? I mean, it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  “It’s fantastic,” I muttered, staring into space. Then I shook away the cock webs in my head and said, “It’s really amazing, but, you know, it takes some getting used to. Lotta warm-up and stuff.”

  “The ass-eating thing, right? They talk about that on the message boards. These girls love it! They frickin’ love licking their husbands’ assholes. They say it drives their guys wild.”

  “It’s a really sensitive area,” I agreed with these cyber hypothetical women.

  “So what do I do?”

  “What do you do about what?” I tried to get some clarification.

  There he went, leaning in close again. “Chris, I wanna know what it feels like.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Jake. What about a prostitute? I’m sure if you paid her enough—”

  “This is real private stuff, man. I don’t feel comfortable trying this kind of thing with just anybody. I gotta have a trusting relationship with the person.”

  “Your colonic therapist?” I only half-kidded, thinking it not all that bad an idea. Who knows? Maybe she was into him being into it. I mean, what the hell makes someone go into a business in which they shove tubes up people’s asses all day long anyway? They have to kind of get off on it, right?

  “Chris, I’m not going to just ask some chick if she likes licking ass and fucking guys with strap-ons.”

  “Well, then what the hell?” Now I was really confused.

  “Come on, man. Don’t you get it?”

  “No.” I laughed awkwardly. “I don’t get it, Jake. What are you talking about? You’re way too drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  Jake’s dark brown eyes penetrate
d mine as he moved only inches from my face over our near-empty mugs of beer. “Chris, we’ve been friends for a while. What, five years now?”

  “You’re fucking playin’ with me,” I grumbled, my heart fluttering with both annoyance and fantasy as I sensed just what he was getting at. I pushed my mug away and jumped back in my booth.

  “No. No. Chris, my man, I’m asking you.” Jake’s thick, veiny forearm thrust out toward me, maybe to grab my arm—probably to stop me from running through the bar drunkenly screaming at the top of my lungs that a straight guy just asked me to fuck him up the ass. “I trust you, buddy.”

  “I’m not really a top,” I whispered.

  “But you know your way around.” His expression was so utterly honest.

  “You’re not into guys, Jake.”

  “It’s not about being with a guy. It’s all about my ass,” he said.

  I couldn’t argue with that one. “You’re drunk, and you’re not even going to remember talking about this tomorrow.”

  “No. Watch. I’m fine.” He extended his meaty arms to each side then bent one at the elbow to touch his nose with the tip of his finger. He practically poked his eye out instead. “See?”

  I stared at him with indecision. I would be agreeing to something that was never going to happen. I took control of the situation. “All right. But not now. Not drunk.”

  “Definitely not. I gotta get home. Work night. How about tomorrow night?”

  Yeesh. These straighties work fast.

  “Say nine o’clock, your place?” he said.

  “Yeah. Okay.” I nodded my head half-heartedly (my other head was nodding half-hardedly). “But I’m not going to hold you to this. And I won’t get all drama queen if you change your mind, or forget completely.”

  “I ain’t gonna forget, man.”

  “Well. Okay. But, you know, you can’t just go into this. There’s preparation. You need to be…um…fresh down there or it’s not going to be a pleasant experience.”