by Eli Easton
God, I was so damn horny. I wanted to thrust, but I didn’t, because if I did, it would be over too soon. I stayed still so we could keep doing this, teasing each other with tongues and suction, letting pleasure coil through me like thick, hot molasses. And it was trippy too. With us both doing the same thing, and my eyes closed, I almost could imagine I was doing it to myself, that the hard dick in my mouth was my own. That Jake and I were one person.
I pulled off long enough to breathe a curse. “Fucking hell.”
“Yeah. ’S good,” Jake panted in agreement before going back at it.
This time, when I took him in my mouth, it was because I wanted it, was hungry for it. Some of that was pure physical lust because of the way he was sucking me. But I did want it. Him. I wanted Jake. I wanted him to say it’s good again. I wanted to hear that needy wobble in his voice. I wanted to make him feel as fantastic as he was making me feel. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to be the one with him—not fucking Kevin.
I hooked a forearm over his hip so I could hold him steady, and took him in deeper, started moving him in and out. I liked it better when I moved his hip with my forearm instead of bobbing my head. That felt dirtier somehow, like he was fucking my mouth and I had to take it. Jake groaned and sort of attacked me, an all-out assault, sucking and licking and bobbing. He thrust into my mouth more forcefully, erratically.
Oh God. God. Okay. Shit. I was going to come. It had been too long, and this was too real and new and exciting. I closed my eyes and let myself go with it, drown in it. Jake thrust into my mouth, overwhelming my senses, silencing me, stealing my breath. On the other end, he was giving me the best blowjob of my life, the suction and pace so good I couldn’t hold back. His tongue drove me wild. His entire body trembled.
I made a choked sound around his dick as my balls tightened unbearably and I started to pulse. I tried to move my hips back, but his forearm clung to me fiercely. He gave a garbled groan, and I felt a burst of sour taste in my mouth. Right. Fuck. I should have thought about this moment ahead of time, planned for it. But I hadn’t. I would have pulled off and finished him with my hand, except I had no hand and I wasn’t going to leave him hanging in space with no friction. So I stayed put, swallowing quickly and trying not to gag. It wasn’t pleasant, but since I was still riding the aftershocks of my own orgasm, I couldn’t be too arsed about it.
When it was all over, I fell away from him bonelessly. I lay on my back, waiting for my heart to stop trying to escape from my chest. I wiped my face with the crook of my arm.
“Man, that was gay,” I joked.
From somewhere near my feet, Jake started to laugh in a low rumble. “Ya think?”
Then I laughed, and we were lost in hysterical giggles. It felt good—release of a tension of a different kind. And it meant Jake and I were all right.
Jake punched my leg lightly with his elbow. “It was your idea, bro.”
“Yeah. And it was brilliant, if I do say so myself,” I said casually. “It did the trick, right?”
“I can hardly deny it.”
That made me feel a little smug. “So you cool with doing this again? Till we get our hands back?”
“Jesus, we just finished. Give me ten minutes,” Jake joked.
“I don’t mean now.”
“Yeah, all right.” Jake’s voice was a little gruff. I ignored it.
“Cool.” I rolled off the bed and looked for my shorts, only to see them crumpled up on the floor. I sighed, and made a show of it—wiggled my toes into the leg holes, maneuvered my feet and calves around trying to work the shorts up to my knees, and then used the wall to work them the rest of the way up over my ass. I used the tip of my bandaged hand to flip the elastic waistband over my junk. I waggled my eyebrows at Jake as I did it.
By the time I was done, Jake was grinning like a jackal, the worry gone from his face.
Mission accomplished.
Jake
Andy and I had had sex. That was a thing that had happened. Fortunately, Andy seemed perfectly normal afterward, even being intentionally goofy. It dispelled the awkward immediately.
Postorgasm, we went out to sit in the sun. I hadn’t had much breakfast, and I had the postsex munchies. I would have loved to take a bag of pretzels onto the dock and snack, but eating was such a hassle that I dismissed the idea. Emily had made us wraps, as usual, and they were in the fridge, but I’d eat that later when I was starving enough that it was worth all the effort and mess.
“Want to watch some of Walking Dead tonight?” Andy asked as we got settled into the warmth and the lassitude.
“If you want. Or Plan Z is on the Syfy channel tonight,” I suggested.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a zombie movie. Plan Z-eeeeee.” I drew out the letter ominously.
He shuddered. “I dunno. My dad talks about ‘plan Z.’ Not really good associations for me.”
“Oh? What’s your dad’s ‘plan Z’?” Knowing Andy’s dad, it was probably some stock scheme.
Andy put his feet up on the little wooden table we used as a foot bench. The sight of his long, bare legs, dusted with blond hair, did weird things to my gut. “My dad had a client, for like fifteen years. And this guy kept doing things to secure a good retirement. First he worked for a start-up company. Bio-tech or something. He gave ten years of his life to it. It was supposed to go public and make him all this money because he had tons of stock.”
“Yeah.”
“Only then it went wrong, some patents fell through or something, and the company went bankrupt.”
“That sucks.”
“Right. So then this guy started his own business, invested his savings, sure he was going to earn a few million to fund his retirement. But the business never took off.”
I had a feeling this story didn’t have a happy ending.
“So then he wrote a book, tried to make it a blockbuster, was going to get a movie deal and all that. Only the book came out and sold a hundred copies or something. There were some other things too I don’t remember. But the guy kept saying this is ‘plan B’ then ‘plan C’ and so on.”
“So what happened?” It was almost like telling ghost stories. I settled in my chair, appreciating the rays of the sun and the sound of the water lapping the shore. I propped my feet up on the bench too.
“Finally, this guy hits his sixtieth birthday, and he had no retirement and not much savings left. He hadn’t paid off his mortgage because he was always investing in these schemes. He joked to my dad that ‘plan X’ was that he was going to keep working for the rest of his life.”
“Bummer.”
“Only then he got sick and couldn’t work.”
Andy stopped as if that were the end of the story.
“So what was ‘plan Z’?” I prompted.
Andy put two fingers in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
“Oh my God!” I said, disgusted and horrified. It was one thing to tell ghost stories, but this was too real and not funny at all.
Andy shrugged. “I know. But it happens. It happens more than you’d think. My dad sees it all the time.” His voice sounded strained.
“Well, Christ, Andy. You’re not going to end up with plan Z!”
“I know I’m not,” Andy said firmly. “Because I won’t let that happen. But like my dad said, nothing’s guaranteed. Even if you work hard, you might not get there. Top law firms like the one my mom works for, they have good retirement bennies and golden parachutes and stuff like that. Very few companies have that anymore. Does Neverware have a pension plan?”
I mentally reviewed my employment contract. “No. But they have a 401K.”
Andy nodded, as if he’d expected as much. “You need to max that out, Jake, every single year. Don’t wait.”
“Jesus, I’m twenty-two, bro! I need to get an apartment and a car and other stuff to just live first.”
“Don’t put it off, man. I’m telling you,” Andy said gravely.
I rolled m
y eyes behind my sunglasses. Andy’s dad had sure done a number on him. Not that it was a bad thing, being concerned about your future. Andy was lucky to have a dad who gave a shit, tried to teach him things. That was way better than my dad. And it was all smart, I knew that. But I wanted to at least live a little before I started worrying about my retirement. I didn’t say it.
“So this is your agenda?” I asked. “Seduce my nubile self and then terrify me?”
Andy snorted. “Sorry. I don’t know why that even came up.” He leaned forward and took a drink of his iced tea.
“Gah! Depressing. Maybe we should discuss the Holocaust while we’re at it. Or leprosy.”
He nudged my leg with his foot. We’d taken to doing that, using our feet to express things our hands couldn’t right now. But, this time, his foot lingered, trailing down my calf and then settling half over mine, the cool of his bare sole on the sun-heated top of my foot. I swallowed.
“We could watch Vikings,” I suggested. “We have it queued up on Netflix.”
“Yeah, let’s. I’ve been dying to get to that.”
We sat on the dock, and Andy chatted away about Vikings—the real-life ones, which he’d read a couple of history books about. But my mind began to roam elsewhere.
Looking at his long, sturdy foot so casually draped over mine, I got a warm, nervous, swoopy feeling in my stomach, something like I imagined astronauts would feel in zero gravity. My mind went back to what had happened less than an hour ago,
I had sex with Andy. I’d seen him hard. I’d had him in my mouth. I’d swallowed his come. And he had done the same to me. Talk about a mind-fuck. I’d spent years fantasizing about that, and it had just happened.
It had been awkward at first. When I’d imagined getting naked with Andy, it hadn’t been like that. I’d imagined kissing and other stuff first, easing into it. But what we’d done was just—Hey, here’s my stiffy, let’s get off. It’d been weird because there was a strain of us-ness to it that was so casual and everyday. Like we were hanging out doing any old thing. Like we were just two bros jerking off.
At first. But then he was right in front of me, hard and perfect and real. So undeniably real. The moment he pushed into my mouth, the awkward was wiped away. I felt a lust so massive and powerful it was like an avalanche that had been building up and building up, held in place by the thinnest spider’s web. That web had snapped, ka-pow!
God, the sensation of him in my mouth, the excitement of being that close to him, smelling him, tasting him, getting him off; the incredible hotness of being up close and personal with his hard dick, his inexperienced enthusiasm on the other side. I loved the way he’d just gone for it, the way he did everything else—wholeheartedly and with determination. And he had liked it. Sure, he’d been horny as fuck and probably could have gotten off in a stiff breeze. But still. It hadn’t put him off. The gay thing. The cock-in-his-mouth thing. He hadn’t gone soft, and he’d moaned around my—
Oh God, I was getting boned up again sitting on the dock.
“So. Vikings.” I cleared my throat.
“Huh?”
I’d interrupted some monologue Andy had been giving about longships.
I scrambled for something more intelligent to say. “Um . . . those were the same ships used to invade France too? Because they’re long and . . . ships?”
There was a moment of silence, then Andy laughed as if I’d said the funniest thing. “You weren’t listening, were you? I’ve been prattling on for ten minutes!”
“I was making an effort to be polite,” I said, faking a hurt tone.
“Yeah, well, fail.” Andy nudged his sunglasses onto his forehead with his wrist and looked at my crotch. “Already? God, Jake. You’re incorrigible.”
His foot had moved off mine at some point, so I kicked him lightly in the leg. “I’m just sitting here! I’m innocent as a baby.”
“No, I was just sitting here talking, authentically, about important historical facts, and you’re over there with a glazed look thinking about sex.”
“I am not!” I lied.
He chuckled. “I wonder if we could manage to last longer than two minutes this time? What do you think?” His tone was both flirty and utterly natural. And there was a dare in there too. I forgot how to breathe.
“Ten minutes,” I suggested, when I could speak again. “We could have Siri set a timer. No coming till it goes off.”
“You’re on. But if one person says ‘stop,’ the other person has to pause.”
“Agreed.”
I wasn’t sure which of us moved first, but in under sixty seconds we were back on my bed, naked.
Siri held our balls to the fire, but we both outlasted her.
November 2012 - Twelfth Grade
Andy
It was a Saturday in November. We still had a week before Thanksgiving break, but the skies were clear, the ground was snow-free, and the air was not so cold that it shriveled your balls. I suggested we all meet at the quarry to hang out. It would probably be our last chance to be outside before winter bitch-slapped Boston hard.
Jake had broken up with Denise, and I was only sometimes seeing a girl who lived in DC, so we rode to the quarry together in my Beamer, complete with a bag of deli sandwiches, a case of beer hiding under a blanket in the trunk, and my dirt bike mounted on the back. Word had spread, as I’d hoped it would, and when we got to the quarry, there were about twenty kids from Dunsbar already there.
Quincy Quarries was an awesome hangout place. It was all rocks and water and thick greenery trying to overgrow everything, but you could see the skyline of downtown Boston in the distance, so it still felt urban. During the summer, there were rock climbers and people swimming, but it was too cold for that in November.
Jagged rocky walls surrounded the abandoned quarry pit, which was filled with murky water. Many of the stones were garish with graffiti. At the top of the tallest cliff were a couple of iron pins. If you were daring, and fairly stupid, you could jump off at that spot into the water below. But I’d done that plenty of times, and so had Jake. I was looking for a much bigger challenge.
There was a stack of forms and brochures on my desk at home, letters of acceptance, and deadlines looming down on me. I was dialed up to eleven with tension and I needed . . . I needed the Andy and Jake Show.
We sat around on a bunch of rocks, sharing the food people had brought and drinking beer. I nursed a single bottle, making it last, and I noticed Jake fake-drinking his. I caught him looking at me a dozen times, a question in his eyes. He wiped his hands on his jeans more than usual. Jake was nervous. Me too, only my blood thrummed. I felt alive, almost sick with anticipation. Finally I stood up.
“I brought my dirt bike. Anyone who wants to try it can.” I went to unload the bike, and Jake, Nate, and a couple of other guys went with me.
We rode around the dirt area next to the quarry for a bit. I let five guys and two girls who wanted to try it take a turn. I wasn’t weird about my stuff. It was just a dirt bike. My dad would probably go ballistic if he saw this, though more out of fear of liability than worry about the cost of the bike. Fortunately, no one wiped out or hurt themselves.
And finally it was time.
“So who thinks I can jump the quarry on this bike?” I called out.
Some of them had been there for the drunken rooftop parkour, and all of them had at least heard about it. Some of the guys, like Nate, began to whoop.
“Yeah, do it, Andy!”
“All right! Let’s see this!”
“Go for it!”
But of course there were a lot of people arguing that it couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be done.
Well, it couldn’t be done, not in most places. The quarry was really wide, like hundreds of feet. Everyone trailed after us as Jake and I walked around. We pretended we were scouting out a good spot.
The spot I’d previously picked out was where a channel of water cut through the rocks. Two cliffs were divided by about fifty feet, and o
ne cliff was a good five feet below the other. Neither the vertical nor the horizontal jumps were all that spectacular. I’d seen guys online do jumps seventy, eighty, even ninety feet wide on bikes in a lower class than my 450 Yamaha. But it sure as shit looked dramatic with the ragged rock walls and a long drop to the rocks and trickle of water below. If you fucked it up, you’d be carried out in a body bag.
“There.” I pointed up at the higher cliff. “I’ll jump across that.”
“I don’t know, Andy.” Jake looked up at the cliff with a worried expression. “Let’s look for something else. That’s gotta be eighty feet across, and no one’s ever jumped more than seventy feet on a dirt bike.”
Rule number one of a good stunt: make it seem way more dangerous than it actually was. You needed to make the crowd believe no one had ever done what you were about to attempt, or they’d died doing it. Frame of reference, perception, was eighty percent of all tricks. I doubted anyone here would challenge Jake’s statements—and they didn’t.
The usual protests, concerns, and warnings began. People didn’t want me to do it. I was going to kill myself! Nate started taking bets. He wasn’t even in on the plan; he just liked to bet.
I never took any money for my stunts. That wasn’t the point. I wasn’t doing it to fleece people. And Jake didn’t bet either. But if Nate wanted to do his wheeling and dealing, that was on him. It had the added benefit of making the onlookers even more invested.
“Dare me, Jake?” I asked him, holding out my hand for a wrist grab.
He eyed me thoughtfully. “Nah, man. Not this time. If you’re doing that jump, I’m going with you.”
“What? No way!” I looked him up and down. “You weigh what, one forty? You’ll totally throw off the bike. I’ll be lucky to make the jump as it is.”
“Don’t care. If you want to kill yourself, you’ll have to take me with you this time.” Jake folded his arms and glared at me, clearly prepared to not back down.