by Tim O'Leary
alone. We’ve only been able to make out a few times. And neither one of us have our licenses, so we’ve never even gotten to fool around in the back of a car or anything. How lame is that?
Speaking of cars, sometimes I wonder what the soccer moms think of us when they drive by in their minivans. I’m wearing a leather jacket with chains attached to the shoulders, and my Mohawk is extra spiky today. And walking next to me is Mr. All American Boy, with his shaggy mop of brown hair and a T-shirt with numbers on it that I’m pretty sure means baseball or something. Something’s different about Jesse today, though. He almost seems a little nervous.
“So, I was thinking about you this morning,” he says.
My stomach dances. Thinking about him thinking about me always gives me that feeling. You know what I mean, when you don’t get hard but you feel like you will in two seconds? That kind of pre-bonerfication?
He continues. “I was reading this article about bisexuality, and how a lot of people don’t believe it really exists, or it’s just something gay people say they are if they’re too afraid to say they’re, like, full-on gay or whatever.”
“Story of my life,” I say. Oh, yeah, I’m bi, in case you were wondering. I’ve never met a body part I don’t like. Which means I don’t really fit in with gay people or straight people. Fun, right?
“Is that hard?” he asks.
“Kind of, mostly because it’s just one more thing where I’m a minority.” Oh, yeah, I’m Asian. My parents are from the Philippines.
“You can check off a lot of minority boxes?” he asks, smiling.
“Tons.” I’m left-handed, too. A minority wrapped in a minority smothered with more minority goodness.
“Well, you’re a cisgender male, with parents that are pretty comfortably middle class,” he says. “So there’s that.”
“Cisgender, wow. I’m impressed.”
“Hey, I know stuff.”
I look over at Jesse. He’s smiling, but … okay, he definitely looks nervous.
“What’s up, dude?” I ask.
“Nothing, just … it, uh … I was going to say this before, but I didn’t get a chance to. My mom’s going to be away all night because she’s going to a conference.”
Jesse’s dad isn’t in the picture, so that means his house will be un-parented. We’ve never been in a house with no one else in it.
“Okay,” I say. And suddenly my pre-boner is no longer “pre.” Why do I wear such tight jeans?!
He smiles, and suddenly I realize I’m going to see him naked soon. I’m going to see his penis, and his butt, and his chest and nipples and pubic hair and everything. This is the best day ever.
I think for a second about Twizzler and Steve, and what they might say if they knew about Jesse and me, and what they would think about us spending so much time together without them. I also think about how it would affect the gaming circle. Remember how I said I think about the game all the time?
Even when we’re not playing—even when I realize holy shit I’m about to see Jesse naked—my mind is constantly churning, coming up with all sorts of ideas about where the plot could go …
“A side quest?” Dathiel asked.
It was a few days after the orc attack by the inn. The company was weary and battle-worn, but they had bested their enemy and were relatively unharmed, save for a few cuts and bruises. They were once again sleeping around a fire, this one built in a small clearing in the wood. Hathor had shaken Dathiel awake and told him of his plans to leave the others.
“I fear for the princess’s safety if she falls into Malavoth’s grasp,” Hathor said grimly. “She and Vanyan will keep each other safe. You and I shall go and conquer the wicked Malavoth together.”
“I cannot deny your reason is sound,” said the elf. “But will they not be displeased?”
“They will understand.”
Nodding, Dathiel gathered his things swiftly, taking up his bow and quiver of arrows last. “Let us be off, then.”
Jesse opens the back door to his house, which leads into his kitchen. “Mom?” he shouts.
“I thought you said she was working.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure. You want to see my room?”
Quick history lesson: I’ve hooked up with two girls and two dudes, because I believe in equality. Well, okay, it also just kind of happened that those were the opportunities that sprang up, kind of like how my dick is springing up right now.
All four of those times, it happened when we were in their room.
The sun was hot overhead as Dathiel and Hathor marched across a great field. Though Dathiel was not bothered by the heat due to his elvish constitution, the human Hathor was drenched in sweat. His hair was plastered to his neck, and he tugged uncomfortably at his leather armor. Finally he cursed and stopped walking.
“The heat ails you,” Dathiel said.
“Aye, it does,” Hathor responded. He set his Claymore on the ground and undid the straps on his breast plate, tugging it off. He sighed, relieved. “Much better,” he said. He stretched his arms over his head. “Ah, that feels so good …”
And then it just happens. We’re in his room and suddenly he’s next to me, and his breath smells so good, and I look at him and he looks at me and then he’s kissing me, and I’ve kissed guys before but it’s never felt this good. I slide my hands under his T-shirt, he lifts his arms, and I take off his shirt. His tongue slides into my mouth and I taste him, and everything suddenly goes away except his mouth and his taste and the sound of the slight moan croaking up from the back of his throat, and I think it can’t possibly be any better until his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and then nothing can be better than that, until …
“Practice?” Dathiel said.
They had taken a brief respite from their journey, stopping to rest by the side of a beautiful, clear brook. Dathiel had been filling their skins with water when Hathor had suggested they spar with the swords in their arsenal.
“Aye, practice,” Hathor replied. “Come. If we’re to dominate the One-Eyed Snake, you’ll need to use the proper hand motions.”
“I much prefer the bow …”
“Come now, Dathiel. There’s no weapon quite like a sword.”
Dathiel considered this, and decided Hathor spoke with wisdom.
Both our shirts are off now and he’s on top of me, and I don’t want him to stop kissing me, but now there’s this pesky problem of pants that I really want to take care of. I roll over on top of him and grab his crotch, feeling his hard-on through his jeans, and now my whole body is buzzing. Not counting my own, I’ve only seen two other hard dicks in my whole life – the other two guys I hooked up with. And I still love girls and love their bodies, too, but hard dicks, man … they’re just the best, right? I know I’m going to see his in a second and, my hand to God, my whole mouth fills with saliva. I am Pavlov’s dog, and boners are totally my bell.
I rub my hands over his stomach and press my face against his crotch, feeling the pressure against my cheek, and then I can’t take it anymore. I pop the top button of his fly, then pull the zipper down. He wiggles to help as I yank down his jeans. He’s wearing black boxer-briefs with this huge bump in them, and I peel those down and feel harder than I’ve ever been before as his erection flies up and smacks against his stomach with a loud thwap. I’m amazed by how thick it is, much thicker than mine. I wrap my hand around it and it pulses heat, and I flash back to Sex Ed class where they talk about the risks of unprotected oral sex, but I can’t help myself, so I lick the head of his dick and feel him squirm.
Their steel rang together, the song of battle echoing in the trees. Dathiel was surprised at how excited he was by this swordplay with Hathor, and he was slightly in awe of the size of his comrade’s sword and the skill with which he wielded it.
They took turns advancing and retreating, parrying and thrusting, and the dance of their steel was intoxicating to the elf. Hathor was so bold and mighty with his sword, which impressed Dathiel grea
tly.
But even as he found pleasure in their battle, unease grew in him.
I know I probably shouldn’t just go down on him, because I realize we never talked about either of our histories concerning who we hooked up with, but then I ignore that thought because oh, my God, his dick is right there, in my hand. I kiss the head and rub my lips over it, and it feels so good to hear him moan, and so down I go! I swallow the whole thing, feeling the thickness of his cock in my mouth, and even though it chokes me a little, I’ve never enjoyed anything more than this right now …
But then that stupid voice in my head starts telling me to stop, because, you know. Safety.
Reluctantly, I pull myself off of him. “This isn’t technically safe,” I say.
He had been moaning when I said it, so he didn’t hear me. “What?” he asked.
“This is unsafe,” Dathiel repeated. “Less thrilling though it may be, we should spar with our blades in their scabbards.”
Hathor looked disappointed for a moment. “Fighting with naked blades is much more fun.”
“We can still practice with them sheathed. And that way there’s no risk.”
“But … but the feeling will not be the same …”
“Mayhap not. But we must be prudent and not risk harming ourselves. After all, a long journey is before us, my friend.”
Hathor thought for a minute, then …
“You’re right,” Jesse says, nodding. He rolls onto his side, and his dick