This story contains scenes of homoerotic love - but you should already know that since the subject line clearly indicated this story has Male/Male (MM) contact. That being the case, no one has any reason to complain or act surprised that this story presents gay men enjoying themselves sexually, so flames will be ignored! If you are underage or inadvertantly downloaded this story, please use the DELETE option that is present in all decent newsreaders and find something more to your liking.
Open-minded indivuals of all sexual orientations are invited to page down and enjoy this story as much as I have. I did not write it, and wish to thank the author for providing us with a very erotic story.
Steve -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
THE TWO-HEADED MONSTER
My name is Bradley Haakonson. This is a strange tale to tell you, but I wanted to let you all know about the first, unusual, time I ever fucked Steve Ronsini.
Steve was a really cute guy, with his nice build he got from playing tennis (no body-builder, just a nice bod) all covered with his deep black hair, even on his back, and a thick coat on his legs and stomach. I had never had a chance to check out his equipment, even though we were roommates. We met at college being assigned as dorm roomies, and got along so well, we moved into an apartment together at the beginning of my sophomore year (his junior year).
Steve and I played tennis together, and he jokingly nudged me into a diet to get rid of the twenty pounds that made me just a bit flabby. By the time we moved in together, though I was at 150 pounds, and just as nicely built as he was, though I'm blond and smooth skinned. I always joked that he should give me some of his hair and he always replied that if he could, he would.
Steve and mine's greatest joy, though, was science-fiction. We bought books and read each other's, so that we had an unlimited supply.
Then it came time for the science-fiction convention in town. Steve had been planning a costume for us, drawing diagrams and so on. His first plan was a centaur, with one of us playing the rear end, but that led to an argument about who'd spend the convention in the dark of a pantomime horse's rear.
So Steve got a brainstorm and came up with the two-headed monster. He was going to make it with four legs and four arms, but when we tried it out a few weeks before the convention, we found we couldn't walk. Not to mention that the costume, made from rubber, was damned hot. Scratching was impossible. So Steve sorrowfully turned it in and we almost didn't do it.
I was the one who insisted. I had spent that brief time with my body rubbing against Steve's body (he claimed it tickled, and it sure did me), the two of us just wearing our tennis shorts. I wanted to do it more, because we'd spend the entire convention, three days nearly, in that costume. Costumers got in for less if they stayed in costume.
So I showed Steve my idea and he agreed. Two heads, his and mine, but only two arms and legs. I would stand behind him, and our feet and legs, bound together with rags, would thus walk in unison (Steve had a few inches of height over me, so my knees would just about lock inside of the bend of his. I would keep my arms inside the body, and Steve made me promise that I would scratch him where he itched, in exchange for him feeding me. A slit in the bottom of the costume would let us use the bathroom, with each other's cooperation, without having to get out of the costume (important, because getting in properly took most of an hour).
The costume was, fortunately, easy to remodel. We ended up with a very baggy body, which we stiffened into a round-bodied alien with thick legs and two arms. My head rested on Steve's neck, and we would use make-up for a ghastly effect, antennae and all.
On the day of the event, we rode with friends, Steve sitting on my lap, my hands resting, after a time on his thighs. Steve grunted when I did this, but didn't protest.
I realized then that I had a hard-on. Just the feel of Steve's body on mine, his hairy legs caressing mine all the way down to the calves, his feet touching mine on the floor of the car. I kept it the entire way to the convention.
Please realize that, at that time, I hadn't really figured out I was gay. Growing up on a farm, my contact with women had been brief, uncomfortable things that didn't make me face any part of my sexuality. I just figured it out, on that ride.
Of course, then I had to face my feelings about Steve. And his about me. We were affectionate and intimate with each other, or we'd never be in this costume like we were. If I had to be gay, why not find out for sure with Steve?
We had some fun with the hotel clerk, claiming to be only one person. Steve and I had rehearsed it, and so we could talk most things in unison. Finally, she called for the manager, who took one look at us and heard the story, and said, "If they never take off that costume, even for one minute, we'll count them as one person. But warning, guys," she shook a finger under our noses, "everyone I've got will be watching you, the maids, the clerks, everyone. Take one step out of that costume, and you have to pay for two people."
Once we were done, Steve whispered to me, "I gotta go take a leak."
"Yeah, me too." I said. "Where's the restroom?" I asked the manager.
She gave directions, and actually had a male clerk follow us in. "I want a full report on how they manage it." she told the clerk, a big, black guy who grinned.
Inside the restroom, we had to squat over a toilet, which let me go easy enough. But Steve, with his arms outside and strapped into the costume, couldn't get his shorts unzipped.
"It's an inside job." I told him in a whisper. And I reached around, unzipped his shorts for him and took out his cock (no underwear! But I wasn't wearing any, either. The costume was damned hot).
It was rock-hard, from holding in the piss, I assume. I couldn't see it, of course, but it was a good handful. Call it seven inches, for it stuck out past my palm a good ways.
Steve concentrated, and finally got his cock soft enough to release the yellow flood. He pissed for nearly a full minute, then I gave it a few, friendly shakes to get the last drops out, and tucked it back into his shorts, zipped him back up.
The clerk shook his head at this. Coming back out, he told the manager, who looked at us with a victorious grin, "They stayed in their costume."
She snarled and stalked off. The clerk looked at us curiously. "Though I'm wondering how you're going to handle the other half of that."
I was wondering, too.
"We'll manage." Steve said. "He's my best friend."
And so we left to enjoy the convention. Steve was quick to get me to scratch him where it itched, so I got to feel of his inner thigh ("Just under the balls, Brad."), his stomach ("Just over the navel.") and his steel-hard pecs ("Right on top of the nipples. Both of them."), with Steve guiding me every time.
And Steve helped me eat a burger and fries, us sitting again, my cock nestled between his ass cheeks. I got a hard-on again. What I was going to do while sleeping, I didn't know. I always beat off before going to sleep.
Finished, he wiped my mouth free of grease with a gentle hand. "Thanks." I said.
"You can pay me back." Steve said.
"How?"
Steve whispered in my ears. "My balls itch like crazy."
Oh, God, here it was! How would I be able to handle this? "I'll have to unzip you." I whispered back.
"Go ahead." Steve said, as we stood up (a well-rehearsed maneuver, we had trained ourselves on this).
I unzipped that tight, white, small piece of cloth he called tennis shorts again, and reached into them again. I felt his cock with a spot of dampness on his cockhead. We were teenagers; precum was a constant thing. I reached under it, and began to scratch his balls, loose in their sack. They moved around so much that I didn't stop to think, just grabbed his cock in my left hand and pulled it up straight, away from his balls and my right hand.
And it grew, stiffened in my hand.
"Uh, that's enough, Brad." Steve said.
I stopped scratching, but took his cock in both hands. "That feel good?" I asked him, jacking it slowly, in long strokes.
"Stop it, Brad." Steve hissed at me. "We're in a public place."
"So who's going to see?" I asked with cunning. The costume was stiff, my stroking hands and his stiff rod made no movement at all in the rotund rubber costume. I speeded up my strokes, two- handing him.
Steve groaned as I flogged his cock for him, panting, he rested his head on my shoulder, lying back and moaning his gratitude. And with a muffled whimper, he shot his load into the suit, with audible splatting sounds, that coated my hands and arms with the backlash.
Finished, I helped him sit down, my hands still hold of his limp cock, while he caught his breath.
Rested, he looked at me. "I can't do yours." he said. "I can't reach into the suit."
"Let's go back to the room." I said. "I know how you can repay me."
And Steve, there in the restaurant surrounded by our friends, kissed me and said, "Let's go."
Up to our room, with the manager riding the elevator with us. "Just keeping an eye on you guys." she said sweetly. "Okay for us to open your room in a few minutes? Just to be sure you aren't cheating?"
Steve started to argue, I could tell, but I stopped him. "Not at all." I answered. "Open the door anytime you want."
In the room, Steve groaned. "We never should have tried this! Now we don't get a damned bit of privacy!"
"We won't need it." I said. "We're the two-headed monster, remember?"
"But then how...."
"I need my pocket knife and that jar of Vaseline." I said.
I used the knife (in my suitcase) to cut the shorts from both of us. A maid entered with towels just as I tossed Steve's cut shorts onto the floor alongside mine. She smiled at us, and left. "Checking up on us." I commented as I fished in my suitcase for the Vaseline. I had to reach through the slit at the bottom with one hand as we squatted over it, no easy thing. I was working from feel and memory of where I'd put it.
"Now how do I get to pay you back for that terrific jerk?" Steve wondered.
He still hadn't caught on. "Why did you think I wanted the Vaseline?" I said as I brought it up into the suit and snapped off the lid.
I slathered one finger and slid it between his buttocks, aiming for his ass. It was lower down than I'd always imagined. But who the hell knows exactly where their ass is? You sit on the pot and it takes care of itself.
I found it and slid the finger in gently. Steve groaned as the knuckles made bumps at his tuckerhole. But he loosened up as much as he could, making room for my finger. "Mmmm, that feels great!" he said as I got the entire finger in.
I only had a vague idea of what to do, from reading porno stories. I was remembering one where the guy was buttfucking the girl. Men and women are identical that way. My next step was to coat all my fingers, and stick two in this time.
Which I did, with difficulty. Steve hunched backwards at my hand, obviously loving the whole experience, making small animal sounds all the while. I decided that he'd get to do me right after this damned convention. I should explain that money was tight. Paying for only one person meant more fun at the convention, and the opportunity to buy more books we wanted. We weren't going to set one foot outside that costume.
I had even a tougher time getting three fingers in, even though I held them together in a triangular pattern to do it. But after about a half-hour of trying (and two more visits by the maid, I wondered what the manager was offering to get such devotion out of her? Extra money? No matter, she only saw two guys standing in their room, with one making funny noises. That costume was all-concealing!), I finally got all three buried to the base.
"Oh, damn, Brad, I can't take much more of this!" Steve groaned as the maid left.
"You don't have to." I said, as I dipped my cock into the jar, and coated it liberally. "My cock isn't any bigger than three fingers." And I gently inserted my hard dick into my best buddy's ass.
Steve groaned as I slid it in, his ass muscles working over my cock, a welcoming feeling. It felt terrific! I soon had it all the way in, and began making slow strokes in and out.
Steve walked us to the bed, and fell across it, my body on top of his. "Fuck me, Brad, fuck me!" he moaned.
I was happy to oblige him. I grabbed one tit in each hand for leverage, as I plowed into him, pumping him hard and fast, his ass rippling in pleasure.
The maid entered again, gasped, and left in a hurry. I didn't think she'd be back, but I didn't care. The whole damned staff could watch if they wanted. I was fucking my best friend.
The bed squeaked in protest and we got a lot of green make-up onto the pillows, but I fucked Steve for fifteen solid minutes before the come built up in my balls, which warned me of the explosion.
"I'm about to come, Steve." I gasped at him.
He looked at me, his face soft lines of pleasure. "Give it to me, Brad." he begged me. "Load my ass with your come."
And I did, feeling my balls unload a huge shipment of come into his ass. And Steve came as I did, "Oh, God, man, you're coming in my ass! I can feel it! Uhh!" and he shot another load into the rubber suit.
We gasped a while, me resting on top of his furry back, then got up and repaired our make-up. I tucked the jar of Vaseline into an inside pocket we'd made, to carry books we bought and such.
The rest of the convention was terrific. I kept Steve's ass busy the entire time. Every time I felt horny enough to go again, which at 19, was every hour on the hour, I'd lube up my cock and stick it in. Walking down the corridor, right under the manager's wrinkled-prune-faced eyes, I'd fuck my friend and lover. In between times, I'd check his cock, and when I found a stiff one waiting for my touch, I'd beat him off.
That costume stunk by the end of Saturday, stunk of come and sweat, but we trotted up onto the stage during the costume contest, and as Steve told them the little story about two heads being better than one, I was fucking his lithe ass and beating him off. I don't know how he found the breath to do it, but he stumbled getting off the stage because he was coming again, right in front of two thousand people watching us. I waited until we were outside to find a quiet nook, and finished fucking him then. We didn't win a prize, but who needed one?
I got to feel Steve's cock in my ass as soon as the convention was over. We'd never stepped out of our costume, and it smelled like it. It lay on the floor of our bedroom while Steve was laying on top of me, his hairy chest brushing my smooth one with my legs around his waist, his cock firmly buried. We didn't sleep at all that night, because I learned then how good it felt to be fucked. I wanted him to fuck me all night, and he did the best he could.
That was fifteen years ago. We still have the costume. We use it to show to people who ask how we met and we have to answer, "It was a two-headed monster...."
THE END