Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any resemblance to anybody is unintentional.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my junk mail filter may screen you.
Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the Celebrity section, for those of you who have not been there.
The mustard bottle was pressed into the small of my back, and not only was it cold, but it had one of those damn plastic points on it, and it was like it was drilling right into my spine. Next to it, the salad dressing bottles were clinking together, soft little glass tapping noises as the refrigerator door trembled because I was leaning up against it and my knees were shaking like any second now they would let go and dump me onto the floor. The air coming out of it was a little cold and there were goosebumps all over the back of my legs, but it was hard to tell if that was from the cold or if they were just related to the goosebumps all over the rest of my body.
Casey leaned in, his hands on the sides of my face, his thumbs right at the edge of my jaw, and the pressure from his mouth tilted my head back a little. The five o'clock shadow I had seen just seconds before, short and shimmery, scraped against my chin and the soft skin around my mouth. Casey's chest was pressed into me, his breath pushing out the swelling thick curves of his pecs, and I just kind of stood there, one hand still on top of the refrigerator door and the other hanging uselessly at my side as Casey leaned in. His lips were soft, much softer than I thought they'd be, and they pressed against mine firmly, but not too hard.
I was frozen, completely frozen, the mustard bottle poking into my back, Casey's whole body pressing against my front. I could feel all of him, his arms brushing against mine, the rounded muscles and the soft hair, his forearms brushing my neck as his hands held me lightly in place. Oh, his hands. At the pool he'd just used a couple of fingers, but now I could feel his hands, the smooth palms, the fingers a little rougher than the girls I had kissed before, a little harder with creases and a few small calluses, and his hands, like his whole muscled, compact body just conveying this feeling of strength. Strength like the strength in his chest. His pecs were like slabs, but not flat. Instead they curved, pushed out, pressed against me, and through my thin shirt I could feel that his nipples, those round little brown nipples I'd seen and thought about and stroked my cock thinking about touching, were just as hard as mine, poking into my like little tiny erections.
Erections.
Oh, God, he had one.
I could feel it down below my belt, pressing against mine. If I looked down I'd be able to see it, instead of just feeling it pushing into me, tenting out the front of his shorts. It was hard to tell through the layers of cloth, but it felt thick, like I'd thought it would at the pool this morning, like it had looked the times I'd stolen glances out the window and seen it filling the front of his pants, even soft. It wasn't soft now, not at all. Instead it was hard, urgent, just like the rest of him. He wasn't grinding into me, wasn't forcing me, but his whole body rested against mine, and I could feel his legs pressing against mine, bare skin to bare skin, muscle to muscle, little shivering caresses of hair rubbing against hair as the bottles shook in the door behind me.
Jesus, this was like the most intense moment of my life, and I was thinking about barbeque sauce and Italian dressing. My brain had gone into complete overload. Casey was kissing me, but a moment that was probably taking only a couple seconds was drawing out forever, and I couldn't move. He pulled back just a little, his lips leaving mine but his hands staying in place, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. His dark blue eyes, half lidded, the lashes a little long for a guy were right in front of mine, sparkling and alert below his thin brown eyebrows.
"Sam doesn't know you're gay, does he?" Casey panted, his voice still low, but there was something else in it now. There was a husky note, a kind of grinding purring sound, a deep bass tone that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and turned my knees to liquid. I couldn't answer, couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was stand there as he leaned in again, his lips brushing against mine again, his body leaning into me. The tip of his tongue, wet and quick, slid out, just barely touching my mouth, skating over the edge of my lips, which were still pressed together in surprise.
Casey pulled back again, but this time his face looked different.
"Oh, shit," he breathed softly. His eyes were still searching mine, but I'm sure mine were blank, not telling him anything, not letting him know how much I needed this, how much I'd wanted it and thought about it and laid on my bed or stood in the shower working my hard cock over with my hands thinking about it. "You don't know either."
Wait, no, yeah I did! What was he doing? Why wasn't I talking? I tried to tell him, tried to say something, but it was like I was in shock, like one of those horrible dreams where you see something bad happening and you can't move or do anything to stop it.
Casey stepped back, stepped away from me, his hands dropping, his eyes wide and his face scared.
"Oh, shit, Nate, shit, I'm sorry," he breathed, walking backward away from me, out of the fan of light from the refrigerator, his face and his body falling into the shadows of the kitchen. His voice was tight, strained, and so low I could barely hear him. "I'm sorry. I, shit, I'm sorry."
I stepped toward him, starting to lift my arm, still trying to say something before he was gone, but he grabbed the back door and pulled it open. The light from outside spilled across him, and I could see lines in his face, see the urgency and the strain and the hurt there.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and then the door closed and he was gone.
And I was just standing there, against the fridge, letting him walk away! What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn't I have said something? Why couldn't I have moved or grabbed him or even kissed him back? I'd thought all day about him touching me, about just that one touch in the pool, that one instant when his fingertips had skated over my bare shoulders. Since the day he'd shown up I'd thought about touching him, about what his skin would feel like, what his mouth would taste like, and now I'd had my chance and I'd blown it. I'd been too surprised to say anything, too stunned by his sudden advance to respond, and now he was gone. Now I'd never know what it felt like, never know any of it.
Unless I followed him.
The kitchen door slammed behind me as I raced into the backyard. I charged across the grass to the Becker's back door and pulled it open without stopping to knock. Casey turned, standing by their refrigerator, his mouth dropping open as I burst in. If he'd had the fridge door open, it would have been like an instant replay.
"Nate, I," he began, his mouth dropping open and closed, working blindly. "I'm sorry! I thought you."
I pulled the door closed and charged across the kitchen, batting a chair out of my way without even thinking as it crashed onto its back on the floor. Casey's eyes were wide, bulging, as I grabbed his shoulders, and he was still talking, his voice still low and soft and broken sounding as if he couldn't stop.
"I thought you wanted," he began, and I pressed myself against him.
"I do," I panted, finally speaking, and then jammed my mouth onto his.
His lips mashed against mine, his mouth falling open, and I jammed my tongue inside, pressing it against his as my hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him against me, my body suddenly, finally, overcome with need. I needed him, needed to feel him and touch him and feel him touching me, and I wasn't leaving until I got it. His tongue pushed back against mine, seeming to wrestle with it for a moment, and then his hands were on the side of my face again, holding me, and his tongue was pushing into my mouth, sliding over my teeth, over my tongue, tasting me, penetrating inside. I groaned into him as his body pressed against me, and I could feel his hard cock grinding against mine as we collapsed into each other. He turned me, pulling me by the head, and slammed me roughly against the refrigerator as he laid his entire body against mine, the muscles and the hard cock and the soft, urgently probing mouth all digging into me, pressing against me.
"You want this?" he asked, pulling back, our mouths both wet. He was staring into my eyes again, his eyes probing, seeking, looking for an answer. His hips pushed forward, pressing his hard throbbing prick against me, the thickness and the steely urgency obvious even through our clothes. "You want this?"
"Yes," I panted, kissing him sloppily again, my lips just sliding messily against his, all needy lust and no finesse. Our breathing was sharp and gasping and almost panting, and my hands were all over his back now, grabbing at him, feeling the muscles bunch and shift and flex. "Yes!"
He grabbed the sides of my shirt roughly, the fabric bunching, and there was a ripping, popping noise as he tore my shirt open. I heard buttons skittering across the kitchen, and then his hands were on me, just like I'd wanted, and his mouth was back on mine, sucking at me, his tongue probing me as he ran his hands all over my body. He pushed the sides of the shirt open, one hand sliding over my abs, pushing on them, a finger delicately tracing the little trail of hair that was growing back in below my belly button. The other slid up across my chest, following my pec, toned by years of swimming, his hand rubbing over my smooth skin. His palm slid over my hard nipple, eliciting a shiver from me, and then he grabbed it, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger so hard that it almost hurt, and I groaned into his mouth.
Casey chuckled, his laughter a soft brush against my neck before he started kissing there, too, working his way up to my ear. He squeezed my nipple again, rolling the tip, and I groaned again.
"You do want this, don't you?" he whispered, nibbling at my earlobe. My body was on fire. My hands crawled over his back as his mouth burrowed into me, his nose gently tapping me as his lips lit my skin on fire.
"Yes," I panted, letting my head fall back, offering my neck to him. His hand continued pulling and pinching at my nipple, teasing it and tweaking it, and his other hand was behind me, holding the back of my neck. It felt like he was holding me up, keeping me steady, because every time he touched me I felt like I was going to melt. My voice was barely a pant, a breathy wheeze that I hardly recognized, and he began to slide his hand down my chest, over my pec, tracing that thin line down the center of my body through my abs. "Casey, God, Casey."
"You are so fucking hot," he panted in my ear, chewing at it. He started to unbuckle my belt and I leaned back, pushing my hips forward to give him better access. "I knew it. I knew it the first time I saw you, in the driveway."
"Casey," I panted, his name the only thing in my mind, my eyes roaming over him. His body was so tight under that t-shirt, that thin white shirt that was clinging to him like a second skin, and I could feel it moving as my hands gripped him. He had my buckle open, and was working on my shorts now, the button and the zipper, both of us squirming, his mouth still on my ear and the side of my neck, both our eyes watching his one handed battle with my clothes.
"I saw the way you looked at me," he panted, as worked up as I was. My heart was pounding as he got the zipper down, finally, fighting it over my erection. "I saw the way you watched, the way you wanted me."
"Yeah," I whimpered as my shorts fell to the floor, the belt buckle clattering between my feet. I was just in my boxers now, leaning back on the refrigerator and his arm, the sides of my shirt hanging open, and then he had his hand, he, oh God, he grabbed my cock right through my boxers, wrapping his fingers around it, and my hips pushed forward, pushing it into his hand as I groaned out loud. He wasn't really doing anything, just squeezing it, lightly tracing my shaft with his fingers, staying away from the head that was leaking a growing wet spot on the front of my plain white boxers.
"I wanted you, too," he whispered, turning my head with his other hand, bringing my lips to his again.
His kiss was different this time, even though I was so worked up I was grinding my cock into his hand, whimpering, wanting him to please, please just do anything. I needed him so badly in that moment I would have done anything he asked, anything he wanted, but all he seemed to want at that moment was me. His lips settled over mine, his tongue sliding inside again as his fingers slid through the opening of my boxers and wrapped themselves around my hard shaft. My cock throbbed in his hands and I pushed forward again, my shaft sliding through his fingers. He kept kissing me, and began to lightly work his hand up and down my prick, stroking me, bringing me closer to the edge, and I whimpered and twisted helplessly against him, panting and moaning into his mouth as his tongue pushed against mine.
"Casey, please," I panted as he pulled off my mouth.
I stared into his eyes again. His face was so close to mine, his breath hot on my cheeks. Every time his hand slid down my shaft, hitting the base, I let out a sharp wincing gasp, and my hips jerked toward him. Every time he squeezed my cock it throbbed, and I felt another drop of precum squeeze its way out to wet my shorts. The feeling of someone else's had on my cock, someone else's fingers working me over, was more intense than I'd ever thought it would be. One of my hands slid down from his shoulder, over his bicep, down to his bare tanned forearm, feeling it flex as he continued to work me, pumping a little faster now. His skin was soft, smooth, and so fucking hot, and I couldn't believe I'd waited this long to touch him, waited this long to feel him and run my hand over him the way I'd thought about, the way I'd dreamed about. He was chewing at my neck again, his teeth just barely skirting over it, and his hand was going faster now, stroking me harder, his grip a firm circle that my cock pushed through as I felt myself getting closer to the edge.
"Please," I panted again, not even sure what I was asking for, and he pulled back, his long hair falling forward over one of his eyes as he smiled at me, a wide, shining grin, impossibly bright in the dark kitchen. He had a beautiful smile. He was beautiful, and I wanted him even more now than when I had first seen him.
"OK," he breathed, dropping slowly to his knees.
Casey moved his mouth down my body as he lowered himself, kissing down the side of my neck and then washing his tongue through the hollow of my throat. He knelt in front of me and began licking my chest, and I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the refrigerator again, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly. His tongue swiped over me like a cat, leaving his hot spit all over my chest. I grabbed his shoulders so tightly I probably left marks as he fastened his mouth over my nipple, already sensitive from his squeezing, and sucked it hard while he swiped his tongue over the tip. I groaned, hissing his name through gritted teeth. I'd never felt anything like this before, never had someone touch me like this. It was like he knew where all my hot spots were, and knew exactly what to do with them.
His mouth slid lower, leaving my pecs glistening with spit, as he kissed his way down my abs. My hands slid higher, caressing his neck now, kneading at the spot where his shoulders met it, where the muscles joined, and as he grabbed the sides of my boxers and began to tug at them I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair. He made a sighing, purring sound as I did, and I shivered, feeling how thick and soft his hair was. I tangled my fingers in it, wrapping the strands around them, and he kept making that noise of contentment, rubbing his head against my hands for a minute. Clearly he liked this, and I wondered who else had run their hands through his hair before I did. I slid a hand forward and brushed it over his forehead, caressing the side of his face and brushing his hair back so I could see his eyes, and Casey smiled up at me, his tongue darting out for a second to wet his lips as he finally tugged my shorts over my hard cock and down to my knees.
My cock slapped up against my abs, and I winced, but Casey just kept smiling. He leaned forward, and the whole world seemed to slow down and then stop as the tip of his tongue reached out toward my cock. A drop of precum pulsed out of my slit and began to slide down my shaft, and then the tip of Casey's tongue slid out and scooped it up, following its trail back up my shaft. My whole body was rigid, my nipples hard and throbbing, my eyes bulging and my mouth hanging open, and I couldn't breathe as he licked all the way up my shaft in one long smooth stroke until he got to the head and actually pushed the end of his tongue into my slit, scooping up more of my sticky juice. He grabbed my shaft with his hand and pulled my cock toward him as I tightly held his hair in both fists, and then he began to lick all over my already wet head, his warm tongue darting out in short swipes as I shuddered and gasped in huge breaths of air, only to let them out as high pitched moans and sighs.
I'd had a few handjobs from girls I'd made out with before, and once I'd even had a blowjob, but they were nothing like this. Those had been more like a chore, something I'd done because it was just kind of expected that I would, and the girl who blew me, whose name I didn't even remember now, had treated the blowjob the same way. She'd opened her mouth, used her tongue a little, and sucked until I got off, but there hadn't been any finesse to it, and there hadn't been any real feelings there. What was happening now between Casey and I was completely different. My body was on fire, my nerves singing, and he was attacking me with gusto, licking all over my head and up and down my shaft with needy, lusty vigor.
One of his free hands began to rub my balls, massaging them and rolling them around in my sack while gently tugging them away from my body, and the other continued to hold my cock out while his mouth worked on it. His breath washed over the head, sending shivers down my spine since my head was so wet from his spit and my smeared precum, and when I looked at his face I saw that his lips were glistening, too, and I almost shot in his face. Seeing him like that, on his knees, my hard cock pointed at his face and dripping with his saliva, was better than anything I had imagined or dreamed about. My hands were massaging his scalp, pulling and tugging at his hair, and he smiled up at me again before licking his lips, opening his mouth, and sliding all the way down my cock, swallowing me until his nose was pushing into my short pubes.
"Casey!" I bellowed, feeling my body tighten. I wasn't going to last long, especially not with my hard cock trapped in the wet tunnel of his mouth. He pulled back and lashed his tongue over the head for a minute as his hands slid around to grip my ass, pulling me toward him. "Casey, Jesus."
My voice was high and breathy and tight, and he must have sense my urgency, because he pulled off, letting my cock slide out of his mouth as he smiled up at me. His hands rubbed the sides of my hips lightly as he tongued my head again, licking the slit over and over, jabbing at the little bundle of nerves right underneath, and my shaking hands were still all tangled up in his hair.
"You are so fucking hot," he panted, kissing my shaft, letting the head rub all over the side of his face. "Nate?"
"Yeah?" I panted, watching him, sweat breaking out on my forehead as he looked up at me over the smooth planes of my body.
"You're close, aren't you?" he asked, his tongue swiping out again. He licked at my balls, pushing them around with the tip of his tongue while I sighed and whimpered and then realized that I was supposed to answer.
"Yeah," I whimpered.
"You gonna shoot a big, fat load out of your big, fat cock?" he asked, and I almost did all over his face. Oh my God! I hadn't even ever said half those words out loud, and hearing them come out of his mouth had my brain on the verge of shorting out again. It was too much, too hot, and my hands gripped his hair convulsively. Jesus, the other day he hadn't even been talking, and now he was on his knees talking dirty while he licked my balls. Casey grinned, nuzzling his head against my hands again. "You like it when I talk dirty, Nate? You like hearing me talk about your tight little body and your stiff nipples and your hard, dripping cock?"
Wow, that totally wasn't helping me hold back.
"Yes," I panted, biting my lip. His hands were on me, his breath was on me, and in another second his mouth would be on me again. I felt like any second my knees would give out, and if the refrigerator wasn't behind me I would probably be on the floor. I couldn't manage to string an entire sentence together, since I was having enough trouble just remembering to breathe. "Casey, Casey."
"I want to taste you, Nate," he whispered, licking my head again. "I want to taste you."
Without saying anything he leaned forward, his mouth dropping open again, his lips making a tight ring around my shaft as it slid into his throat. His tongue pressed my cock against the roof of his mouth, and his cheeks caved in, creating a hot wet tunnel that caressed my cock from every side at once. I pulled urgently at his hair, guiding his head forward, and he pulled on my hips, moving me toward him and back again. I sighed and said his name, over and over, as he began to bob up and down, sucking hard, his tongue washing over my head each time he pulled back. I caressed the side of his face, brushing his hair back again, feeling the firm curves of his cheekbones and the smooth tanned skin of his forehead, and when he looked up at me his eyes were so blue and open in the scant light of the kitchen that I felt like I was falling into them, like I was getting lost. I barely knew him, but I'd never felt closer to anyone than I did to him at that moment.
I felt myself tightening up, felt my balls drawing up and my breath getting short, felt my chest swelling and my nipples throbbing and sweat starting to bead up on my forehead. The only sounds in the kitchen were my gasps and sharp groans each time he pulled back, and the wet slurping sounds of his sucking. I saw a thin trickle running down his chin, and reached down to wipe it away as he hummed contentedly around my cock, the vibration driving me even closer to the edge. Casey, still kneeling, must have sensed that I was getting closer, because he began to speed up, sucking harder, his hands pulling my hips back and forth. Following his lead, I grabbed his hair and began to pump in and out of his mouth, and his moans and humming around my cock told me that he was enjoying that, too. His hands continued to squeeze my ass, cupping my firm cheeks, and then suddenly I felt one of them sliding into my crack, one of his fingers quickly probing toward my asshole. I wanted to tell him to stop, didn't want him near there, but I couldn't think clearly, couldn't speak, because I was too focused on the tightening waves of pleasure radiating through my entire body, and then I felt the tip of one finger pressing against my hole. He didn't push it in, just pressed against it, but that was it. My whole body locked up, my chest tight, and my flexing arms crushed his face into my pelvis as my jerking hips and throbbing cock unloaded shot after shot down his throat.
"Casey," I roared, feeling his throat work as he swallowed my cum.
He pulled back and lashed his tongue over my head, and I yelped, trying to pull him off of me. My cock was always sensitive after I came, and now it was too much. He sucked softly, cleaning it without using the tongue, and finally pulled back enough to let my cock fall from his lips. He kissed it gently, and then smiled up at me.
"Was that what you wanted?" he whispered, grinning.
"Yes," I answered immediately. "Yes, I, wow."
He started to stand, kissing my cock again, the head this time. I was still hard, but not so urgent, not still in the throbbing straight up flat against my abs way I had been when he pulled my boxers down, but his touch was still so light and soft that I shivered again. He kissed my stomach, tracing my abs with his tongue again, outlining them and darting the tip of his tongue into my navel. He licked up the short line of hair below my belly button, shaved off during swim season but starting to grow in now, and then back up my chest. He stopped for a moment to kiss both nipples, sliding back and forth between them, and then kissed his way back up my neck, his eyes closed, just going by feel. His hands followed him, sliding over my skin, not grabbing or pulling, just touching and caressing, and then his face was right in front of mine, his mouth moving toward me.
His mouth.
The mouth I'd just cum in.
What the fuck had I just done?
Oh, fuck, I really was gay. I really was a cocksucker, a pansy, a fag. I'd just let some guy I barely knew pull my clothes off and suck my dick, and, Jesus Christ, I'd begged him to do it! I'd wanted it, wanted him to swallow me! I remembered his finger probing at my ass, and wondered for a quick second if he'd wanted to fuck me, if he'd wanted to fuck me up the ass. He'd probably done it before, done it with all kinds of other guys, let other guys do it to him. I didn't know him, didn't even know his last name or anything about him, and now I'd let him blow me and swallow my cum and he was about to kiss me with the same mouth I'd just had my dick in.
I turned my head at the last second, and he kissed my cheek, near the side of my mouth. My whole body stiffened, and his eyes popped open as he sensed that something had changed.
"Nate?" he asked, his eyes concerned.
I couldn't do this, couldn't let him kiss me again. I couldn't really want this, couldn't really be like this. I wasn't gay. It didn't matter what I thought or how I felt. This was just a phase, a passing thing, something stupid I did because I was drunk. That was all, just one guy getting off, and another guy letting him. It didn't mean anything.
I didn't want to be gay, so I couldn't be.
"Nate?" Casey asked again, his voice a little louder, his tone a little more firm. "Nate, you ok?"
"I'm fine," I lied, my eyes darting around the room. We were in the kitchen, which faced my kitchen. Oh my God, what if Sam had come downstairs and looked over? What if he'd seen us? What if he knew? Would he tell people? Would he tell everyone that I was faggot? I grabbed my shorts, tugging them up, not worrying about my shirt, which was hanging open. I had to get out of here, had to get away. Casey, seeing him, it did something to me, and I couldn't let that happen again.
"Are you sure?" he asked, stepping back. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but I saw his face pinch, as if he was hurt, and his shoulders dropped a little. "Are we ok?"
His voice was so soft and quiet when he asked that, the tone in it already resigned to what he must sense was the answer.
"Yeah," I lied. I knew I didn't sound very convincing, but I couldn't fake it. I had to get out of here, had to get home, back to my house, back to where I was me, Nate, the friendly quiet swimmer guy who liked girls even if he didn't date much and who just wasn't, couldn't be, gay. "Yeah, I just, um, Sam is all alone over there, and he's drunk. I better go take care of him."
"Yeah, I guess," Casey said softly, not meeting my eyes. He turned away, and I knew he could tell what I was thinking. I felt a little pain as I realized that I was hurting him, but I couldn't let that bother me, couldn't let it keep me from walking out the door. Casey followed me to the door as I realized that I was being a dick. I was being a total heel. Even with the way I was feeling, there wasn't a need to treat him like this, to act like it hadn't meant anything, but as he opened the door for me and I saw the light from outside wash over his face, I could see that it was too late. He'd reached out to me, and I'd rejected him, and it hurt us both.
"Good night," he said, not meeting my eyes as he swung the door closed.
I didn't know what to say, so I walked slowly back to my house, letting myself in the back door.
I didn't want to be with him. I couldn't be. That was just a dumb fantasy daydream. I couldn't live my life like that.
But if pushing him away and walking out was the best thing to do, why did it hurt so much?
To be continued.