Dean's Straight Dick By: A. Cheshire Catt April 29, 2004 Email comments to: kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com
I was trying to think of the sort of costume the villain should be wearing in a story I already knew would never get finished. It always happens like that. I start a story that sounds really great but then the minute I doubt the flow of imagery in my head I may as well call it dead. But sometimes I refuse to believe it will die. So there I was, dressing in some jeans and tee-shirt and heading to the bus stop near my place.
It's a popular bus stop for government employees to wait for the bus during rush hour, evening rush hour, when the dust is blowing in a hot wind and the sun is barreling down the concrete ditch that is the Express Tunnel. I just happen to live near this place. I'm a writer, I write erotica, and sometimes the stories seem like they'll be really long but they never go far. I never go far with my writing. It takes me places. Like, here I was, on my way downtown to a big book store to find all the men's fashion magazines I could find, to pull from advertisements some imagery to put in a story.
I was waiting there and waiting there when a bus pulled up that wasn't going as far as I wanted to go. It was only going two stops or so. I was simply glad I didn't throw out my cigarette, I still had time to smoke some more of it.
The bus was about to pull out when it jerked again to a stop and someone got off the back. A young man descended and made eye contact with me immediately. "Holy shit," he hollered, rather embarrassingly over the din of middle-aged women and their gossip, to their absolute horror, "I thought it was you. Fuck, it's been a long time buddy."
His name is Dean. Dean is an old friend. Not like a friend that I see all the time and I have known for ages and ages. Dean is someone I knew for about six months about three years before this. He's the sort of friend that makes one-night stands seem like relationships. One must understand, as he approached me in that dusty, windy, trap of steel and glass, all I could think about was the fact that I have fantasized about him for a long time since I last saw him. But I'll get into why in a second.
"How the fuck have you been little dude?"
"Pretty well, and yourself?"
He seemed to ignore the question, "Fuck, man, I miss you man, I've thought a lot about the way we used to see each other all the time and now we never even email each other, what's up with that?" Technically, I have his email address. Also, it blew my mind at this point that he even thought about me at all.
We did see each other a lot. He used to date my best friend. Crazy story: a cautionary tale about sex with friends and their boy friend's and how it ends up. Basically, after a long, heated affair with my best friend and her boyfriend, he'd ended up breaking up with her, and for reasons which appeared to be relevant at the time, it was logical that I would back his side of the story over hers. Essentially, she became a bitch, and being a ridiculously gay man, I had no desire to know her anymore, and yet he was super cool and he deserved such a better woman than her. I encouraged him to break up with my best friend. After a summer of sex, drugs and booze in a cabin in the middle of nowhere it was a harsh ending. It was as if we'd all been kicked out of Eden. Besides a few emails scattered over the years, none of knew what happened to the other outside of that fabled Eden. It was bound to happen though, us running into each other like this, it was only a matter of when and where.
"What the fuck have you been up to lately dude?"
"Not much, been writing erotica for a web-site and stuff, the research is a pain in the ass, you know what I mean."
"Erotica eh, that's hot. I'm still working here," he said, referring to the government. "I live with a stripper over on the other side of the bridge, she's fucking hot, and her friends, they're super hot too. Lots of drugs obviously, and lots of parties to go to all the time."
I'll admit, I was slightly jealous. He still had that lifestyle that seemed a bit over the top, superfluous or something. Larger than life, that's what he seemed to be. I used to be at the same caliber as he, but now I live so quietly, with dinner parties and art openings and regular nights at the bar and foreign films and stuff. We had different agendas now, but the one he had still appealed to me (in theory, or at least at that moment). But this jealousy as powerful, nonetheless, and at that moment a gust of wind blew up. I had been looking into his eyes, icy blue and smiling and happy, if not a little red from staring at the computer all day, but then with this gust of wind there came a wall of dust and I let my eyes fall, weighed with jealousy, a little lower than would normally have been acceptable in a social situation between old friends.
And there it was. First of all, let me describe something. He's a bit shorter than me, but not all that much, so he probably like five, eleven, or so, whereas I am a tall, scrawny six, one. He's bulkier with muscles than me. I remember him naked. His shoulders are fantastic, his ass is smooth and hairless, and round as a young boy's. He's so well proportioned that he easily is one of the most attractive men I have ever known in person, and yet he doesn't really know it. It's not a conventional beauty, it's a natural balance of muscles, curves and height. He's blonde, and he's got this strange goatee that grips the end of his chin rather precariously. The goatee is new since I used to know him, but must be rather old for him so I don't mention it. He's wearing a mustard yellow, silk shirt, it's rather loose and billowing and as there is a couple of buttons unfastened at the top I can see that he has shaved his chest recently. Something about the way his shirt tosses itself around his chest I can tell he's probably been working out a bit. He's also wearing black pants, black suit pants, they look nice on him. I'm used to him wearing grubby shorts and no tee-shirt at a cabin in the middle of nowhere, needing a shave and a shower and a drink and a joint. This scene is somewhat new for me. And, absolutely crucial to the understanding of something is, I can not resist a man in a suit. Technically this isn't even a suit, I'm aware of that, but patent leather shoes poked out from the cuffs of the smooth black suit pants and there -- there it was. I could see it in there, his cock was bulging like a secret that wasn't too well hidden.
Have you ever heard or seen that joke about the dull parent who wraps the dog, that is a Christmas present, so obviously that the gift could be nothing else but a mutt? I have seen his cock before, and I have thought about very few other cocks since seeing it. It was a straight man's cock, having dipped itself exclusively into the vagina and anus and lips of the hottest strippers this city has to offer (oh, and that other woman too). It was also a perfect cock. About seven and half inches long, give or take, and it had been circumcised. It had a great girth, not massive, but perfect. As I accidentally caught sight of it wrapped so obviously in the smooth black pants so as to make me think that it could be nothing else but that cock, which had for so long made me hard, henceforth, I became hard.
The wind died down.
Suddenly I couldn't hear him anymore. He was going on and on about bars and parties and things that he's been to, drugs he's been on, connections that he has, but all I could hear was the squeak of an ancient sofa. The sofa which had been loaded with weight of a man sitting there, with a girl being skewered on his cock while I came up behind to thrust myself into her anally. I could see only his face in the light of a lantern while he fucked her as he smoked a cigarette, and I thought of myself looking at him, thinking of myself fucking him, while smoking a cigarette. Fucking her rougher and rougher, each thrust hoping to come in contact with his cock.
"Hey man, you alright?"
"Yah, sorry, I got distracted."
"Did you hear me though man, I gotta piss."
"Oh, uh, I live right up there, actually you can see it from here."
"No way, that's super cool, I should come over some time to see it I guess."
I thought about it, without malice or viscous intentions in mind, just being a good Samaritan about it, and said, "Well, do you have far to go, I'm not really in any sort of a hurry, you could come by now, we'll kill two birds with one stone."
"You want smoke a joint too, for old time's sake?"
"Sure, I may even have some gin laying around."
"Cool."
And it was decided. With the prospect of having a drink my mind relaxed. I wasn't so much all about sex with an old friend as I was more about just catching up. I went into more detail about the path that I took to get to this apartment, that bus stop in this day in particular and at that time. He laughed, he loved the way I told a story right from the beginning of our friendship.
"You know," he finally said, as we walked through a park across the street from my building, "you're the only gay guy I ever really became friends with because you're just so cool. You're so open about every conversation going. I like you man, it's been so long."
And on that note, rather nostalgically I thrust upon a cordial, "Too long."
We laughed. Like two gentlemen from some strange dimension where old men grow young and we were older friends than can be imagined here on earth, we walked to my place with high spirits, as if were cousins reunited.
We got into my place and I gave him the "grand" tour, which is a rather pathetically inflated way of putting it. Though it is a nice building and my flat is about 800 square feet, I own practically nothing. A lot of books, a computer, a coffee table or two and as many chairs, and a radio, that's what I have in my house. There is no television for example. This makes it very awkward to entertain.
He didn't care though. He loved it. And it was on the sheltered side of the building so there was no sun, and it was cool in the afternoon. I had the doors and windows flung open to grab as much of the afternoon air as possible.
He rolled a joint at the coffee table I'd picked up for a few bucks at a garage sale down the road while I told him about some of the topics my stories were about. I told him about the one that had sent me downtown. These were stories about incest, piss and shit. Rape was a topic I loved and all that stuff. I told him, because I'd been recently thinking about the sex that we'd had with his girlfriend, my old friend, I'd been curious about bisexual stories and had started writing them. He loved that I was doing that.
"You'll have to send me some sometime."
I gave him the website information.
We smoked the joint and drank our gin with pride. This was how it had started, I reminded him. One evening the three of us had drank far too much and smoked too quickly. We'd been painting their new house and since there was no furniture in it we decided to throw the air mattresses into one square and sleep like kids in a row. She'd been in the middle, and she started to confess how she'd had the craving to be doubly penetrated. Dean was totally willing to please his girlfriend. I wasn't allowed to touch him though. I had also wanted to have sex with a woman, I had never done that before and it was something that, with the opportunity presenting itself, I decided to use to my benefit. That night, under the blankets, we'd done it very sleepily. A few weeks later, at the cabin, with a lot more drugs and a lot more booze into us, and a lot more summer heat pouring through the windows, we got it on more than any seventies porn star could have imagined. It was the hottest, most debauched season of my life. Fucking up and down and all over the place, blow jobs, hand jobs, anal, vaginal, cum, piss, sweat, smoke and gin.
"To gin," we toasted.
After a couple of glasses and the urge for the second joint building in us, I suddenly noticed that bulge in his pants again. When I noticed it I became uncomfortable. I think that was noticed because I almost instantly shut up. He took this as a sign that we needed another joint. I wasn't sure if I could handle it but I said, "Whatever fuck, just roll it, I'm sure it will end up getting smoked."
We laughed, and he said, "That's the Dude I used to know."
"So," I said in a casual nature, "after all that had happened that summer did you ever have a threesome with another guy involved."
"Nah, like I told you, I never really got to know any other gay guy like I did with you. I've met some at parties but they don't look twice at me, nor do I look at them, but I mean, we were always buddies first and foremost anyway."
"True enough."
"Have you ever had sex with another woman?"
"God no, I have enough problems with men, how could I deal with a whole other gender? She was fun, but as far as I'm concerned my sex life with women is done."
He shook his cock in his pants.
"Hey man, did you ever go to the washroom?"
"No, I just realized that. I've totally gotta go."
"It's right over," I pointed to a door that was in plain view.
When the joint was finished he jumped up and went over to the washroom, opened the door and threw open his dress pants. Within half a second I heard the drilling, splashing sound of his hot piss pounding into the bowl. Yes, I sneaked a peak. I leaned over and tried to see him. All I saw was his ass, the muscles flexing as he squeezed out the last bit. He stood there for a second.
Suddenly he opened the door, I turned my head quickly but it was obvious I had been watching. I felt horrible. I laughed even, it seemed so stupid that I was being reduced to some sniveling adolescent behavior over this one cock in particular. A cock's a cock, there's not much more to it. But it was his. It was straight. It was gorgeous. It was one that I had never had. I'd been teased by it. I'd been taunted by dreams of it. All I wanted was to wrap my mouth around it and have it, him in my mouth, have him see that I could suck a cock better than any stripper. I knew that I wouldn't bother him too much if I just asked him and let him cum in my mouth, but I couldn't ask him. How do you ask someone? I couldn't.
I turned around.
There he was standing there, two feet behind me, with his cock handing out of the fly of his pants. My boner nearly burst, from a sagging, limp position, bunched up in my boxers, to a steel rod lethal enough to bring down King Kong.
He looked so hot, nervous too, nervous of exposure. Obviously he was exposed, his cock was hanging out, but he would be ostracized for certain if his friends knew about this. That's what he said, "My friend Karl would kill me if he knew what I was doing right now."
"I'll never meet him, even if I do, I probably won't remember his name or care."
"I figure you're just like an ex or something, and it feels great to be with you again."
"That's so cool."
"Remember that night," he said, "when we were both dosing on K or E at the cabin?"
"I think it was actually K."
"Yes, and She'd gone to bed and we were out on the porch at like three in the morning. We were jerking off beside each other? Do you remember that?"
"Yes," I said. Did I? Did I ever. I'd been the one that night, I couldn't stand it anymore, I would have fucked anything that had bent over in front of me. I had to do something about it. I pulled out my cock, lit a cigarette and just started going at it. Feeling uncomfortable at first, he'd gone around picking up this and that and moving it all here and there (not really doing anything but rearranging the mess), and then at last he'd sat down in front of me, lit his own cigarette and said that he couldn't take it anymore and pulled out his and started stroking it. Neither of us blew our load. I was too stoned, he was too freaked out.
"That night I kept hoping you'd ask to suck on my cock. That was a weekend where I knew I was going to break up with her and I just wanted to have a friendly fuck. I just wanted to remember how nice it could feel to enjoy it all. I knew you would have but I didn't think you'd understand."
"Of course I would have understood."
His cock grew somewhat flaccid but it was still hard, or inflated.
"Let's smoke this joint first," I said.
"Oh, fuck, let's smoke it while we do it."
It was agreed then. I was going to suck his cock. I hadn't actually heard him ask, but then again, straight men ask these things in the strangest ways and in that way straight men are more like women. But instantly I was the nervous one and I don't know why. Whereas I could only stare at the dreamy cock while it had been hidden, now I seemed to avoid looking at it at all while he was practically shoving it in my face, offering it to my mouth for the taking.
I got up, pretending to look for a lighter to light the joint. I went about the room in a frenzy of confusion, lifting papers and moving books but not being able to see anything but -- well, not seeing anything at all.
He was like, "Ah, come on, don't leave me like this."
"I'm not, I'm just looking for a lighter."
"I've got one right here," he said, holding one, "bring it here."
It was almost like a trick. With a strange way of hesitating I brought him the joint and ended up standing so close is dick was stretching out to touch mine. He said, "Suck my cock dude. Just do it and we'll get it over with."
I got down on my knees and looked at the beast in the eye, it was still dripping piss. I touched it. It twitched in my hands. I shuddered, so did he, and I was about to put him in my mouth when I felt dizzy with the smell of the smoke from the joint he lit. Without much audible fanfare, but a glorified march playing in my head, I finally got to put Dean's dick in my mouth. I couldn't believe it. It smelled like he'd been working all day, sweating in his boxers and perhaps farted a few times too. It was so dirty but I thought only of it pounding into the juicy cunt of some whore from a bar downtown. I licked the head and felt it throbbing on my tongue. I couldn't even think. I was swimming in euphoric, chaotic bliss. Finally I put it all in mouth, the long shaft pulsating and sleek. He didn't take long to take control of the situation and buried it in my mouth with a swift thrust.
He moaned, which told me it must be good with him. So, with that, I assumed the roll of the boy-slut I used to be in washrooms sucking off business men in a hurry, and started sucking him off for all he was worth.
"Slow down dude, I've got time for this."
I pulled off and apologized, "Sorry dude, you make me so horny, I can't control myself."
"Let me sit down." He passed me the joint as he walked to a chair. I hauled off it as much my lungs could take. I downed the rest of my drink and slammed the glass on the table while he sat in the leather chair by the window.
"Suck my cock faggot."
"Yes sir."
I plunged onto it and started massaging it with a certain ferocity that suggested I wanted to satisfy any fantasy that might linger in his deepest sub-conscious of what it is to have a man suck his cock. I was trying to be as much a man as I had ever been. Far from being a woman, I wanted to be more man than most gay men ever dare to be. He took my head in his hands and worked it while he thrust his hips. I looked up to see he'd thrown his head back in ecstasy.
"This is fuckin' hot," he said. "You like my cock Dude?"
I grumbled an approval while he continued his thrusting.
Suddenly he was sat up and said, "I want to suck yours."
"What?"
"I don't know, I've never done it before. I mean, would you mind?"
"I guess not."
I sat back and pulled down my pants. My cock was longer than his, not as wide, but a good eight inches. He didn't look that interested in it at first, and it seemed he was dealing with a lot of nervousness while he lowered himself to the floor, onto his hands and knees.
I held it up straight for him to analyze. He shut his eyes really tight and with a great breath his gulped it in, like a disgusting morsel of meat for the vegetarian. Slowly he got used to it though. He wasn't really a pro, but he was Dean, he was sucking my cock. I wanted to blow my load right there and then, in his mouth, but I knew he'd throw up and I didn't want that, not on my carpet anyway. I restrained myself with great effort.
I said, "This is so hot dude."
He mumbled something.
"Can I fuck you now," he said suddenly sitting up.
I wasn't expecting that either. I don't usually bottom for anyone. But his cock was everything at that moment. I felt like I wanted to be used for his pleasure, which was how I deriving my pleasure.
"Um, yah, let me suck your cock and get it good and wet, okay?"
"I know to fuck an ass," he said.
"A woman's ass is different than ours. You have to be gentle, okay?"
"Sure," he said, "just suck my dick before I sober up."
Without any delay I bent over him and sucked him sloppily. When he was all spit and pre-cum, I threw myself into a doggy position and waited for him to mount me. I felt him start into me slowly, I loved this part of sodomy, but when he was going to push in I felt a wave of nervousness, he was a wide boy, he was going to hurt going in. I was about to tell him to take it easy when he suddenly thrust himself in. I jumped up onto my knees and told him that fucking hurt, but then it didn't and he started to pound my ass like a woman's.
"Fucking bitch, take my dick like a man," he cursed.
I reminded myself that was all I wanted to do anyway so I let him pound me harder and harder, even to the point that thought I was going to pass out with ecstasy. He slapped my ass, he thrust long and slow.
I told him to pull out before he came. I wanted to swallow his cum.
He seemed confused. He told me women never want to swallow it. I told him that was the difference between women and gay men, we like that sort of thing that a man can make. Also, we're more efficient when it comes to the clean up.
He laughed.
He fucked me a little longer, just till I was breaking out in a sweat all over my body, all the while he'd stayed in his pants and I thought of them as suit pants which made me think of the business men that used to fuck me.
He said, "I'm going to cum man."
I pulled off him and stuck his ass-wreaking cock in my mouth to suck the juices out. All the while I jerked myself until he finally came all over my mouth, down my throat, down my chin, it was a huge load.
My cum splashed all over the carpet to my dismay.
Afterwards we smoked a joint and pretended everything which had just happened didn't. We didn't make eye contact and then suddenly I was showing him the door and he made promises to e-mail.
I wrote this the instant the door shut, forgetting all about the outfit a villain in a doomed story would be wearing.