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NICE GUY
Ding dong.
Before I even have the door open, I hear the kid across the landing saying, "Sorry to bug ya, but I just wasn't sure if this is okay." As soon as I see him, he spreads out his arms and does a 360 for me. I tell the kid he looks perfect. Kid. As if he's still some little rugrat. Isn't he in college by now? The little shit knows he looks great in the tux, but his mom's pulling another double-shift tonight so there's no one else to give his ego the stroking it needs before he goes on his big date. If the kid wants his ego stroked, I'm glad to oblige. I'll stroke anything of his he wants me to stroke. After all, I'm a nice guy.
"So tonight's the big night," I say. He nods and gives me the goofiest smile a guy can give. We both know I'm talking about the limo ride home, not the dance. This kid's been telling me about his girlfriends since he started dating back when he was around fourteen. He'd tell me about some action movie he took a girl to and I'd ask if she sucked him off. He told me about surfing with a girlfriend and I asked if he got sand between his teeth while eating out her pussy. He used to get shocked speechless every time, but I could tell he dug it. So when I asked if this girl had given him a rusty trombone yet he just laughed. He didn't know what it meant but he knew it was nasty. (By now I'm sure he's looked it up. Maybe he even whacked off when he learned what it is.) He's my straight man – literally – setting me up for one easy lame joke after another. But we both know he's still a virgin.
Not after this night though.
The kid is determined he's getting blown tonight. He assures us that "Becca is the best." My buddies are here so they get to hear the kid's hype too. They came over to watch the series but by now most eyes and ears are on the kid. He's so cocky. And so fucking hot in that tux.
Flynn's just like me. He isn't letting the kid get away with just saying these things. Flynn says, "Oh, so you and Becca – she swallow your sausage before?" The kid says not exactly, but --
Haydon says, "So she hasn't sucked out the cream from your Twinkie?" The kid laughs and shakes his head. "No, but –"
"She hasn't gobbled your goop?"
Again he laughs. "No, but – "
Turns out she hasn't given him a knob job, hummed him a tune, or blown his whistle.
Back to Flynn: "Kid, have you ever been sucked off?"
The kid's been laughing so hard at my friends' remarks, he's taken off-guard by the question. "Uh..." It's obvious the answer is "no" but this kid hasn't had time to come up with a lie.
Flynn doesn't let up. He wants to know if the kid hasn't ever had a blowjob before, how he can be so sure this Becca is the best. The kid hems and haws and his answer finally comes down to a weak "Everyone says she is." Just looking at the kid's face, you can tell he's aware how lame that sounds. Poor guy. He comes in here all proud in his perfectly fitting tuxedo and now he's embarrassed and nervous, with the embarrassed/nervous bulge between his legs to show for it.
Flynn suggests that maybe the kid should have a basis for comparison. And I suppose Flynn is going to offer himself up for the job. As in blowjob. As in the kid's first blowjob. Flynn tells the kid the world's best is in this very room and now I'm pissed. Flynn is claiming he's better at sucking off a dude than I am? I'm just about to deck him when Flynn points to me and says to the kid, "Dash is your man. No one takes a load like Dash." And all my buddies drinking my beer and eating my chips and watching my TV? All these guys I've blown at one time or another? God love `em, they nod. Choruses of "Dash is your guy" and "That's the dude" and "No one better." I'm so touched I actually blush. Sweet guys, my friends.
The kid looks between Flynn and me. "But... but I'm not, you know..." I know, but I want him to say it. The kid looks around, trying not to offend any of us, but needing to be honest. "It's just that... I'm not gay," he finally says.
I merely look at him. I don't have to say anything. Flynn does my talking for me. Flynn feeds the kid the usual bull. Just `cause a guy lets another guy blow him doesn't make him gay. A mouth's a mouth, his dick doesn't care. He can close his eyes and pretend it's whoever he wants it to be if that'll make it more enjoyable for him. It's not like he's blowing someone himself. Or taking a dick up the ass. Flynn says it's just that he would hate for the kid to make a mess of things with this Becca chick simply because the kid didn't know what the fuck he was doing. After all, if Becca is really the best, she wouldn't want to waste her time with an amateur.
"Unless you think Becca can't handle the competition." It's trash talk before a big match, with the whole room on Flynn's (and my) side, whooping and chanting: "Pus-sy! Pus-sy! Pus-sy!" The kid is alone standing up for Becca's honor. The way Flynn's framed it, the only way the kid can defend his girlfriend's title as world's best fellator is to let me blow him first. The kid looks at me, almost apologetic. "I guess," he says. "I mean, if you don't mind, Dash. Do you?"
Somehow – God knows how – I manage to look bored and merely shrug. Geez, I should have been an actor. The kid and I, we're standing in front of the TV. Not that anyone cares what's on the flat screen. We're the show now. The kid reaches for his zipper then backs off, like maybe he's doing something wrong. Like there's a wrong way to take your dick out for someone to suck it. I nod. He unzips, all self-conscious and embarrassed, and reaches in and pulls it out. Six inches of my favorite shade of pink with, just barely visible under the surface, a thick blue vein. Nice.
My work begins. (As if this can be called work.) Sniffing, fondling, licking, slurping... It's not long before I'm lost in my own little world of smells and tastes and sensations. Talk about flavorful. A glimpse at his face with his closed eyes tells me the kid's lost in a world of his own, too.
Then this nice guy gets an idea. I pull away from him. "Take off your pants," I say. He opens his eyes. Did he hear me right? I tell him I don't want to make a mess. It helps that I have a long string of saliva hanging from my mouth as I say this. He looks from my dripping mouth to his dripping member, but still he hesitates. Does he really want to get a cum stain on his pants before his date, I ask? Really? He gives that a thought, looks back toward the door for a fraction of a second, bites his lip, hesitates and then slowly unhitches his pants. His uncertainty fighting with his desire is a beautiful, slow-motion play. He steps out of his shoes and drops his drawers. Flynn moves the pants and shorts out of the way, being sure to maintain the crease in the pants.
Happy face.
Again the kid closes his eyes. And again I go to work, only this time my hands have full access to his inner thighs and heavy balls and smooth abdomen. Fuck, I love athletic types. All those taut, firm muscles. The soft pubes. That funky man smell fighting its way through the fresh soap. Ivory, I think. These guys, they're just so responsive to every little touch. The kid, he moans. Sorry, I don't know how to put on paper exactly what that sounds like. You'll just have to trust me it's fan-fucking-tastic. The kid's hands caress his own belly, pulling the shirt and jacket out of the way to do so.
My lips and tongue envelop and explore his entire penis. Between my touching him and his touching himself, it isn't long before he's breathing hard, his head bobbing up and down. With both hands, I reach up and tease his nipples through his shirt and blammo! A faucet of cum gushes out and I struggle to keep up. The kid's bucking forward, tugging at my head, trying to pull me off, but that's not going to happen. His cock head is super sensitive and every lick of my tongue is more than he can bear, but his pulling out is more than I could bear so I hold on tight. My cheeks are swelling with his load that tastes like pineapple.
I don't know how long this goes on, but eventually nothing more comes out. My tongue parts his pee slit feeling around for the dregs. He twitches and shivers, but he's done. I check my chin with my finger: I didn't miss a drop. His cock has a little saliva left on it – or cum – so I clean it up with my tongue. And this kid, this young neighbor of mine, he's panting harder than I am.
He opens his eyes. "Now," I say, licking my lips, "now you'll have something to compare her to."
"Yeah," says the kid. "...I guess so." Who can tell if he notices all the other cocks out and my buddies touching themselves? They're saying that was great. Hot, man, hot. All kinds of shit. The kid, all he wants is to get out of here. He pulls on his pants and he's out the door. Since he only lives across the landing, it's not like he has far to go. We all hear his front door slam behind him. And then Ryan, the clown, says no one set the dvr so we've missed part of the game. Yeah, we couldn't believe he cared either.
Six hours later.
The game's been over for hours, but the guys haven't left yet. All of us are waiting to hear the kid's verdict: has the bitch Becca taken my place as the best cock mouth in town? The whole thing is both aggravating and humiliating – and kind of comical. Forget all my years of sucking dick, or the gallons of cum I've swallowed and bathed in (the secret to my great skin, by the way. Screw Botox). Forget all the speeding tickets I've sucked my way out of. Forget the secret to the 4.0 GPA I maintained from eighth grade through college. That stuff doesn't mean anything right now. Right now my entire reputation depends on the opinion of some straight boy who's cheated on his right hand for the first time in his life.
It's two a.m. On one screen we're watching replays from the game, but on the big screen we're watching a good Ukranian skin flick. Flynn says, "My my..." I look at the little screen wondering if I missed something in the baseball game. But then I notice Flynn's looking at my open front door. There, on the other side of the closed screen door, is the kid, just standing there. Really all we see is the top of his head above that tux he's got on. He's looking at the floor. Which can only mean one thing. Could victory be any sweeter? Well, yes. As a matter of fact, it can...
"Soooo?" says Flynn, opening the door. "The girlfriend live up to all the talk?" The kid shrugs, still looking at the floor as he enters. Chester or Hex, one of those guys, starts a chant: "Dash is the man! Dash is the man!" There's chest butting. A bowl of popcorn is tossed in the air. A couple of these drunk bastards shake beers then pop the lids, blowing suds everywhere. I should care they're making a mess but my mind's on the kid. Ryan pulls out his hard cock and waves it at me. Thanks, but that's not the cock I want right now.
Flynn isn't a total dick to the kid. He can see the kid's disappointment. "Hey, hey, hey!" he says, indicating for the other guys to shut the fuck up. "She didn't do it, did she?" he says, serious. Then, pissed off: "The cunt! She let you go home with blue balls? Fuck her!" We're all in agreement that that's just not right.
But the kid tells us we got it all wrong. The Becca chick did put out. She did suck him off. She was even okay at it. Even good he guesses. In the words of the kid: "Just not... you know." He doesn't look at any of us as he says it.
Flynn flashes that degenerate grin of his. He says to me, "So, Dash, are you going to let this kid go home with that disappointment the last thing he remembers from the night? I mean, he's basically said you're the only one here who can help him out." And still the kid doesn't look up.
I keep my mouth shut for a long time before finally saying I'll send him home with a smile on his face. For the first time the kid looks at me. "You... will?"
Sure. I'm a nice guy. Doesn't he know that by now?
We're standing where we stood the first time: right by the big coffee table in front of the TV. The guys on the sofas and chairs surround us on three sides. Head down, not able to meet any of our eyes, the kid waits for me to take charge and I can't resist. I tell him to take off the pants. And the shirt and jacket, too. Only I don't put it that way. What I say is a single word: "Strip." He looks up. It's a silent plea: do I have to?
"You'll wrinkle your shirt and jacket." I'm banking on the kid being so horny he doesn't realize the time to worry about the shirt and jacket is past. Any halfway decent tux rental joint expects prom clothes to come back covered in jizz. The cleanup is worked into the rental price. If he doesn't realize nobody gives a shit any more about how the tuxedo looks, he's mine. And every one of the dudes in this room knows it.
I just look at him. No smile. No please. No getting on my knees. I just stand there, in my jeans and button down, fully dressed, waiting for him to take off his clothes.
No one breathes. No one moves. The kid looks at me with those big watery eyes. Someone's muted the movie.
Finally, he lifts his hand to his tie. Slowly, uncomfortably, he loosens it and takes it off. Next he undoes his shirt, each button a struggle for his shaking fingers. He gets no help from any of us. Let him fumble. We just watch. Still no one talks. The jacket and shirt come off as one. The only sound is the slurping and sucking and moaning from the images on the big screen. Someone's turned on some sleazy 70s porn music. Or maybe that's all just in my head. The belt gets unbuckled. The pants drop. Finally the kid's shorts come off and he's left standing by himself, all flesh, just him and his shame and that fucking prick of his that's stretching for the ceiling.
Not smiling, and making a point to sound good and tough, I jerk my head toward his feet. "The socks," I say. He looks down and hesitates. They're the only articles of clothing left that keep him from being the one naked guy in this room full of clothed dudes. He swallows and inhales. He so wants to get sucked, but he so doesn't want to remove the socks because he knows what those socks mean. They're his last shred of dignity. And I don't want to merely take them; I want him to give them to me. Where's a silver platter when you need one?
Tick tock goes the clock. The room is dead quiet again. You could hear a pin hit the floor. Or a single sperm.
The silence is broken by the swick swick of somebody jerking, but the kid doesn't move. Someone sips a beer. The on-screen bottom moans. We hear a motorcycle speed through the alley behind my apartment.
And then...
The kid shifts. He slowly lifts a foot, stops, and then, even slower, reaches down with both hands – and voila – his dignity is mine. I leave him standing there. The straight boy. Naked down to his toenails in front of this group of horny and getting hornier gay beasts. All just to get a blowjob.
Christ, I am hard.
The kid closes his eyes and so I lower myself to my knees and begin. This time I'm in no hurry. Being sure not to touch him, I inhale. Thanks to the dancing the kid's been doing all night, that earlier soap smell is gone and it's just him down here right in front of my face. Sweat and young man and a little hint of cum left over from the warm-up bj Becca gave him. I finally let my tongue reach out for what it wants. Just the tip touches the top of his inner thigh where leg turns into scrotum, and the kid, it's like I hit him with a four by four: he lets out a puff of air and buckles forward. I don't let that stop me and the kid straightens up again. He hasn't trimmed down here, but it's not a mess. The hairs tickle my face just enough to arouse me further. They help retain the smells and flavors that make me want him all the more. I fit a ball in my mouth, then the second one, my nose exhaling directly onto the base of his twitching shaft.
The kid is lost in his own private world, tentatively touching his chest and sides. He keeps his hands away from me completely. I get it. How can he tell himself the person blowing him is a chick if he feels my oversized 1970s sideburns or my hard shoulders? I leave him to his fantasy. I'm enjoying reality.
After who knows how long, I gently push him back onto the coffee table. He opens his eyes, panicked. "It's okay, it's okay," I say. "This way you can relax better." He looks behind and sees nothing but the wooden coffee table. Reassured, he gradually lowers himself onto it. He's on his back, his legs spread. Naked. Has there ever been a better sight? Seriously.
Maybe his brain's not totally into this but his body sure is: his hard cock is leaking precum. My tongue works around his balls some more, outlining his sac, paying special attention to the underside. He lets loose with a whimper. We can all see him swallow, his eyes closed, his head leaning back.
My tongue flicks his hole. He squeezes his legs together, but I stop them. "Everybody's sensitive down there. No one's going inside." He looks at me, wanting so badly to believe me. Maintaining eye contact, I flick again with my tongue. His head jerks back. His eyes close. And his legs? They stop resisting and allow me to spread them out of the way.
By now, there's a gangbang going on in the porn on the big screen to my right. Or maybe it's just that every other guy in this room has his dick out and has started jacking. The slick slick, swick swick sounds are everywhere. The kid doesn't react to any of it. Or maybe he does. His cock sure is harder than when we started, if you can believe it. So is mine for that matter.
My tongue is a wheelbarrow, hauling saliva from my mouth to the kid's hole. I slather it and he moans. I slather again and this time I push in with my tongue. The kid just goes "UNNNNGGHHHhhhhh..."
I push my thumb in my mouth. It's dripping like my tongue was just a minute ago. I swirl it around the kid's asshole. I get it wet again and place the flat of my thumb against the entrance to heaven with just enough pressure. The kid looks at me. I hold up my thumb for him to see, get it wet and return it to the hole, just pressing on the outside but not entering. The kid closes his eyes and leans back, his mouth hanging open. I do it again. Lick. Wet. Press. This time the kid doesn't look at me, just breathes. So I do it a third time. Lick. Wet. Press. All he does is sigh. And even better, the gates of heaven loosen up. Beautiful. Just beautiful. If you ever get to heaven, you'll see what I mean.
The next time I press up against him, his eyes jerk open. I back off and again hold up my thumb for him to see. I give a little laugh and shake my head as in, "When are you going to trust me?" The kid, he actually gets an apologetic look on his face. Like he did something wrong worrying about what somebody was putting up his asshole. I lower my thumb back toward his hole and he closes his eyes.
My thumb goes back to work. Not the work of pressing against the kid's hole; the work of holding my cock steady while it presses against the kid's hole. The head just sits there pretending to be my thumb. The kid relaxes a little more. His asshole relaxes just that much more and my cock pushes in just that much more. I drip saliva onto it to lube it up. If I were to use bottled lube, the cold temperature would tip the kid off, so this is going to be lubeless. Just thinking about it gets me even nastier.
I'm pushing – slowly and gently, but I'm pushing. And the kid is accepting this. And then... I'm in heaven. The real place can't be better than this.
The kid jerks his head up. "Don't do that," he says. I apologize but tell him it's already done. He's trying to catch his breath. "Take it out. Now." He says this like he's some tough guy in control of the situation, but his voice is weak and thin and begging.
"If I take it out now," I say, pushing in a little more, "if I take it out now, this will all be a waste."
The kid's trying to breathe, trying to control the pain, trying to talk, trying to pay attention to me. It's too much for him to do all that. All I have to do is keep him talking and keep pushing and logic will go bye-bye.
The kid says "...what?"
I tell him he's come so far already. If he stops now, he'll always wonder "What if?"
"But... it... hurts..."
"I know, I know." I can sound soothing when I need to. "But that goes away. You'll see." I push in that much more...
"No... please..." Man, look at his face. Such exquisite anguish.
"How about this," I say. In a little more. "How about I keep pushing –" bigger shove this time "—and you just breathe." I tell him he's come so far he should just let me in all the way. This way he'll know for sure if getting fucked is for him. If not, fine. We'll both know. No harm, no foul. But if he walks away now, before he's taken my entire eight inches, how will he ever really know? He would go through the rest of his life wondering, maybe acting out at the wrong time with the wrong guy. I couldn't let him do that to himself. No, I'm looking out for him. It's for him I am doing this. Sacrificing myself by pushing my cock all the way up his sweet virgin ass just so he will know for sure if being fucked like a cheap cummy bitch is for him or not.
I don't think what I say matters. It's the tone of my voice that soothes him. As long as I talk, he doesn't. He doesn't have the strength to resist what is happening to his body let alone argue, so... I go further and further, until...
I look down and cannot see my cock any more. It's all hidden away in the boy's ass. In heaven, where it belongs.
The only sounds are the kid breathing and the slick slick slick of all my friends jerking off to the deflowering going on right in front of them.
"There you go," I say. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" The kid takes shallow breaths, just trying to get through this. I tell him now that I've gotten all the way in, I can pull out. But first he ought to see for himself what it looks like. I tilt up his hips and push forward. Despite his pain and fear and anxiety and regret, the kid can't help himself and looks toward his ass where my cock ought to be.
"Oh fuck..." he says. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..." I love the sound of panic.
I tell him to relax, I'm pulling it out.
"Please, please, please!"
"Oh, you want me to keep it in?" I push back in.
"No! No no no! Take it out, take it out!"
I laugh and say sure thing. I pull out an inch, then say, "But you ought to know..." leaning forward again as I say it and pushing myself back in that inch. His head rolls back. "Once I'm out," I say, pulling out as I say it, "there's no putting it back in," pushing it back in even as I say it. He moans. "Because I have feelings, too," I say. Two or three inches are out of him now. "And a guy has needs." I push back in. The kid rolls his head. I pull out again nice and slow and he groans. "Once I'm out, I'm out. And I don't go back where I'm not wanted." I push back in. He gulps down air. "If I take this out..." I pull out six of my eight inches, "you won't feel this—" I slowly push back in all six of the eight inches "—ever—" pull out again nice and slow "—ever—" push in again nice and slow "—ever—" pull out "—again." That last time isn't a gentle push – I shove it home with all I've got.
"Oh fuuuuuuck..." There's no panic in his voice this time. Not one little bit.
I bounce just a little and twist my hips.
"Oh god..." Funny isn't it? I'm the new arrival in heaven and he's the one calling out for the big guy.
The kid's started to play with his cock which isn't just oozing precum; that liquid gold is flowing.
"So I guess I pull out now." And that's what I do. "Say good-bye..."
I'm almost completely out of him. I can see the corona of my dick. Maybe I was wrong about the kid. Maybe he really doesn't want to get fucked. Maybe –
"...don't..."
I lean forward and ask him what he said. Oh yeah, when I lean forward? I push my cock all the way back in again. The kid hits notes fourth grade girls strain to reach.
"...don't," he swallows, nearly choking on his own saliva. Then, finally, just above a whisper: "Don't take it out."
"What is it you want? You want me to fuck you?"
He nods weakly, embarrassed by his need, but a nod's not good enough for me. I tell him I don't want anyone saying I tricked him into anything, so he has to say out loud exactly what he wants. I need to hear the words.
"...fuck me..." I can hear him just fine, but still it's a weak and quiet whisper. Somehow that isn't quite satisfying enough.
"I can't hear you," I say and start counting in my head. I reach 47 before he suddenly shouts: "KEEP YOUR DICK IN ME AND FUCK ME!" His outburst shocks all of us, even himself I think.
"Well, okay," I say, "if that's what you want." I grind into him a couple more times while finally unbuttoning my shirt. I toss it aside. I think subconsciously I kept it on all this time just so I could do the whole "shirt removing while fucking routine."
"But if I fuck you," I ask him, "what's in it for me?"
The kid looks at me not understanding.
I pump and pump while I talk and slide out of my jeans which were already down to my knees. "So you need to be fucked by me. Okay, I'll help out a friend. But I have needs too. What about when I need to fuck? Am I supposed to just sit around and wait for whenever you're ready to be fucked?"
Pump pump pump. Slick slick slick.
The kid jerks off with one hand and teases his mouth with the other. He tries to balance pleasure and logic with simple breath control but it's all too much. I yank out in one swift pull.
The kid begs: "No! Don't do that! No, please, put it back, please!"
I tell him I don't know. I say I'm afraid that after this taste of his sweet ass I may never be satisfied fucking anyone but him ever again. I tell him if I knew I could fuck him whenever I needed to fuck, then maybe I'd resume fucking him right now. He tells me I can fuck him whenever I want. I tell him that means I can call him any time day or night. He's fine with that, just put my dick back in his hole. I tell him when I text I expect him to come to me. Yes, yes, just put it back. Just fuck me. I tell him that's going to be once a day at least for the foreseeable future. He says that's exactly what he wants, just please please please fuck him again. I hold up my phone and tell him to smile big for the camera. The look he gives is better than a smile. I poise my cock over his hole and slap his balls with it. He whimpers. I tell him he can't ever let anyone else fuck him without my approval and that I'd know if someone did. (Yeah, it's bullshit because there's no way I could know, but the kid's too naive to realize this.) He agrees, giving me total control of his ass. Looking around at my friends, the jerking dozen, I tell the kid from now on I decide who fucks him and when. My friends lick their lips, anticipating their unexpected bounty. The kid says anything. Anything I want, just please fuck him now and never ever ever stop. Please. I look at him.
"You're my own little cock whore from now on, aren't you?"
He nods. "...yes..." Drool drips out his mouth. He lifts his hips and spreads his legs for me.
"Okay," I say, making this big concession. "Then I'll fuck you." And for the first time all night, I smile.
See? Didn't I say I'm a nice guy?
===============
All feedback is invited, so please share your reaction. Thanks.
Please check out my other stories found in the Prolific Authors section. Some are here:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/little-dude-series/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-hand
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-convertible
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/jockstrap
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/encounters/whisper
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/adult-youth/naughty-santa
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/encounters/party-guest