Stray
by Danny Nalgene
As I didn't have any decent porn, I'd raided my sister's collection of Christian Bale videos and hooked her tape of "Newsies." Beth used to let me borrow her tapes without any problem. Until I made the mistake of returning her copy of "Swing Kids" with some fresh cum smearing the sleeve.
It wasn't really my fault. I don't know what it is - I'm not a skinhead or nothing - but every time I see Christian Bale in those shorts he wears when he becomes a junior Nazi, I just wanna rape the dude's succulent ass. Sperm flew everywhere. Since then I've had to sneak out any videos I wanna see.
By the way, I'm Sean Bierce. I'm fourteen; my favorite food is Lucky Charms; and I have a hard time keeping it in my shorts.
My dick is never gonna choke a horse, but it's long and snaky, and dangerous-looking. When pumped, my shaft is nicely ripped, with a swirl of hard, bulging veins that pop up like the ones on those dudes in "Scanners" just before their heads explode. And it's topped with a nasty wedge-head that's the envy of all the skateboarder dudes I hang with. I shoot pretty quick the first time, but steel up again almost immediately, and then can hold off for a lot longer. And though I don't cum nearly as much the second time, I squirt with increased muzzle velocity. You should really check it out.
Anyway, I was watching "Newsies," and was just about to get in some serious jerk-time, when I heard a big truck pull up across the street. Not right across the street, but a couple of houses down.
I stopped stroking and tugged my shorts up over my swollen member. Christian could wait. Willing my cock to settle, I snagged my skateboard and hurried shirtless out of the house.
Rounding the big hedge that screens our driveway from the street, I saw the truck - a U-Haul moving van. Hope twitched in my baggy shorts. The block was full of Alzhiemers. I prayed maybe some dude about my age was moving in.
I footed it out into the street for a better look. The house's front door stood wide open, and there were some cardboard boxes on the unmowed lawn, but nobody around. As I pretended to practice my skateboarding moves, I shot past the back of the truck, scoping the dim interior. Mostly furniture and shit. But tucked in among the jumble of boxes was a Burton snowboard and a dirt-encrusted mountain bike. A good sign. At least one of the crew was ambulatory and most-likely a young dude.
My cock sank when a girl who looked to be about sixteen came out and grabbed up the snowboard along with some other girl stuff. She was cute enough, with long, brown hair and even longer legs, but I wasn't interested. I'd later find out her name was Meg Miller. She watched me with more than passing curiosity. But then, girls are always trying to hook up with me. It's flattering and shit, but it's not what I want.
She eventually left, and then the dad appeared and ran a couple loads into the house, and I was about to give up and give Christian Bale a second chance.
Then I saw Meg's brother. He bounded out of the house and down the porch steps. The dude was seventeen and wiry, and at least a head taller than me. With a head full of shaggy, unkempt blond hair like mine. Also like me, his skin seemed to be vacuum-sealed over his taut muscle, so that the veins stood out in sharp definition. In fact, the dude looked a whole lot like me. Or like I hope I look in three years when I'm his age.
Though he wore an Alien Workshops knit beanie over his matted, unwashed hair, I didn't think he was a skateboarder dude, because we never wear long pants if we can help it, and baggy Levis dangled loosely from around the dude's hips. If you could call them hips. The dude's hips were so slight that a gentle tug would have slipped the jeans to his ankles - I wished.
Feebly concealing his spectacular torso, the dude wore a faded t-shirt with the word HAZ-MAT at the bottom, and a big, red, biohazard symbol in the middle. It must've been his favorite shirt, because the material had been washed to near transparency. Several substantial holes had worn through, giving me dork-hardening glimpses of his tight flesh, and the occasional flash of a hard nipple.
The dude had a light blond, barely-perceptible stubble on his chin and along his jaw, like he was trying to grow a beard but couldn't. And his face looked kind of sleepy, and a little grumpy, like somebody had just woke him from a dream in which he was about to get his skinny ass plowed by Matt Damon.
As he pulled himself up into the back of the truck, the dude glanced over at me - just for a lingering millisecond - but I know the dude liked what he saw. He couldn't help himself. The pair of Droors shorts I had jammed my ass into totally showed off the awesome curvature of my butt.
Dropping my skateboard at my feet, I stepped on, and started to put on a show for the dude. With fluid precision, I was executing every twitch-ass move I knew. The dude wasn't staring, but he did look up every so often.
Then the unexpected happened. The dude stopped what he was doing and watched fearlessly, no longer pretending to be busy sorting through boxes. As I've always tripped on being the center of attention, I was burning up the sidewalk. I could do no wrong. And it was right then that my board jumped up and speared me right in the nuts.
I dropped like I'd been whacked in a drive-by. The dude came over, not quite running, and grabbed my rogue skateboard to keep it from escaping down the sloping street. He walked back over to where I was writhing on the sidewalk.
"You all right?" the dude asked. "I saw the thing jump up and savage you in the balls. You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, not looking at him, flooded with embarrassment and stupid with white, blinding pain. "Just go away. I'm okay. Leave me alone."
But he didn't go away. The dude set his butt down beside me on the sidewalk and started talking. It wasn't a conversation - I was too out of it to carry my side - but just him yakking, telling a couple stupid stories about how he'd taken hits to the nuts. He even managed to get a couple sputtering laughs out of me, distracting me from my throbbing ball sac.
During all this, I was curled in a ball of agony, so the only parts of the dude visible to me were one of his lean legs, and one of his hands and its long, thin, powerful fingers. Even in the sorry state I was in, I couldn't help but imagine how wonderful the feel of his strong fingers would be as they groped my young dick.
Sometime during his monologue the dude let it be known that his name was Coy Miller. I latched onto that and just kept running the two words through my head like a soothing, mind-numbing mantra. CoyMillerCoyMillerCoyMiller.
As the pain dulled to become reasonably bearable, and I was at last able to sit up, I glanced up to find Coy's brilliant, RoboCop blue eyes looking me over. For a brief instant I watched his heartbeat in the faint tremble of his long, delicate eyelashes.
The moment ended too quickly as the dude's dad ducked out of the house and called Coy back to the work at hand. With a sweet, smirky grin and a jabbed half-wave, Coy left me, crossing back to his yard and into the house. Covering my swelling cock with the broad deck of my skateboard, I walked home. I'd hardly locked my bedroom door before I filled a sweat sock with spurts of my thick, warm cum.
That was the last time I talked to Coy for a couple weeks, though a day didn't go by when I didn't squirt thinking about him. Coy got busy with the cross-country team at school. With his Levis discarded for running shorts, his legs proved long and lank, his calves corded with rigid muscle. I'd see him running lean and shirtless through the neighborhood, with a glossy sheen of sweat, and sometimes he'd nod to me, but that was it. He was seventeen and I was fourteen and our lives didn't intersect much.
My sister quickly became best buds with his sister Meg, and started to spend a good chunk of time over at the Miller's. But I knew it wasn't just the delight of hanging out with Meg that was luring her over there; Beth was showing a definite lust for Coy. Though Beth knew I was into dudes, I kept my feelings for Coy a guarded secret. Not Beth. She was always talking about how cute Coy's butt was, and how tight his stomach was and shit like that. Beth would put on some of her hoochiest outfits whenever she'd go over to the Miller's - which was daily. And I have to confess she was looking hot. Shit, I was about half-ready to do her myself.
Then, after school one day, Beth rushed into my bedroom with a devilish look in her eye. "What?" I demanded, as she shut and locked the door. Taking a seat on my bed, Beth told me that Coy's sister had just confided in her. She'd told Beth that the girl was wasting her time if she was hoping for anything sweaty with Coy. It seems a few months back Meg had found some queer magazines in her brother's car. Being friends, she just had to tell her. Meg didn't know if Coy was actually doing it with dudes, she didn't have any evidence of it. But she knew Coy didn't date girls much, and that the ones he saw were more like buds than lovers.
My cock started bucking at just the idea that Coy might be into dudes. Beth knew it, and smiled slyly as I adjusted myself. Beth had suspected all along that I was hot for Coy, and though she'd been way disappointed by what Meg had told her, if she couldn't have the dude, she wanted me to have him. I pressed her as to whether she'd told Meg about me liking dudes, and she promised she hadn't. Thank god, I really didn't need that getting around school.
Beth and me spent a good couple of hours there in my room talking about Coy, and dudes in general, and what we like to do with them, which I'd never really done with Beth before, and it was cool. She seemed like more of a friend than ever before. She quizzed me on what I was going to do to score the dude's cock, but I had no idea - until she happened to mention that Coy had taken in several stray cats since he'd moved in - that the dude was a sucker for strays.
It was sprinkling as I left the house in the dark of early morning. I'd tossed in my cold bed, unable to sleep for the longest time. When I finally looked at my watch, it was just after three. Getting up and groping to my window in the dark, I could see that the light was on in Coy's second story window. I got dressed.
As I climbed into the monster tree outside Coy's window, it started to really piss down. Luckily, I'd thrown on a cap and my Patagonia jacket, so I managed to stay pretty toasty and dry.
Without any effort, I'd worked my way onto the limb that reached closest to Coy's window. Stretched out along the length of the stout limb like I was Jason Scott Lee in "The Jungle Book" or something, I watched Coy for a couple of minutes as he played "Duke Nuk'em" on his PC. I was getting into this stalker thing.
Shirtless, the dude was as smooth as a dolphin. A pair of tight, white, cotton briefs barely covered the wonderful curve of his fledgling ass. As he concentrated on the game, every-so-often Coy gave his covered cock a friendly stroke, gently tweaked a nipple, or slid his fingers lovingly along the side of his tight stomach.
It was a good show. I could've been happy pulling my rager out right there and covering the lawn gnome below me with ropes of cum - and for a moment my cock did leave my shorts. But I tucked it right back. Not tonight.
I unzipped my jacket and tossed it down to the ground. Dropped my fuzzy cap beside it. Dressed only in a thin t-shirt, shorts, and my favorite pair of Airwalks, I let the rain soak me. I let myself get good and miserable. Knifed by the cold wind, I even lost my hard-on. Unable to wait any longer, I stretched the several feet from the branch to the glass, and lightly tapped.
Coy flinched at the sound, and pulling on a pair of nylon running shorts, came over to the window. Unable to see through the glare, he opened the window and peered out into the dark.
"Who is it?" he whispered.
"It's me - Sean," I said. "From across the street."
"Are you nuts? What're you doing out in the rain?" said Coy.
"Can I come in, Coy? I'm dying out here, dude."
I didn't wait for an answer, but scrambled across the bobbing limb toward Coy and the lighted window. Latching onto Coy's strong bare arm and solid shoulder, I struggled to pull myself inside. "Man, your fingers are like ice, dude," complained Coy, guiding me through the tight opening.
Then, as I started to lose my hold on the rain-slick branch, Coy grabbed me in his secure grip, and hoisted me the rest of the way in.
Though I was hoping he'd never take his powerful hands off me, Coy temporarily propped me up against a bookshelf. Twisted to slam the window closed. When he turned back to me, his face was kind but questioning.
I looked away from him. "I've been walking around for hours. I didn't know where to go," I said, shivering uncontrollably. "My dad, when he gets hammered he..."
Though what I said was a lie, the rest wasn't an act at all. My whole body was quaking uncontrollably and my teeth were wildly chattering. "I'm sorry, I'm getting everything all wet," I stuttered.
"That's all right, dude," Coy said, putting his bony-fingered hand on my shoulder. "Everything's cool."
He tore the blanket off his bed and started roughly drying me like I was his big old sheep dog. It felt good as my skin reddened under his fierce, abrasive rubdown. Then he pulled back and studied me and the puddle I was making on the carpet. "On second thought, maybe it'd be better if we got you into the bathroom."
As I leaned on Coy for support, he walked me across the room to the bathroom. Though a second door opened into the bathroom from the hall, judging from the skanky state of the room, I rightly guessed it was his own private facility.
Pulling back the shower curtain, Coy sat me down on the edge of the tub. "A shower will warm you up," he said, and started to leave. Still shivering, I didn't make a move. He stalled at the door. "You need some help?"
I nodded. Coy slipped the blanket off my shoulders, letting it fall to the damp tiles. "You're gonna have to help me a little," he said. I raised my arms and Coy stripped the wet shirt off me and tossed it into the sink.
"This is very cool of you," I said. Coy shrugged it off, but it looked to me like the dude was getting off on the whole thing. I'd supplied the dude with another stray.
Dropping to sit on the tiled floor in front of me, Coy worked his long fingers to untie my wet laces. He then carefully slipped my water-logged black Airwalks off my freezing feet.
Like he had on the sidewalk, Coy kept up a soothing line of chatter. He made it clear that his parents were used to his being up all hours, and that they never bothered him in his corner of the house.
Coy tugged off my wet, clinging socks. With those off, I was as good as naked. The fine fabric of my saturated shorts clung to my balls, cock, and ass-crack like a second skin.
"I'll let you get the rest," said Coy, smiling, lightly slapping my cold-numbed leg as he started to get up. Coy wavered. His jaw clenched slightly. Seeing the bruise on my upper thigh for the first time, he crouched down in front of me.
"Your dad do that?" he asked quietly.
I nodded and broke eye contact, looking away. I'd gotten the ripe bruise that afternoon, slamming into the handrail of a wheelchair ramp while nosegrinding - a failed attempt to impress this half-Vietnamese karate dude I had sort of a crush on.
"Fucking bastard," said Coy.
I hated letting him think that shit about my dad, but there was no other way. Coy leaned in close to inspect the bruise, and I had a second chance to examine his anodized blue eyes. His eye-lashes were even longer than I remembered. The warm breath from his mouth brushed my skin. When he gently fingered my blued flesh, I flinched. Not at the pain - there was hardly any - but at the electricity of his touch.
Not saying anything more, the dude got up and turned on the shower. As he fiddled with the shower faucets, trying to adjust the temperature, I slipped off my shorts and my jockeys. I was now completely naked. My cock, which had shrunk down to nothing with all the cold and wet, was now coming to life. Though I wasn't about to let it get rock hard, I was starting to dangle a respectable four or five inches.
Coy still hadn't turned back to me. I was starting to wonder if he ever would. I stepped into the shower, just begging Coy to look at me.
"I think I've got it," said Coy, and he turned around.
Seeing me standing there naked caught the dude off guard, but he didn't look away. I stepped toward him into the warm spray, moaning audibly as the warm water hit and cascaded down my body. Coy looked me over. Watching the water slide over me, spill down my chest and flat belly, his lazy gawk drifted to my crotch and back up again.
"That's great," I said, and turned to let the spray warm my ass and legs. With my back to him, I knew Coy could more freely play his lingering gaze over my body.
I was amazed when I heard the door shut. "I'll get you some dry clothes," came Coy's voice from the other room. I spun around. I was alone in the room. Maybe Coy's sister was wrong.
As I was drying off, Coy knocked on the door and cracked it open just enough to hand me a change of clothes. I was disappointed to see that while I'd been in the shower Coy had slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats - baggy sweats that would more easily hide a stirring cock. I grabbed the fresh clothes Coy held out to me, but instead of shutting the door modestly, I pulled it wide and walked out into Coy's bedroom still toweling off.
As if we were in the locker room at school, I flaunted my naked body in front of the dude. There was no way he could look away. I teased the dude unmercifully as I finished drying in front of him. He pretended it was nothing, but I could tell Coy was uncomfortable, wanting desperately to look, but trying to maintain eye contact. Coy seemed relieved as I stepped into a pair of his ribbed boxerbriefs and tucked my cock out of sight.
As slim as Coy was, the long-legged briefs were still a couple of sizes too big for me - especially in the crotch, where the fabric had evidently been stretched out by Coy's substantial equipment.
"I guess I'll have to grow into these," I joked, inserting my fist down the front of the boxerbriefs to imitate his package and take up the slack in the cloth.
"You seem to be doing all right," said Coy with a knowing smile.
Encouraged by Coy's response, I set aside the "X-Files" t-shirt he'd given me to wear, and rudely grabbed the HAZ-MAT shirt from off a stack of shirts on his dresser. Coy started to protest, but bit his lip, and even smiled as I slipped the threadbare shirt over my head.
As I wiggled a pair of Coy's mesh shorts up over my juvenile ass, Coy got up from where he was seated on the bed, and came over beside me, turning us so that we both were looking into the full-length mirror.
"Look at you," he said, grinning, his arm draped loosely over my shoulder. "You look like a smaller me. Like I shrunk in the wash or something. It's weird. You could be my brother."
It was weird. The dude wasn't kidding. Standing there, side by side, we could've been brothers. But I didn't want to be his brother. I wanted something closer and more explosive than that.
Looking at him in the mirror, my eyes dropped to his crotch, and even with the baggy sweats on, I could tell his cock was on the move. Swinging my gaze back up to his reflected face, I caught him checking me out. Our eyes locked for a moment. The fucker knew he'd been caught. But he didn't say nothing. Just gave me a playful shove that nearly knocked me on my ass, and dug deep into his wicker dresser.
Coy produced a couple of joints and a box of Cocoa-Puffs, and we alternated hits of weed and handfuls of breakfast cereal. I don't know if it was the weed or the sugar, or some potent interaction between the two drugs, but Coy loosened up and we both started to get silly, wrestling and rolling around on his big bed.
Overpowering me, Coy spun me around, and laughed, hovering menacingly over me. My hand slipped and roughly cupped the crotch of his sweats. Coy giggled again, expecting me to quickly remove it. But I kept my hand there, feeling the heat. I stared into Coy's eyes, and he stared unflinchingly back. Satan's own smirk played across his face.
I tugged playfully on his elastic waistband. "I want to see you," I said. I wanted Coy to think he was in-charge, while giving him enough encouragement so that he didn't think he was raping a fourteen-year-old.
Coy hesitated, unsure of himself.
"I want to see you now, Coy." My voice was strong and unfaltering.
"Okay," said Coy, with great seriousness. Then giggled like he'd taken a hit of ether. "Yeah, Okay."
I lowered my hand and Coy climbed off the bed. As I sat up, brushing my hair out of my eyes, Coy took up a position several steps from the bed. He rolled a chair out of the way, making sure my view of him wasn't the least bit obstructed.
"You ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
Coy slipped out of his t-shirt, dropping it on the floor. Without taking his eyes from me, the dude slowly ran his knobby hand from the scoop of his throat, down his sleek, immature chest - pausing to swirl a scratchy fingertip around his left nipple - then brought his hand to a rest on his drum-head tight stomach.
The way the dude moved was like caffeine to me. He had a genetic grace. His moves weren't flashy like a striptease. No, it was so much cooler. Man, the dude's body screamed. Running crosscountry hadn't done his fuck-frame any damage. He looked trimmer and more fully crafted than the day I first met him. He was obviously proud of his dick-provoking body, and offered it up to me like a Scooby snack.
Coy kicked off his Nike Air Mocs and tugged his sweats off his candy ass, sliding them slowly down his excellent legs. My ass squirmed on the bed, and my quivering cock searched for a way out of my boxerbriefs. Any way out. One thing was certain, no longer was there any extra room left in my borrowed underwear.
For a moment, Coy stood there, dressed only in his jockeys, presenting himself to me. Hotter than any underwear model on a runway. I was tripping on the dude, watching as his monumental cock inched its way unceasingly towards his waistband. Every so often, Coy would have to pinch and pull at the material to allow for the path of his steadily advancing dork.
I wanted to rip his briefs from off of him, but I maintained, and pulled off the HAZ-MAT shirt I was wearing instead. If I couldn't strip him, I'd strip myself. Eager to match him, I slipped off the shorts he'd loaned me, and sat there in my bulging briefs. Coy grinned, and gave me a flicking glimpse of his serpent tongue.
It was his turn to tease me as the ripe seventeen-year-old cupped one hand to his ass and with the other brushed the straining fabric starkly outlining his enraged dork. He was an evil bastard, and knew exactly what he was doing to me - me, a poor, helpless child.
Coy laughed like a kid as he caught me unconsciously drooling, and stepped forward to wipe the dribble of clinging saliva off my chin. Standing there within my reach, he dropped his hand into his briefs and rubbed my spit over his dorkhead, mixing it with his seeping pre-cum.
"You got more of that?" asked Coy, reaching out his hand to my mouth.
"Plenty," I said. My mouth juice was flowing hungrily. I eagerly drooled a pool into his open hand and he slopped it onto his cock, stroking it on until the whole thing was glazed with my saliva.
"Me now," I said, and after jerking my boxerbriefs down, leaned back on my elbows to give the dude unrestricted access to my dick. "Slick me up."
First ridding himself completely of his underwear, Coy loomed over me. Cocking his head and loosing his jaw in a slack grin, Coy let the spittle flow. Cresting over his bottom lip, the drool surged from his mouth, and spilled glistening onto my naked cock. Adjusting his head, Coy precisely controlled the rush of the warm, watery liquid. As his saliva dripped and splattered along the shaft, my rigid cock twitched and bucked.
Grabbing my slick cock with his thin, calloused fingers, Coy worked the spit up and down the length of my flinching shaft. The feel of his strong, sure hands on my dork was better than I ever imagined.
I got to my feet as Coy grabbed both of our slippery dicks and mashed them together, forcing them to slide and grind against each other, and against our stomachs. My hands were free, so I reached around and groped Coy's back and ass. I was grabbing handfuls of the dude, leaving my fingerprints all over his writhing boy-flesh.
As Coy continued to enthusiastically thrash and weave our cocks together - as if trying to form them into one massive Frankenstein cock - I leaned in and snacked on the dude's tit. The nipple had constricted up all nice and tight, giving me a fleshy nub to greedily tongue and chew.
"Work my titty," Coy moaned. I did. I worked it good. And then the other one. And when it too was red and raw, I attacked his Adam's apple, and licked my way along the tender underside of his jawline.
Coy brushed his full, excited lips violently across my cheek. The light blond stubble that flecked his jaw and chin scratched my smooth skin. He slipped his tongue playfully into my ear, making me fidget, and I just as playfully punched him.
Coy jammed his lips - chapped and rough - to mine and we kissed. I'm not trying to make anything more of it than it was, but any two horny dudes can grope each other's ass and jerk each other's cock. But Coy and me kissed - me, a fourteen-year-old skateboarder punk, and him, a seventeen-year-old high school senior who could've dorked any girl he wanted. Like boyfriend and girlfriend, we kissed. I'm not saying which was which. His tongue burrowed like a tick in my mouth. And the dude had his own taste, a taste beyond the lingering molecules of Cocoa-Puffs and weed. And the dude tasted me back, greedily, like he couldn't get enough of me. I liked that. I liked that very much.
Eventually, I made the move and pulled away. For a moment more we remained connected by a microscopic thread of saliva. Then he spoke, and the thread was gone.
"I'm taking your cock now," said Coy. "Taking it in my mouth."
"Fucking do it," I said. I wanted that mouth and that demon tongue of his doing nasty shit to my dorkhead. Wanted it more than anything.
"You're a good kid, Sean," he said, running his hand affectionately through my hair.
"Suck my cock," I said.
Coy beamed, and flashed me a glimpse of his snaky tongue. "You got it, dude."
As he lowered himself excitedly to my dick, Coy trailed his coarse hands from my shoulders, dragging them gradually down my chest and torso, down to my hips, which he grabbed onto - solidly, like he owned me.
But I wasn't handing him the keys so fast. Gripping a couple fingers around the base of my shaft, I batted my wedge-headed cock repeatedly against his cheek and stubbled chin. Dragging my cock across his fresh face, I left a snail-trail of pre-cum before plugging it between his pouty lips.
His unrestrained tongue fondled my cock, gripping and probing every surface detail. Grappled and swirled and grappled again. I knew right away that I hadn't been the dude to deflower Coy's pretty mouth. The dude must've taken a scout troop of boy-cock down this throat to get that skilled. A scout troop? More like a whole Jamboree.
"I'm cumming, Coy," I said. "Where you want it, dude?"
Wanting it in the face, Coy quickly slipped his mouth off of me, but kept pumping me with his hand, and I shot off all over his smirk. I spasmed like I'd stuck a fork in the toaster, and kept jerking. Came like a Super-Soaker. I smeared him good, clearing my nut sac of a backlog of cum. When I was done, his face and neck looked like he'd lifted a spinning electric mixer from the frosting bowl.
I sloppily licked his cheek and chin, then overwhelmed his lips with mine, slipping him some of his own sperm.
Crawling over him, I snacked his cock until he shot hot gobs down my throat, and my stomach was swimming with colonies of his cum. We went at each other like fiends, sharing every inch of our squirming bodies without restriction. Nothing was off-limits. Cocks, tongues and fingers probed every hole, every slit. Saliva, cum and lube got smeared everywhere.
Coy couldn't get enough of my ass. Pumping his balls dry, he continued to concentrate his attention on my well-abused butt, kissing and tonguing and fingering my asshole, going so far as to lube up one of his Star Wars action figures - Boba Fett, complete with rocket-pack - and jerk it in and out of my ass. It didn't do much for me, but the dude seemed to be having the time of his life, so I didn't stop him.
As it started to get light outside, I got dressed, putting on Coy's HAZ-MAT shirt as a souvenir. Before I crawled back out the window, Coy groped my ass, kissed me, and assured me that any time I needed a place to spend the night, I was welcome in his bed.
That was a couple months ago, and Coy and me still go at each other like cock-slapping fiends. Everything's cool, except for my dad, who swears that Coy is always giving him looks like he wants to fucking kill him.