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The Clearing in the Woods, by Skorpio
Part Two: Coming Out Party
As soon as he got home, Brock took a hot, soapy shower to wash away the vile stench of piss before climbing under his soft, thousand thread-count Egyptian sheets, and falling asleep. It was a not a restful slumber. He tossed and turned, dreaming feverishly about Omar's enormous cock and what happened in the woods. The young black man's voice rumbled like thunder in his subconscious: "I knew you were a cock-suck-er... That's your job... sucking dick... you can get busy now... suck the dick... suck the dick... do your job, cock-suck-er..." Brock was lost in a nightmare continuum of darkness that seemed to go on forever, like falling down a tunnel from which there was no climbing back.
With a start, Brock bolted upright in bed. He checked his phone for the time. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. And there was a text from Omar: "where r u faggot?" Hastily, Brock texted back, "On my way." He dressed as fast as he could, but took a moment to select a lavender tee-shirt, remembering what Omar said about him needing to start dressing like a faggot. He slipped his bare feet into leather deck shoes with rawhide laces, grabbed his wallet, and was out the door. It was a twenty minute walk from his apartment complex to the liquor store, so he trotted along, and got there slightly out of breath.
The two cases of beer were too heavy to lug to the clearing at the same time, so Brock toted them one at a time to the opening in the woods. His heart was pounding. Suddenly, he remembered the carton of cigarettes Omar insisted on. That meant running back to the liquor store, swiping the ATM for cash, and racing back with the smokes. It was another sizzler of a day. Sweat trickled down Brock's back. Forty-five minutes had passed since he woke. It was almost five o'clock. He knew Omar had to be pissed. Coming out to the others was going to be hard. But Brock knew he had to do it. Because Omar told him to. Because it was the only way Brock would be allowed to suck their cocks. Because Brock craved cunt-fucking cocks.
Brock entered the clearing carrying a case of beer under his arm. Then he disappeared back down the path for a minute and returned with the second case. Omar said, "Glad you could make it!" Sitting around the clearing in a circle of crates and lawn furniture were not only Buddy, Sonny, and Frank, but two strangers as well. They were two young black guys, sitting on either side of Omar. Shirtless with buff physiques. One was reddish brown, and built like quarterback. The other was tall and rangy like a point guard, with flawless dark-golden skin.
"Omar said you would show," said Buddy, shaking Brock's hand which went soft and limp in the young man's grip. "And you brought lots of beer. That's totally cool, dude." The boyish redhead introduced the two strangers to Brock. The muscular one was Mike. The tall basketball player was Lebron. Brock offered his hand in greeting, but they simply regarded him with cold disdain.
Putting off the inevitable, Brock produced the carton of Newports, and told the crew to help themselves. He even had Bic lighters for everyone because at the liquor store something told him to buy extra. It was like he had an instinct for being useful to men. Maybe the same instinct that enabled his jaw and throat to accommodate Omar's huge cock without ever sucking cock before. Buddy and Sonny gladly thanked Brock for treating all of them. He was a cool dude, and all that. But the black guys were strangely distant, and Frank was squinting at Brock as if he had something he needed to say.
"I don't get it," said Frank. "Beer, cigs, lighters? Why are you being so good to us, dude? It's cool, but what's your angle. Are you, like, a professional party planner dude or somethin?"
"Yeah," said Buddy. "I was wondering about that myself. You aren't a cop, are you?"
Omar spoke up: "He is undercover, but not like you think. Brock wants to tell y'all something. Last night we hung out after you cats split, and got to know each other real deep. Brock told me some stuff about himself. It's a secret he's been keeping, but he knows that's wrong. Friends don't keep secrets, and we took him in like a friend. We trusted him. So now he wants to get it out in the open."
"What's your secret?" inquired Frank, looking more dubious than before.
"Tell them," said Omar. "And remember to talk like you're supposed to. You can do this."
All eyes were riveted upon him. Brock took a swig of beer, and then two more before he could speak. His difficult confession trickled out with a quivering lisp that grew more pronounced as he went on.
"I'm not what... you... think I am," he began, fumbling for words, looking down at the ground. "I was... pretending... I'm... I'm not... straight... I'm a cock-thucker... I'm thorry for lying to you..."
"You're a queer?" demanded Frank.
"Yeth, thirr," Brock simpered, hanging his head. His face was bright red with shame. He felt like crying. But he had to do this. It was Omar wanted.
Said Frank: "And you suck cock?"
"Yeth, thirr. I'm a cock-thucker, thirr."
"Why is he talking like that?" Buddy turned to Omar for answers, an indication of his disdain for Brock. "What does that mean, yeth thirr?"
"I told him to talk like a faggot from now on," Omar explained. "That way he doesn't have to go around telling everyone what he is. People will simply know by the way he talks. Don't you think a faggot should call you Sir?"
"Hell, yeah," said Frank, absently rubbing his crotch.
"Makes sense to me," said Buddy with an impish grin.
Mike and Lebron high-fived. With a scowl, Sonny folded his arms across his chest. The barbed wire tats around both his biceps swelled as his body tensed. "This is stupid," said Sonny. "Why is this homo still here? He needs to get the fuck out."
"He's staying," asserted the younger sibling. "I like the way he talks. It's like he's got a cock in his mouth. That must be why faggots talk like that, you know? Hey, fag? Were you pervin' on us yesterday? Is that what you were up to?"
"Yeth, thirr," lisped Brock. "I'm very thorry, thirr." The slushy speech impediment was almost second nature now, which was a little frightening.
"Say something more," said Frank.
"I'm a cockthucker, thirr."
Sides split with laughter, hands reached for more beer, a joint was sparked. The air buzzed with insects. Brock reached for a tallboy of malt liquor, but Omar swatted his hand away with a swift slap.
"You ask first, faggot," said Omar, sternly. "This is our beer."
"May I pleeeth hafff a beeer, thirrr?" Brock begged.
"That's more like it," Omar snickered. "Sure, you can have a beer. I wanna see you chug it."
After Brock guzzled sixteen ounces in five swift deep gulps, Omar ordered him to chug another. And then another. Three tallboys of high-gravity malt liquor in as many minutes. It hit Brock like a ton of bricks.
Sunlight and surrounding foliage were patches of color. The six men blurred in and out of focus. When Brock belched, they roared with raucous laughter. He heard one say, "Bitch can't handle her liquor," but was not sure who said it.
"Yo, Omar!" shouted Frank over the noise. "Did you get a blowjob last night?"
"Everybody quiet down!" Omar hollered. "Beast wants to know if I got my dick sucked." He waited until the harsh mirth died down, and he had everyone's attention. "Hell yahhh, I got a blowjob. This faggot was a pro. Practically sucked the black off my dick. Best fucking head I ever got. Word is bond!"
"Isn't that kind of gay?" asked Buddy, who seemed about to say something else before changing his mind. "Nahh, it's not gay at all," assured Omar. "I like getting my dick sucked, and sometimes there isn't a chick around when you need one, you feel me? I'm not into fags. I'm just a man taking advantage of an opportunity. I mean, why not?"
"Yeah, I get it," said Buddy, visibly relieved. "A cocksucker isn't really a man, is he? He's... different."
"Exactly! A cocksucker isn't like you or me. He is like a total fucking loser, know what I mean? He is fucking useless. A shit stain of society. He's not a man. He's just a mouth. But a fag's craving for cock is a symptom of something deeper. He wants to be used. And if a cocksucker wants me to use him, I don't got a problem with that. I will put a cocksucker to use, know what I'm saying. And cocksuckers are everywhere nowadays, you know?"
"I know, right?" said Frank. "They're coming out of the closet like cockroaches." He appealed to his scowling brother for confirmation with a glance, but Sonny looked off with evident distaste for the entire conversation.
"I like that," said Omar. "That's what this faggot is. He's a cockroach for cock. I think I'm gonna call him that from now on. Yo, Cockroach. Are you following along like a good little faggot? That's your name from now on. Cockroach. Get used to it."
The thirty-five year old homosexual squirmed like a wretch soaking in an acid bath of contempt. He did not know what to make of being named after a filthy, disgusting insect. It made him shiver with self-loathing. They were not wrong. He was a cockroach. Suddenly, it became hideously clear to Brock why he was so fascinated by the Kafka story he read in college. It was about a man who turned into a cockroach overnight. Brock wrote a paper explaining that Gregor Samsa became an insect in fact because he was already an insect by nature.
"I got a question," said Frank. "If faggots like dick so much, why don't they just blow each other, and leave us alone?"
"Yeah, why doesn't he?" said Buddy.
"I can answer that," Lebron spoke up. For a tall man, he possessed a distinctive baritone. "Me and Omar was talkin about this freak. Like my boy said, the faggot wants to be used. That's his thrill in life, doing shit for straight guys. He sucks dick because he worships dudes like us. This cocksucker will do anything you tell him to. Anything at all, dude!"
"You make it sound like he's a slave," said Sonny, with an impish, mischievous smile that suggested he found the idea intriguing.
"Pretty much!" said Lebron and Omar at the same time, with a high-five for good measure. Omar added: "It's not like anyone is forcing him to be a slave. He wants to be used. That's what he is.
"I'm convinced," said Frank. "Fuck, I came to the party already convinced," snorted Mike, like a bull. He was solid beef-muscle, wifebeater dangling from the pocket of his wrinkled black cargo shorts. "Yo, cockroach! Get on your knees. You can suck this shit right now!"
The cockroach cast an anxious, uncertain look at Omar who barked: "You heard the man! Do your job, faggot!" That was all Brock needed to hear.
Mike unzipped and pulled out his rubbery black hooded python. Brock dropped to his knees. The others watched as Mike's member became an iron pole sliding in and out of the cocksucker's voracious mouth. Moans of guttural satisfaction blended with the loud slurping sounds produced below.
"No homo, fellas," said Frank, still palming his crotch, "but don't you think it's kinda hot the way this motherfucker's chowing down on Mike's cock? Am I wrong?"
"I wouldn't say it's hot," shrugged Buddy. "Like Omar said, it's just a cocksucker doing his job. Right, Sonny?" Sonny grunted with reluctant affirmation, not happy at all with this spectacle.
"I think it's kinda hot," admitted Lebron. "Look at that bitch go to town! That is some superior dick sucking, y'all. I guess this shit is new to you whiteboys, but niggas been using faggots from jump, yo. It's just head. If you wanna get a nutt and ain't no females in the picture, there is always a faggot around, so you do what you gotta do."
"How's the faggot doin', Mike?" inquired Omar.
"This here is some professional grade cocksucking," said Mike, giving two thumbs up of approval. "Looks like you found us another one, bruh. Can't believe this bitch never sucked dick before." The quarterback grunted suddenly as the lips around his cock tightened their grip. "Awww, sheee-ittttt, yahhhh, suck it like that, you fucking queer! Make me bust this nutt!"
A minute later, it was over. Mike put his dick away. Brock remained on his knees with sperm foaming at the corners of his mouth. "That was some good head," said Mike. "Bitch knew just what to do without being told. Who's next?"
Frank the Beast pushed down his faded jeans, and cupped his large hairy balls like a man weighing something of enormous value. His ruddy cock stood fully engorged, seven inches long, thicker at the base, with a bulbous, mushroom head.
"Whenever the cocksucker is ready."
"He's always ready for dick," laughed Omar. "You should make him ask for permission to do his job."
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Frank agreed. "Hey, Cockroach! Do you wanna blow me too?"
"Yethh thirr," said Brock, with conviction. He really meant it. Brock wanted to suck Frank's cock more than anything else in the world. The longing was maddening. His temples throbbed.
"You're pathetic, you know that?" said Frank. "I don't like the idea of you spying on us yesterday. You're a faggot peeping tom, that's what you are. You're lucky we're not stomping your faggot ass. If you wanna suck my cock, ask me nicely."
"May I pleathe thuck your cock, thirr," lisped Brock, flushing red with shame. He hated going through these motions, being toyed with like a mouse in the claws of a cat. He just wanted to suck Frank's cock. He needed it.
"Why do you want to suck my cock?"
"Becauth I'm a cock-thucker, thirrr."
"You're a cunt, that's what you are," said Frank. "Yeah, you can suck my cock. Get down on it!"
Mike chanted the old song by Kool and the Gang: "If you really want it/git down on it/ baby baby, git down on it, git down on it..." Lebron clapped his large hands together, grinning with anticipation like a player on the bench waiting to get into the game.
Brock was in cocksucker bliss. Instinctively, without a spark of conscious thought, like a mindless automaton programmed for one specific function, he kneeled before Frank, and opened his mouth to receive.
"Unnhhh," groaned Frank, as the warm, wet mouth yielded to his cock like soft pussy lips. "There you go, motherfucker. Oh, shit, that's good. That's right, faggot. Suck my cock."
It took Brock only a hot minute to find the tempo and suction needed to pleasure Frank. Brock found his vision of the perfect man moaned louder when he twirled his tongue around the glans and meatus of Frank's cock. Frank was not as big as Omar or Mike, but his solid, heavy cock fit inside Brock's mouth nicely all the same.
While Frank was being serviced, Omar fished through Brock's pockets for his wallet. Finding six Jacksons, Omar distributed them among the squad. Twenty apiece. No one objected to getting paid for letting a faggot suck cock, except for Frank who was of the opinion it should cost a faggot a lot more than twenty dollars to even come near him. "A faggot should have to pay men twenty just to talk to us. That's the world I live in. Sucking my dick for twenty is like a freebie. Next time, this cunt is gonna have to come up with a lot more than that."
Sonny forked his share over to Buddy after being reminded he owed his younger brother some money. There was noticeable tension between them. As for Brock, being relieved of his cash drove him to suck Frank's cock with renewed intensity. Next time he would bring more. If there was a next time. There had to be. Frank said there would be a next time.
Brock was determined to give this hairy stud the best blowjob of his life. There was nothing he would not do to ensure there would be a next time with Frank. Whatever it cost.
"I think this faggot is in love with you, dude," said Omar.
"Nah, he just loves my cock," said Frank, with a snort of derision. "Man, does he love my fucking cock! This is the best fucking head I've ever gotten. I could get used to this."
"I know, right?"
"I'm about to bust. Does this cocksucker spit or swallow?"
"He doesn't get a choice," said Omar.
"I'm gonna jizz on his ugly faggot face!"
Frank ejaculated six times, spattering Brock with thick gobs like mayonnaise. Eyebrows, nose, cheeks, chin dripped semen. Brock's eyes twinkled with whorish satisfaction but the corners of his mouth turned downward like a forlorn clown, cheated of ingesting Frank's precious sperm.
"I think he wanted to swallow it," snickered Omar, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for reading the cocksucker's mind.
"Bitch can swallow mine," declared Lebron, stepping up. "I ain't bust me a nutt all week. Yo, cockroach! Clean that mess off your face first. Use your shirt. Take it off."
Incapable of refusing a command issued by a man with such a deep, masculine voice, Brock peeled off his lavender tee shirt to wipe his face. The warm sun felt good on his exposed back and shoulders, but being half naked in the midst of six well-built young men made the thirty-five year old homosexual feel self-conscious and ashamed.
"Put your shirt back on," ordered Lebron. "No one wants to see your little faggot titties." It was as if he too knew what the queer was thinking. "Am I right? Does anyone wanna see this faggot's titties?"
"I didn't know fags had tits," said Buddy, opening a can of beer and passing it to his brother.
"Sure they do," said Omar. "Their nipples are real sensitive, like a woman's."
Said Lebron: "I knew a guy who gave a cocksucker hormones, and the faggot had a nice rack. If it wasn't for that tiny Vienna sausage in his pants, you'd swear he was a girl. An ugly girl, but with nice tits."
"Stand up and show us your titties, cockroach!" said Omar. It was becoming apparent that he and Lebron knew a thing or two about faggots.
Clutching his soiled shirt, Brock took a deep breath and wobbled to his feet. His legs were unsteady from kneeling. Slowly, he turned toward Sonny, Buddy, and Frank, but he was too nervous to look them in the eye. Never before had Brock felt so physically inferior as a man.
There was nothing wrong with Brock's physique. His abs were soft but flat for a man his age, and his arms needed definition, but overall he was well proportioned. His chest was probably his best feature, large mounds of pectoral muscle with some cleavage, and pinkish nipples like pencil erasers at the center of two over-sized areoles.
"Yeah, this faggot got titties!" affirmed Frank. Sonny nodded with a look of amusement and disgust. Buddy looked like a little kid at a carnival freak show. The three black guys simply smiled.
Lebron spoke: "Anybody wanna see this faggot's ass before he gets down to business?"
"I do," said Frank.
"I wasn't serious, dude," said Lebron.
"Yeah, make him strip," said Buddy. `I wanna see if he has a cunt, too."
"Dude," said Omar. "He doesn't have a cunt. He IS a cunt. But I'm with you. Anyway, I think this cocksucker is ashamed of his body. We'd be doing him a solid by making him get naked."
"Get nekkid, faggot" growled Lebron, impatiently. "All the way! Let's get this over with. I need my dick sucked!"
Brock hastily removed his sneakers and socks, then pulled down his jeans and wiggled out of them. He wore nothing but white Fruit-of-the-Looms that clung to his round, plump ass and exhibited a fairly remarkable bulge in front.
"I think this cocksucker is packin'!" said Omar. "Get `em off, cockroach! Let's see what you're made of."
Brock hooked the waistband with his thumbs, and was about to yank down his briefs, when suddenly he froze. This was too humiliating even for him. Omar had ruthlessly exposed him as a homosexual masquerading as a man. As devastating as that was, it was also liberating. Instead of fighting his shame, Brock was able to embrace it, accept it, submit to it. Then the guys made him remove his shirt because they wanted to see what a fag's tits look like. Brock loathed his body so strongly that he could not bear to see himself in a full-length mirror, so it was excruciating for him to be on display, vulnerable and helpless, before this rowdy pack of suburban wolves. He was afraid and ashamed to be completely naked. He could not do it.
"Strip!" barked Omar sternly, followed by hoots from Mike and Frank: "Strip! Strip!" Buddy joined the clamor, crying "Strip!" while elbowing his reluctant older brother to do likewise. "Strip! Strip! Strip!" Even Lebron gave in, who just wanted a blowjob, shouting: "Strip, cockroach!"
A nerve snapped in Brock's brain. This was total domination. Up until now he had convinced himself there was a way out if things got out of hand. He could refuse. Run off. Omar knew where he lived, but Brock could always move, he reasoned. He could put this dangerous business behind him. At least that was what Brock told himself as step by step he descended to deeper levels of submission. Until now. Humiliation was no longer just a masochistic thrill. It had become a kind of maintenance drug. It didn't arouse him sexually any longer. He merely needed it. Total domination was Brock's new normal.
Trembling, the faggot cocksucker stepped out of his briefs, and stood stark naked in the sunlight. His eyes were closed and his teeth nervously nipped his lower lip. He was completely at the mercy of this crew of six, and mercy was something they had in short supply. "Turn around," demanded Lebron. "I want to check out that faggot ass!" While Brock complied, Frank commented on the faggot's cock. "No homo, but I figured his tool would be smaller." Said Omar: "I know, right?" Frank: "It's not even hard. I thought we turned him on." Omar: "He's turned on, aiiight. You can tell by how obedient he is. But a faggot doesn't use his dick for sex. It doesn't need to get hard. Lebron, you tell him, the way you explained it to me."
"It's like this," began Lebron, with the inherent authority that always comes with a rich baritone, "faggots have two holes for taking dick. That's where their sexual energy is focused. They get their pleasure when their holes are stuffed with dick. Their faggot penises are only good for pissing. And jerking off, I guess. Faggots jerk off a lot. Isn't that right, cockroach? You like to jerk off?"
"Yeth, thirrr," lisped Brock, hanging his head, eyes open, cast down at his bare feet.
"What did I tell you?" said Lebron, with a huff of exasperation. "Are you guys done inspecting the faggot merchandise? Can I get my blowjob now?"
There was no objection. For the next twenty minutes Brock went down on the tall, handsome brother with the deep voice and burnished skin. Lebron rested on a dirty plastic milk crate with his back against a tree, shirtless, jeans around his calves while the naked faggot's head bobbed up and down on his long, dark-gold, Mandingo spear. The others resumed drinking and talking boisterously. It was like having a cocksucker around was a perfectly routine, commonplace activity.
Sucking cock, like a universal palliative, helped Brock forget his state of dishabille. It felt so good inside his mouth, pressing against gums and tongue, yielding the same distinctive savory flavor Brock remembered from giving head to Omar and Mike. Black cock did not taste better than white, but there was a noticeable difference, and Brock could see himself developing a preference.
If only one of these black guys was hairy like Frank, thought Brock. A hairy black dude with a deep voice and big black cock would be the perfect man. But Brock was never not going to swoon over white studs. He could not wait to go down on Bud and Sonny, although he was not too sure about the latter. Judging by the scowl on Sonny's face, he was not comfortable with this primitive if not ironic rite of manhood: young men proving their superior masculinity by using an inferior male as they would a common whore.
Suddenly, the naked cocksucker whore felt Lebron's large hands firmly grasp his head like a basketball. Lebron grunted, "Uhhh!! Uhhh!!! Uhhhh!!!" as he thrust in and out of that open orifice with its gripping pussy lips until he could not hold back. "Fuck!!! Ohhh, fuck!!! Yahhh, fuck!!! Take it, you fucking cockroach!!!" he bellowed, rolling back his eyes, as hot sperm exploded from his long golden dick with orgasmic ecstasy.
A hush fell over the other studs, different expressions on their faces. Awe, amusement, envy, contempt, approval. Lebron broke the awkward silence. "That's what I'm talkin' about," he growled. You was right, Omar. The faggot can suck some dick!" There was a murmur of agreement. Lebron told the faggot to fetch him a beer. Brock felt all eyes fixed on his naked body as he performed this task. Now that he did not have a cock in his mouth, he was again painfully self-conscious about being nude. Omar and Mike demanded beers.
"Hurry up, cockroach!"
"Good bitch!"
Brock was ordered to light cigarettes and wait for the puff of smoke in his face. Omar exhaled a sweet cloud from his big brown blunt into the faggot's open mouth, followed by a gob of spit. "You like that, don't you, faggot?"
Brock replied, "Yeth thirr."
"Who's up next?" said Omar to the Barlow brothers. "Are you guys down?"
Buddy stood and brushed the ginger locks from his eyes. He was on the cusp of youthful adolescence, his freckled face not quite finally formed, but he had the self-confidence of a man twice his years.
"I am totally getting a blowjob," he announced. "Hell, yeah. I wanna see if his mouth is as good as you say it is. But first, my brother has something to tell everyone. Go on, Sonny. If you don't tell them, I will."
There was a long spell of silence while Sonny hung his head between his knees. "Tell them," Buddy repeated. With a sigh, Sonny looked up.
"I'm a cocksucker," he mumbled, turning red as a beet.
TO BE CONCLUDED
IN PART THREE: OUT WITH THE TRUTH