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As always, my apologies for the typos. This a work of fiction. Any similarities between this story and real life are coincidental (and jealousy-inducing).
My sincere thanks for the feedback and inspiration. Keep em coming.
The summer after I graduated college, I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with my life. My aunt Caroline invited me to stay in her apartment in the city while she summered in Italy, and I eagerly took her up on the offer. She owned a ground-level apartment in an old building thirty minutes from downtown, and it sounded like a dream. It had two bedrooms (though she used one as an office) and a large private "garden"--though it was more than a little overgrown. Being somewhat of an outdoorsman, I was immediately drawn to the pictures of the yard, and quickly formed a plan to spend the summer overhauling the space. It seemed the perfect way to surprise and thank my aunt for her generosity.
When I got to the apartment, my aunt had already left. I got a key from the super, a kind old blind woman on the top floor of the building, and found a note on the table written in my aunt's nearly illegible handwriting:
Kenneth, make yourself at home. And enjoy the city! There's a gay bar two blocks down that I hear is a lot of fun. If you need anything, e-mail me. I'll do my best to check for messages at least once a week. Love you Ken Doll!
I hadn't officially come out to Caroline--or any of my family--so I was surprised by her note. Surprised and comforted. I had always felt like I could be myself around my aunt, and the note confirmed it. It was going to be an epic summer.
The first chance I got, I unlocked the back door and poked around in the yard. It looked even more overgrown than in the pictures. There were two healthy trees, but they blocked out nearly all of the sunshine. The rest of the yard was a tangle of shady vines, cracked plastic furniture, and a thick layer of soggy leaves. The whole yard smelled of rot, and within a few minutes I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes.
I went back inside, and stared out the window. The sight of the yard made me all the more eager to conquer it. I'd spent six years before college working for a family-owned landscaping business, and so I knew what I was doing. It would take a lot of hard work to transform the yard, but the payoff would be worth it.
I hatched a plan, and then checked my phone for the nearest hardware store. On the walk, I passed what I could only assume was the gay bar my aunt had mentioned. There were three guys smoking out front, laughing, and they got real quiet when I passed. I turned back, and sure enough all three of them were staring at me, not saying anything. And when I smiled, one of them called for me to come back. I smiled, but kept walking.
I knew I was gay, but I hadn't done very much. There was one gay bar in my college town, but I didn't hang out there. All of my friends were straight, and so when we went out we went to straight bars. It didn't stop me from experimenting in college. I made out with several guys, and had received and given dozens of blow jobs over the four years I was in school. But the look on the guys' faces made me blush, for some reason. I knew I wasn't ready to talk to them. Not yet.
I bought some initial supplies from the store. Garbage bags and new gloves. Bug spray. I had seen Caroline's small tool shed. She already had a rake and some rusty pruning shears, but little else. But I wasn't sure what all I'd need until I'd removed the muck and drove off the mosquitoes.
While I was shopping, I went over it in my head, what I'd say if the guys called me over again. But when I was walking back, they were no longer outside of the bar. I was a little relieved, but also disappointed. I had found myself getting hard on the walk, simply from thinking of the looks they were giving me. By the time I got back to Caroline's apartment, my bulge was noticeable. I had to carry my shopping bag in front of me so no one on the sidewalk saw.
Once inside, I dropped the plastic bag to the floor, and pressed my back to the door, undoing my pants. I whipped out my hard dick, licked my palm and started to stroke. I closed my eyes and thought about going to the bar after all. I imagined the guys hitting on me, and fantasized about each of them, about bringing them back to the apartment to mess around. And before I knew it I was cumming in my fist, light headed and panting.
I washed up, laughing a little at myself in the bathroom mirror. As soon as I had cum, I was no longer interested in going to the bar. All I wanted was to get to work in the yard. Part of me knew it was going to be a wild summer... but how, if I spent all my time alone in that yard?
I thought about the guys again as I worked. I pruned the two trees back, thinning out branches, untangling climbing vines. I thought about them as I raked slimy leaves into bags and sprayed an inch of mud off what was once a brick patio. Soon, I was getting hard again. I pressed my back to the taller tree, and looked around in every direction. No one would be able to see me if I pulled out my dick. Only the woman on the top floor. But she was blind!
I pulled off the leather gloves and reached my sweaty hand into my fly. I pulled my dick out right there and stroked again, the sounds of the city all around me. It was exhilarating, masturbating outside. It was a first for me. And the newness of the city fueled my excitement. I thought again about going down to the gay bar, but the thought alone made me shoot again, right into the weeds at my feet. I could smell my sperm, thick in the air, as I breathed in deeply. The smell of the yard mixed in with it.
After I came, I suddenly felt exhausted. I tied up the bags I'd filled with leaves and debris, and piled them next to the fence. And then I went inside, intending to take a nap. But when I woke up it was late, and so I showered and went to bed for the night.
The next day, I went up to ask the super what the best way to dispose of yard trash would be, and she explained that trucks take yard waste twice a week and that I'd need to put the bags and bins at the curb the night before or else the building would get a fine. She sounded pleased that I was doing yard work, and said she wished that she could see the fruit of my labor. Then she asked if I was strong enough to carry the bags to the curb myself. I assured her I was, and she seemed relieved. I wasn't sure what she planned to do if I had said no. She certainly wasn't strong enough to help me.
I got back to work, and by the late afternoon I had pulled up all of the dead and dying plants, raked up the last of the rotting muck, and pruned back enough of the trees that a good amount of sun fell onto the rich black soil I'd worked so hard to reveal. Soon, the ground would be dry and mosquitoes would have nowhere to lay their eggs. I sat in one of the broken chairs in the dappled shade of the big tree, and looked around at my work. I was drenched with sweat, my arms were scratched and sore, and my neck and forehead were itchy from being bitten. I lifted my arm to check, and sure enough I smelled as ripe as I expected. I smiled, proud of my musk. I felt more manly than I had in years.
The sensation made me horny yet again, and soon I was sporting another bulge. I looked down at my dick in my lap, straining against the fabric of my jeans. I gripped my cock, loving the feeling, and then looked around again, stealthy. I had cleared so much of the yard that I no longer felt isolated. I wondered if anyone could see me, and convinced myself no one could.
As I looked up at the back of Caroline's building, though, I saw a figure standing in the window, facing out from the top floor. At first I thought it was the old lady, but it wasn't. It was a young man. And from the look of it, he was staring at me.
I immediately let go of my dick and pretended not to see him. When I looked back up, though, the figure was gone.
Who was it? And how long had he been watching me? My face flushed red as I stacked the last of the day's bags with the others. I blushed like I had when the gay men outside of the bar had called me over. Had the man seen me gripping my dick, looking around like a pervert, clearly ready to get off? Or worse, could he have seen me the day before, with my dick out and everything?
I was mortified. But I knew there was nothing I could do about it, either way. Whatever the man had seen, he had seen. And I would probably never know.
I went back inside and took a shower. I was horny still, but my mind was racing with worries. I decided to check out the neighborhood, grab a bite alone at one of the restaurants on the block, and maybe even check out the gay bar on the way home. I got dressed up--perhaps a little too dressed up for dinner alone--and headed out. While I waited for my dinner, I emailed my aunt from my phone, telling her that I was settling in nicely. I casually asked about the other tenants in the building, hoping to figure out who it was looking down from the top floor window. I pressed send, knowing it might take days to get a reply--and yet, once I'd sent it, I couldn't help but check my phone every five minutes, hoping for an answer.
After dinner, I took the long way home, simply so I could pass the gay bar. I could feel I still had mosquito bites on my face, and so I had decided not to go in. But I hoped that someone might be outside trying to change my mind. I checked out every man on the street, wondering if he was gay. And as I passed the bar, I walked slowly, hoping someone might come outside. But no one did, and so I returned to the apartment, feeling anxious and horny all over again.
I remembered it was trash night, and that it was up to me to move the many bags of yard trash out to the curb. I made a few trips through Caroline's apartment and back out, all in my nice clothes, before I realized how labor intensive the task was. I stripped off my belt and out of my dress shirt, leaving only my undershirt and slacks on, and then got back to work, carrying the last several bags out to the pile. On one of my trips, I ran into a man at the foot of the stairs. He looked at me, startled. I couldn't help but wonder if he was the man who had watched me from the window.
I reached out my hand and introduced myself as Caroline's nephew. He stared at my hand, as if he didn't want to shake it. I couldn't help but worry that he had in fact seen me jerking off--with that very hand!--and that he was revolted by me. But just as the thought filled my mind, the man reached out and put his palm to mine with a firm (maybe too firm) handshake.
"I'm Josh," he said. He looked about my age, maybe younger. But his hands were strong, and his hyper-masculine attitude made me feel like a kid shaking an older man's hand. He wore loose jeans that hung low on his hips, with a collared shirt that was easily too big for him, despite his full chest and shoulders.
"You live here?" I asked, but Josh shook his head no. He had brown eyes and a thick, crooked nose, like a boxer. He looked at me suspiciously, furrowing his brow like he didn't want to talk to me. And so I let him by as I went through to the yard to get the last of the bags. When I got back out to the curb, Josh was there, tidying up the pile I'd made.
"You can't put branches in bags like that," he said, pulling up his pants, only to let them fall low again. "You have to tie them up with twine."
"Really?" I asked. "Why?"
"Fuck if I know," he said. "But they won't take it like this." Then he looked me up and down again, crossing his big arms. "Got any twine?"
"Um," I said, not knowing what to say. Josh rolled his eyes.
"God dammit," he said, as if I was the biggest idiot he'd ever met. His voice was deep, and so the curse sounded a little threatening.
"My aunt might. Somewhere," I said. "I'll take care of it."
"Grandma might," he said.
So Josh was the super's grandson? Suddenly I felt sure it was him that had been staring out over the yard. He ran into the building and leapt up the staircase, two steps at a time, like he was in a hurry. I went into Caroline's apartment, searching for twine, but I couldn't find any. I didn't know where to look. I heard Josh's deep voice calling for me from the hall.
"Bro, I got it," he said at the doorway. "This'll work." He looked into the apartment at me, holding up a ball of yarn.
"Thanks," I told him once we were back in the street, ripping open the few bags that held broken up branches. Josh didn't respond. He had me hold the branches together in a big tight bundle while he wrapped the yarn around them. As he did, he pushed the ball of yarn against my chest, and then reached then reached down to pull in through from underneath. His hand and wrist grazed my stomach as he did so. And then he tied the bundle tight.
Josh balled up the empty, ripped bags and then handed me the wad.
"You're my hero," I said, smiling at Josh, curious about him. He furrowed his brows again, and I worried that I might have sounded too flirtatious. "Really, I appreciate it."
"No problem," he said. "Now you know."
"Sorry, yeah," I said. "I'm not from around here." But Josh didn't ask where I was from. "You see the yard, though?"
"Yeah," he said finally flatly, as we walked back into the building. "I've never seen it look so... good, I guess."
"It's only the beginning," I told him. "Step one. Of many."
"Cool," he said, like he couldn't care less.
"You'll have to come back and see it sometime. When I get new chairs." But I realized that I might have crossed a line, inviting him in. Seemed like the least I could do, considering how he'd helped me. And yet Josh seemed suspicious of the invitation. He pulled his loose pants back up to his waist.
"Yeah, maybe," he said, already leaping up the stairs, not looking back.
"Thanks again," I called after him, but he didn't respond.
I closed the door behind me, unsure what to make of the exchange. I thought about his brute features, about his thick hands as the threaded the ball of yarn against my chest and around the branches as he helped me. And I thought about his warm hand in mine as we met. I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of me, and what he'd seen when he watched me from the window.
That night, I dreamt I was lost in the city, unable to find Caroline's apartment. I kept passing a gay bar like the one near her place, but I was too afraid to ask where I was. Finally I worked up the courage to go in, and to my surprise Josh was there, working as the bouncer. He didn't seem to recognize me, and worse, he denied my entrance, claiming the bar was for locals only. He handed me back my ID, telling me to try one of the straight bars. And then he laughed at me, looking me up and down like he had in the street. He just kept laughing. And when I left the bar embarrassed, I woke up.
I didn't see Josh for a while, though I looked up at the old lady's window constantly as I worked in the yard, hoping to catch him spying on me. I got an email back from my aunt, in which she told me a little about the building and its tenants. She didn't mention Josh at all, and so I didn't either. She did, however, ask if I'd checked out the bar she mentioned, and I confessed to her I was nervous about it. Which was the closest I had ever been to coming out to anyone in my family. It felt good. And when she wrote back days later, she told me that she loved me and that the guys there would love me to. And to be safe.
I took her email as permission to bring guys home from the bar. The idea alone led to numerous masturbatory fantasies. Though it was Josh whose face I imagined when I thought of fooling around with a man. I pictured him in the doorway, holding out the ball of yarn. I pictured his broken-looking nose, and his thick eyebrows. I thought his sagging jeans and visible underwear. And how he may or may not have seen me cum in the yard.
I started out with a goal of surprising my aunt, but now it was Josh who I wanted to impress. I worked harder in that yard than I ever did working as a teenager, hauling plants back from the hardware store, one by one. Digging out the uneven bricks that formed the lopsided patio, washing them clean, and then laying them back out on level ground. Often I'd look up at the window, and ever once and a while I'd spot him--though when I did, he'd turn away like he didn't see me, like he wasn't watching. And maybe he wasn't. But I wanted to think he was. I lived for it. And at the very least, I knew he was watching the progress I was making, turning the forgotten yard into a picturesque garden escape.
Wandering the neighborhood one day, I found a couple of chairs discarded by the side of the road that seemed perfect, and hauled them back to my aunt's place, imagining Josh sitting across from me, drinking beers in the yard like old friends. Finally, I can invite him over like I promised, I thought. From that point on, I made it a goal of running into him, simply so I could invite him over.
Every trash day, I held out in the hopes of casually chatting with him on the street. But somehow I kept missing him. I'd hear Josh leaping down the steps and by the time I'd get to the hallway, he'd be gone, his grandma's two trash bags piled neatly on the curb.
It was a few weeks after I'd first met him when I next spoke to Josh. I timed it perfectly so I'd be out on the stoop when he got there to help his grandma. When he saw me, he nodded politely. But he didn't seem to notice me. I had built it up in my head, as if we'd have a whole conversation. Or if not, that he'd at least give me that suspicious look I'd stroked to a thousand times. But he didn't. He just nodded, and went inside like he couldn't care less about me. No longer curious or suspicious of me, Josh seemed to think of me as one more thing he had to pass to get the job done.
I stayed out on the stoop until Josh came down with the garbage.
"Hey, bro," I said, though it sounded stupid coming out of my mouth. "Seen the yard lately?"
"Huh?" he said, like he didn't understand.
"The yard's looking pretty good," I said. "Want to check it out?"
But Josh seemed confused. Maybe he hadn't been looking down at me after all. He acted as if I he couldn't care less about the yard. Or me.
"Yeah, maybe," he said, just as he had before. But I could tell he didn't mean it. He didn't understand that I meant right then.
"Come have a beer in the yard. It's nice back there."
Finally he looked me in the eyes. It was as if all of a sudden he realized that it was a real invitation. That I wanted him to come see it, that I was invested in him somehow. He raised one eyebrow.
"You gay, man?" Josh asked. He seemed irritated, or something.
I furrowed my brow, like I was irritated too.
"Yeah, but that's not why I'm asking," I said, but it was a lie. Maybe we both knew it was. He squinted at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to say yes, that finally I'd get to show the yard off to someone. But Josh shrugged, shaking his head no.
"Can't right now," he said. "I'm late for a thing." Then he reached out and sort of tapped the side of my shoulder before turning away. He was gone before I could think of anything to say.
That same night, I finally went to the gay bar.
For hours I had beaten myself up over how I'd been with Josh. I felt stupid and embarrassed. I had asked out a straight guy, after all, my heart in my throat, and I'd been turned down. The way he tapped my shoulder, it felt like Josh pitied me more than anything. And so I felt pathetic and alone. Delusional and sad.
Somehow those feelings gave me new drive me. It was as if I had nothing to lose. I had pushed Josh out of my mind, and suddenly I was excited by the prospect of meeting a guy at the bar--someone other than him--and of showing off the transformed garden to a stranger. I was ready to meet someone. To put myself out there. I felt free.
I walked out of the building and straight to the bar. I didn't walk slowly by, as I had so many times. I walked straight up to the door, and in. As I did, a few guys looked up at me. One smiled, and I recognized him immediately as the guy who called me over my first afternoon in town. I nodded at him, smiling, and walked up to the bar to order a drink. The bartender was nice, and chatted with me. He introduced me to some of the men at the bar, asking why he'd never seen me around before.
"I've been busy," I told him, starting to feel comfortable. One of the men at the bar complimented my tan, and I told him I'd been working outside a lot.
"Construction?" The man next to me asked. I caught him staring at my arms.
I realized I had gotten pretty buff, working so hard.
"No, just yard work," I said, and they all seemed impressed that I had a yard.
I explained that it wasn't my yard, that I was visiting, and before I knew it I was describing the layout of the garden to my new friends.
"Sounds amazing," the bartender said. "We have a little yard out back," he said, pointing to a red door at the back of the bar.
"It's a shit hole," the man next to me said.
"Maybe when you're done we can hire you to spruce it up a bit," the bartender said, laughing at the customer's insult.
"Maybe," I said, smiling. The bartender was handsome. He looked me deep in the eyes while he was talking to me. And suddenly I didn't feel so alone in the city any more.
"You for hire?" another guy at the bar said, looking me up and down. He was a much older man, and he had a pervy look in his eyes. "I have a shit hole too," he said. "Would love for you to give it some tender love and care."
The man beside him elbowed his friend, and they all laughed. Even the bartender. I laughed too, enjoying the attention.
"I'm not for hire, no," I told them. But they bought me my next drink anyway.
"Hey beautiful," I heard someone say as he put his hand on my lower back. I turned around to see who it was. "Want a tour of the bar?"
It was the guy who'd called to me weeks before, who smiled at me when I came in. I looked around. The bar wasn't very big. I could see the whole place from where I stood. I hardly needed a "tour." And yet he was easily the most handsome guy in the whole place--except maybe the bartender.
Suddenly I wondered, Did I look like it was my first time in a gay bar?
"How do you know I haven't been here before?" I asked him.
"I'd have noticed," the guy said, and the rest of the guys at the bar groaned.
"Tad here uses that line on everyone," the pervy guy warned me.
"Don't listen to him," Tad said. "I've never hit on any of these old queens." And with that, the guys chuckled.
"You smoke?" Tad asked me, and I shook my head no--though I agreed to step outside with him, after my drink.
"Worth the wait," he said, and the guys groaned again.
Tad joined in the conversation, listening as the bartender asked more about me. I told them I was from north Kentucky, and that I'd just finished college nearby. I was feeling tipsy, halfway into my second drink. When Tad asked what I plan to do with my degree, I got flustered.
"I have no fucking clue!" I told them, getting all dramatic. "I feel like I'm supposed to have a plan. But college was my plan. And now I just don't know."
"That's okay, kid," one of the guys said. "You don't have to know yet."
"Yeah, it's the summer," the pervy guy said, managing not to sound pervy.
Suddenly, the group was sharing stories about their own plans when they were my age. One by one it became clear that none of them ended up doing what they had set out to do. And all of them were fairly successful. Enough to live in the city, anyway.
"What about you? What's your plan?" I asked Tad, who just looked at me.
"Isn't it obvious?" He raised his eyebrow at me. "I'm gonna see this yard you keep bragging on."
The bartender laughed and winked at me. None of them groaned at the way Tad was hitting on me then.
"How about that cigarette?" He asked, and I finished my drink, feeling reckless.
Tad was a little older than me, probably. But thin and boyish and blond. He had the kind of masculine features that and light eyes that likely won over every guy he hit on. And yet his confidence wasn't irritating. He wasn't as smarmy as I'm making him sound. He was playful, endearing. I felt comfortable with him immediately.
He offered me a cigarette, and I reminded him I don't smoke.
"You don't go to gay bars either," he said. And when I asked why he thinks that he said something about how innocent and flustered I looked, like I'd never gotten attention from guys before. Which was true.
"Am I wrong?" Tad asked, and I shook my head no.
"Are you a virgin?" he asked, and I shook my head yes.
"Do you want to be?" he asked, and I shrugged. I didn't mind being a virgin. That wasn't the issue. I just didn't know how to flirt. Not like he did.
"What have you done?" Tad asked me, seeming truly interested. I could tell he wanted me to tell him every detail.
"Stuff," I said. "Blow jobs mainly. Making out."
"I bet you're a good kisser," he said, taking a drag off his cigarette, and staring at me lips as he blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. I nodded.
"Making me wish I didn't have this cigarette," he said, suddenly. And at first I thought he meant that he wish weren't out there together. But then I realized it was another flirtation. He meant so that he could kiss me without tasting like cigarettes.
"I think it's kind of hot," I told him, looking him in the eyes. Gauging his reaction. Suddenly he was putting his cigarette out on the wall, leaning into me. I was getting drunker by the second. I didn't care that we were out on the street, that anyone who looked would see us. I leaned in and kissed Tad anyway, right on the lips, long and hard. I could taste the cigarette on his tongue, the beer on his breath. I could feel his chest on mine as his hands pulled my waist toward his.
After a few seconds I pulled away, not wanting to make out heavy on the street. I still didn't care if people saw, but I wanted to do more than kiss. I wanted Tad to come home with me.
We didn't even say goodbye to the folks inside. I led Tad to my aunt's place, and immediately back to show off the garden. Tad was tipsy too. He started kissing me, right there in the dark yard, reaching down to undo my belt. He pushed me back into one of the chairs I'd brought home, and knelt in front of me on the bricks. He nuzzled my crotch with his face as his hands worked to unbutton my pants and pull down my zipper.
"You're fucking hot," I told him.
"You too," he said reaching in to pull out my dick.
I didn't care that we were outside. Didn't care who saw. The trees would block most of the view. I looked up instinctively toward the old lady's window. It seemed unlikely that Josh would be there, looking down. And sure enough he wasn't. But thinking of Josh made me anxious.
I asked Tad if we could turn off the outside light and he agreed. He sucked my cock right there in the chair, and it felt so fucking good that the sky spinned above me. I tilted my head back and stared up at Josh's window.
I don't know if it's because I was drunk or still hung up on Josh, but I let my mind wander until I'd convinced myself that the night had gone differently. Tad licked the precut from the head of my dick and I went through an imaginary conversation with Josh--one in which he agreed to have beers out in the garden as the sun went down. One in which I came out to him and he scooted his chair closer to mine until our knees were touching.
I pretended it was Josh instead of Tad, kneeling there in front of me, my rock hard cock filling his eager mouth. I could hear Tad moan, deep and long. But it was Josh's throat I was thinking of. His hands and thick arms.
I reached to feel Tad's hair between my fingers, caressing his neck and ears as he worked hard to please me. I could smell the cigarettes on him, the alcohol on my own breath.
"I want to suck you," I told him, when he took a second to breathe, stroking me. We traded places, and as I knelt on the bricks, I could feel that Tad wasn't wearing a belt. I pulled his jeans down low on his hips, how Josh wore them. And let myself go, giving in to the fantasy.
I undid Josh's fly, wondering if a guy had ever sucked his dick before. Wondering if he'd even be hard. But he was. And as I pulled out his thick cock, I could tell that he'd wanted me for a long time. I licked the precum, imagining all the times he'd watched me from the high window, the sun shining down on my sweaty shoulders. I took him into my mouth, thinking of how he must have felt, gripping his own hard dick, watching me. Simultaneously hoping that I would look up, and that I wouldn't.
Josh moaned deep, and I took his cock deep into my throat, wanting to show him how good a guy's mouth could be. I wanted it to eclipse every woman who'd ever sucked him off. I pictured his eyes rolling back in his head as his rough hands felt for my cheek and hair. His thick nostrils flaring as he breathed heavy, loving my tongue on his balls and under.
I kissed the sides of his dick, stroking him. Kissed his pubes, loving the smell of his manly crotch.
I imagined Josh's voice, low in my ear, making me swear not to tell his grandmother. Making me promise that it's our secret. And agreeing to come by to see me every night.
"Do you want to go inside?" I heard Tad say, pulling me from my fantasy. I shook my head no, wanting to stay just where we were, wanting Josh to suddenly be watching. Wanting the darkness to help me turn Tad into someone else.
"Me neither," Tad said, happy to keep going. I worked his cock faster, loving how it felt in my hand and mouth.
"God I want to fuck you," he said to me, and though it didn't sound like Josh's voice, I let myself believe it did. I pictured the super's grandson begging me to let him. "I have a condom," he said. And that's all I needed to hear.
I pulled my mouth off of Josh's cock long enough to say "Okay," and then took the thick head back into my throat.
"Fuck," he said. And then he sat up in the chair, ready. "Want to sit on it?" he asked me. But I didn't. I didn't know how. Plus, I didn't want to look at Tad as we did it. I wanted him behind me, so I could imagine what I wanted to as it happened.
I turned around, right there on my knees, pulling my pants and underwear down to my thighs. I put my hands to the bricks and waited for Josh to make his next move.
"You really a virgin?" I heard him ask. And I said I wasn't, cause I didn't want him to over think it. I didn't want him to be sweet or gentle--because I knew Josh wouldn't. He would have taken my ass without caring what it was like for me. And so that's what I wanted to happen.
I heard the condom wrapper open. And then I felt it, all lubed and hard at my waiting hole.
"Fuck me," I begged, forgetting what was real and what was fantasy. I felt him spit onto my crack, over my asshole. Then he pushed steadily into me. I let it in the best I could, and then it kept going. It hurt, but I loved it. And then I felt only the fullness of my insides. The pressure, everywhere, as he took me.
Josh grunted behind me that I felt so tight, and I moaned quietly. I could feel his weight on my back as he pushed harder against me, into me. Suddenly he was fucking me faster, pulling in and out. He reached around and started to stroke me. My palms were pressed hard into the brick. I could feel Josh reaching to kiss my upper back, then neck as he gave me his big cock. He pushed it all the way in and held it there, moaning in my ear.
"I'm gonna cum," Tad warned me. I pretended not to hear it. Imagining Josh's furrowed brow. The way he had me hold the branches tight in my arms as he worked the yarn through.
Tad grabbed my shoulder, thrusting. He grabbed it right where Josh had tapped my shoulder before. The parallel was enough to make me blow, right there onto the bricks. I shot hard, up to my own wrist. I lowered my face to smell my spunk below me on the ground, and grunted loudly as I imagined Josh putting his own load into me.
He must have felt me climax, because suddenly Josh was cumming too. He put all of his weight on me, pressing hard into me. He writhed like a wild animal for a few seconds. Until his whole body went still.
I could feel Josh's cock twitch inside of me, not wanting to pull out. And I savored the feeling.
My own dick dribbled more cum onto the ground under me. My mind was racing, my blood pumping furiously.
"Ready?" Tad asked me, and I nodded. He pulled out and the feeling of being filled went away, almost. I didn't feel empty, exactly. I still felt full. But full in a way that I can't explain.
"That was crazy," Tad said, and I nodded. I felt crazy.
I stood and pulled my underwear and pants up.
"Fuck," Tad said. But like something was wrong. He pushed past me, toward the door into the apartment. I studied his face, his wide eyes.
"What?" I asked him, concerned.
"Is someone watching us?" Tad said, pointing up to the building above me. I looked up, but there was no figure in the high window.
No matter how long I stared back up at the window, it was empty.
I asked Tad if it was an old lady, and he said no. He said it was too dark to see clearly, but it was definitely a guy with big shoulders.
"Turn the light on," I whispered to Tad. He seemed confused, but he did what I said. The yard filled with light. My cum was still in puddles on the bricks. I waved up to the empty window with my red palm.
I waited for a light to come on from the highest floor. But it didn't.
If Josh was watching, he still didn't want me to know.