Chapter 3

"Feel better, Sport?" Larry asked, lying beside me, rubbing my head gently with one affectionate hand.

My back was to him.

I could not face him.

I was not ready for that.

Yet.

But it was coming.

Not daring to let myself care, to take an attitude, I knew that it was coming.

Feel better?

Yes I felt better.

I was no longer drunk.

Or in that state in which it seemed the thing to do to be drunk.

Or to seem to be.

Yes, there were degrees of drunk.

There had to be.

And one of them was when I was drunk enough to pretend to be drunker than I was.

And that was what had done it to me.

Or for me.

Because I tried to tell myself that it was the beer that bad fucked me up.

But that was a lie.

First of all, it wasn't the beer.

But beyond that, exactly what was it that I had fucked up?

Nothing!

Consenting adult, that's me.

And it was not as though Larry had dragged me to his place and talked me into letting him have me in the mouth or ass.

He had given as well as he had gotten.

Or was it me who did that?

Still a little fucked up in the head, I see.

But no matter.

Really.

Because it was all right.

What about it was not?

The logic was inescapable.

My father's kind of logic.

Linear.

Step by step.

With the full physical evidence at hand.

The world had not ended.

I have not been damaged.

Me and Larry were as we were before.

Better, in fact.

A barrier had been breached.

We had broken through to a plane of more real—reality.

I had, at least.

Larry had been here before.

I knew that.

Consenting adults, indeed!

How about one consenting and one non-dissenting.

I had not consented to a damned thing.

It happened, that was all, while I was in a state of diminished capacity due to overindulgence in alcohol.

Half a pitcher of beer.

Right.

And if you believe that—

I did not believe it.

Not really.

That was bullshit.

This had to have been there, lurking in the back of my mind the whole time, what I had done.

And I deserved it, dammit!

And I meant this in the form of reward, not of punishment.

Or humiliation.

I mean, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my going to bed with a healthy cock and a healthy body, a cock and a body as healthy as my own.

I deserved it and Larry deserved it.

This was not some stranger, some bum I had picked up.

I had not taken him into an alley and gone down before him drooling, for Pete's sake!

It had been a coming together of two bodybuilders, their common interest already established, for an act of—what?

Friendship?

Of a sort, I supposed.

But what was this denying bullshit there before?

Not Larry's cock, but a cock, which happened to be Larry's.

What crap!

It was Larry's cock, dammit!

The big knob, the thick, long, vibrant shaft, the balls, the jism in the mouth—it was all Larry's.

All, all, all, dammit!

Just as it was me who had fucked Larry in the mouth.

And not with just any cock (a ridiculous notion), but with mine, the only one it could possibly have been.

What was that reservation, that barrier?

Was it some deep, subconscious conceit?

No, I knew what it was.

Denial.

This is time out.

What happens here does not count.

It is tentative, putative, hypothetical, under the influence, and otherwise unreal.

This is a lacuna, a flight of fancy, a Chapter in a dirty book that happened to some fictional character who looked like me.

Bullshit!

It was as real as the world.

And it was done in the real world.

And these nasty little defense mechanisms, these excuses, these denials would not cut it.

Not for the blinking of an eye.

For better or for worse, it was a part of me.

It was a piece of personal history, ranking right up there with the birth certificate and the high school diploma.

Even more so, perhaps.

Those were mere official attestations as to facts no longer in evidence (maybe I can go to law school nights; I'd make a hell of a lawyer).

The point is, it not only happened, it is still in the process of happening.

That's fight.

Because I'm not about to haul ass out of here and not look back.

On the contrary; I'm into it.

In for a penny, in for a dollar, as they say.

I am going to wallow in it.

If necessary, I am going to rub my own nose in it.

All of it.

The whole ball of wax.

And I turned to face Larry.

Whose glance was alert, questioning, dubious.

As though anticipating that other reaction.

The one in which I would blame him for everything, springing up, cursing him, perhaps threatening physical violence.

Larry had heard of such attitudes before.

It had never happened to him, but there was always the chance, when he was dealing with a virgin.

Larry had read all about that kind of thing.

Between the lines.

Youths arrested for injuring homosexuals.

Questioned by police.

Who would not ask them the one pertinent question—when and where did you last suck dick?

All this, I could read in his face.

But I was not about to smile at him in reassurance.

Because this was not, is not a joke.

Fun yes; joke no.

Or it would be.

As I went from the denial phase to the proving phase.

Going from no, it did not happen to yes, part of it happened.

Because now I was compelled to go on with it.

"You look like you have a question preying on your mind," Larry said.

"Who gets it up the ass first?" I asked.

Larry smiled.

"You're the guest.

"You call it."

I admit it—I was tempted.

Macho man.

Top man.

Me up and you thereby and therefore down.

Bottom man.

Passive, receiver, female.

But that was bullshit too.

And I knew it.

But I had to prove it to myself.

Still, why make it easy?

"Get down on hands and knees," I said.

"Elbows and knees," Larry corrected. "That way, I can get my ass up where it's supposed to be."

And he demonstrated at once, assuming the position.

I got behind him.

And spread the cheeks of his ass, feeling his buttocks yield as he made a conscious effort to relax them.

So that now, spreading his crack wide with both hands, I could see the large, round, slightly protruding mauve star of his ass hole.

And I sealed my mouth to it.

And sucked it in.

And chewed gently on it with my teeth.

And ran my tongue round and round the segments.

And stiffened the tip.

And inserted it in the convergence of his star.

And stiffened my neck muscles.

And forced my tongue into the center of his asterisk.

In, in, in.

And heard him gasp with delight as my tongue found his heat and the yielding tissues inside his entrance.

As I felt beneath him, feeling his dangling balls, his stiff ramrod, inspired by my expert ministrations.

But I did not continue.

Instead, I pulled back.

And was on elbows and knees beside him, head turned to one side, looking into his surprised gaze.

"And that's how I expect you to start in on me," I said.

"You got it!"

And now he was behind me.

And I relaxed buttocks and sphincter as though I were a veteran of such happenings.

And felt him taking his time, rimming me thoroughly.

And enjoying himself.

I could tell.

Because the tongue was very far in.

And not just darting in and out of my hot young ass.

Rather, he was exploring, probing, making sure that the nerve endings of my rectum were ready to receive him.

Ready, willing, able, eager.

And still he was taking no chances.

I felt him pull his face back at last, his tongue sliding out of my ass hole.

I heard him opening the drawer of one of his nightstands.

There was a pause.

And then I felt it—a warm, oiled finger, probing my saliva-slick, slackened ass hole.

He was using mineral oil or baby oil.

And giving me a delightful finger wave.

And I could feel his knuckles stretching the entrance, even as the digit delved deeply.

And then there were two.

Yes, two fingers were now circulating in my ass hole.

And now they were going together, round and round.

And now he was twiddling them, sending fresh thrills of sexual electricity coursing through my body.

As his knuckles stretched the entrance to my ass hole still wider.

And now, he was ready for the main event.

And, certainly, so was I.

And he stood behind me on his knees, spreading the cheeks of my ass with the thumb and fingers of one hand.

As, with the other, he guided his turgid intruder toward my ass hole.

And now, the plum of his cock head was buttoned inside my ass hole.

And I could feel my vestibule settling down around it, caressing it.

And now, I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

And it did.

Because now he was pushing forward.

And the battering ram of his cock head was parting the walls of my bowels as it shafted slowly, steadily, in, in, in.

And the long, thick bar of meat behind it was keeping me spread.

Wide!

I felt like I had been opened up to the whole world.

Or like I was the whole world, a great tunnel being bored into me.

At last, he had driven it all the way home.

And I could feel his abdominal muscles pressing in on my buttocks.

And he paused there, as my insides settled around him.

And now, he began to pump slowly, gently, hips rocking back and forth, most of the motion his own, very little inside me.

So that I could feel his cock, on which I was impaled, tugging this way and that.

But slowly, little, by little, he increased the action.

So that now I could feel it.

A definite movement in and out inside me, not a part of me.

Yes, he was fucking me.

That was a fact, pure and simple.

So simple, and yet so complex.

Because the sensations were fantastic.

Never had I felt so thoroughly, so intimately aroused!

Because the arousal, the stimulation, was from a whole new, different direction.

There is stimulation from the outside, which is delightful, satisfactory, in its own way, even complete.

But this, this!

This was something new, something different.

It was a new dimension.

It was an experience quite unlike any I had ever had.

Because it was in me, within me, and yet, not of me.

It was more than feelings, fabulous though they were.

It was communication.

It was as though Larry and I were talking to each other.

But not with our mouths, our brains.

It was body to body.

And body was understanding body.

Body knew what body was saying.

And what body was saying was important, was in fact, essential.

Because Larry's ass fucking was more than arousing, more than stimulating.

It was confirming, affirming, giving meaning to life itself.

This sensation was it!

This was where it was at, what was happening!

You talk about luxury!

You talk about pleasure!

Well, let me tell you, friend, there was nothing like this to be had for love or money.

It just did not get any better than this!

And my ass hole talked to my body.

And my body talked to my cock.

So that the hard-on of hard-ons was hobbling stiffly beneath me.

Beneath us.

Because, even as I realized that I had gotten an erection (difficult to realize, since all of me was feeling like one huge erection, at the moment), Larry's hand was down there, grabbing me, as though to confirm its status.

Oh, no! I thought. He's not going to jerk me off!

Because it would not take very much at all to make me lose my load at that point.

And I did not want to cut short the flood of exquisite sensations that was surging through me with each stroke of Larry's monster back and forth inside me.

Surge, surge. Surge, surge.

That was the pattern, as Larry pumped my ass, a fresh thrill of sexual electricity coursing through me at each move.

Yes, it could not get any better than this.

Or so I thought.

Because suddenly, Larry did a change of pace.

And now, instead of the in and out piston action, he was rolling his hips round and round.

So that his mighty engine was reaming me in circular sweeps of my innermost depths.

And each circulation prompted an intense response of pleasurable sensation within me.

So that it was as though I were being propelled higher and higher through the realms of a lascivious paradise.

I had never used the spiraling action, so I could not imagine how it might feel on his cock.

Or mine.

And now, it seemed important to me that I get his rocks off, as soon as possible.

So that I could take up with his ass where I had left off.

So that he could receive my hot, throbbing erection in his ass.

And now, as though getting the message (And why not? After all, we were communicating.') I felt him begin to lose control.

More and more erratic his movements became.

Wilder and wilder and less and less consistent.

As though he were a puppet, being jerked around by an energetic but drunken puppeteer.

So that now there was a delightful piston action, now a wild, exquisite gyration, each carrying with it its own special thrill.

And now, he was coming!

He had gotten cherry ass.

My first load.

Delivered in long, hot, powerful surges, filling me.

And filling me to overflowing.

Because there was no room in my bowels for both the great salami and its discharge'.

So that the come was filming its way between prick and bowel.

And overflowing back at the entrance.

But it did not matter.

Nothing mattered except that he come and I not.

So that I would be at the ready.

And it happened, just that way.

So that now he was throwing his final hump.

As his mighty organ discharged the secretion of his final spasm.

And he pulled out.

And went down on knees and elbows at once, sensing what I most ardently desired.

And I was behind him, my mouth back on his ass, my tongue in his ass hole.

But I did not bother with the oil.

Instead, I used my saliva, all the way.

On two fingers.

With which I gave him a finger wave.

Not as long, not as thorough as the one he had given me, perhaps, but then, obviously, he had been here before.

That or he had a bung that was made for it.

Because there were no space problems as I drove in, in, in.

So that my abdominal muscles met his hulking buttocks without a sign of resistance.

And I was in him!

And fucking him, quickly building up a full head of steam.

So that now, he was getting it from me just as he had given it to me.

Full force, I went, pulling back until only the head of my cock remained inside his ass hole.

And then shafting completely into him, my stomach hitting his ass with an audible smack.

And we were once more in communication, body to body.

My cock was talking to his ass.

And delivering a thousand different messages of urgent delight to the millions of nerve endings deep, deep, deep inside him.

On and on I plunged.

And I did not know and did not care where I was.

Or what anything meant or did not mean.

Such things no longer mattered.

Nothing mattered at the moment except those feelings.

Wild, electric, incredibly intense they were, as they radiated from my cock through the rest of my body.

Male in male, with nothing, nothing, nothing in between!

There was a bonding here, a unity of sensation.

And sensation was everything.

And outside the sensation and our bodies and the moment there was nothing.

But we were complete.

We had everything we needed, right there, between us.

Thrill and thrill and thrill sang through my body and, I'm sure, through his.

Higher and higher we were ascending, passing plateau after plateau of pure pleasure.

It could not get any better than this.

But it did, moment by moment.

Who was I?

What did I know?

The pleasure was in me and I in it and I was the pleasure.

And the pleasure and the pleasure and the plea' sure.

Permeating me, radiating out beyond me, its pressure flowing through me.

And filling me, filling me to overflowing, faster than I can dissipate it through every pore in my body.

So that now it is exploding within me.

And my safety valve is blowing, popping down below.

And my hot jism is injecting itself deep, deep, deep inside Larry's bowels.

And he is taking it, taking it all, all that I can.

As it is my body now that jerks this way and that, the spasms of ecstasy wracking me helplessly with the exquisite twinges of the pleasure beyond pleasure.

And I am coming and coming, as though I might never stop.

But at last I do, the last secretions empty muscular convulsions.

And I sit back on my heels, my huge, stiff, wet prong hobbling in my lap.

And I have done it with Larry, gone through the whole ceremony with him, the ceremony of initiation and of pleasure.'

And he smiles and leads me by the hand to the shower.

And we shower together.

And no vestige of the beer remains in my head or my bloodstream, I am sure.

Whether or not there was all that much there to begin with.

But even that does not matter, not any more.

Because a doorway has been opened to me, a realm, a dimension revealed.