Boy Crazy, page 3
The Viking shifted; his arm moved. Some of his long hair fell over his face adorably. I snuggled under the covers, feeling cute and ballsy, so I edged closer to his body. I figured: if he’d gotten in bed with me, that should have counted as a first move, right? Then again, it was his bed. Fuck it. What did I have to lose? I had just met this gang of meathead morons, and I had been a hit at the party, and I’d feel no remorse if I lost them because of a gay come-on. I didn’t find the idea of being their token fag all that appealing, anyway, now that I was mostly sober.
I brushed my cheek against the Viking’s hand, which was larger than my face. I grazed over his fingers. My lips brushed a knuckle. I brought my other hand to his arm and traced gently on his muscle with my fingers. I felt mischievous: I could play this off as a joke if I had to, I hoped.
He shifted suddenly, eyes still closed. I raised my head slightly and froze to see where he was going.
His right arm swooped up and smacked me hard in the face.
Fuck. That fucking hurt. Right in my nose, my big fucking nose. It hurt. I grabbed my face and he awoke.
“Whoa, sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice muffled by my hands. The embarrassment hurt more. I saw a smile through my fingers, and then he gently pulled my hand down. His touch was oddly intimate.
“Looks okay,” he said quietly. He looked at my skinny body. Okay, he noticed I’ve taken off my shirt. He didn’t seem fazed. Just tired. The blue light caught his eyes. His gaze was back to my face. “I’m fine,” I said. “You can go back to sleep.”
He groaned and smiled like a Cheshire cat and turned onto his back, sighing and resting his hands on his pecs. His arms were turned inward awkwardly and he traced his fingers on his chest. Odd.
I fell back down, on my side facing him, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling…in my hurt nose. I had to say something. I groaned: “What time is it?”
He looked over at the clock on his side. “Six-thirty.”
“Fuck. I’m going back to sleep,” I said. I snuggled against his arm, tentative. He predictably jerked his arm away. Okay. Fun’s over. Never mind.
Then his arm laced under me, to my utter surprise, leaving an open pathway for me to snuggle against him. His hand, now planted firmly on my back, fingers on my spine, willed me to push closer.
Every muscle in me tightened. Every muscle. Yeah, even that one. I wanted to stop myself, but I was definitely getting hard. And that part of me was very, very close to his hip. I forgot about my nose.
I wrapped my arm around his torso and pushed myself up to rest my head on his chest. My lips rested close to his nipple. I sighed into his chest. Was this real? He sighed in return, and his fingers traced around my spine. “You’re bony,” he said plainly. It was real.
“Thanks.” I knew there was some sexual innuendo I could have thrown after that one, but all that came out was “thanks.” I was terrified. Fear dulls my cleverness. The most I’d ever done with a straight guy was a meaningless hand job in a meaningless circle jerk that everyone pretended didn’t exist after it happened. And my history with gay guys? Meh…I’d rather torture myself with attempted conquests of unattainable guys like this Viking than with the shallow prancing douche bags in the drug-infested club scene.
And as conquests go, this was coming along.
“I’m not a fag,” he said. Right. The fingers tickling my back lisped otherwise.
“Yeah,” I said feigning confusion. “I hate fags.”
He still wasn’t fazed, and he looked at me. And with terrifying seriousness he got very close to my face and said, “Good, because I fucking hate fags.”
See. This scared me. I was half joking. Yeah, I “hate” fags, but I don’t hate fags. The Viking, on the other hand: his pugnacious voice pierced me. But I laughed lightly, if awkwardly. Ha ha, we’re still joking, right? Those fingers felt good.
I was hard as a rock. I was a porn cliché. I was dripping in my boxers. To hide from his eyes, I shifted back down on his chest. His other hand came around to my head and pulled off my beanie. This felt intimate too. He did it gently. His big fingers massaged my shaggy hair, my scalp. So fucking nice. Fingers on my spine. On my scalp. I did the next logical thing and pressed my lips to his nipple. I kissed it amidst the curly orange hair, carefully, unsure, and drew my fingers down his side, to his hip and stomach, feeling the hard grooves that framed his belly button. His fingers on my scalp turned into a strong palm, pressing me down. I put my lips around his nipple and licked and sucked, and he pressed harder and I sucked harder. The hand on my back clawed into me, scratching. Fuck. The tide, the mood, was shifting. This was fucking for real. This wasn’t a joke anymore. This was the point of no return. I gulped for breath and slid to his other nipple and moved to straddle him.
When I landed on him, he was fucking naked! I froze. A hard smooth cockhead pressed against my ass through my boxers. We had been under the sheets the whole time. I hadn’t seen how very nude he was. I looked at him, and his eyes burned into mine. Like a fucking hungry animal. I bucked my ass gently against his cock, getting a feel for it, letting it slip back and forth across my asscrack and hole. Each pass made my cock throb, and the wet patch on my boxers grew. I leaned forward and my hands rested on his solid pecs. His hands gripped my bony sides, tight over my ribs, under my arms.
He licked his lips. I leaned in gently, but he grabbed my face. Fucking grabbed it! And pulled me in and conquered my mouth. I fell on his chest, his lips devoured mine, and he held my face with those monstrous hands and his tongue fucked my face, as deep into my throat as he could get. I almost gagged. I almost fucking gagged on his fucking tongue. Fuck. He had a bear grip on me. I almost couldn’t breathe. I fought back with my lips, sparring with him. His stubbly beard tickled. His hands pulled at my skin, my sides, my back, jolts that tickled, and hurt. We were now two dogs fighting for the same bowl of food, gasping, panting, licking. I’ve never had a guy bury his tongue in my mouth like him. I tried to slow him, but he wouldn’t let up.
A hand flew down hungrily to my boxers, and he fucking pulled them down with one hand. One hand! My uncut cock bounced out, five and a half inches. Hey—I’m travel size, remember? He got the boxers down to my knees. I was no match for him. I couldn’t fight this even if I wanted to. His strong hands gripped me again, and suddenly I was on my back and he was on top of me, a monstrous naked Viking, terrifying and comforting all at once. He pulled my boxers completely off, past my feet, threw them on top of my beanie. I was completely naked. He hobbled on his knees, around my chest, his low-hanging balls grazing my stomach. His knees reached the sides of my face and he held his cock at my lips. I devoured it, forcing my head up to draw his meat into my mouth. I grabbed his hairy asscheeks and forced his cock down my throat. I gagged and pulled away and shoved him in again and he groaned and bucked and grabbed my head and shoved my nose into his red bush. I heaved and gagged and my goateed chin burrowed into his balls. He face-fucked me, his cock plowing all the way in. I tried to swallow, gagged, closed my throat around him, started to choke. I braced my hands against his rippled stomach and tried to shove him back.
Finally, he got the hint and pulled out, and I fell back, gasping. I told him to come around behind my head and face-fuck me from the other side. He flipped around and rested his knees against my ears. He grabbed my jaw and pulled my mouth open. Fuck, man. I think I can open my mouth myself. But I didn’t mind. He shoved his cock in and it slipped way past any point a cock had been in my throat before. I thought I’d choke but I snarled through my nostrils with each thrust. He fucked and bucked like a feral beast. His balls slid back and forth over my nose and my closed eyes. I was relaxed, and my throat accommodated him nicely. I loved the feeling of his ball hair. Both his hands had a firm grasp on my torso for balance. Then he circled my neck with one of his gigantic hands, grunted that he wanted to feel his cock filling my throat. I choked, panicking, groaned and gurgled. His hand gripped my neck tighter as he fucked and I gagged, but when my body spasmed he paid attention and eased his hand from around my throat. His pace picked up and I waited to feel his cum shooting down my throat, but he stopped and pulled out and dropped down and grabbed my face and kissed me upside down, savoring his own saltiness.
He said against my lips: “I want to fuck you,” his first words in what seemed like forever. And I begged for it. I fucking begged for it. He swooped to his drawer and got a condom on and lathered his cock with lube like a fucking machine on overdrive. I spread my feet and he came up on me, grabbed both of my legs and thrust himself in, pressing hard against my eager asshole. He fell forward, grabbed my face again with lube-greased hands. He kissed me, consumed me. His hair fell around my face. I could barely see him through a curtain of soft red. I curled my legs around his waist and rested my feet on his back and bucked my ass up in the air, and he thrust his cock harder against my willing bud. It puckered out and in and welcomed his cockhead. His jaw dropped with surprise as he slipped into me, and he sighed and rose and grabbed my waist on both sides and his painful gorgeous thickness penetrated me. I relaxed. I was so fucking horny. I pushed hard against him. His cock filled me. He was monstrous. I welcomed the pleasure of the pain.
“God, you’re fucking tight,” he panted. His fullness was buried in me. I had only been fucked once before, ineptly, painfully. Now I knew I had been saving myself, denying myself, waiting for someone worthy of my ass. My Viking was worth it.
“Fuckfuckfuck.” Precum streamed out my cock, onto my stomach.
He grabbed my cock, and it was like getting hit with a Taser. His cock tunneled deeper yet, past my prostate, and I groaned, growled, screamed, and he grabbed my mouth, covering it with a death grip. He didn’t let up. He fucking fucked me. He pulled all the way out and shoved back in, and my tight ass gaped and gasped for every inch, all eight inches, of his cock. I groaned against his hand; my eyes rolled back. He pumped my uncut cock and bucked his hips. His cock burned in and out; even more of my precum oozed over his fingers.
His burly body fell onto my bony frame, and his lips replaced the hand smothering my mouth. He kissed desperately, he stopped jacking me, he grabbed my thighs and pulled my legs far apart. He fucked and fucked and my toes spread, my feet spasmed, everything spasmed, and he fucked me and fucked me and kissed me and kissed me. With every fuck my ass lifted into the air, higher and higher off the bed. His balls slapped my ass, his red hairy trail pricked my balls and cock. I went over the edge. I growled into his mouth and he fucked me and his fingers dug into my thighs, my calves, my feet, between my toes, sending jolts of pleasure from my toes to my loins and up to my brain. The first surge out of my cock was the Best. Sensation. Ever. Cum splashed his chin and beard. He rammed back in, impossibly deeper. More spurting cum dropped onto my face, my neck, my chest, my stomach, oozed out of my cock onto my balls. I had never cum so hard. I couldn’t feel his cock anymore, just thrusting pleasure and bliss. His muscles tensed, he gasped and whimpered, and his orgasm flooded my ass, contained by a condom but oh, so hot. He shuddered, muscled arms shaking at the release.
My Viking fell against me. I gasped at his monstrous weight. He panted into my neck. His hands scratched up my sides, across my ribs. I was so sensitive I jerked, and after-cum pearled out of my slit. His hair blanketed my face and he kissed around my ear. His mouth came to my cum-covered lips and lapped and his tongue fucked into my throat again. I tasted my cum now, and gagged, and he laughed into my throat and wiggled his softening cock out of my ass. I groaned when it slipped out.
I was plundered. Conquered. He could have planted a flag on me. He scratched his chest and pulled off his cum-filled condom. The scent of his sweat mixed with the tang of our cum made me drunk again. He tossed the condom. He hobbled on his knees again, up to my chest, and pressed his sticky softening cock to my lips. I licked it clean, sucked it dry, tugged on it, slapped it against my lips. He eased away and rested his ass lightly on my stomach, making sure not to put all his weight on me, looking into my eyes. Even soft, his cock was a python, definitely a shower. It flopped onto my chest. I met his gaze. By now, beams of sunlight were pouring through the window blinds, illuminating his pale, sculpted, gleaming body. He was drenched in sweat. His fiery hair stuck to the sides of his face. He smeared it off.
I watched him with something more than lust. I was still panting, my skinny chest rising and falling against his beastly balls and cock. He lifted one knee away from me and grabbed me by my sides and turned me so my head rested on pillows. He fell down on his elbow and brought his other arm over me, his hand cupping under my back. His hair fell on my face again. He pressed his nose and forehead against mine and ran his other set of fingers across my chest. I was lithe against his warrior body. I didn’t deserve the gentle treatment, his tender touches. He lightly kissed my lips, in stark contrast to his feral passion earlier. I wanted to fall asleep with his warm grizzly face against mine. We locked together, just breathing. I brushed my foot against his, and he slid his against mine, holding it down, letting his big toe run up the center. This tickled and I gasped and he laughed.
I slept in his arms until we heard noise in the house. He got up, walked naked to the bathroom, told me to join him, and I did. We showered together, then ran a bath and lay together in the hot water. There was nothing sexual. We were too spent. He held me from behind in the cramped tub and slicked my hair back and played with how it curled down my neck. He ran his hand around my neck and felt my sharp Adam’s apple, my scraggly goatee. It tickled. I mouthed one of his fingers. We talked. He was on the college team, offensive line: number 65. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend, a cheerleader. Typical. They never had sex. She wanted to wait until marriage. Stupid. Even if I had the luxury of marriage—fuck you, Proposition 8—we’re only this young for so long. “Nineteen happens once,” I told him. “Twenty happens once. Eventually you regret what didn’t happen, rather than what did.” His arms pulled me tight against his chest and his lips came to the side of my face at those words. I turned to meet his lips and we kissed. I loved the feel of my spine against his muscle. I said I’d go to his games even if I didn’t know a damn thing about football. I didn’t want to tell him that I loathed football. He promised special seats.
When we were done and he dried me, I found my clothes in the mess of his room and we went to explore outside the bedroom door.
In the living room, the survivors of the night were strewn about the trashed house. It was a disaster. My Viking’s hands, Jake’s hands, rested on my shoulders. We were surveying a devastated land. “Rock” appeared from behind the kitchen counter looking like shit. His eyes were red and puffy. He slapped his face. We helped gather the bottles and red cups. I tried to pull one plastic cup off the counter; the top half ripped off and the bottom half stayed stuck—bonded to the surface, no doubt, by the nasty trash-can punch that had spilled everywhere. Rock came over and slapped my ass.
Jake looked at him and smirked. “He’s had enough of that.”
“I bet,” Rock said. I tried to suppress a smile, stealing glances at Jake, reassured by his apathy to Rock’s response. I couldn’t tell if this was joking or serious.
We continued to clean house. The last of the partiers finally left, and soon after Jake gave me a ride back to campus. As we neared the main entrance, I told Jake he wouldn’t be allowed to drive me to my dorm: the parking Nazis would turn us around. But the attendant recognized him. She smiled, said “Go Tech,” and waved us through. I was astonished. I was figuring out just whose arms I was getting into.
We approached the shit hole that was Branch Hall. Home. In the parking lot, I wasn’t sure what to do. Kiss him? Give him the man pat? He grabbed my face and neck and answered for me. He kissed me hard, tongue and all. He ran his hands through the hair under my beanie until I was out of breath. Then he moved to my neck. Kissing, sucking, biting. I groaned and snuck my hand up his shirt, pressing against his hard abs, pushing my fingers down to the brim of his jeans. I wanted to leap over and straddle him, pull my pants and boxers down, let him fuck me right there again. His aggressive nature inspired me.
We eased up and he held me by my goatee and said, “We’re having a second-week-of-classes party next weekend. You’re coming.”
“I would hope so,” I said. He looked at my lips like he wanted to kiss again, but I hid my eyes and reached for the door handle, coy and tired. I belonged to the Viking and I liked it. Number 65 had me. I shut the door. He stared at me. I walked to my keycard entrance, achy, sore, hungover. Happy. The West Texas sun hurt my eyes. I turned back and watched his jacked-up truck speed out of the parking lot. My heart pumped. I turned and kept walking. Until it hit me, everything that had just happened.
Holy fucking shit.
SUNDELIN
Alana Noël Voth
Sundelin Ross weighed one hundred fifty pounds wet. He was five foot nine. I know that now from his driver’s license, by the way, because I looked once. Behind his back, I grabbed his wallet and looked.
Sometimes I stared into the bottom of the coffee cup he served me and saw myself as one of the grounds floating in a sparse pool of liquid leather. His coffee was dark and strong. His eyes were blue. He worked in a coffee shop, one of those cute guys who took your order. His hair was caramel brown. He took orders from other people. Meanwhile, I made a list of things Sundelin would order me to do.
