Show-Offs, page 3
“Yes,” said Floppy-Mop blithely. “And very—er—stimu-lating it was too.” He grinned broadly. “But there were two of you then, and now you’re on your own.”
“There were two of you that day too,” Gary countered, awkwardly doing up his shorts with one hand and trying to look as if he wasn’t.
“Well, Alex is away this weekend. And my name’s Peter, by the way. I’ve got a place near here.” He gestured with an arm away from the sea, across the field, toward a line of nondescript houses. “One of those is where I live. I share with Alex and another bloke. We’re all students at art school.” He looked at Gary in silence for a moment, weighing up the possibilities, and thinking what to do or say next. And Gary looked steadily back at him, waiting for him to give a lead. Peter screwed up his courage. “Do you want to come back with me? If you’ve got time. It’s not like I live alone. Alex is away but the other guy, Simon’s in. It’s not that you’d have to worry if you were safe. As there’s two of us in the house.”
Gary looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to be back at school at four…”
“It’s only just after two now. You’d have plenty of time to see the place, have a cup of coffee, do anything else we felt like doing…if we felt like doing it…and still get back for four. And you’d know where to come if you ever wanted to come again.” Seeing a smile on Gary’s face, Peter amended, “Well, you know what I meant to say.”
“Perhaps you meant to say more than one thing at a time,” Gary said, getting to his feet, and thought he’d been quite clever.
They set off across the edge of the field to where the line of rooftops Peter had pointed to marked the beginning of the outskirts of the town. “We go this way, in through the back garden,” Peter said. “And what’s your name, by the way? If you want to tell me, that is.”
“No harm in a name,” Gary answered. He felt sure he could trust this man. He’d seen him being fucked, after all, seven days ago, and felt his cock, and Peter had gently felt his too. “I’m Gary,” he said. “My friend, who you saw, is Tom. He’s away for the weekend too.”
Peter was wearing old, belted jeans, quite tight around the bum, enabling Gary to note approvingly the round fullness of that bum’s cheeks. He remembered with a little private smile the rather better view of them he’d had when Peter was being fucked by Raven-Hair—Alex. He hadn’t forgotten, either, Peter’s engaging smile, freckled snub nose and frank blue eyes. They walked on, neither of them attempting to touch the other, in full view as they were of the windows of the backs of the houses in the row where Peter lived, as also from the cliff path that they had just left.
“Before your friend left for the weekend,” Peter asked, “did you get as far as fucking with him? Informed by the exhibition Alex and I had given you.”
“Not quite,” admitted Gary, “although we’ve progressed to sucking each other’s cock. Tom did try to fuck me on Wednesday, but I suddenly started peeing and it put him off, or made him come too quickly, one or the other. Anyway, he ended up shooting off up my back instead.”
“You started peeing while he was trying to roger you? That must have made a bit of a mess.”
“Well, not that much, actually. I had my trousers down and I was bent over the workbench in the chemistry lab. My prick was actually dangling over the sink, so everything went down the plughole.”
Peter smiled. “I wish I could have been a fly on the wall that day. Mind you, mustn’t complain. I haven’t forgotten you and your friend—Tom?—showing us your handsome cocks. And surprising us by shooting half a mile. That was something to watch.”
“Are you planning to have a go at fucking me?” Gary asked, a bit doubtfully.
“We’ll see,” said Peter. “But I promise I’ll do nothing at all that you don’t want. Okay?”
They had reached the garden gate. Peter led them in through it, then up the path through a small, rather overgrown, back garden to the kitchen door.
A minute later they were in a small, untidy living room, and Gary was being introduced to Peter’s other housemate, the fellow art student who was called Simon. He looked more studious than arty. With medium-length straight dark hair, neatly parted, bashful eyes that peered through neat spectacles, and a neat and tidy nose and mouth, he was undeniably good looking, Gary thought, though in very much a Clark Kent sort of way. He was just finishing a cup of tea. He didn’t seem fazed by the idea of Peter coming home with a schoolboy in tow, albeit a fairly mature one. When he’d drained his cup he got to his feet and announced that he was going to the shop to get a few things. Did Peter want anything? Peter said no.
When Simon had gone out Gary asked, “Is he…I mean, does Simon do it with guys?”
“Don’t know yet,” Peter answered. “He’s only been here a fortnight and he’s quite shy. He hasn’t given any indications, one way or the other. It’d be nice to find he did, though. Especially as he has a cute cock.”
“How do you know that,” Gary asked, giggling a bit.
“I’ve seen him wanking. Bit embarrassing, this, but there’s a little hole in the wall between his room and the one I share with Alex. Once or twice we’ve thought he was watching us through it. Just because of a bit of a sound by the wall, that’s all. And why not, anyway, if he wants to? But then yesterday when I was on my own and he’d gone upstairs to study—he said—I did just chance to look through the spy hole in the other direction. There he was, on his back on he bed, T-shirt round his armpits and trousers down to his knees, giving himself one. He did it very prettily, I must say, and squirted a big load onto his tummy.” Peter looked closely at Gary, an amused grin on his face. “And do you want to know what I did?”
“I guess you may have…” Gary hesitated.
“Wanted to wank. Of course. Everybody who watches another guy doing it wants to do the same thing to himself and does if he gets the chance.”
“And yesterday…?” Gary wanted to know.
Peter laughed out loud. “I was too late. I came unexpectedly in my pants before I could get my dick out. Sounds a bit teenage, but there you are. Anyway, now here we are, and Simon won’t be back for a while.”
Gary thought now that he would have liked to be a fly on the wall, witnessing the scene that Peter had just described. He was titillated by the thought of the serious, bespectacled young man he’d just met boyishly wanking with his trousers at half mast, and of Peter spilling his load while he watched. Now Peter took Gary in his arms. He cuddled him and kissed him and said, “I’d like to fuck you, but only if you want it.” He disengaged himself from Gary and sat in an armchair. Gary looked round a bit anxiously. “Don’t worry,” Peter reassured him, “Simon won’t be back for a bit. And if he does come back… Well, you weren’t shy of shooting your load in front of me and Alex last weekend, were you?” It struck Gary that Peter had a point. He wouldn’t mind much if Simon were to come back and catch them at it. If Simon enjoyed watching Peter and Alex, let him enjoy the sight of Peter and himself. He had nothing to be bashful about, and decided it might be quite a turn-on to be watched. Peter said, “Sit on my lap,” and Gary did.
Expertly Peter slipped Gary’s T-shirt up over his head and off, then wriggled his shorts down over his hips. Gary caught Peter’s momentary approving smile at the discovery that there was nothing underneath those shorts, save stiff cock and tight balls, nesting in fur. He pulled the shorts right off over Gary’s plimsolls, then took those off too, meanwhile keeping Gary firmly planted on his lap, his cock proudly sticking up between his bare thighs like a flagpole.
Gary looked down at himself and approvingly watched the first dewdrop appear from his pee-hole. It felt really nice to sit naked in the lap of someone fully clothed, to feel the warm softness of his sweater against your body, his jeans against your naked young legs. The feel of wool against skin… He remembered how the tickle of the bedcover had caused him to come when, before Tom had taught him to masturbate properly, he had used to brush his cock against it. He wanted to feel that sensation now. He turned himself so that he straddled Peter, facing him, chest to chest, then raised himself a little till he could push his stiff cock against the woolly front of Peter’s sweater. On which it promptly deposited a couple of drops of juice.
Peter laughed. “Hey kid, that’s nice. That’s really sweet. Even if you do end up by making a terrible mess of my pullover.”
It was bringing back lovely memories, this tingly feeling of his prick nestling in Peter’s woolly clothes, but it wasn’t a very comfortable position to sit in for very long. Reluctantly Gary squirmed back round to his original position, sitting across Peter’s thighs. He could feel the stirring of Peter’s imprisoned cock beneath him. Now he wanted to feel that cock against his skin. Perhaps if Peter’s jeans were off, that dick would squeeze its way up between Gary’s thighs and stand side by side with Gary’s own cock, currently occupying that station on its own. “Take your trousers down,” he whispered hotly to Peter. “I want to feel your cock against my bum, between my thighs.”
Somehow Peter and Gary together managed to wriggle Peter’s jeans down his legs as far as the knees without Gary having to climb off his lap completely. Then Gary squirmed around on top of Peter, feeling his cock move beneath him. Wherever it moved to it anointed him with a drizzle of precome, which Gary enjoyed. One moment it was lined up along the cleft of his bum, the next it had found its way between his thighs and was visible at last, standing to attention right next to Gary’s own dick—roundhead next to cavalier—both seeming to compete as to which could dribble juice faster and in the greater quantity. Gary reached down with a finger and ran it round Peter’s cockhead gently. Peter did the same to Gary’s cock. Both organs quivered in delight.
“This is so good,” Gary said, “sitting on you, feeling your cock tickling the inside of my thighs.”
“It is,” Peter answered. “How would you like it in a slightly different position, just a few inches different, massaging the inside of your inner tube?”
“Inside my arse, you mean?”
“I wasn’t going to use such an indelicate expression on this occasion,” said Peter, “but I do mean that.”
“Yes,” said Gary, “I think I would.” He gulped. “I’m nervous though. Do you think it’ll hurt?”
“Not if I’m careful. And remember, in this position you’ll be on top. You’ll be the one controlling what happens: how far it goes in and when it comes out. But we have to do something first. And that means getting off me just a moment. Next door in the kitchen there’s some olive oil.”
Reluctantly, though shivering with excitement, Gary climbed off Peter and fetched the oil from the cupboard in the kitchen where Peter told him to look. (It was easier for him to walk with no clothes on, despite a forward-pointing, dribbling ramrod of an erection, than it was for Peter, whose jeans still tied his legs together at the knees.) When Gary came back Peter made him lie facedown on the sofa for a minute while he opened the oil bottle and poured a little right into Gary’s crack. “It’s cold,” said Gary with a giggle. He felt Gary prize his cheeks apart then felt his finger opening his arse.
“Relax,” said Peter, “and let my finger slowly in. Imagine you’re sucking a dick and that you’re pulling it through your lips.” Gary did and it seemed to work. Soon he was aware that Peter’s finger had gone in right to the hilt, and was wiping his insides all round with oil. Gently, slowly Peter pulled his finger out. Gary’s arse, where it had been, felt hot, almost like burning, but not unpleasantly so. Then he realized that the sensation was not merely pleasant, it was a wonder, and he wanted it to go on—he wanted Peter’s cock inside him now.
Peter sat down again on the sofa, poured a drop of oil down onto his prick and worked it round the head and shaft with his hand. “Now sit on my lap like you did before, and this time wriggle your oily little orifice round over the head of my dick and let it slip in.”
Gingerly, Gary lowered himself toward Peter’s lap, feeling his way toward his cock with his bum (a novel experience for him—but then, what wasn’t a novel experience today?) He felt the hard cock-tip prod against first one cheek and then the other, then somehow it had found its way into the cleft between. “Imagine you’re going to swallow it with your hole,” Peter reminded him. Then suddenly, without warning, Peter’s cock had gone in. Gary found himself sliding down it slowly, like a slow-motion fireman down a pole. He felt himself flooded with radiance, with heat, with sensation. Peter had somehow got right into his insides.
Gary realized that he was sitting firmly on Peter’s lap now. All of Peter’s prick was poking up his arse. There was no more to take unless he were to try to swallow his balls. Peter spoke. “I might just come without anything more happening, but it’ll be nice for both of us if you move yourself up and down. Not too far though, or with all this oil my dick’ll slip out.”
Their attention was suddenly caught by a movement by the door. They turned their heads, though nothing else. There in the doorway stood Simon, mouth agape with astonishment and shock, a state soon mirrored by Peter and Gary. They sat frozen where they were, their mouths too dropping open in surprise, though their pricks stayed stiff—Gary could see his own, and he felt the comfort and solidity of Peter’s thick shaft, upright in his arse. Then, very slowly, Simon’s expression thawed into a grin, as he began to unbuckle the belt of his jeans and undo the studs of his fly. “Just keep on going,” Simon said, “if you’re okay with an audience.”
Gary confirmed just then what he had suspected: that having an audience was absolutely fine. And if that audience was going to take its trousers down and show its appreciation by pleasuring itself while it watched, that was just fine too. Gary started to do what naturally seemed to be required. His feet weren’t touching the ground now so he couldn’t use them for leverage. Instead he used his arms, which he’d thrown around Peter’s neck in a sort of ecstasy, to pull his body up a bit. With that and some wriggling of his thighs and bum he somehow managed to massage Peter’s cock, thick and fleshy inside him, up and down. “Something tells me this isn’t going to take long,” Peter said, directing the remark toward Simon, and grasped Gary’s cock with his own, oil-lubricated, hand.
Simon, meanwhile, still standing in the doorway, had slipped his jeans all the way down his legs, produced a rapidly stiffening uncircumcised dick that was as handsome as the rest of him, in the same modest way. He had nice strong legs, well shaped, and, because his T-shirt was very short, he was exposing his belly too. It was striated with fine hair that ran in elegant waves from his central treasure trail as neatly as if parted with a comb. Grinning silently, Simon proceeded to wank himself unhurriedly off, bending slightly at the knees as he approached his climax, and finally spilling big white gobbets of come onto the carpet in front of his feet.
“Oh, wow, that looked so good,” Gary said. He felt he was in heaven now. Looking down at his own cock, he could see that Peter moving his hand—with his exertions, Gary was having his own little fuck in the cozy, slithery warmth of Peter’s fist.
“I’m coming,” Peter announced. “You won’t be surprised.”
“Me too,” said Gary, “and no surprise there either. Oh hey, here I go!” He felt his spunk rising inside him and it made him redouble his attempts to move up and down in Peter’s lap and in Peter’s fist. With total abandon, he shot his load, at exactly the same moment as Peter gasped and shot his too, hot and copious into Gary. There was no high-thrown plume from Gary’s cock this time—the sight that Peter might have been hoping for, though Peter was shooting his own load with such joyous abandon at that moment that he was hardly going to care. With all his convulsions, thrustings and writhing of his body, Gary’s spunk flew out of him spinning in all directions, as if through a fast revolving fan or helicopter-blades. At the same time he felt Peter’s hot pumping inside him—it seemed that Peter was pumping his sperm spurts forever.
But then at last their frantic movements slowed; the tempest of delight that had sprung up and raged in both of them died down. While Simon continued to watch them, still gently fondling his slick, spent but still stiff prick, Peter slid his cock out of Gary and allowed him to climb off his lap. Peter stood up. “Come here,” he said to Simon, and without bothering to pull up their jeans they shuffled toward each other across the carpet. Of the three of them only Gary was completely undressed, but that was clearly not going to remain the case for long. “I think the three of us ought to get up to the bedroom now,” Peter said. He slid Simon’s T-shirt up and off over his head, then Simon did the same to him. As they came close together so their upslanting dicks came together too, and their two foreskins kissed each other gently like little lips.
Standing naked, watching, just a few feet away, Gary ran a finger gently along the underside ridge of his own stiff organ, as if checking that he was awake and that this was not all a dream.
What a lot he would be able to tell Tom when he got back to school…
IN THE CLOSET
Michael Bracken
When I heard the apartment door open I stopped cold. Christopher Melon had returned home earlier than usual, and the sound of two male voices entering the apartment told me he wasn’t alone. I stood in his master bedroom dressed all in black, a thick wad of his cash in one pocket, several expensive pieces of his jewelry in another.
The apartment had two exits—the door from the hallway through which Christopher and his guest had entered and the sliding glass door leading to the balcony through which I had entered twenty minutes earlier. The only path to either exit was through the living room where, from the sound of things, Christopher was preparing drinks at the wet bar.
My pulse raced and I struggled to keep my breathing steady. I had never before been trapped in a residence I was burglarizing. The closest I had ever come was more than a decade earlier, when I’d been younger and less cautious. I’d slipped out the back door of a Tudor in the Heights just as the homeowners entered through the front.
