Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2001 20:21:59 -0500
From: David Buffet <tightserve@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alpha Male - Chapter 32

Chapter 32: The Second Coming

	Dan and I were naked on his bed while Adam listened to his headphones and
read.  Dan had turned into a tiger, pushing, pulling, conducting, directing.
  Having crushed my mouth onto his left nipple and demanded all the
attention I could give it, he grabbed a clump of hair at the back of my head
and returned me to his mouth.  He ravished mine with a hungry, hurried
insistence.  He chewed my lip, he vanquished my tongue, he stole my air.  He
raised his arm and pushed my nose and mouth into his armpit.  The pungency
of it!  A stickler for hygiene, though he showered twice a day he used no
deodorant.  It was the smell of masculinity.  It was the smell of charisma.
I laved the hair and the skin savoring its sour piquancy.  Again back to his
mouth, but this time it was so that he could taste my face.  He sucked on my
cheek, my chin, my brow.  Rather than move himself, Dan put my head where he
wanted it.  To gain access to my chin, he brought it to his mouth.  When
kissing, to allow for deeper exploration, it was tilted to an angle that
suited him.  I was following him in a dance, Cyd Charisse to his Fred
Astaire.  It required me to stay loose and attentive to his touch.  I was
doing what he did, but backwards and in high heels.
	He pushed me down, past the perfectly shaped patch of hair between his
pectorals, along the deep furrow between his abdominals which stretched
south like a state route in Western Kansas: long, straight and flat save for
periodic perpendicular corrugations in the landscape.  Down to his navel,
concave and shallow, down to where the fine translucent hairs became long
and dark.  His abdomen was a rise that challenged Hoover dam in its grace of
line.  I did not lick him so much as I slobbered, leaving a trail of
glistening, Pavlovian satisfaction where ever I had journeyed.
	Down, to where his potency lay, stretched upward toward me. Dan had me by
the ears now, working me around his body.  When finally head to head, I
resisted his direction for the first time.  I pulled against his grip to
look up at him.  He looked back.  I smiled.  Here is where you're bringing
me, I said with my eyes, and here is where I'm happy to be.  I will make you
feel good.  He grinned back and nodded.
	I turned my head back to his beautiful erection, opened my mouth and
relaxed.  I knew there was nothing else I need do.  Dan would want to drive.
	And drive he did.  He impaled me on him in one long, endless motion.  The
angle was wrong - there was no place for his dick to go without choking me.
But I knew this was to be the case, and knew also that Dan knew it.  He kept
pushing me down increasing for hours? days? the pressure with no forward
motion.  At once his head popped into my gullet at an unworkable angle.  I
gagged but with no place for the bile to go, full as I was with him.  My
eyes watered.  He pushed onward, stretching my larynx in an impossible way.
Painful at best for me, this could not feel particularly good for him
either, I thought, then retreated from the idea as something he had said
earlier clicked in and finally began to make sense.  I *was* doing something
for him, I understood at last.  I was letting him.  It was the letting - the
permission - the permission to do whatever he wanted, regardless of how
outrageous, that Dan wanted from me.  It was my gift to give him.  He did
not want my expert hands, he did not want my practiced manipulations.  He
did not particularly want my dick, even.  He wanted only my permission.  It
was, for him, as much an aphrodisiac as his command was for me.  Maybe it
was not so important if he was gay or straight.  Maybe it was the attitude
he was looking for, not the plumbing.
	Just shy of passing out, he lifted me off him and let me gasp for air and
wipe my nose with my forearm.  When stable again, but before I was ready, he
speared me anew.  So thick it was!  And so long!  If I were in a proper
position - on my back and facing away from him with my head tilted back over
the bed, it would still have been difficult to find the relaxation necessary
for him to slide it in to the hilt.  As it was, entry was impossible without
force.  But Dan had the strength and used it.  I felt close to tearing
pharyngeal muscles.  My hand grabbed the base of his cock in an attempt to
take control - to push against the pressure.  I could sense the smirk this
raised on his face.  It was to no avail and instead caused him to push
harder.  Again, I began to convulse in autonomic gags.  Dan moaned in
response.
	There are worse ways to die, I suppose, then suffocating on the dick of
Daniel Magnusson.  This was the thought that was going through my mind when
he finally released me.  It was the lake again, and I was gasping, spurting,
and equally wet.  My cheeks were covered in the runoff from my eyes, my lip
from the runoff from my nose, my chin in my own drool.  Dan pulled me back
up next to him while I tried to catch my breath and looked at me.
	"Y'all're a mess," he said laughing.
	"Yeah, well..." I started laughing too, despite my overwhelming need for
air.
	"Well, what?"
	"Oh," I said. "I didn't have a finish to that.  Sorry."
	Dan took my shirt off the floor and wiped my face with it.
	"You're pretty this way," he said and kissed me.
	"Sometime," I said, "can I just rub you from top to bottom?  I'd love to
give you a massage."
	"Can y'all give me a massage?"
	"Yeah."
	"Little man, just so y'all know, you can *always* give me a massage." He
laughed.
	"Oh!  I thought you didn't want me to use my hands."
	"That's just when I'm screwing you."
	"Can I ask you a question?"
	"Yeah," he said, "you can ask."
	"Why can't I use my hands."
	Dan smiled and kissed me on the tip of the nose.  "You want to be taken for
a ride, little man, but you want to keep your hands on the wheel too.  Y'all
can't have it both ways."
	I nodded.
	"Now we get a punishment for askin'."
	"You serious?"
	"Naw.  That whole 'punishment' thing's stupid if ya ask me.  But I *am*
gonna slap you around a little. I wanna see some colors."
	I grinned. "Be gentle wid me, massa!"
	Dan sat up sideways across the bed, leaned against the wall, and positioned
me over his lap.  My right hip was against his erection.  Mine rested on his
left thigh.
	"I be good, Miss Scahlet," I whined.  Dan chuckled.
	"You like getting fucked?" he asked.
	"Ooooooh, yes.  Yes, I really, really do."
	"Good," he said, bringing down his extended palm hard onto the broad plane
of my ass in a moderately forceful smack.  "This'll be fun, then."
	The slap stung.  It tingled.  He kept his hand on my flesh for a few
seconds after he struck, feeling the heat build.   It was pleasant - I was
back on familiar ground.  Plenty of guys liked to slap ass a little before
or during a fuck.  He spanked me again, harder and in the same place.  My
skin warmed.  Again, harder.  Each strike pushed my hips into his thigh, my
erection against his flesh.  He developed a rhythm. Largo grandioso, one
beat to a measure.  But each slap was harder than the one before.  Soon
little grunts were escaping me.
	I was wrong.  Dan *was* bringing me to a new place.  He was concentrating
on the meatiest part of my glutes, aiming left and right, a little higher or
lower as he saw fit.  Harder and harder, the sound of the smacks was soon
earsplitting.  Again, though, what I was feeling was different than pain.
It was a transcendent focus, it was a rapture of attention.  Fire is
transfixing.  We can stare at its beauty until we are made night-blind by
it.  So too with its feel, I was learning.  The fire below my skin grew,
convected, singed.  I was stung by it and its breathtaking intensity.  Still
Dan continued, unrelentingly.
	As the abuse continued and the flames increased, I was brought, slowly, to
the understanding that yes, Dan was causing me pain.  The slaps were no
longer increasing in amplitude, but the sheer number and frequency of them
made my skin begin to protest violently despite my conviction that he would
do me no harm.  Yes, it hurt.  Yes, it hurt.  Each slap ignited an already
raw patch of skin.  The little grunts grew to groans, which grew to
expletives amidst uncontrollable panting.  Still Dan continued,
unrelentingly.
	There is a threshold.  I don't know where it is, I don't know how to
recognize it, all I can share now is that it exists.  Across it is something
otherworldly.  Dan brought me there.  For some time after he began, there
was no pain - or if there was, I denied it.  Soon it became too present to
be ignored, and I fell hideous victim to it.  But there was another stage
beyond, a stage of which I had never even dreamed.
	Would it sound psychotic to say I shrank?  Would it sound psychotic to
suggest that I sublimated to a gaseous state and had an experience of astral
projection?  I found myself floating over my own body watching Dan minister
to me.  And it was beautiful.  No.  No, Dan was beautiful.  He was in a
state of sublimnity so glorious that he shone as brightly as did the skin of
my ass below him.  His face was set in an attitude of sheer bliss, the blue
of his eyes glossy and gazed.  From the tip of his fullness oozed a steady,
thin stream of his satisfaction.  And it was I - I! - who was bringing him
there.  There *was* parity.  There *was* balance.  And I was as active a
participant lying there accepting his hand as he was swinging it.  I had,
all along, confused motion with action, direction with control.  But the boy
I saw below me, lying in semi-conscious, detached ecstasy as his partner
beat his swollen skin *was* engaging in a behavior as active as that in any
sport: surrender.  I had surrendered to Dan.  I had surrendered to Dan,
offering him the gift that he most needed.  I had surrendered to Dan,
finding, for myself, the piece of the puzzle that had been missing for so
long.
	I watched from above as he rolled me over.  I watched from above as he
liberally coated his bursting dick with his own spit.  I watched from above
as he forced himself inside me in one long, sustained push.  He had brought
me to a place where the pain of such sudden expansion hardly registered.  He
had brought me to a place where his head gliding over my prostate was merely
another sensation to heap upon the endless stack of others already too
overwhelming to catalogue.  He had brought me to a place where, coming to
rest with his thighs against my burning skin was, somehow, salving.
	And in that place he fucked me more completely than any man has ever fucked
me before.  It was not that I had dissolved that was remarkable.  It was
that he had as well.  Together we reached the speed of light and in a flash
of relativistic glory, became pure energy.  And like quanta of energy, we
were indistinguishable.  The dancers and the dance were one.
	We lay intertwined for a long time when we were done, unsure where one
ended and the other began.  When we had finally recovered, Dan asked me if I
wanted him to get me some ice for my ass.
	"Naw," I said, "don't move.  I don't want to let go of the moment just yet.
  Besides, it doesn't hurt that much."
	Dan laughed.  "Yes it does," he said.  "You just don't know it."
	We were quiet for a while longer.  I noticed we were breathing
sympathetically.  I loved the position Dan liked us to recline in - he on
his back, me draped over his side.  It allowed me to look at him, to explore
him.  I found myself combing his dusting of chest hair with my fingernails.
	"I'll take one of those massages now," he said, rolling over.
	"Happily."  I began a one-handed rub of his shoulders.  Dan moaned in
appreciation.
	A few minutes into it, with my thoughts extending no farther than the
extent of the muscle I happened to be working at the time, Dan said, into
the pillow, "y'all thought more about what I told you last night?"
	The question caught me off guard.  We had gone to different places, it
seems, once the massage had started.  I stopped rubbing, but, realizing the
pause might be taken incorrectly, quickly leaned in and kissed him on the
nape of his neck.
	"Yeah," I said, resuming the rub.
	"Well?"
	"Well," I said slowly, "it puts your thing about my saying no into a
different light. I mean, there's more to it than I thought at first."  His
silence and continued relaxation, translated through his levator scapula to
my fingers, told me to continue.  "I think you did something horrible.  I
really do.  But I don't think you intended to do it.  And I don't think
you'll do it with me...or with anyone else, come to think about it."  I
moved to work the lowest extreme of his trapezesius where it connected to
his lower thoracic vertebrae of his spine.  It would be the best indicator
of his level of tension.  "And it means a lot to me that you told me in the
first place and it means a lot to me that you care what I think about it."
	My fingers found no new knots.  Dan accepted what I said.  It was the last
time we ever spoke of it.
	I was happy that night as I drifted off to sleep, my head resting
comfortably on Dan's deltoid as he enfolded me in his arm.  No, not happy.
Serene.  My advisor called serenity the ability to be free of all but the
moment.  It was a new sensation for me and I reveled in it.  My last thought
before I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep was to notice Adam on the
bed opposite us.  He was still staring at his magazine, cut off from our
world by his headphones.  But he was smiling.
	I ran to catch up with Matt the next morning on the way to breakfast.
	"Heya, amigo," he said.  He was all but walking on air.
	"You're pretty chipper," I observed.
	"Just glad Shmu's here."
	I burst out laughing.
	"What?!"
	"Yeah," I said, when I was finally able to catch my breath, "he *is* a good
lay, isn't he?"
	Matt stared at me, amazed.  "You already talked to him?"
	"Nope," I said, smiling.
	"Then how..."
	"Call me Shmu," I said, doing my best impersonation of him in the golden
glow.  "I like it.  It reminds me of the sounds you make when I fuck you."
	Matt smiled and blushed.
	"Don't worry about it, honey," I said, so happy he was happy, "I've been
there.  He *is* good.  It *was* the sound I made!"
	Matt laughed.
	"Shmoooooo...shmooooo...shmu, shmu, shmu..."
	He punched me playfully on the arm to shut me up.  It was embarrassing him.
  I draped my arm around his shoulders and we set off for breakfast again,
brothers.
	The morning workout was productive for me, despite the discomfort of
sitting on the hard bench of the stands.  I was seeing things in both Dan
and Adam I had missed the first week of observation.  The size of their
personal bubbles was proportional to the effect they wished to have on
people.  When wanting to domineer, they stood invasively close.  With each
other, the bubble radius returned to average.  There was an asymmetry of
touch as well.  Adam touched people.  He would touch, in casual contact,
their arms, their shoulders, their butts.  No one ever brushed Adam.  I had
taken pages of notes in my little green notebook by ten o'clock, when Shmu
sauntered in and joined me in the stands.
	"S'up?"  He said, taking a seat next to me and casually leaning back onto
the risers behind, spreading his arms in open confidence.
	"Welcome to the day," I said.  "Have a good time?"
	"That boy can bend in ways that are un-fucking-believable!"
	I smiled and nodded.  "It's unreal, isn't it?"
	"How 'bout you?  Nice night?"
	"Very rewarding."
	"Which one?"
	"Dan," I said.  "I kind of like him."
	"He's a stud," Said Shmu, looking over at Dan.
	"Yeah," I agreed, feeling the ache in my ass as I sat, "my very own pummel
horse."
	Shmu smiled without getting the pun and surveyed the floor.  "Which one is
Evan?"  He asked.  I pointed.
	"Oh," he said, "good."
	"Why?"
	"Got a little bet going."
	"You can't be serious!  Shmu, you're here for Matt..."
	"The bet's with Matt," he said, simply.
	"Oh."
	I watched him watch Evan for a while.
	"Matt's okay with this?" I asked.
	"It was his idea," Shmu said.  "I was bragging about doing straight guys."
	I eyed him suspiciously.
	"Ask him," he said, getting defensive.
	"I believe you.  Just remember..."
	"Yeah, yeah.  I know.  Baby fag.  Save the day.  Don't worry.  I like Matt.
  So what's Evan's story?"
	"Really shy," I said.  "I hardly know him at all.  He doesn't say much.
I'd be surprised if he weren't a virgin."
	"Mmmmm..." said Shmu.  "Straight virgin.  My favorite."