Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2014 15:45:19 -0800 (PST)
From: abbadabbaisme@yahoo.com
Subject: Stuck in the Closet

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STUCK IN THE CLOSET

A comic gay erotic nightmare.

Yes!

What did that guy say, "Free at last, free at last, God almighty, free at
last!" Whoever he was, fucker was talking about me. God almighty, I am free
at fucking last.

Out of the house, away from the folks, my friends and everyone I know, for
the first time in my life I get to be me. Gay, faggoty, homosexual,
queer-ass, fudge-packing, cock-sucking, butt-licking, cum-loving,
butt-pirate, ass-vandal me. Man, I have waited a long ass time for this and
I am so ready. Soooo ready. I'm going to kick that closet door down, stamp
on it, take an axe to it and the closet itself, pour lighter fluid over the
both of them, drop a match and watch those suckers burn. There is no way I
am living the straight life again. Ever. The folks have seen the last of
their straight, homecoming king, baseball pitcher son. Next time they see
me, I'll be the queen of queens, no longer just a pitcher but a catcher,
and I mean that in the gayest way possible. Spread my legs. Bring on the
dudes.  Let's get it on.

I'm hauling my shit into my dorm room, moving in like a half dozen other
guys are also doing. I didn't sign up for a gay dorm – and believe me, I
went over that form about a dozen times looking for such a box to check –
but I couldn't have done any better if I had. Fuck, these guys are good
looking. Taller than me. Shorter than me.  Hairy. Baby's ass
smooth. Nerds. Jocks. I have died and gone to dude heaven. It's everybody's
first day here and already the whole floor smells exactly like what it is:
a jizz factory. And this factory worker is going to set new records of
productivity. Employee of the Month Award, here I cum.

I dump my load – the one in cardboard boxes, not the one in my scrotum –
on my bed as this angel from Eye Candy Heaven walks through the door and
says, I fucking kid you not, "Name's Joey. You gotta be my roommate." Fuck,
I must have been good in a previous life for God to treat me so well
today. This Joey, now MY Joey, gives my hand a shake, and he's a fucking
man. He's got a grip, this dude. My cock is twitching already in
anticipation of what he's going to do it. Tonight, if I have any say in the
matter. Tonight and every night. And morning and afternoon and fuck
whenever Joey – my Joey – wants. Fuck, that hand of his even has my
ass twitching, wanting in on the action. Never gave it much thought before,
but looking down on those digits of his, I'm telling you right here, right
now, I'm a big fan of fisting. As in huge. I tell him my name and Joey
smiles at me. Me.  He's smiling those pearly whites at goddamn me and not
following it up with some bullshit story about some pussy he's gonna fuck
tonight or he fucked last night – "oo, can you smell it on me?" – or
some pisshead girlfriend he left back home and can't wait to be with
again. No, this Joey's a first class, grade-A homo.

I go back in the hall to get my last box and, man, where did the shirts go?
Every guy living here or just passing through is shirtless. I'm in the
process of tearing off my own when I hear a commotion. Down the hall, three
guys with huge-ass grins are gathered around an open door and looking in. I
want to make friends, so I make my way over to join the crowd. As I get
closer, there's no mistaking the sounds coming from in there. Two people
are doing it. A couple of dudes. I get behind the biggest of the three
watchers (the guy must be a linebacker) and peek over their shoulders. Sure
enough, two guys are having the time of their lives doggy-style. Maybe that
bottom guy lets out what sounds like a painful grunt every time the top
pounds into him but the look on his face? Fucker looks like he just won the
lotto. The top slaps him on the ass, pulls most of the way out, spits on
his own cock again for extra lube I guess, and then wham! right back in
that hole, laughing, saying "Yeah, baby!" Precum's dripping from the
bottom's member as it bounces up and down and side to side. The sweat's
shining on both of them. These two are having the time of their lives and I
see my own glorious future right before my eyes. These guys are fucking
gorgeous. Taut lats. Giant biceps. Round asses. Tight waists. They are
textbook specimens. I can't wait for my turn.

Then one of the other guys watching notices me and stops smiling. He gives
me the half-laugh, half-wave thing and says "Hey" and walks away. His buds
notice him leave, spot me and then do their own versions of the same
thing. I'm alone in the doorway when the top looks over at me. He stops
laughing and says, "Oh, sorry." He taps the bottom on the shoulder. The
bottom turns to me and says kind of sheepishly, "Our bad" and pushes the
door closed.

Huh.

I guess that was a private moment after all. And here I thought they knew
they were being watched the whole time. I would have sworn the bottom even
winked at one of the guys in the doorway, but I guess I was wrong. They
weren't interested in putting on a show after all. I tell you right now,
that won't be me, I can guaran-fucking-tee you that. When I'm fucking,
anyone who wants to can watch. Put it all over the internet. Interrupt
every television broadcast worldwide with the live feed.  Fine by me. I
have nothing to hide. When I fuck, the world is going to know.

Back in my room, Joey's changed into some gym shorts and is pulling on a
tank top. On the floor are his t-shirt, jeans and even a pair of
boxers. Damn. Watching two guys fuck, I missed my first chance to see Joey
in the altogether. I console my dick by reminding myself there are going to
be tons of opportunities to see Joey naked this semester.

I'm stuffing my shit wherever I can fit it when I hear him say, "A few of
us are going for some beers. See ya later." He gives me a wave and heads
out. Beers? They're going to a bar? A fucking GAY bar? I ask if he'd mind
me tagging along. Joey laughs and says it's fine by him. He just didn't
think I'd want to go. Not want to go? Why the fuck would I not want to go
to a crowded sweaty bar with drunken, half-naked men feeling each other up
half the night? What self-respecting faggot wouldn't want to go?

The bar is perfect, a real dive. Whoever owns the place gets it that guys
don't go to bars to look at light fixtures and wall-coverings. (And who
gives a fuck about the guys who do care for shit like that, am I right?)
The owners know real guys want to see flesh. They want to see shoulders and
abs. They want stubble and leering eyes.  They want lips pointed at
them. And packages between the legs. And by that measure, this bar jumps,
shoots and scores.

Joey's smiling at and kidding with just about everyone he sees. I stop
asking how he knows all these guys. It turns out he doesn't. He's just
friendly and they're friendly back.  Fuck, what a dream. The other guys
with us are just as fun. Chaz, Drew, Singh and those other guys whose names
I can never get right, it's like they're at their best friend's party and
they know everyone here when in reality it's their first time here,
too. And I'm holding my own with them, telling jokes, slapping guys on
backs, all that shit.

Drew and Singh start going at it right in front of me. They're in the
middle of a deep kiss when Singh spots me out of the corner of his eye and
starts to giggle. He pulls back. Drew seems to understand something's up
and sees me. I tell them not to worry about me; have fun. Singh just laughs
and says, "You're alright," then starts making out with Drew again. Singh's
using the tip of his tongue to outline Drew's lips.  Drew's got his mouth
open and every once in awhile suddenly twists his head, trying to catch
Singh's tongue between his teeth. But Singh's too fast. Fuckers just laugh
and keep going at it. The whole time, Drew's holding Singh by the hair.

It isn't long before Singh is fumbling with Drew's zipper and lowering
himself to the floor. Jesus – he's going to blow him right here, right
in the open. No bathroom shit, not up against the wall, but right here,
right in front of the busiest part of the bar – blowing a dude. Fuck,
this is what I've been waiting for.

I feel a hand land on my back. There's beer-breath in my face. A voice
says, "Maybe you and I could take a lesson from these two." My first
proposition and I am what my dad used to describe as stoked. Not to mention
ready as hell. One look at this guy's face only confirms I want to be nasty
with him. He's got a young Han Solo thing going on, complete with that 70s
hair and crooked grin. But just as I'm about to say let's get the fuck
started and ask him if he wants to blow or be blown, he takes his hand off
my back and says, "Oh, sorry, man. Didn't mean anything by it," and walks
away.

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?

It takes a few minutes for me to track down this Han Solo character, but
when I do I'm not shy. I get in his face and shout at the top of my lungs
to be heard above the crowd, "What gives?"

And he yells back to me, "I didn't realize you were straight, sorry. Meant
nothing by it."

Straight? What's he talking about? Me, straight? I'm just about to set him
straight when someone scores in the game on all the monitors and there's
cheering and movement galore and I can't find Han Solo anymore for shit.

The whole thing's weird, but whatever. I make my way back to Joey. He's
crotch-to-crotch with some guy I've never seen before and he has his hands
gripping this guy's ass. Now I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit
jealous. I wish it were my ass he was gripping. Or his ass I was
gripping. But still, the sight is hot. Maybe I don't get Joey tonight, but
there's a roomful of other guys for me to grab or be grabbed by, so I set
out to get one for myself.

This one guy is dividing his time between watching the action in the room
and the action on the tv.  Whenever he tilts his head up to watch the game,
his mouth drops open a bit.  With those moist lips he's got... I can't stop
myself. Next time the stranger looks up, I kiss him, pushing my tongue
in. His eyes go wide and he even swirls his tongue in my mouth for a
second. But then he recoils, wipes his mouth and says to me, "Sorry, I'm
not really into straight guys." He shrugs and looks back up at the tv,
completely ignoring me.

Huh?

Before I can correct him, the bartender puts a beer in front of me and says
some guy at the other end bought it for me. I spot the guy. Maybe he's a
senior, maybe a grad student. Whatever.  He's hot. He lifts his own beer as
if toasting me from across the room but then his eyes get that deer in the
headlights look. And his smile goes from being horny and interested to
polite and trapped. He gulps down his beer, turns away and plows his way
through the crowd and out the front entrance.

Again I say, what the fuck?

Maybe the bartender sees my confusion. He leans over to me and says, "Don't
feel bad. Glad to have you with us. Used to be, your kind wouldn't be
caught dead in here." He puts another beer in front of me and adds, "On the
house. And my best to your girlfriend.  She's one lucky woman."

My "kind"? What girlfriend is he talking about? The bartender thinks I'm
straight, too? Fuck that shit. I am going to prove them all wrong. Right
here, right now. I down the beers. Just open my throat and – plop –
they are in my gut. Really, with throat control like mine, it would be a
waste if I wasn't gay. I could deep-throat a baseball bat.  I set out to
find one.

It doesn't take me long.  Some buff guy by the vintage Pong game is
packing. His jeans aren't tight anywhere but where it counts. I kid you
not, the bulge is halfway down his thigh – and this guy's legs are
long. I've had three beers, including the two I just downed, but that's not
enough for me. I take tall guy's beer right out of his hand and finish it,
too. Then I've got an arm around his neck, a hand in his crotch and my
tongue on his cheek. I stroke that thing he's got growing down there. His
eyebrows go up but he doesn't say no. So I unzip him and pop the rivet
holding his pants together. I'm reaching down to get his cock out while I
get down on my knees when he suddenly hoists me back up by the armpits.
"Good try," he says. "Who put you up to this shit?" he asks, laughing and
looking around the room. "Tell whoever it was who sent you here you won the
bet. I really believed you were going to suck me, and I've never said that
to a straight guy before."

Okay, there's a lot I want to say right now, but I'm so buzzed I can't keep
up verbally. By the time I have words on the tip of my tongue, he's moved
away. I tell myself maybe he wasn't all that horny or maybe he just came
and he was only post-orgasm hard and was taking a break. But then I see
some sweaty, squat, pizza-faced, round guy all over him. I think "troll" is
the single word that describes the guy best. And the troll has the tall
guy's cock out. The troll is on his knees. The troll is licking it and
kissing it and trying to squeeze it in his mouth and making a shit-ass
lousy mess of the whole thing – man, I could do so much better – and
tall guy is going along with all of it. Have I misjudged my own looks? Am I
uglier than that thing? I look in the mirror behind the bar. I'm easily a
half head taller than ninety percent of the guys in here. My shoulders are
wide and square. My waist is so small in comparison, I ought to have my
t-shirts custom-made. There isn't a haircut that looks bad on me. Girls are
always throwing themselves at me. Hell, even this morning, Jasmine
prostrated herself naked on our back deck, begging me to fuck her at least
once before going away to college – and I don't even know Jasmine's last
name. And she isn't the first chick to pull that stunt. Since I was in
ninth grade, it's happened fifteen times by Mom and Dad's
count. Twenty-four by mine. I've never taken any of them up on it which
maybe made me even more desirable. So I know I'm at least better looking
than that troll over there. And Jesus, look at those teeth. He just smiled
at the tall guy with jagged yellow teeth that make broken glass look
cozy. The tall guy's willing to risk putting his dick in that maw simply
because the little turd is gay but me he leaves alone `cause he thinks I'm
straight? Maybe I just need to be drunker to understand this shit.

I down someone else's beer. I don't know whose. I just grab the first one I
see, drink it and throw the plastic cup on the floor. I'm going to find me
a dick to suck. And I know exactly where to find one.

The bathroom is what you'd expect in a dive like this. Small and cramped
with lots of visible plumbing covered with one chipped coat of paint on top
of another. There's forty years worth of graffiti covering just about every
surface along with a few go-go boy-filled posters advertising upcoming
deejay and dance nights. The line to piss is long, but worth the
wait. Instead of urinals there's a rusty, stained trough that might have
been white a hundred years ago. It's something you might see at a farm, but
instead of a bunch of steer pushing their way through other steer to get a
drink of water, it's guys pushing their way in between other guys just to
take a leak.

So that's what I do, squeeze in between the guy in board shorts on my right
and the dude in the ring-t on my left. There's two cocks on either side of
me. I guess each one has its own characteristics, but as far as I'm
concerned they're all just cocks which makes them perfect. Each one is
letting out a strong, steady stream of piss. It's my wet dream of the last
five years come true. Me in between four hot, naked cocks.

Nobody's talking. I guess that's a universal for men's rooms everywhere,
straight or gay: no talking. I'm probably licking my lips but no one can
tell because everyone's checking out each other's equipment. The board
shorts guy and the dude on his other side are even crossing streams. Why
the fuck is that so sexy? And now the other guy has turned so the head of
his dick is up against board shorts' so it's like their cocks are kind of
kissing and pissing at the same time.

I fumble with the rivets on my jeans but can't seem to get them open. I
guess it's all those beers I downed so fast. I'm still pulling at my pants
when the guy in board shorts says something about me not having to pee
there. There's a stall if I feel self-conscious whipping my dick out in
front of gay guys to take a piss. I start to talk, but my brain is on
beer-induced half-speed so by the time I get the words out that I'm fine,
I'm actually gay, board shorts and the guy who ends up taking my place at
the trough have me turned around and squeezed into the solo stall in the
piss house. They even shut the door behind me, "So you can have some
privacy now, dude," says board shorts.

Now's when my fingers get their fucking act together and yank my cock out?
Great. Fucking great. Talk about all dressed up and no place to go, I've
got a hard as fuck cock right now ready for anything and everything, not
three feet away from a horde of my fellow faggots and I'm stuck the fuck in
a stall without even a fucking glory hole? What kind of shit is this? But
then I start to piss and think maybe being in this stall isn't such a bad
thing after all. Dick had to piss and it didn't wait for me to try to bend
it over the toilet – it just went. My hard cock pointing up like hard
cocks do, I'm spraying all over the ceiling instead of into the
toilet. It's raining piss in here. Finally I get my hose under
control. There's no aiming it at the toilet since there's no way I could
bend it that much, but at least I can aim it at the back wall instead of
over my own fucking head.

Three beer cans worth of piss later, I leave the stall. I make a point of
not buttoning up. I've got equipment worth showing off, so I do. The guys
waiting in line spot my cock and react. I've got to say I'm more than a
little proud of the reaction I get. I swear to God, eyebrows go up. Mouths
drop open. Tongues lick lips. Some dude calls dibs and some other guy says
not if he gets there first. Hard as my dick still is, this talk is only
making it harder. I look down the line of guys, deciding which one I want
to start with, when one of them meets my eyes and says, "Oh, sorry," and
looks away. Another guy does the same thing. Then there's whispering among
them, but the only word I can pick out is "straight."

I can't take this shit any more. I say out loud for all to hear that I'm
not straight. I think I'm yelling, I'm so pissed. I should be getting
offers to suck my dick or at least dicks I could suck myself – these are
fucking gay dudes, they're horny all the time, they'll fuck or suck anyone,
anywhere, anytime – and all I'm getting is laughter and some "Yeah,
right"s.

Okay, that's it. Maybe I've had more beers than I thought. Who the fuck
cares? I'm getting some sex and I'm getting it now. As in NOW. I don't just
pull my pants down, I literally rip them off my body. We can all hear the
tear. I pull my shirt off Hulk-style.  I kick off the goddamn shoes. My
underwear must have come off with the pants because now I am naked. I tell
the guys lined up in front of me I'll show them who's gay. I drop to my
knees so now I'm on all fours. I hear some guy laugh and say it's like I'm
prepping to mount my girlfriend. Some other dude says, "Or his mom," and
all the rest of them laugh that much harder.

My poor cock. Picture fucking your own mom and see how hard you stay. Dad's
one thing, but Mom? Here I am, drunk and naked on my hands and knees, eye
level with a line of bulging crotches belonging to a bunch of guys I'd
welcome as my first gangbang and my best friend is shriveling. Shriveling
so fast between my legs I can feel the blood dissipate.

Fuck, why is this happening?

Maybe my cock's not interested any more, but my mouth and ass are up for
any and every offer coming their way. Preferably cUming their way, if you
get my drift. But... nothing. No cum. No precum. No urine. Not even
spit. We're talking zilch. No one's sharing any bodily fluids with me.

But I'm no quitter. When I want something, I get it. So if the only cock I
can have right now is my own, then that's the cock I get. I reach down
between my legs to jerk one out. Maybe the sight of naked me doing what
guys do will get these faggots going the way they are naturally hard-wired
to go. Maybe without even thinking about it, their dicks will grow. Maybe
the sexual frustration will get so great, they have to whip out their cocks
and stroke them. Maybe they'll turn to me for assistance. I've got hands
and a mouth and an ass – these guys can't miss them.  My body is right
here in front of these guys and it would gladly service each and every one
of them. Maybe they'll start stroking and get hard and can't wait for their
boyfriends or the toilet or even a Kleenex. Maybe they'll need to shoot
right now. Maybe they'll give me the pearly shower I have wanted for as
long as I can remember. Maybe –

A hand lands on my shoulder. Finally. Now we're getting somewhere.

The hand grips me. I brace for him squeezing my shoulder and taking
charge. I so need this right now. I have finally found my first guy. The
first guy to fuck me. To own me. To use me and abuse me and –

"Can somebody give this guy a shirt?"

The hand never squeezes.  It just rests on my shoulder. Reassuring, not
owning. Assisting, not guiding.  It's not the overwhelming power of a
badass who's going to use me however he wants. It's the fucking kindness of
a stranger.

"And maybe some shorts while you're at it?"

And this fucker, he stands me up. He's got a shirt in his hands and he
pulls it over my head and works my arms through the holes. I'm some kind of
fucking doll, just letting him do this to me. The shirt I'm wearing is
about three sizes too big so it hangs past my cock. Dude says it was a gift
for his uncle, but it's perfect for me. Some other dude has given up the
basketball shorts he had on under his sweats and my unwanted savior is
putting them on me.

All this time, where's the fucking humor fags are so known for? Where are
the bitchy remarks? The snarky asides? The lame, predictable sexual
innuendo? Instead, it's quiet, like I got hit by a car and they can't bring
themselves to look. Somebody's even put my own shoes back on my feet and
now I'm being escorted out of the bathroom. I swear to God I hear someone
say, "Poor guy."

Whoever my asshole rescuer is – I never see his face, which is good for
him, `cause I'd rip his nuts off if I ever did – he guides me back to
the bar. Singh sees me. He's laughing until he spots my clothes. He looks
from them to me to my unwanted hero.

Hero says, "Friend of yours?" Singh nods. "Someone needs to tell him where
the straight bar is." He reassures Singh that I'm fine, that no one did
anything to me.

Singh, looking me up and down in my mismatched, over-sized hand-me-downs,
says all quiet and serious, "At least there's that."

Hero is gone.

I say, "I'm not straight," but drunk as I am, even I can hear how it comes
out sounding more like "Ahmgreat."

Drew joins us. He's got a couple of beers in his hands, but when he sees me
and then Singh's face, he hands the beers off to the first passerby. Singh
says something about getting me home right away. Drew just nods and says
they will as soon as Joey's done.

They both turn their heads. I turn mine a half second later. And right
before my spinning eyes, right on that fucking pool table is Joey – MY
Joey – fucking. There he is, naked as I just was not two minutes ago,
fucking some dude – also fully, totally naked – doggy style right on
top of the pool table. Joey's got both hands on the bottom dude's hips and
is pulling him toward him, pushing him away, pulling him toward him. That
bottom dude should be me. Two minutes ago and it could have been. It's the
exact position I was in on the bathroom floor.  A guy leans in and my Joey
twists his neck around to kiss him. That's my kiss!  Another dude pulls
Joey's hand off the bottom's right cheek and puts his own cock in it, so
now Joey's jerking one dude while kissing a second one and fucking a
third. All at the same goddamn time. Joey pulls his cock out and some other
guy grabs it. He pours a little beer on it then takes a lick and for just a
second Joey's cock is against the beer cup and fuck if Joey isn't just
about as thick as that cup is. The dude lets go and Joey's cock slaps up
against his own stomach, the tip of his head landing an easy two inches
above his navel. Fuck, that's long. And it should be mine.

Joey, he doesn't stop pumping. Even though he's only pumping air, he just
pumps away while kissing that other guy and jerking off the third one. I
guess technically he isn't fucking anything at the moment. Another guy
removes Joey's other hand from the bottom's left cheek and puts his own
cock in it. So now Joey's jerking off two cocks while French kissing that
first guy. The guy who took Joey's cock out of the bottom? He pours a
little more beer over it, bends it back down and points it at the
hole. It's like he's the fucking navigator or something. He presses it up
against the hole and then pushes on Joey's ass, so Joey is inside the
bottom again and fucking like he never stopped.

Fuck.

That should be my ass getting plowed. One of those should be my cock
getting jerked off like that.  Dammit, those should be my lips getting
kissed.

There's whimpering.  Someone's brought a baby in here, which is weird as
shit. I mean, fine, we gays have kids and everything – all cool –
but, come the fuck on, find a baby in a bar? Go to a gay bar with day
care. It's the twenty-first century – there's got to be one
somewhere. But then Singh's hand is on my shoulder and he's saying to Drew,
"We gotta get him outta here. He shouldn't have to see this." Drew nods. I
object and the whimpering gets louder. Apparently it's me making that sad,
crying noise. But it's not because I'm so grossed out by what I see –
the fucking, the sucking, the jerking, the nudity. I'm making that sad
crying noise because I am so inconsolably jealous – Joey should be doing
those things to me – and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Joey's eyes are wide-open for his whole show, so it doesn't take him long
to spot Drew and his raised finger. Drew jerks his head toward me and then
the door. Joey looks at me and nods. And just like that, he isn't kissing
any more. He lets go of the cocks and pulls out of the ass. The crowd
groans disappointment. Joey says he's sorry, but he's got to go. He hops
off the table, slipping into his shorts while he does. He throws his shirt
over his shoulder and the four of us, along with the rest of our dorm mates
exit the joint. We pass a reflection of us. Actually it's a double
reflection. You know, when a mirror catches a mirror reflection.  So you
can read the words on your own shirt perfectly. Turns out the uncle's
birthday shirt I'm wearing says, "I'm not gay but my friends are." Shit.

The car ride home, I'm squeezed between Joey and who the fuck cares. My
head rests on Joey's shoulder.  Somewhere along the way, he got back into
that shirt of his, so I don't even get much of his flesh, which is pretty
disappointing, but at least I can smell him, which is something.

Back in the dorm, I'm dumped on my bed by the guys. Joey tells them he'll
take it from there and shuts the door. All I can do is lie there. Joey
positions me just right. He fluffs my pillow. He props up my legs and moves
the sheets and blankets so I'm comfortable. The whole time, he's
half-laughing, half-consoling, saying, "It's my fault. I shouldn't have
brought you to a gay bar. I don't know what I was thinking." He removes my
shoes, then my shirt.

I couldn't move if I wanted to, I'm so wasted, but I don't need to
move. Joey's doing it all for me, and he's doing it perfectly. Next he gets
my pants off, careful not to touch my cock. The whole time I'm thinking,
"Please suck it, please suck it, touch it, grab it, jerk it – do
SOMEthing!"

Joey looks at my hard dick and says, "That reminds me." He stands and locks
the door. Then he peels off his shirt and tosses it in the general
direction of the closet. It lands on the microwave. Then he shucks his
shorts, and Joey – my Joey – is naked. Again. The way God intended
him to be.

This is going to be so sweet, even if I am too drunk to be an active
participant...

That cock of his – what a perfect match it is for mine. Grabbing it, he
says to me, "Sorry, bud, but I gotta do this." Apologizing? For touching
his dick in front of me? You've got to be kidding me. But of course I can't
say shit because I am useless wasted, just a lying sack of flesh.

I think I shift a bit to make room for him on the bed. I try to spread my
legs for him, but, again, I am so far gone, nothing's moving. I can't even
move my arms.

It doesn't matter. Joey can move me any way he wants. I won't object to a
thing he does. Not a fucking thing.

Except...

When Joey finally lowers himself to the bed, the bed he lowers himself onto
is his own – the one across the room from mine – and then he starts
jerking himself off. "Sorry, bud, I gotta knock this one out," he says. "I
was kinda in the middle of something when we had to go." His left hand is
diddling his nipples, pinching and pulling. He licks a finger and spins it
around the tip of his tit. His toes curl. His sides flex. He's breathing
kind of hard now, but still talking to me.  "Don't get me wrong..." Panting
breath. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, bros before hos, right?
But..." Panting breath. "Fuck, I was close. I'm sure you've been there with
a chick... you get so close, it hurts to stop..."

I make a noise meant as disagreement, that I have no idea what he's talking
about, that I've never fucked a woman in my life and hope I never do, but
it must sound like I'm praising him for knowing me so well. Joey keeps
touching that body of his – that perfect, beautiful hunk of a body he's
got going and he shifts around on his bed. He swivels his hips and raises a
knee. He leans his head back and swallows. He's got his head so far back,
it's holding up his heavy chest. What a waste – he could deep throat me
in that position if he would just get his ass over here, but... he
doesn't. And I'm too far gone to move over there. He's groaning and
panting. I invite him over to my bed, to shoot all over me or in my mouth,
I don't care, but he misinterprets my mumbling and says, "You're right,
sorry, I'll take it outside," and he gets up and leaves. Naked. Just walks
out the door without a stitch on and closes it. It's not fifteen seconds
later I hear his manly explosive grunt and the cheers and applause of what
sounds like every guy in the hall. There's "Yeah, dude!" and "Hey" and
"Fuck, man, you got me in the eye!" and "This was my good shirt!" but
they're all laughing and whooping it up and having a swell old fucking time
with him. With Joey. My Joey.

And too-drunk-to-move me? I'm stuck in my room, alone. Like always. A
single, lonely drop of precum falls down my withering penis. Even my cock
is crying.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Author's Note: If you liked this story, you might like another story I
wrote called "The Hand." It can be found in the Science Fiction/Fantasy
section. Or you can find it and all my other stories by going to the
Prolific Authors section and looking for Abba Dabba.

All feedback is invited, so please share your reaction. Thanks.