Behind the Incinerator

© 2016


Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2016 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don’t ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slip it in.

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Chapter 1

Although Fall was officially underway, Summer was not ready to relinquish its sizzling, iron-skillet grip on everything—on everyone—in its grasp. Storm clouds broiled overhead like you would imagine in a horror flick just before the blood starts flowing. Thus far, though, it had failed to offer any rain to relieve the sweltering heat.

Storm clouds.

An omen?

Yeah. Probably. Those slasher flicks were always laden with omens and yet the characters proceeded blindly into the fray anyway.

Yeah. This spelled omen all over the place.

Go figure.

What the hell had he got himself into?

“Wait,” Owen Rush said huskily as he grabbed his friend’s bicep and pulled him to a stop.

They had been sitting in study period and had been talking about football, then baseball, then…. Well. Sex came into the discussion somehow. Hell—they were healthy, red-blooded, all-American teenage males. Sex ‘always’ came into it at some point. Right?

They were deeply into the topic of sex when Court had to admit that today was his birthday. One of the cheerleaders came up behind him and slipped a small birthday cake in front of him. She laid it on the table between Court and Owen, hugged him and shrugged innocently as she flipped the switch on a flameless candle and set it beside the cake—it was a high school, ‘flames’ were kind of on the ‘no fly’ list—she giggled and hugged him a second time and then walked away. Her pony tail bobbed as she weaved her way through the crowd and disappeared out the door into the central courtyard.

Today was Court’s birthday?

Owen sank his hooks into it; he was not about to let Court get away from this one. They had been friends forever. He silently chided himself for letting the date slip past him. Actually, he frowned over the fact that he couldn’t remember his best friend’s birthday either. It was coming up any time now, too. Right? He’d have to check his tablet. The calendar on it had everything.

Long live the god of tabletology!

March? Yeah, that’s it. Tripp’s birthday was in March. They had joked about it a few times. Tripp’s birthday actually fell on the Ides of March. Talk about omens. It was a wonder that Tripp McAllistar had turned out so … ‘normal’. Well, normal for a testosterone-fueled teen god and athlete, anyway.

But ‘that’ was in March. ‘This’ was September. Okay, so March wasn’t quite ‘right around the corner’ or ‘any day now’ after all. Good. He had time to hit his tablet later.

So, there they were. At the table. Study period. Talking sports and sex. Brittany appeared with the birthday cake. Court was blushing profusely.

Birthday. Sex. Wishes.

Owen had walked right into it and it slapped him in the face. Holy fuck, did it slap him in the face. They probably heard the ‘smack’ over in the next county.

“So, I haven’t done anything yet … got you anything. Tell me what you want so I don’t frig it up and get something you can’t use. Or, worse. You already have six of ‘em.”

Court stared holes in the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with chocolate chips and chocolate shavings topped by chocolate sprinkles. He was suddenly thankful that he had gone for 2 burgers and 3 slices of pizza and that large fries and rings mix at lunch a couple of hours ago—padding and insulation for this moment. This cake could easily send him spinning into insulin shock, if not. He swiped a finger at the very bottom of the cake, along the homemade plate of cardboard and aluminum foil through the 2 inches of frosting.

He blushed more profusely as people who had caught the exchange between Brittany and him clapped and ‘Happy Birthday’d’ him. His finger came away with enough of the gooey goop to drop an elephant into a sugar-induced coma and his brain went into a frenzy even before the chocolate covered finger pierced his lips. Oh. My. God. So. Good. This. Is. Heaven? Yeah, he could hear that elephant crashing to its knees even now.

Cute how Brittany made the cake in the shape of a football jersey with the #81 on it. His jersey number.

“Having you as my closest friend is the best,” finger lick and suck “gift I could ever have, Owen. I don’t need anything material to stroke my ego. I’ve got your friendship,” finger lick and suck “and that is something I can use every day of my life.”

Owen grinned and reached across the table, finger ready—but politely paused to wait for permission—granted by a quick nod, and then did his own swipe through the chocolate. He stuck his finger in his mouth and felt the sugar shock surge through his body immediately.

He glanced back across the table and saw the blush. Court Applegate was embarrassed. How adorable was that?

“Nice try, ‘C-Dawg’. You’re one of my two best friends on the planet. It’s your birthday. I want to do you proud. I want to help you celebrate. There’s gotta be something you want seriously hard.”


Finger swipe.

The blush was deepening, and—spreading.


“Seriously, dude. Tell me what you want.”

As he sucked chocolate from his finger, tongue swirling and dabber dobbing, licking its way, Court felt a bead of sweat suddenly appear on his temple. Fuck. Did he dare? Did he have the balls to say the one thing that he wanted more than anything else in the world? The one thing that Owen could give him that would make this the best fucking birthday of his life?

No. Probably not.

“Tell me.”

“Seriously, Owen. You don’t have to do anything for my birthday. You’re here. That is all that I could ever really….”

He stopped talking as Owen stood and then started to climb up on the table. What the hell?

“Okay, man. You asked for it,” Owen said as his left foot landed on the smooth surface between them. “If you do not tell me in 3 seconds, I’m going to start singing Happy Birthday right here … right now … in front of everyone.

Oh. God. Please. Don’t!

For all that there was that made Owen Rush who and what he was, ‘singer’ was not one of those qualities. Reality singing competitions would shut their doors and go home if he opened his mouth.

“Okay! Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! Please get off the friggin’ table!”

And, so it went.

What was that question again? Oh yeah….

What was that answer again? Oh yeah….

How the hell did I get myself into this?

Owen had charged right into this one. Funny, that impression on the brick wall that he had just run into at 100 mph looked just like his face. Chocolate frosting smudges and all.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, what if somebody…?” Owen paused to gaze up and down the lockers that flanked both sides of the corridor. A few students still lingered in couples, small groups, or flying solo. But for the most part, the building was eerily silent. Almost ominous.

Great. There was that word again.

One wondered where the ‘slasher’ was hiding—waiting for the first victim to come within fingers’ reach and blade’s slice.

“I mean, you know. What if somebody….”


Court turned to stare at his friend. He took a moment to check for ‘ears’ too close for comfort. He turned his attention back to Owen. Sigh.

“You are ‘so’ not gonna bale on me now, dude,” he said in little more than a whisper.

Not even if I have to drag your bubble butt out there with you kicking and screaming….

“Please don’t say that you are baling on me, here.”

Taking a deep breath, Courtney followed his friend’s gaze. He sucked in a lung bursting gulp of air and then turned back to stare into those sky blue eyes. Sky blue with a touch of gold flecks sprinkled in those deep pools. His friend? More like best friend. His best friend for a lifetime; maybe several lifetimes if one believed in coming back over and over, and….

He realized that he didn’t hold the same slot on Owen’s friend list but that was okay. The guy who ‘did’ hold that #1 slot was a good guy. Hell, he was more than a good guy. Tripp was amazing. He would rank #1 on his list too, if not for Owen having a firm hold on it—clueless as Owen was in some things…. In fact, the #2 slot on Court’s list was firmly occupied by Tripp followed closely by Kevin Stamp.

He studied his friend more closely in those few seconds before he continued this discussion. A few more seconds? As if he needed them. After all these years? Courtney knew Owen’s body better than his own. Thank the stars for PE, Athletics, games…. Thank the stars for locker rooms and showers. Yeah, he knew Owen’s body very well but not as well as he hoped he would come to know it in the next few minutes.


‘If’ Owen didn’t bale on him.

‘If’ Owen didn’t turn tail and walk away as fast as he possibly could.

Yeah. That was a big set of ‘ifs’ to get past at this point.

Fuck this was gonna be hot. ‘If’ he ever got Owen out the door and around the corner of the cafeteria and into that perfect little space that no one knew about. Well, okay—probably others had discovered it, too. But this was Court’s reasoning so he was going with the ‘nobody’ mode.

“Relax,” Court said finally. He reached out to rest a reassuring hand on the school’s All-State superstar pitching sensation’s powerful shoulder. “I told you. It’s secluded. It’s private. No one will know.” A firm squeeze to that shoulder and his gaze became more intense. “It’ll be hot, Owen. Trust me. You’re gonna love it. Don’t tell me that you’re gonna back out on me now.”

Owen stared into his friend’s hazel eyes. How could he back out now? He and Courtney had known each other their entire lives. Besides, he was right. It did sound hot. Hell, it sounded hotter than anything he had ever done. But. But, he was straight. And what they were gonna do was ‘so gay’. Yeah, there was that. How did a straight guy ‘do’ gay?


He ‘had’ said yes. He promised. And, it ‘was’ Court’s birthday.

Did Courtney remember that part of this arrangement? Owen was straight. If they did this? It was one-sided all the way. Courtney did the deed. Owen just stood there and let him do it. Right? Yeah, that was the deal.

“Yeah, but….”

Besides. I have a girlfriend. But this is with another guy so it’s not like I’m cheating on her. Right?


Another quick look up and down the corridor and Owen nodded.

“If today wasn’t your birthday, dude….”

Geez, that sounded like this whole thing was carved in stone.

That expectant gaze in Court’s eyes. That puppy dog excitement that was close to brimming over. Owen could almost see a tail wagging. Hear a whimper. How could he let Court down now? He couldn’t. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t let Court down. For as long as he could remember in the length of their friendship, this was the first time that they had discussed ‘it’ openly. He guessed that he had always known. Duh. Those stares and boners had to be coming from somewhere. But, it didn’t matter to Owen. Courtney was one of his best friends and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. At first he might have been a little embarrassed when he realized what was inviting those stares … those bones … but then when he stopped to think about it. To analyze it. He was kind of flattered.

Having a gay guy think you’re hot?

Gay guys had damned good taste. Right?

Yeah. Okay. Yeah. This was Courtney’s birthday. This was for Courtney. No fucking way was he going to let Courtney down. No fucking way. He just had to remember to breathe and not crumble and melt into a bazillion quivering little masses of jelly.

Probably every guy on the planet, he had reasoned with himself over and over again, had ‘if’d’ at one time or another about ‘it’. Right?

Fuck. I’m gonna do this. I’m really gonna do this. If he wasn’t one of my best friends….

Courtney stared into Owen’s eyes. His gaze drifted downward from that incredibly handsome face and rolled over Owen’s beautifully chiseled pecs … the tee did little to hide those rock hard abs. As he grazed over those ripples, he imagined his tongue exploring every ridge, every indention, every mouthwatering inch…. He swallowed silently as he allowed his eyes to drop to the indigo fabric of his best friend’s jeans.

And the bulge.

Oh, fuck yeah—that bulge.

“It’ll be good, ‘O’. I promise. It’ll be real … real … good.”

Owen inhaled deeply and flexed his fingers. He made another survey of the hall and finally looked back to his friend. Courtney stood silently, not so patiently waiting. He looked like he might burst at any second. Biting his lower lip. The almost childlike innocence of his expression. Those eyes. It was more than he could bear.

Owen offered the faintest nod.

With two words, the soles of his cross trainers squeaked as he turned on his heel.

“Let’s go.”

Author’s Note: Please send your comments, thoughts, and ideas to Jonathan Longhorn using jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com. Please start the “Subject” line with the name of the story so I don’t toss your email as spam.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time out of your day to write me about my stories. The thoughts, comments, and feedback are VERY much appreciated.

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