I'm sure you know the drill. Don't read it if you're underage or if it's illegal. Sex between guys and all that thing. I wouldn't read this if a real plot gives you a headache, either.
For any sensitive religious people, the `magic' is entirely made up by me on the spot.
You may not distribute or re-port this story without my permission.
Sometimes, I wonder how I got myself into this shit. It's really quite the life I have. And, yeah, I'm gay... and this crap doesn't even have to do with that. Christ, gay sorcerers are the biggest minority around. I should've been a vampire; they're expected to like anything that breathes. And some things that don't. But anyway...
At the moment, my life includes a twisted ankle that fucking hurts, a gash through my arm that totally shredded my cloak on the way through... eh, actually, it's a cape. I just hate the word `cape,' because the thing has a cowl too and calling it a `cape' makes me feel like Batman, which, in turn, makes me feel like a complete idiot.
All of this is going through my head as I spin around, most of my weight on my good ankle, and crack my gold-colored staff off the head of a particularly nasty looking monster... thing.
I don't even know what this thing is. I've never seen this species. But they have bone claws coming out of their arms: not their hands or fingers mind you, but their arms, and those things are sharp.
And there's three of `em. They stand upright... I think, considering its after midnight I don't have a very good view, but their skin looks brown, tough like leather, and they snarl.
Typical creature out of a horror movie, I guess. Except these are real. And the one I just introduced to my blunt object of a weapon is snarling in such a way that means it's pissed off.
I was counting on that. As soon as it lashed out for me, I dived to the ground and its claws tore open another's throat. Keeping that thing behind me, close enough to make that work, was interesting, let me tell you.
That left two; the third would survive a lot longer then a human would with an injury like that, I figured, but it wouldn't be clawing my head off. On that thought, I swung my staff around, the bottom end coming up and smacking number two's jaw. Its head snapped up, and before this one could get mad, I swung around one more time. I had to use both ankles to get the right angle, and it stung like a sunnuvabitch. I've never had actual, formal training in hand-to-hand combat you know, I'm not even in great shape, so I don't usually see alternatives to the first option that presents itself.
It was worth it. My staff met its jaw perfectly, just right to spin the head around and snap its neck.
And number three never saw an opening while all of this happened; he was plenty far away for me to settle into a neutral stance and blast it with one mother of a fire spell. I liked this one, I can't pronounce the name, but that thing's bones were the only things left when the fire burned its flesh off. Magic fire was always hotter.
Sometimes, I wonder how I got myself into this shit. I didn't really care right then, though. I just came down from the adrenaline high and slid down the nearest wall. It's quite the sight. See, I do the whole secret identity thing too. The cowl has a spell on it that blacks out my face. So here's this badass, mysterious sorcerer with a shining, gold colored staff... sliding down a wall and tired out of his mind.
Actually... the staff kinda looks like a curtain rod. It's really... plain. It shines, you can see your reflection in it, and it has those little screw-on ball-bearing things on each end. Well, these aren't screw-on, but you get the picture. That's really it. The coolest thing it does is retracting to a seventh of the size without any seams for easy storage. There's got to be a bad joke about size in that somewhere.
At that point, I willed it to do just that before I tossed it into my waiting backpack sitting against the wall. The teenaged male hormones in me wished, every so often, that my dick was half that size. Ah well, there isn't magic for everything.
Looking at my watch, I discovered it was three in the morning. Three-fucking-AM. And I had school tomorrow. And this had accomplished nothing! Fucking little creatures running around and... ugh, I was pissed. This part of town sucks, too, anybody they would've eaten deserved it, and they left no leads to any higher-up evil-type people. And as typical of Florida, it was still eighty degrees out. I hate fighting when it's anything above a nice sixty. Which isn't often.
On that cheery thought, I reached up to my chest and tore the buckle off my cloak. That was my other neat trick that always stayed, no matter what was going on. The buckle wasn't really gold either, but it held my little accessories. Made all of my clothes black, put the cape and cowl on, hid my face, the works.
So I tossed that into my bag too, picked it up, and went home. Going home is the easy part, it pays to know how to teleport. No disturbing the household, no parents knowing you went out in the first place...
Oh, right. Like I'd tell my parents why I don't have a social life. "Hey Mom, Dad, I'm a trained sorcerer who fights demons, evil sorcerers and general bad things. Oh, and I never brought a girl home `cause I like guys." Hah, they still think I don't know I'm adopted.
Back in my room, I tiptoed around and turned a light on to follow my usual post-evil-hunting ritual. My backpack hit the floor next to my bed, my cloak would fix itself, but my shirt was bloody and cut from the claw swipe. I summarily burned it with the coolest fire magic I knew; still enough to not even leave ash. After tossing my surprisingly battle-damage-free jeans into the hamper, I quietly rummaged through my closet, looking for the supposedly unused duffel bag I kept "odds and ends" in. In truth, it was my item supply. A sorcerer's toiletries, I guess. Nothing so grandiose as eye of newt, just a few things I always needed, like a little vial with a little potion in it that healed over my wounds as soon as I downed it. And I'd need to make more, that was the last one... damn, this was one of those days.
And it was only quarter after three in the morning. Which meant I'd be going on three hours sleep and one hell of a hard time concentrating during the day, even on good-looking guys.
Heh, guys. Well, at the moment, just one guy in particular. I hate it, I really do. Like I said, there isn't magic for everything, or I'd be straight. Or he'd be gay. But probably the first choice, since the second isn't... I dunno, right. I'm a grade below him though, maybe when he graduates and goes away while I'll be a high school senior I can get over it.
But things are the way they are. Just thinking of him reminded me of that. Or rather, it reminded my crotch of that not long after I flopped down onto my bed, my socks and boxers the last pieces of clothes still on. One thing about Florida, you never needed heavy blankets or nightclothes.
Playing with myself was a nice... more like a needed way to end the day, especially after the shit I'd gone through. So, way past my bedtime, there I was, one hand behind my head pulling a pillow up, eyes closed, and a hand on my crotch as I went through my friends in my mind's eye.
Usually, you know, I just thought of someone randomly, but sometimes I liked it to be a little more personal. Not often, though... it'd be weird if the only guys I thought of like that were the ones I was close to.
There was Kelly, the female of our little clique who was, of course, the only one exempt from my personal fantasies. Jake and Carlos, on the other hand, they were plenty male. Jake was smaller then me, but in better shape. I wasn't overweight, I just didn't work out. I was 5'11", Jake was 4'11", I kid you not. He liked poking me in the stomach or chest and egging me about how his was actually taut. Maybe he had an inferiority complex from being five feet tall or something... it was all in good fun. And he was kinda cute. Carlos was the resident Latino, he and Ryan had this running gag where they joked about him adding diversity to our group. Heh, if only they knew my little secrets.
Ah, Ryan. Usually my obscene fantasies involved porn stars, Jake and Carlos going at it, or Ryan with his latest girlfriend. That would be... Bethany, I think. Of course, I always paid more attention to him.
Except lately, Ryan's all I've been seeing. First I thought I had a crush on him... then I thought, no, this is too much for a crush, I'm in love. Or maybe it's just a really bad crush.
So I stopped thinking about it whenever I got to that point because I didn't want to get a headache. That, and it wasn't a welcome train of thought for what I was doing right now. I could feel myself getting hard and poking through my boxers, so I stopped rubbing and started pumping. Yeah, I'm not the most creative when it comes to this, I know.
Ryan was on my mind the entire time. I pictured him in shorts and a wife beater, the kind of thing he worked out in. He just looked sexier like that then he did with no clothes at all, I guess. Ryan was the jock out of all of us, a 6'7" football player, no less. I don't think Jake is brave enough to make any reverse-height jokes at him. How he ever came to socialize with any of us, let alone call us friends... me, the aspiring English teacher, Jake the computer nerd, Carlos the book worm, and Kelly! Kelly didn't even have a stereotype, she just went to school, hung out with us, and did her thing. Strange bedfellows...
Okay, so I was tutoring him in English, but still. Sometimes I was happy just being close enough to get a good look. Seeing him in the locker room every so often was a plus, even if clothes were more erotic on him. Now, stopping a hard-on during gym class, that is useful magic for a gay guy.
My fantasy wasn't really a fantasy, either. I'd watched him shower in the locker room before, and I recreated every detail in my head. First he sat down and took his shoes and socks off, then he pulled his shirt over his head in that sexy way guys do. Then the shorts, underwear and jockstrap were gone, and he walked to the shower...
And my hand pumped faster as he threw his face under the stream to rinse off. Pushing his dark brown hair back, he let the water rinse the soap off, it was mesmerizing the way it all ran off his hair and goatee, down around his muscles... God, I wanted him. I'd settle for having him tomorrow if I could just have him, but I wouldn't, not the day after or the week after... too bad life isn't as nice as fiction, huh?
And I just never got farther then that lately. My eyes squeezed shut even tighter, the hand behind my head clenched the pillow while the other stopped pumping, rubbed hard and pulled back.
"Aww, fuck," I grunted. I know this is silly, but I grunt on purpose. I don't like gasping or other forms of being high-pitched, I wonder if all straight acting gays have a fear of turning queen...
One more grunt and I came. What with my nighttime `job' I didn't get to relieve any tension often, so I usually shot a good one, and a lot of this load hit my chest. The rest hit dead center on the treasure trail that started at my chest and went down across my rounded stomach, finally leaving a dribble down my five inches. Like I said, that's something I wished I could change.
I swore again, this time it was out of anger as I came down from my orgasm. The treasure trail was kinda nice looking, I always thought, but that and my back were the only places that weren't all hair. My chest was a damn fur coat, and it always soaked in when I blew it that far.
Of course, it's not like I wanted to ever have a towel at the ready. Thankful that I did my own laundry, I slipped my boxers off, wiped up what I could, and tossed `em in the hamper. I'd spent twenty minutes whacking off, and I'd rather shower to wake up when I had to get up in two and a-half-hours.
-I like having a real plot, the narrator means it when he says things won't be picture perfect.
-Feedback (please) comments (just as good) and flames (amuse me) can go to email@example.com