’sup with you, dude?
© 2016
by
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.
Note: There are some references in this story and others, to things mentioned in another of my stories, Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord’s Revenge, which you can find here: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/target-nemesis-the-tentacle-lords-revenge.html. The story itself is about the movie being watched by characters in several of my stories in which an alien warlord bent on revenge, ‘has his way’ with an Earth Forces Brigade hero. While I hope that you would enjoy reading that story, it may be a bit brutal for some readers and you do not need to read that story first in order to understand or to enjoy this story.
All trademarks used in this work are the sole property of their owners and have been used without permission or endorsement.
Chapter 8
Bemused?
Bewildered?
Engrossed?
Entranced?
Hungry for it?
Petrified?
Unsure where to begin? How to begin?
All of the above?
Good question. Very good question.
As he gazed downward, Reggie Cooke studied the expression that clouded his lifelong best friend’s handsome face. He wondered if his own expression reflected what Cayce was emitting just now.
All of the above?
Yeah—that was probably the most accurate response.
Reggie’s voice came soft, steady, level … tempered with concern—tempered with compassion—tempered with the love of a friend. And, oh yeah—tempered with the hoarseness of a rising lust.
“Everything okay down there?”
Deputy Cayce Foster could not believe this was happening. Finally. So many fantasies. So many dreams. So many nights and days and everything in between ‘whackinitoff’ thinking about it. So … many … years….
Yeah.
Years.
How many years? Hell, he could narrow down to the friggin’ minute … maybe even the very second … that the beast had been awakened. The moment when it had all begun. The ‘it’ moment when ‘the beast’ started kicking and pounding and clawing at the closet door.
It was 6th Grade P.E. Coach Richardt’s athletics class. The first year that they had begun taking showers after whatever sport they were taking on—baseball, football, soccer, basketball, running/cross country, wrestling…. Coach really didn’t care what they did as long as they kept busy for the entire 55 minutes of class. Coach would take roll and then blow his whistle. He would point to nowhere in particular—the signal to ‘have at it’—and then he would turn on his heel and march toward his office. The door would slam. And, unless someone got hurt or there was a fight—well, that would be all they would see of Coach until it was time to wrap it up and hit the showers. Everyone took turns guessing what he did behind that slammed door. It was nearly unanimous that if he wasn’t ‘peep-holinit’ into the showers and locker room, then he was probably buried in online porn.
And, there it was.
The fodder for the beast.
Three simple words.
Hit the showers!
The first three weeks of school they didn’t shower. Nobody really knew why but it was some sort of ‘Admin’ thing. Whatever the hell that meant. But. Oh, the but. The Monday of the fourth week of school, everything changed. Coach Richardt gathered them all in the locker area and told them that ‘today is the day, gentleman.’ He gave them a canned lecture about hygiene. He took them on a tour of the showers—even demonstrating how to use the auto-spurting soap and shampoo dispensers. He showed them the metal shopping baskets just outside the showers … just brimming with pristine white towels. Too, he pointed out the baskets at the end of each row of lockers; used towels were to be tossed ‘there’ and ‘there only’—not draped over open locker doors … thrown on the floor … left on dressing benches….
And.
They would now get a hygiene grade.
Everyone.
Every day.
No excuse.
No exception.
The whistle blew. Just like always.
The boys scrambled to their chosen activity. Just like always.
Coach turned on his heel and marched to his office. Just like always. The metal door slammed … the large lockers-facing window rattled in its frame. Just like always.
And, just like always—45 minutes later the whistle blew. They had 10 minutes to shower, change back into street clothes and then another 5 minutes to get to their next class—or to after school activities or home if it was the last period. They gathered their equipment and stored it in its appropriate bin or cage and they headed for the locker room. This time, however—unlike all always—rather than change from P.E. shorts and tees and jocks, they stripped down and some more slowly than others, hit the showers. Coach was right there at the entrance to the shower area with his roster clip boarded and a pencil etching marks as he ticked off one name after another. Check marks for the hygiene column had begun.
As the boys dove under water jets and soap bubbled and streamed down mostly lithe bodies … hair frothed with shampoo … laughter and cat calls echoed….
Cayce Foster stood in the spray of water, soaped up his body, and finger raked shampoo into his sweat soaked hair—joining in with the rowdy pack of classmates surrounding him. He laughed at the usual schoolboy antics. He applauded and cheered at an impromptu formation of naked and glistening bodies as a group of the guys fell into a ridiculous bump and grind dance. He turned and rinsed and began soaping up again.
It wasn’t like he had never seen another guy naked before. Hell—he’d seen Reggie and Mike and any number of these guys naked dozens of times. Skinny dips. Dares to strip ‘n streak. Even showers together in more limited numbers from time to time at this guy’s house, that guy’s house, the pool showers…. Yet somehow, now, it was like he was seeing each one of them naked for the very first time.
And, yeah—he’d checked out the competition just as sure as the others had undoubtedly checked out him. No big deal. Everyone checked whether they measured up or not. Whether they admitted to it or not.
As he began to soap up one last time, Cayce turned away from the cascading water that pelted his body and he glanced across the few feet of tile and steam to where Reggie stood lathering slowly and grinning at whatever Jaxon Bellingham was saying—through a soap dripping clenched fist held in front of his mouth. Jaxon’s tongue began to stroke along the inside of his cheek making a lewd bulge follow it on the outside—a really good imitation of a dick stroking into a mouth during a blow job. Reggie nodded. They both burst out laughing.
Just then, Reggie looked Cayce’s way—lathering his already ample 6th Grade dick and balls—he grinned at him and he winked.
And.
The beast stirred.
Moments later, Cayce looked in Mike Stoneleigh’s direction. Mike was standing under the spray—lathering his dick, too. He seemed lost in thought. Distracted. A peculiar expression curtained his boyishly handsome face. He bent forward at the waist and scrubbed down his thighs and his calves to his feet. This movement and position opened the cleft between his ass cheeks and Cayce’s eyes were right there, diving in … exploring … memorizing. Cayce felt his tongue rake across parched lips before it snapped back inside his mouth. Mike straightened and turned and looked right at Cayce just then. He saw Cayce staring at him. He blushed. He spun toward the wall. He glanced over his shoulder. Again. And, again.
Cayce’s eyes drifted down Mike’s body—already getting the cut and definition of construction work. Every day after school and after practice, Mike was on the job with his dad’s company. Lifting, pushing, pulling, yanking, tugging, carrying load after load of whatever they were working on, and—with his broadening shoulders, his thickening biceps and defining thighs and legs. Yeah. Even then, in 6th Grade.
Cayce’s eyes drifted back into the crack of that perfectly mounded butt. Fuck that was one really … nice … butt. And, that dick. Holy crap that dick. It rivaled Reggie’s even then.
And the beast roused, yawned, and stretched.
Cayce convinced himself that it was just curiosity. That he was looking with that ‘just cuz that’s what dudes do’ wonder. But, whatever the reason. Whatever the opportunity. He became increasingly aware of bulges and dicks, nuts and pits, chests and biceps and thighs … and butts. Oh those butts. He had checked a lot of them from that 6th Grade P.E. shower to now. And, at the forefront of those glances and stares … those wonders and curiosities … came the fantasies. Lots of fantasies. And the ‘whackinitoffs’ increasingly started with this girl or that girl in mind but very rapidly morphed into guys. Sport stars. Celebrities. Singers. Guys in the school. Reggie. Mike. Mike. Reggie. Even Jaxon sometimes. Cute. Adorable. Thick dicked Jaxon.
And….
Here he was now….
On his knees….
Staring at one of the two most prolific dicks in those hundreds—thousands?—of fantasies. Reggie Cooke’s dick. His best friend’s dick. Inches from his face. Throbbing. Pulsing. Shimmering under the already streaming flood of precum that was running down the thick shaft from that monstrous head. Oh how he wanted to sniff it.
“‘C’?”
Cayce silently shook himself from the near hypnotic stare he had fallen into as he studied that magnificent dick in front of his face. He slowly shifted his gaze upward. With a lot of effort, he tore his eyes from that throbbing cock. He followed along every strand of blond hair in his friend’s trail. He ski jumped over Reggie’s rock hard abs … up and over his smooth, sculpted chest and upward, still. His gaze caressed Reggie’s handsome face and square jaw and butterfly eyed his way across his friend’s full, gorgeous lips and then he fell head long into those puppy dog eyes.
“Cayce?”
Yeah. That ‘was’ Reggie’s voice a minute ago. Wasn’t it?
Head tilt.
Yeah. Cayce. That was ‘his’ name. Reggie said something.
“Yeah?”
Reggie allowed a small grin. Maybe not even that. Maybe a half-smirk was a more appropriate description. More fitting.
“I asked if everything was okay down there?” Reggie said with a nod down to where Cayce was kneeling between his legs.
Cayce nodded faintly. So faint, that he barely felt the movement himself. He tugged and yanked at his eyes until he was able to break from Reggie’s gaze and he allowed them to drift back down to that throbbing chunk of meat.
Nod.
“It’s all good.”
“You sure?”
Nod. Deep breath. Nod.
“Perfect.” Cayce followed another droplet of glistening Reggie juice as it began to ooze from the wide slit in Reggie’s dick and begin its downward trek. “Beautiful.”
Reggie cocked his head. Did he hear that? Did Cayce just say…?
“What’s that?”
A faint blush streaked Cayce’s cheeks and slowly spread into his neck. Did he say that aloud? Yeah, he did. And, it was going to come out again. Right here. Right now. He couldn’t stop it even if he had time to grab locks … chains … some boulders….
“It’s perfect,” he said again. ‘He’ even caught the admiration in his voice … the awe … that flowed with his words. “Your dick is … beautiful. Perfect. It’s … just … fuck it’s perfect.”
Reggie felt his face flushing deeply now. He forced a half-hearted snort. He hoped it wasn’t sarcastic. Then again, was there a snort that was ever ‘not’ sarcastic? Okay, yeah—he thought it was a beauty, too. But, this probably wasn’t the time or the place to spread those peacock feathers and strut it. Not now. Not when his best friend was on his knees … inches from said dick … licking his lips. Oh fuck, Cayce licked his lips! Yeah, on his knees … admiring it … about to go down on it.
Yeah. Don’t forget that important detail.
Admiring it is great ‘C’ but don’t forget to go down on it. Please don’t forget to go down it!
“It’s just a dick, Cayce.”
Cayce shook his head slowly. No. Not ‘just’ a dick. Not even.
“It’s beautiful. Perfect. Some dicks? Yeah. They’re just dicks. Some are ugly as fuck. But … this?” Deep breath. Eyes focusing. Tracing. Memorizing. “This is one … beautiful … dick. Seriously beautiful. It’s just…. It’s the epitome of male perfection.”
Reggie felt that smirk slide into a full grin. He couldn’t help it. His best friend just said his dick was beautiful ‘and’ the epitome of perfection. How righteous was that! Wow. That felt awesome. That really felt awesome. He was not sure why but he thought that he wouldn’t take the time to question it. No. This wasn’t the time. Not now.
Just go with it, Cooke. Just go with it.
“Thanks, ‘C’. That’s…. I’m….” Fuck. Imagine that—Reggie Cooke at a loss for words. Go figure. When was the last time ‘that’ ever happened? Okay. Here it comes. Cocky dog on the prowl. “Well, any time that you want to kiss that perfection or lick that beauty, or….”
Cayce Foster nodded.
The beast kicked at the door. Kicked. And kicked. And, it kicked a kick that was more of a full body slam by a 300 pound linebacker.
Cayce leaned forward.
He wanted that dick and he was going to have it.
Here.
Now.
Finally.
He studied Reggie’s 8-pack as he drew ever nearer to his body. Abs, chiseled by that same Master that had done such a remarkable job on Reggie’s face, his biceps, his shoulders … his pecs…. His nose grazed along Reggie’s smooth skin. His lips butterflied over those abs. He heard the air suck from above. His lips traced the full boundary of that ab plate. Just … that … plate. And then he released the hounds of his tongue and it pounced. Licking. Loving. Licking. The air suck was followed by more and then Cayce felt that plate undulate and twitch beneath the touch and worship of his tongue.
He set his sights on the throbbing, drooling, rebar-steel’d cock that was waiting impatiently for him to have his fill of explorations elsewhere. Yeah, the cock knew. ‘This’ cock knew. Cayce could survey and taste and sniff to his heart’s desire but the cock knew. The cock knew that ‘it’ was the prize at the end of the treasure trail. The prize of prizes. It waited it’s turn—not so patiently and with little compassion—it tapped firmly against Reggie’s taut belly and battled for position with Cayce’s tongue and lips as they danced with those ab plates….
But.
The impatience was growing.
The throbbing was increasing by the second.
That cock wanted its own admiration. Its own worship. Enough already!
Cayce backed away from his worship of those abs and he gazed lovingly, longingly, hungrily at Reggie’s cock. He seemed to get the message it was sending out in its own way … its own language.
Message received. Hard. Drooling. Throbbing.
Obediently, he leaned back in.
Yeah. It was definitely time.
He pressed his lips to the tip of Reggie’s throbbing cock.
He kissed it.
His nostrils flared at the scent of his best friend as it met his movements. He inhaled. He stored it into his memory banks. He inhaled again. He kissed that huge, glistening head … again.
His lips parted.
His tongue snaked between them.
He licked.
He licked again.
He paused. He stared. He inhaled. And, he kissed it. Again.
He licked and he swirled around the head.
Reggie hissed as he sucked in air.
“Oh fuck.”
Cayce tasted Reggie’s precum. He licked and swirled and licked. Tasted. Savored. Licked. Swallowed. More. Wanting more. Hungry for more of that delicious pure Reggie essence.
The door was body slammed again and again until it yielded—it shattered into a million pieces. The beast was out and would never be caged again.
“Yeah. That’s it, ‘C’. Lick it.”
Cayce nodded. Somehow. Even with that huge dick sinking deeper into his mouth. He licked. He slurped. He sucked. He began to bob slightly.
Lick.
“Mmm, taste it. Taste my juice.”
Lick.
Slurp.
“Suck it, ‘C’,” Reggie struggled to say as he sucked in more air and let it sizzle back through his tightly clenched teeth. “Suck my dick. Fuck, yeah. Suck my dick. Now.”
Yeah.
Suck this beautiful dick.
Now.
Cayce nodded even as his tongue continued its worship. He drew in a deep breath and took the plunge.
He opened his mouth and he sank a few inches over and beyond the purple, flaring helmet. He went down. He went down on Reggie’s mouthwatering cock.
Bob.
Swirl.
Lick.
Swallow.
Suck.
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” Reggie hissed out again. His knees felt as if they might buckle and he grabbed his best friend’s head—his fingers raked into that dark hair and held on for a wild roller coaster of a ride. “Mmm…. That’s … good, ‘C’.”
END of Chapter 8
Author’s Note: If you have just begun reading this story as the chapters have begun posting, then this note probably will not mean much. Welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story. If you had read Chapters 1 - 6 when they were previously posted approximately 2 years ago, these 6 chapters have been revised before going up with this current (Nov. 2016) series of posts. You do not have to go back and read from Chapter 1 but if you do, you will see that the chapters have been revised. Chapter 7 to the End are all new to the postings.
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