Date: Thu, 14 May 2020 09:01:26 -0700 From: Metro Jenkins Subject: Pandemic, Chapter 1 Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental. No part of this story may be reprinted without permission. Copyright by Metredose, 2020, and all rights reserved. Comments and criticism welcome. Metredose@gmail.com Chapter 1 It happened in a flash the first time. Joe had been in his apartment, his new apartment, bare and a little squalid, and then there was a knock on the door. It was the young man he'd seen around the building, always on his cellphone except the times when he was with the blonde girl, but that was before the pandemic really hit. Joe hadn't seen the blonde girl in weeks. Sometime after they realized they were neighbors they started saying hello to each other in passing, or at least nodding to each other if the young man was on his cellphone. He seemed an energetic young man, always moving, rarely paying attention to anything besides his phone or his blonde. Or so Joe thought. But then there was the knock. He'd looked through the peephole, astonished. Who could possibly be knocking during a pandemic? It took him a few moments to recognize the face. It took him a few more to decide to open the door. "Can I help you?" he'd said when he did open up. "Hey, man." the kid said. "You got any beer?" And just like that he'd walked inside, as if Joe's new apartment was his own, as if it was perfectly normal to barge into a virtual stranger's home. The young man -- a boy, really -- stood waiting. He had a mop of dark hair and a dark tan, and stood a little shorter than Joe, but a whole lot thinner. Joe could see why the blonde girl wanted to be around him before the pandemic. The kid was handsome and he was confident, in a casual sort of way. Joe did have beer, a half rack with only a couple missing. Joe had drank those two but they did nothing for him. "Yes, but aren't you a little young?" Joe said. The boy shrugged. "Times are tough," he said. And didn't Joe know it. He went to the refrigerator. He took out a beer and handed it to the boy, thinking he would leave. But the boy didn't go anywhere. "Why aren't you having one?" he said. Joe didn't want to tell him. To tell him would only open a can of worms, and the boy wouldn't be interested. Who would be? Joe supposed his story wasn't all that unique, but it sure was depressing. Kicked out by his wife, after twelve years of marriage and two children, a boy and a girl. Things between Joe and his wife had been peaceful. They'd reached a plateau, he felt, a place where they were together just as much as they needed to be to stay committed but not so much that they'd fight all the time. Joe had been content. He'd been prepared to spend the rest of his life with Sara in bored semi-happiness. He was truly shocked when he learned that Sara didn't feel the same way. Thus the dingy apartment in the wrong part of town. He'd moved in before the pandemic, not knowing he'd be spending all of his time there except for the occasional trip to the the grocery store or the even rarer trip to the gas station. Not knowing he'd be wearing a surgical mask and nitrile gloves every time he went somewhere. Joe was doing his job from home on his computer, and he supposed he had that to be thankful for, but it was just money in his future ex-wife's pocket, and that was cold comfort. The boy didn't press for an answer to his question. He moved from the entry into the small living room, found the ratty old couch Joe had bought from Goodwill, and sat down on it. "Hope you don't mind?" the boy said. "Not really," Joe said. "I'm just not much company." He walked over to the couch, was going to sit down, but decided against it. The kid was looking at him closely. His gaze went up and down, casing Joe out. It had been a long time, Joe thought, since someone really looked at him, and he felt a little gratitude mingled with his discomfort. "So, what are you, forty or so?" the kid asked. "Forty five," Joe said, moving to the other side of the small room. "About five ten, five eleven?" "Yeah," Joe said. "Kind of fat, though." "Nah," the kid said. "Just a little plump." Joe felt blood rushing to his face, rushing to his head. What was the kid getting at? "I look like shit," Joe said. It was not an effort to get the kid to contradict him. It was a statement of finality, a statement meant to change the subject. "You look pretty good to me," the kid said. A casual observation, Joe thought, but it embarrassed him. He wasn't sure why he hadn't kicked the kid out of his apartment. The boy wasn't even wearing a mask! The kid leaned back on the couch, scooted his butt a little forward and arranged his body into a reclining position that indicated ease and comfort. He cracked his beer and took a sip. "I sure could use a blow job," the kid said. Was it a proposition? Was it just a statement of fact? Joe couldn't be sure. Why hadn't he kicked the boy out yet? The kid's dark eyes were on him, stinging into his own eyes, and Joe just couldn't look away. Those eyes seemed inescapable, until Joe was distracted by movements below. Very slight movements. The kid's right hand rested near his groin and his fingertips were gently rubbing his crotch through the fabric of his jeans. There could be no doubt of the kid's intentions now. "Wanna suck it?" the kid said. Immobile, Joe just stared at the crotch, at the playing fingers, until the kid unzipped and pulled his hard penis through the fly of his boxers. Still Joe didn't move. Still Joe couldn't stop staring. Mesmerized. The penis mesmerized him. It looked similar to Joe's own member, perhaps slightly larger, but even from the short distance, Joe could see its stiffness and the veins that covered it. Could see the pearly spot at its tip. The boy lifted his butt up, slid the pants down, revealing the rest of his boxers and slender, pale thighs. "Suck it, man," he said. The kid should leave. The kid really should leave, Joe was thinking. But Joe was still staring. And then, almost in spite himself, he took a step forward, and then another and another. When he got close to the kid, he fell to his knees. The penis lay hard and flat against the kid's belly, but he pushed it forward, pushed it up toward Joe. Joe opened his mouth, lowered himself, was about half a foot away from the penis, but then he stopped. What was he doing? Had he gone mad? He wasn't gay! He wasn't even a little gay! Then the kid's free hand went to the back of Joe's head and guided him down the rest of the way. Halfway into his mouth, the penis started leaking. Joe could taste it. Tangy and slightly bitter, in contrast to the saltiness of the skin. And the aroma. Not like a woman's, more pungent, more musky. The penis started jabbing in and out of his mouth, going deeper each time, but then it stopped. "You gotta watch the teeth, man," the kid said. "Put your lips over 'em." The words didn't register for a while. Joe was too lost. But eventually he got around to it, and then the kid started thrusting again, harder and deeper, until the bell end of his penis was hammering that little dangly part at the back of Joe's mouth like it was a punching bag. Several times Joe felt nauseous, as if he would gag or vomit, and he might have if the penis wasn't so active, wasn't so quick about things, because it always withdrew as fast as it entered, and the feeling would go away for a moment, and then return with the next jab. But the feelings, the nausea grew weaker as time went on. Soon, the kid was thrusting up past the dangly thing, straight into Joe's throat, and Joe found his airways clogged and almost panicked, until his breathing fell into rhythm with the kid's thrusts. Thrust in--hold breath. Pull back--suck in air. That's the way it went when Joe got the hang of it. The kid was doing all the work, anyway. Joe just held his mouth and lips in place and allowed the kid to fuck them. How long it went on, well, who could say? Joe didn't know. An hour? Two minutes? It all felt the same. Time slowed down and sped up. Time became unknowable. But he knew when the kid was nearing the end. His ears were grabbed. The kid jabbed madly into his mouth, deep into his throat, with the speed of the needle of an automatic sewing machine, and then the needle froze mid-thrust and exploded. The kid forced Joe's head down while he was cumming until his entire root was encased in flesh, and it was Joe's tonsils that got the mother lode of the kid's seed. The taste was tangier than before, more bitter, but Joe could not escape. The kid's iron grip kept Joe's head in place while he delivered his load. Joe thought he might suffocate, but his ears were released after a while and Joe was able to pull away and draw air into his lungs. The kid pushed his head away, pulled up and zipped up his jeans. "That was great," he said. "Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." Still on his knees, Joe could not reply. The kid had gotten up and Joe heard the door to his apartment close a few moments later. It was only when he stood up himself that he realized that he had an erection, stiffer than any he'd had in quite a while. "I'm not gay," Joe said out loud, and only to himself. But the firm erection nagged at him until he gave in to it. Still standing at the same spot, he undid his belt, shucked his slacks and underpants, then spit on his palm and had fast, rough wank. He ejaculated seconds later, shuddering with the power of the release. His mood lifted a little after that, but he didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. It was about an hour later, after he'd showered and cleaned up, that it hit him. He missed his kids. He ached for them. It was a gamble, he knew, because nothing had been set up in regards to custody, but he called his house, his former house. When Sara picked up, he played nice. He asked to speak to his ten year old daughter first, and then asked his daughter if he could speak to his eight year old son. They were long conversations, light but substantial, and when they were over Joe felt a sense of peace he hadn't experienced since the divorce was initiated. For the first time since then, he thought that there was at least a possibility that his future might not be as dark as he'd imagined. Divorce or no divorce, coronavirus or not, things didn't seem quite so bleak.