Dude, Are You Serious?

© 2015


Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2015 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 that had been, or was 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 3


Water fanned up and out from the impact point of the rock. Ripples briefly fought and rolled against the swift current of the river before being devoured.

Dillon Jamison sat in silence. He studied Charley Stockton from the corner of his eye; watching as he occasionally lifted his Big Red to his lips. Swig. Swig. Back down to rest between his legs. Dillon copied the move now and then with his bottle of Dr Pepper. Swig. Swig. Back down to rest between his legs.

He started to say something a few times; however, the vibe crashing like waves dictated that silence right now was the way to go. Silence, and—patience. Charley would talk when Charley was ready. Not a second before.






Charley cleared his throat and rolled his left shoulder and then his right. His left. His elbow drifted outward and grazed Dillon’s arm. It was almost as though he was checking to be sure that he was still there beside him in the darkness without turning to look. He rolled the shoulder closest to Dillon … again.



The beast was stirring.

“Were you still wanting to … you know?” Calm. Strong and guttural, thick, yet—tender. Like, well … Charley. No threat. No animosity. No anger. Nothing negative. Nothing accusatory. Nothing but … a question. Just Charley Stockton being Charley Stockton. His eyes remained focused on the river. On a piece of debris here, and chunk of debris there. The current ever-changing, and yet—constant.

Dillon sucked in lungs full of thick, humid, boiling Summer not yet yielding to the approach of Fall’s promise of cooler temperatures. He smirked under the curtain of darkness. His eyes danced.

You have no idea how much I want to … ‘you know’ … with you right now….

Dillon turned his head and took a moment to fully study his friend. Fuck—he was gorgeous. He was, quite simply a picture perfect, prime-time example of walking, talking, breathing sex. Charley Stockton exuded it. He emitted it from every pore. He ‘was’ it. What made him even hotter and more adorable, if that was possible, was the fact that he genuinely didn’t get it. He was the quintessential athlete but also had the brains to go with it; he was in the Top 3 of their class. Charley was the total package. Yeah, he was a beautiful, smart guy, but totally clueless about himself. Totally clueless.

“Yeah,” he said finally. His voice croaked ever so slightly.

Fuck, way to sound confident there, Jamison.

“Yeah, I do. But….”



Charley wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and then absently swiped at a stream of perspiration making its trail from his temple down the side of his handsome face. After several long moments, taken to intently study the river ripples, he shifted his gaze toward Dillon.

“But … what?” He grinned mischievously and elbowed Dillon. “You decided to pass me over for Ellis? You’re gonna do ‘him’ instead of me?”

Dillon nearly choked on the swig he was taking from his bottle; partially due to the taunting elbow jab to the ribs but mostly the thought of sex with Ellis. Yeah, he was his best friend, and—technically, Ellis was one of the hottest guys on the planet at 6’3”, with ice blue eyes, waves of blond hair that flipped up and out at the ends, a cock that would easily make a moose jealous, and well—a deeply creviced, rock hard bubble butt that just begged to be eaten and slurped and fucked for days. Oh, and a syrupy voice…. But—he was also a total jerk wad at times. Although there had been some late night strokin’ offs starring Ellis—more than Dillon wanted to even admit to himself—the idea of proposing sex between the two of them was ‘not’ an option.

He finally swallowed. His mouthful of soda went down hard. Really hard. Like rocks.

Sex with Ellis? Yeah, it wasn’t like he’d never considered it … wondered about it … cum a geyser or 53 of them from time to time, but … ‘really’? Sex? With Ellis? Sheah, right!

As he sat there on Trestle Ridge Bridge, less than an arm’s length from Charley, a shudder made its way through his body. Just that brief touch of Charley’s elbow to his ribs sent him into palpitations and fantasies. What the hell was he thinking? Was he really thinking at all? Was he willing to take a chance that might result in him losing a friend? Not just any friend, but—Charley—if this whole thing blew up in his face? Just for sex?


Why was that question so hard to answer? What could he do but be honest? He owed that to Charley. Hell—he owed that to himself.

“Yes. I still want to.”

There. He had answered the question. Finally.

He paused to wrap his lips around the neck of his bottle—in just about the same manner that he wished he was wrapping his lips around Charley’s prize-winning cock right now. He felt the color skyrocketing through his cheeks and wondered if ‘eyes’ blushed. If they did? His were going scarlet red right now, too.

“Probably more than you want to know.”

He gulped.

He half-swallowed.

He choked.


Instant tears started streaming down his face to accompany the rolling coughing and gasping.

Charley reached out and grabbed Dillon’s bottle out of his hands and shuffled it somewhere behind them. At the same time, he reached for his friend … pulled him into the crook of his armpit and crushed his head against his powerful chest. He began bouncing the heel of his free hand into the area between Dillon’s shoulders.




“Easy, bro. Easy. Breathe. Nice and easy,” Charley said softly as he changed from thumping to a soothing circular motion. “Breathe. That’s it. Slow. Easy.”




“Breathe. That’s it. I gotchu, bro. You’re safe. I gotchu.”

Dillon’s convulsions slowly ebbed and he began to straighten up … to pull his head from that warm, perfect chest. From that soothing heartbeat … from Charley.

“Not so fast, bro,” Charley said as he held tight and replanted his friend’s head against his pec. “I gotchu. Just breathe. Slow. Easy. Just relax for a few minutes.”

Dillon nodded faintly and breathed deeply as he sank back into that warm, muscular chest. Felt the thin layer of sweat against his cheek. He breathed in that thick, humid air. That musky, masculine scent. That cologne that blended so perfectly with Charley’s own natural chemistry. He held tight to one of Charley’s softball size biceps; not realizing that his other hand was resting in his friend’s overly stuffed crotch.

He followed Charley’s orders.

He breathed.




Soaking up as much of Charley as he figured he would ever have a ‘real’ chance of getting. It felt so unbelievably good—having Charley’s arm wrapped around him and holding him strong, yet gently. He could hear Charley’s heart beating strong and even; he could almost hear the blood flowing through his body. He closed his eyes for just a bit, taking a moment for nothing else. Just a stolen moment to breath in Charley’s scent, trying to burn every detail into his brain … into his soul.

As they sat there with Dillon curled blissfully into his chest, Charley gazed down into the water. The current, although more calm now, still ran at a high-throttle. It wasn’t anywhere close to the raging torrents when that tropical storm held together all the way this far inland from the Gulf of Mexico. That was an earth-shredding, building crushing, vehicle propelling onslaught like no one could remember in recent history. They had called it one of those 100-year floods. But this was a humdinger of a toad tumbler in its own right.

His view went to the right. To Dillon’s truck. To his brand new Camaro.


It was going to look like shit by the time he drove through the pools of muddy water and the mud and the muck.

Fucking rain!

Of course, this was Texas. Summer in Texas. They really couldn’t be angry about rain.

Fucking rain!

Charley sucked in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled, tightening his protective grip around Dillon for a moment.

“You good?”

Dillon nodded as he reluctantly pulled away from Charley’s chest. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, not really knowing if it was mussed and tousled but doing it anyway. Probably just a nervous tic more than anything else. He jerked slightly when he felt Charley’s fingertips on his cheeks. Gentle. Tender. Attentive. Wiping the tears away. God—he wished that moment would be replaced by a kiss. Even if nothing else happened—ever—a kiss would carry him into the afterlife on a magic carpet ride to end all rides.

He was sure he looked like shit. The coughing and hacking and choking. The tears. He prayed there was nothing dangling from his nose like happens so often when someone nearly chokes to death or has had tears streaming down their face. He was suffering from a severe case of embarrassment now but managed to offer a sheepish grin.

“Guess that’ll teach me not to practice my deep throat techniques on a soda bottle.”

Charley’s brow knit. He squinted. A flash of bewilderment streaked across his face. And, then—he laughed.



Abs bouncing.


Whew! He’s laughing! Maybe he won’t shove me off the bridge and into that raging river down there….

“Yeah. You’ll have to be more careful, bro. You’ll need good breathing technique to swallow down and fill your throat with my dick,” Charley said sagely. He rolled his eyes at that.

Like I have anything to judge that by other than porno flicks. Chelsea sure as hell hasn’t ever….

The words slipped out before Dillon could zip his mouth.

“I guess you would know better than I,” he said with an envious tone. “I mean, well, you have Chelsea and all I have … is … well, friggin’ soda bottles.”

Charley stretched his arms high above his head. His tee pulled up and out of his jeans and showed some of his 6-pak as he reached for the sky. He rolled his head on his shoulders and laced his fingers, cracking his knuckles. He let out a sound that registered somewhere between a sigh, a snort, and … something … unidentifiably … ‘else’.

“Sorry,” Dillon said with a new rise of color in his cheeks.

Way to kill the moment, Jamison.

“That was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that about you and Che….”

“No,” Charley interrupted. Soft. Barely audible. “She doesn’t.”

Dillon felt a sudden surge of bewilderment. What did that mean? No? She doesn’t? Doesn’t what? Was that comment—whatever it meant—tinged with ginormous frustration?

Charley dropped his gaze from those questioning gun metal gray eyes, scooped up a few stones and threw them out into the water.



Kerplunk. Kerplunk.



Nothing but rustling leaves from the thick wall of trees that lined both sides of the river and even some that somehow were growing from the very walls of granite and limestone that rose upward to form Trestle Ridge. That joined by the sounds from down below; the water lapping at the river bank and crashing against the pylons below them.

And breathing.

Dillon’s breathing.

Charley’s breathing.



Did Charley mean that Chelsea had never…? Seriously? What? Was she ‘nuts’? How could she ‘not’ want that beautiful cock in her mouth? Savor the flavor? The scent? The creamy essence as it dribbled and drooled and spurt? The soft, velvety texture? The ridges and veins and…? Repeat. What? Was she nuts?

Did Dillon dare pursue that? Apparently, yes.

“Seriously?” No, it couldn’t be. Charley had to be joking. “I mean, okay—this is totally none of my business but, um…. You’re pulling my leg. Right?” No response. Charley continued staring out into the swirls and eddies of the water below them. “You’re not telling me that Chelsea has never…?”


Long. Long. Silence.

Finally, Charley nodded absently.

“If you repeat any of this….”

Dillon’s smile was both amused and sarcastic. He scooped up a flat piece of shale and flipped it out over the river. He watched as it sailed forward and then sank through the air until it skipped and skimmed and then sank beneath the surface of the water … out of sight.

“Who am I gonna tell?” He swallowed most of a laugh and nearly choked again, this time on the chuckle that evolved from that full laugh. Wow, that was serious fodder for the grapevine. Except, well, he’d die for sure if anything Charley said in confidence ever escaped his lips. He threw a doubtful glance in Charley’s direction. “She’s honestly never…?” Charley shook his head. “Dude, seriously?”


Charley looked up and down the bridge. Watching for a ghost train along the broken down rails? That would be something. He couldn’t believe he was admitting this to Dillon. Hell—to ‘anyone’. Not even ‘his’ best friends knew this. Ryan and Bennett were just as in the dark about his and Chels’ sex life as anyone else. Anyone but, well, him and Chels. Man, if that info got out…. Yeah, that would be the end of life as Charley knew it. No more god of the school. No more undisputed leader of the pack. No more prince. He’d be the laughing stock of the school.

From ‘king’ to ‘jester wuss’ in 1 easy step….

But. Somehow. It rolled out without much effort. What was it about Dillon Jamison that knifed into him but left no scar … no pain? Just an open portal into his soul?

“She’s never…,” Charley stopped. Warring with himself, with his swirling brain over this admission. Another rock flew out and spiraled downward.


He could feel the color slowly rising in his cheeks.

“She’s never gone down on it. She’s never even touched it through my jeans.” He nodded softly to the question that was silently floating between them. “Hell, dude, she’s never even so much as seen it.”

Now, it was Dillon’s turn to throw it out there.

“What—is she insane?”


Yeah, hard to believe, huh. Achingly hard.

Charley stared down into the river as the question hung in the air. The occasional sounds of a humid country summer night swirled all around them. Crickets. A bullfrog down river serenaded a potential mate which sang its response back. The long, low, mooing of a cow back behind them somewhere…. He could hear the beat of his heart pounding in his ears. Dillon’s soft breathing next to him. Remembering the heat of Dillon’s face as it pressed against his chest after that choke.

A mockingbird picked just the right—wrong?—moment to begin chortling.

Dillon gazed toward the lines of trees on either side of the river. It was out there. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting to share the news with its friends.

Seriously? Fucking bird.

Charley offered a raised brow and a shrug of defeat.

Yeah. Never. Ever. Not even. No friggin’ luck on that one. And, no one knew. Not a soul.

He’d never even told his two best friends—Ryan and Bennett. They didn’t know anything about his sex life, or the lack thereof. He just let them believe what they wanted to believe. Like everyone else. Ryan and Bennett, along with just about everyone else on the planet just ‘assumed’ that he and Chelsea fucked like junk yard dogs. It drove them nuts but it also garnered a sense of respect that he kept his mouth shut. It was like he was keeping quiet out of respect for her … for her reputation.

That was a laugh.

If any of them only knew that other than ‘him’ going down on ‘her’, their sex life was like the sex life of a pair of rocks…. Respect for ‘her’ reputation? As if. He was protecting his own rep as the suave, lady killing, sex god—Charles John Stockton IV.

Why did he feel compelled to tell Dillon? Why had he even gone there? Would Dillon think him less of a man? He picked up another rock, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface and then flung it out into the darkness. He watched as it sailed through the air in a perfect arc. As it sank through the air and….


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This is just the start of a story which may or may not be continued. If there is enough interest, there MAY be additional chapters. The interest shown in it will be a determining factor in continuing the story.

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