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If a bottom doesn't like your body hair then he should move on to someone else. Men aren't Ken dolls perfectly groomed for visual preference of others.

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Chapter 18 The weight of the last twenty-four hours pressed down on Jordan the moment he stepped through his front door. It was a physical thing, a leaden exhaustion that seeped into his bones. The emotional whiplash of Blake’s confession, the terrifying honesty with Jared, the fragile, desperate connection they’d reforged on the couch—it had all left him hollowed out. He barely managed to kick off his shoes and shrug out of his jacket before collapsing onto his bed. The world dissolved into a dreamless, merciful void within seconds. Sunlight, sharp and accusing, pulled him back to consciousness. He groaned, rolling over and fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, and his breath caught. A text from Blake, sent an hour ago. Blake: I didn’t sleep. Thought about it all night. What you said… it’s insane. It’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Jordan’s heart plummeted. Here it comes, he thought, the rejection he’d been half-expecting. He started to type a reply, an apology already forming on his fingers, when a second message popped up. Blake: I’ll try it. For you. I’ll give this crazy idea a shot. But we all have to sit down. All three of us. We need to talk about the… the logistics of this thing. Or I’ll lose my mind. A wave of pure, unadulterated relief so powerful it made him dizzy washed over Jordan. He sat bolt upright, a wide, disbelieving grin spreading across his face. He said yes. Well, not yes, but maybe. It was a chance. It was everything. He immediately called Jared, who grunted a sleepy “’Lo?” into the phone. “He’s in,” Jordan said, the words bursting out of him. “Blake. He wants to talk. The three of us. Tonight.” There was a long pause on the other end, filled only with the sound of Jared’s slow, measured breathing. Jordan could picture him, lying in his own bed, processing this new reality. “Okay,” Jared finally said, his voice gruff but clear. “Your place. Seven.” Jordan chose the back patio. It felt neutral, a space that wasn’t exclusively his or tied to any one memory with either of them. The autumn air had a crisp, clean bite to it as the sun dipped below the horizon, and he lit the fire pit in the center of the stone terrace. The flames leapt to life, casting a warm, dancing orange glow over the three patio chairs he’d arranged in a tight circle. A circle, he thought. Appropriate. He felt better knowing Scott was inside, a steady, calm presence just beyond the sliding glass door. A safety net, should he need one. Jared arrived first, as was his way. He looked… apprehensive, his usual confident swagger subdued. He’d changed out of his work clothes into a soft-looking hoodie and dark jeans. He nodded at Jordan, a silent communication passing between them, and took a seat, staring intently into the fire. A few minutes later, the side gate creaked open. Blake stepped through, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes, looking huge in the flickering light, scanned the scene, lingering on Jared before settling on Jordan. He offered a small, tentative smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey,” Blake said, his voice quiet. “Hey,” Jordan and Jared said, almost in unison. The synchronicity was jarring. An awkward silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Jordan took a deep breath. “So. Logistics.” It was like popping a release valve. The conversation started haltingly, a stilted, painfully practical negotiation that felt at odds with the torrent of emotion that had brought them here. “So, like… who gets what time?” Blake asked, his gaze fixed on the flames, unable to look at either of them. “Do we… schedule this?” “Weekends,” Jared stated, his voice firm. He was looking at Jordan, his expression unreadable. “We each get every other weekend. That’s fair. That’s… structured.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “And what happens during the week?” Blake pressed, finally looking at Jared. There was a challenge in his eyes. “Do we just… wait our turn?” “We talk,” Jordan interjected, feeling the tension spike between them. “We agreed on honesty. If one of us needs… time… we say it. No secrets.” Jared’s jaw tightened. “And what happens when one of us gets jealous?” he asked, the word hanging in the air like smoke. “Because it’s gonna happen. Let’s not pretend it won’t.” The question landed in the center of the circle, raw and unavoidable. “We talk about that, too,” Jordan said, his voice softer now. He reached out, placing a hand on Jared’s knee. Jared flinched but didn’t pull away. Jordan then looked at Blake, including him in the gesture. “We say it hurts. We admit it. And we… we work through it. Together. Because the alternative is losing each other completely.” The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks into the darkening sky. Blake leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “A night,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper. “What about one night, every couple of weeks, where… it’s all three of us?” The air seemed to crackle with a new kind of energy, one far more potent than the fire’s heat. The image bloomed in Jordan’s mind unbidden: the three of them, tangled together in his bed, skin and hands and whispered confessions. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down his spine. He looked at Jared, whose eyes had widened slightly, his lips parted. He wasn’t saying no. He was just… processing. The idea was clearly affecting him, too. Jordan’s own arousal, which had been a low hum in the background since this surreal meeting began, suddenly flared into a sharp, aching need. The discussion of rules and schedules had been a bizarre, clinical prelude to this—the undeniable, electric charge that now arced between the three of them. He could feel it, a live wire connecting their three chairs. The practicalities evaporated from his mind, burned away by a much more primal urge. His gaze swept from Jared’s conflicted, handsome face to Blake’s vulnerable, hopeful one. The firelight played over the lines of their bodies, hinting at the strength and softness beneath their clothes. All the talking was suddenly, spectacularly unimportant. Without another word, Jordan stood up. The movement was decisive, breaking the tense silence. Both men looked up at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and dawning anticipation. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat syncopated with the crackle of the fire. He looked from one to the other, his voice dropping to a low, husky register that was barely recognizable as his own. “Enough talking,” he said, the command clear in his tone. “My room. Now.” Chapter 19 The silence in Jordan's bedroom was profound, thick with the weight of what was about to happen and the faint, distant crackle of the fire pit. Jared and Blake stood just inside the door, their body language a mix of uncertainty and raw, pulsing anticipation. They watched him, waiting. For a command. For a sign. Jordan’s heart was a jackhammer against his ribs, but a strange, powerful calm settled over him. This was his. They were his, these beautiful studs. The thought was a lightning strike of pure, unadulterated dominance that straightened his spine and deepened his voice. “Close the door,” he said, the words not a request but a low, even command. Jared was the one who moved, reaching back without breaking eye contact with Jordan to push the door shut with a soft, final click. Jordan held their gazes, letting the tension build, letting them feel the shift in the air. He walked to the edge of his bed and sat down, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He leaned back on his hands, his posture open, commanding. His package visibly swollen through his shorts but not fully erect. “Come here,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky register that made Blake’s breath catch. “Both of you. On your knees.” For a split second, nobody moved. Jordan saw the flicker in Jared’s eyes—a lifetime of being the one in charge, the dominant force between them, warring with the new, intoxicating thrill of submission. It was Blake who broke first, sinking to his knees on the rug with a fluid grace that made Jordan’s mouth water. There levels of submission obvious. After another second of charged silence, Jared followed, his descent slower, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving Jordan’s. The sight of them, both on their knees before him, was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever experienced. The feelings pleasure and desire have never felt as strong. “That’s it, Good Boy!” Jordan murmured, his cock already a hard, aching line against his zipper. “Now. Worship my fat cock.” His words hung in the air. Blake’s hands came up first, trembling slightly as they landed on Jordan’s thighs. He leaned forward, nuzzling the denim covering Jordan’s dick, his warm breath seeping through the fabric. Jared watched for a moment longer, his jaw tight, before his own hands came up to join Blake’s, his touch firmer, more possessive, as he rubbed Jordan’s throb through his shorts. Mine, Jordan thought, the word a primal echo in his mind. Both of them. Mine. A low groan rumbled in his chest as their hands worked him, the dual pressure sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. He could feel the dampness of his own precum beginning to seep through, a dark, tempting spot on the grey fabric. Turning him on even more, if that were even possible. He could never resist touching himself when he felt a wet spot in his underwear “Feel that?” he breathed, looking down at them. “That’s for you. Both of you.” Blake moaned at the words, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his face harder against Jordan’s crotch, inhaling deeply. Jared’s eyes darkened, his fingers curling more firmly around Jordan’s shaft. “Fuck, Jordan,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. “Get it out,” Jordan commanded, his own need becoming a sharp, demanding ache. “I want to feel your mouths.” Blake’s hands were a wreck, fumbling with the button and zipper of Jordan’s shorts. He pushed them down just enough, and Jordan’s cock sprang free, thick and flopping, a bead of clear precum already glistening at the tip, ready to drip. The cool air was a shock, but it was nothing compared to the heat of their synchronized, hungry gazes fixed on it. “You're perfect,” Blake whispered, almost reverently, before he leaned in and swiped his tongue across the leaking head. The sensation was electric, a white-hot bolt of pleasure that made Jordan’s hips buck off the bed. “Fuck, Blake…” Jared didn’t wait for another invitation. He moved in, his mouth covering the other side of the shaft, his tongue lapping at the taste of him. Jordan cried out, his head falling back as two hot, wet mouths descended on his cock. They took turns, switching off in a dizzying, devastating rhythm. Blake would suck the head deep, his tongue circling the frenulum, and just as the pleasure began to crest, he’d pull back, letting Jared swallow him down, his technique sloppier, more urgent, deep and gagging. They were sharing up at him. Kissing each other with their movements at the very tip of his dick, their lips and tongues sliding against each other, slick with his precum and their saliva. The visual was almost too much to bear. Swapping his precum between themselves. “Tell me,” Jordan gritted out, his hands tangling in Jared’s hair, then Blake’s, guiding their movements. “Tell me how much you love it.” “I fucking love it, Jordan. I love your thick, leaking cock,” Blake panted against his skin, his breath hitching. “Tastes so good, So fucking good.” “It’s fucking perfect,” Jared growled, taking him deep again, making Jordan choke on a gasp. “Always knew you were packing a fucking weapon.” Their words fueled him, stoking a fire in his belly that threatened to consume him. He was losing himself in the sensation, in the power, but he had a plan. A need. He tightened his grip in their hair, pulling them both back gently but firmly. They looked up at him, lips swollen and wet, eyes glazed with lust and complete submission. “Stand up,” he ordered, his voice thick. “Turn around. Pull your shorts down. And bend over. I want to see your hairy boy holes. I want to see what’s mine.” They scrambled to obey, a frantic, beautiful mess of limbs. Jeans and sweatpants and underwear were shoved down to their knees, and they bent over spreading their cheeks apart, presenting themselves to him. The sight stole the air from his lungs. Jared’s muscular, powerful white ass, and Blake’s smoother, hairy and tighter one, both offered to him, vulnerable and waiting. He stood up, his own shorts falling the rest of the way to the floor. He stepped closer, his gaze raking over them. He spat once, a glob of saliva landing directly on Jared’s tight, clenched hole. Jared jolted at the sensation, a sharp gasp escaping him. “So fucking hot,” Blake whispered, watching from his own bent-over position, his own hole clenching in anticipation. Jordan spat again, this time onto Blake, eliciting a similar, shuddering gasp. He didn’t wait. He pressed his thumb against Jared first, rubbing the spit in, feeling the incredible tightness of him, the frantic pulse of his body. Jared pushed back against the pressure, a low, guttural moan torn from his throat. “You want this big dick?” Jordan asked, working his thumb in just past the first knuckle, the tight ring of muscle straining to accommodate him. “Yes,” Jared hissed, his voice strained. “Fuck, yes, Jordan.” He did the same to Blake, whose reaction was more vocal, a high, desperate whine as Jordan’s finger breached him. “Please….” He fingered them both, one after the other, switching his attention back and forth, stretching them open with first one, then two fingers, watching their bodies yield to him, listening to their broken, pleading moans fill the room. The scent of sex was everywhere, musky and urgent.nl He was rock hard, his own cock leaking a steady stream onto the floorboards. He pulled his fingers free from both of them, and they whimpered at the loss. “Beg for it,” he commanded, stroking his own length, coating it in his precum. “I want to hear you beg for my cock.” “Please, Jordan,” Blake begged immediately, his voice cracking as he pushed his ass back toward him. “I wan it, give it to me! Please fuck my tight hole. ” Jordan’s eyes shifted to Jared, who was breathing heavily, his forehead resting on his arms. “Jared,” Jordan prompted, his tone leaving no room for defiance. Jared lifted his head, his eyes burning with a mix of humiliation and pure, unadulterated need. “Please,” he ground out, the word seeming to cost him everything. “Fuck me. I need you to fuck me, Jordan.” The surrender was absolute. Jordan stepped forward, aligning his slick, aching cock with Jared’s waiting entrance. He placed a hand on the small of Jared’s back, holding him steady. “Mine,” he growled, and with one powerful, relentless thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside his best friend. Jared’s cry was shattered, a raw scream of pleasure-pain that seemed to shake the walls. He was impossibly tight, hot, and perfect. Jordan gave him no time to adjust, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal, pounding rhythm. He fucked into Jared with everything he had, each drive of his hips a claiming, a punishment, a benediction. He leaned over Jared’s back, his eyes locking with Blake’s, who was watching, mesmerized, his own hand frantically stroking his cock. “You see that?” Jordan grunted, pistoning into Jared. “You see how he takes this big cock? How he loves when I fuck his hole?” “Yes,” Blake moaned, his eyes wide. After a few more devastating thrusts, Jordan pulled out of Jared’s shuddering hole, leaving him gasping and empty. He moved the half-step to Blake, not even bothering to spit again, just guiding his wet, sensitive cock to Blake’s entrance. “Your turn,” he breathed, and pushed inside. Blake was tighter, and his cry was higher, more desperate. He clenched around Jordan like a vice, his whole body trembling. Jordan fucked him with the same relentless pace, his hands gripping Blake’s hips, surely leaving bruises. The slide was exquisite, a seamless, wet, hot friction that was rapidly driving him toward the edge. He switched back to Jared, then to Blake, then to Jared again, a delirious, animalistic rhythm of possession. Their moans and pleas were a symphony, each entry met with a grateful, hungry gasp. He could feel his orgasm coiling, a supernova building in the base of his spine. He pulled out of Blake for the last time, his cock throbbing, leaking. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice ragged and broken. “I’m gonna cum. I want you both to share it.” They scrambled to obey, turning and dropping to their knees before him, their faces upturned, mouths open, eyes desperate. Jared’s was filled with a fierce, possessive pride, Blake’s with worshipful adoration. They were both stroking themselves, their hands a frantic blur on their own cocks, ready to follow him over. Jordan fisted his own dick, his strokes short and brutal. “Open wider,” he panted, and they did, leaning in, their lips inches from his twitching, leaking cockhead. The first spurt hit Jared square on the tongue, a thick, pearly rope that made his eyes roll back in bliss. The second shot landed on Blake’s lower lip, and he instinctively licked it away with a hungry moan. Jordan cried out, his body convulsing, as the third and fourth pulses shot out, painting both their faces, marking them, claiming them. They stayed there, kneeling, their mouths open and waiting for all of it. Every drop. Blake turns to Jared and kisses him. The cum smearing across their lips, passing their reward back and forth staring up at Jordan.

Chapter 14 The stale, greasy air of the burger joint clung to Jordan’s clothes as he leaned against the driver’s side door of Blake’s beat-up sedan. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, a mix of residual anger from the video and a gnawing, anxious guilt. He’d driven on pure impulse, fueled by the raw, confusing aftermath of his encounter with Jared. He needs to know, Jordan thought. He needs to know it wasn't just about revenge. He knocked on the window, the sound too loud in the quiet street. The driver’s side window whirred down, revealing Blake’s surprised face. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, widened slightly before a guarded, almost wary expression settled over his features. The intricate floral tattoos on his hips peeked out from beneath the waistband of his low-slung jeans. “Jordan? What’s up?” “We need to talk,” Jordan said, his voice tighter than he intended. “About what happened. With Jared.” Blake’s jaw clenched. He looked away for a moment, out the windshield, before his gaze returned, colder. “Look, man, if you’re here to give me shit again—” “I’m not,” Jordan interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m here to say… what you did was fucked up. Going behind my back and having sex with Jared, on camera, for money. It was wrong.” Blake’s defensive posture softened a fraction, replaced by wary curiosity. “Okay…?” Jordan took a shaky breath, the hardest part still to come. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. I sent the video of my step dad because I was mad. “But only partly because I was mad.” He forced himself to hold Blake’s gaze, to let him see the raw, unvarnished truth. “It was mostly because I was jealous.” The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Blake’s eyes searched his, the ice in them melting into something else entirely—shock, confusion, and a dawning, fragile hope. “Jealous?” Blake breathed out, the word barely a whisper. “Yeah,” Jordan said, his own voice dropping to match. “You confessed this… this huge thing to me. This dirty secret. And I threw it back in your face. And then I heard you with him, and it felt like you’d taken something that was…” He trailed off, the rest of the sentence—that was meant for me—too terrifying to voice. A slow, understanding dawned on Blake’s face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I was gonna ask you, you know,” he said, his voice thick with a sudden, vulnerable honesty. “That day. I was gonna ask if you wanted to… to collab. On camera. With me.” Jordan’s breath hitched. What? “But I was terrified,” Blake continued, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel. “After you pulled away from my kiss… I was so sure you’d reject me. I thought it was the stupidest idea I’d ever had.” He looked up, his blue eyes glistening. “So I went to Jared instead. It was easier. Safer. And I know he struggles more financially than you do.” The revelation landed like a physical blow, rearranging everything Jordan thought he knew about the last few days. The tension that had been coiling in the air between them—the hurt, the betrayal, the unsaid words—didn’t evaporate. It transmuted. It crackled, heating from within, shifting from emotional static into a pure, undiluted, erotic charge. They both felt it at the exact same moment. Jordan saw it in the way Blake’s pupils dilated, black swallowing the blue. Blake saw it in the way Jordan’s lips parted, his breathing turning shallow. The space inside the car suddenly felt too small, too hot, charged with a need so potent it was dizzying. There was no more talking. With a guttural sound that was half-growl, half-plea, Blake shoved the car door open. Jordan didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, meeting him halfway as Blake scrambled out of the driver’s seat. Their bodies collided against the side of the car, hands grabbing, pulling, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative one they’d shared before. This was a conflagration. It was all desperate, hungry lips and clashing teeth and frantic tongues. Jordan’s hands fisted in Blake’s shirt, yanking it up over his head and tossing it blindly into the dark car. Blake’s nails scraped down Jordan’s back as he worked the button on his jeans, the rasp of the zipper a obscenely loud counterpoint to their ragged breathing. “Inside. Now,” Blake panted against his mouth, pulling him toward the back seat. They tumbled into the cramped space, a chaotic mess of limbs and urgency. The doors slammed shut, sealing them in their own private, heated world. Jordan landed half on top of Blake, their hard cocks grinding together through the fabric of their jeans, drawing identical, sharp gasps from both of them. “Fuck, Jordan,” Blake moaned, his head falling back against the seat, exposing the long line of his throat. Jordan latched onto it, sucking a dark mark into the skin as his hands finally, finally, shoved Blake’s jeans and boxers down his hips. And there it was. Blake’s cock, just as he remembered from that first video session. Thick, impressive, curving upward, already glistening with a pearl of precum at the tip. Jordan wrapped his hand around it, and Blake bucked up into his touch with a broken cry. “You like that?” Jordan murmured, his voice rough with desire as he stroked him, his thumb smearing the slickness over the flushed head. “You have no idea,” Blake gasped out, his eyes screwed shut. “No fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” The confession was a live wire. Jordan claimed his mouth again in a searing kiss as he shimmied out of his own clothes, their naked skin sliding together in the humid dark of the car. The scent of sweat and cheap cologne and pure, unadulterated male desire filled the air. Blake’s hands were everywhere—gripping Jordan’s ass, tracing the muscles of his back, tangling in his hair. “I need to feel you,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, Jordan. I need all of you.” Jordan stilled, looking down at him. The streetlight outside cast shifting shadows across Blake’s handsome face, highlighting the desire, the trust, the raw vulnerability there. “You sure?” he asked, his own need a painful, throbbing ache. “It’s your first time… like this.” “Yes,” Blake breathed, his eyes blazing with certainty. “I’m sure. I want it to be you. Only you.” That was all the permission Jordan needed. He reached for his discarded jeans, fumbling for his wallet, his fingers shaking as he ripped open a condom packet. Blake watched him, chest heaving, his own hands stroking his hard, leaking length as Jordan sheathed himself. “Tell me what you want.” Jordan whispered, positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against Blake’s entrance. “You,” Blake moaned, wrapping his legs around Jordan’s waist, pulling him closer. “Fuck me, Jordan. Make me yours.” The sound of his name coming from Blake's mouth lit his brain on fire. The filthy, desperate plea was Jordan’s undoing. He pressed forward, slowly, inexorably, breaching that tight, incredible heat. Blake’s breath caught, a sharp hiss of pain and pleasure as his body stretched to accommodate him. “Okay?” Jordan gritted out, stopping, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding still. “Fuck yes,” Blake gasped, his eyes rolling back. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” Jordan began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that made the old car’s suspension creak in protest. Each thrust was a revelation. The tight, clenching heat surrounding him, the way Blake’s body opened for him, took him in, the raw, unfiltered sounds being torn from Blake’s throat. “Harder,” Blake demanded, his nails digging into Jordan’s shoulders. “Oh, yes, just like that. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. Keep fucking me...” Jordan obeyed, pistoning his hips faster, driving deeper with every stroke. The filthy talk, the complete surrender, the overwhelming sensation—it was all hurtling him toward the edge. He could feel Blake’s body tightening around him, could hear his moans climbing in pitch. “Look at me,” Jordan commanded, grabbing Blake’s chin. “I want to see you.” Blake’s eyes fluttered open, glassy with pleasure, utterly besotted. “Jordan…” he whimpered, his hand flying to his own cock, stroking himself in frantic time with Jordan’s thrusts. “You’re mine,” Jordan growled, the possessive words tumbling out, a perfect echo of the ones Jared had used on him. They felt right. They felt true. That was all it took. Blake’s eyes snapped shut as his orgasm ripped through him with a wordless shout, his cum shooting up in thick stripes across his stomach and chest. The violent clenching of his body around Jordan’s cock threw Jordan over the edge a second later. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural cry, his own release pulsing into the condom in hot, endless waves. They collapsed together in the messy, cramped space, a tangled heap of sweaty limbs and spent desire. The only sound was their ragged, synced breathing fogging up the windows. Jordan, still buried inside Blake, felt the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through them both. After a long moment, Blake’s hand came up, his fingers weakly tracing Jordan’s jawline. His eyes, when they opened, were clear and held a terrifying, beautiful depth of emotion. “I’m in love with you, Jordan,” he whispered, the words raw and awed. “I think I have been for years.” He looked up, his blue eyes wide Chapter 15 The words hung in the air, a dense, suffocating fog that seemed to fill the entire interior of Blake’s car. I’m in love with you, Jordan. They weren’t just words; they were a seismic event, cracking the foundation of everything Jordan thought he understood about his own heart. He pulled back, the physical separation from Blake’s warmth feeling like a necessary, painful act of survival. The scent of their sweat and sex was suddenly overwhelming, a cloying reminder of the intimacy that had just forged a new, impossible connection. “Blake, I…” he started, but his voice failed him. What could he possibly say? Thank you? Me too? The first was inadequate, the second a lie. The truth was a tangled knot of affection, lust, guilt, and a deep, anchoring pull toward Jared that refused to loosen. Blake’s face, so open and vulnerable moments before, began to shutter closed at Jordan’s silence. The raw hope in his blue eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of the old defensiveness. “Right,” he said, the single word flat and heavy. He awkwardly shifted, pulling his jeans up over his hips, the movement breaking the last physical tether between them. “It’s not that I…” Jordan tried again, fumbling for his own clothes. The condom felt cold and alien against his skin. “What you said… it’s a lot. And I’m… with Jared.” Aren’t I? The thought was a fresh wave of confusion. After their explosive fight and the possessive, raw sex that followed, what were they? “I know you are,” Blake muttered, not looking at him as he pulled his shirt on. “Forget I said anything. It was the heat of the moment.” But the tremor in his voice betrayed him. It was anything but. The drive home was a silent, torturous affair. Jordan replayed Blake’s confession on a loop, each iteration tightening the knot in his stomach. He felt the ghost of Blake’s body against his, the intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his whisper. It stirred something deep and undeniable within him, a burning ember of want that was entirely separate from what he felt for Jared. How can I want two people so completely, so differently? The question had no answer, only the heavy weight of impending consequence. He pulled into his driveway, the house dark and quiet. His mother was at her evening shift, and Scott’s truck was parked in its usual spot. Scott. Of course. The only person in his life who wouldn’t judge the messy, chaotic tangle of his feelings. Jordan found him in the living room, a half-finished glass of whiskey in one hand, a book facedown on his lap. He looked up as Jordan entered, and his relaxed expression immediately sharpened into one of concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Scott said, his voice a low, steady rumble. “Everything okay with Jared?” Jordan sank into the armchair opposite him, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not Jared. Well, it is, but it’s… it’s more.” The words poured out of him then, a rushed, jumbled confession about the video, the confrontation, the desperate, passionate collision in the back of Blake’s car, and finally, the three words that had changed everything. He left nothing out, the relief of unburdening himself making him dizzy. Scott listened without interruption, his gaze fixed on Jordan, his expression unreadable. When Jordan finally fell silent, spent and waiting, Scott took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Wow,” he finally said, letting out a low whistle. “That’s… a situation.” “You’re telling me,” Jordan groaned, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What the hell do I do, Scott? I can’t have two boyfriends. That’s… that’s not how this works. Is it?” He looked up, seeking wisdom from the one person who might have any. Scott swirled the amber liquid in his glass, thinking. “It can work,” he said carefully. “For some people. It’s called an open relationship, or polyamory. But it only works on a foundation of brutal, terrifying honesty. It’s not a way to avoid making a choice; it’s a choice in itself, and it’s a hell of a lot harder than being monogamous.” Honesty. The word felt like a punch. He’d been hiding so much from everyone, including himself. “So, what? I just go to Jared and say, ‘Hey, I know we just reconnected after a huge fight, but I also really want to be with the guy you just made a porn video with’?” The absurdity of it made a bitter laugh escape his lips. “He’d lose his mind.” “Probably,” Scott agreed, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. “But you have to start somewhere. You have to talk to him. You have to tell him how you’re feeling—the confusion, the pull you feel toward Blake, everything. You owe him that. And you owe it to yourself.” Jordan’s mind recoiled at the thought of that conversation. Jared’s jealousy was a fierce, palpable thing. The image of his furious, possessive expression from their last argument flashed in his mind. “He’ll never go for it. He’s too… Jared.” “You don’t know that,” Scott countered gently. “People can surprise you. But even if he says no, even if it ends things between you, you’ll have been honest. And you’ll be free to explore what you have with Blake without this guilt eating you alive.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “And you need to be just as honest with Blake. Tell him you have feelings for him, but that you’re also committed to figuring things out with Jared. He deserves to know where he stands, even if it’s a difficult place.” The advice was logical, mature, and utterly terrifying. It meant walking into potential fire twice over. But beneath the fear, a sliver of clarity began to form. The knot in his stomach loosened just a fraction. Scott was right. The only way out was through. “An open relationship,” Jordan murmured, testing the words. They felt foreign on his tongue, a concept from a world far more complicated than the one he thought he lived in. The idea of it sent a jolt of something through him—anxiety, yes, but also a dark, thrilling curl of anticipation. Jared’s possessive fire and Blake’s vulnerable intensity… could I really have both? He stood up, a new, nervous energy coursing through him. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “Okay. Honesty.” Scott nodded, a look of quiet pride in his eyes. “It’s the hardest path, kid. But it’s the only one that leads somewhere real.” Jordan pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Jared’s name. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct told him to retreat, to hide, to fall back into the easy pattern of secret hookups and suppressed desires. But he thought of Blake’s heartbroken expression, of Jared’s furious passion, and of the confusing, overwhelming want for them both that refused to be ignored. He took a deep, shaking breath and typed out a message, the words feeling like a point of no return. We need to talk. For real. Can you come over? He hit send before he could lose his nerve, the whoosh sound echoing in the quiet room. The three dots appeared almost immediately, bouncing on the screen. Jordan’s mouth went dry. This was it. The first step onto the hardest path. The dots stopped. Jared’s reply was simple, stark, and utterly terrifying. On my way.

Chapter 13 The silence in Jordan’s bedroom was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and revenge. Scott had left with a final, knowing look, leaving Jordan alone with the phantom vibrations of the sent text message. He stared at his phone, the screen dark now, waiting. The adrenaline that had fueled his actions was ebbing, leaving a hollow, shaky feeling in its wake. What have I done? A sudden, violent pounding on the front door shattered the quiet. Jared. It wasn’t a polite knock. It was a demand. A threat. The sound echoed through the still house, a frantic drumbeat that matched the sudden frantic rhythm of Jordan’s heart. He pulled his shorts back up, his skin still tingling, and moved on unsteady legs toward the living room. He pulled the door open, and there he was. Jared stood on the porch, chest heaving, his face a mask of fury and something else, something raw and wild Jordan couldn’t immediately name. His eyes were blazing, his phone clutched in a white-knuckled fist at his side. The video was still playing on its screen, a tiny, silent, damning loop of Scott’s release. “What the fuck is this, Jordan?” Jared’s voice was low, a tremble of barely controlled rage underlying each word. He didn’t wait for an answer. He shoved past Jordan into the living room, the force of his entry making Jordan stumble back a step. “You sent me a fucking video of your stepdad jerking off,” Jared spat, whirling around to face him. “Are you insane? What is wrong with you?” The hollow feeling vanished, incinerated by a fresh wave of defensive anger. “What’s wrong with me?” Jordan shot back, squaring his shoulders. “I know what I heard at your house, Jared. I know who was in your bed. Don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m the crazy one.” Jared’s expression flickered, a flash of guilt quickly smothered by renewed anger. “So this is your solution? You fuck my boss? You send me a porno of it?” “We didn’t fuck!” The denial was out before Jordan could stop it, too quick, too defensive. We just got off on the idea of it, on hurting you. He saw the instant Jared processed the distinction, his eyes narrowing. “You just… what? Had a mutual jerk-off session? That’s supposed to be better?” Jared took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming the space between them. The air crackled. “You did this to get back at me.” “Yeah,” Jordan admitted, his own voice dropping, losing its heat and gaining a dark, confessional tone. “I did. You hurt me. I wanted to hurt you back. It felt… good.” Jared stared at him, his breathing still ragged. The fury in his eyes was slowly being diluted by confusion, by a dawning, shocking understanding. His gaze dropped from Jordan’s face, trailing down his body, and Jordan knew, with a sudden, visceral certainty, what he was seeing. The memory of the video. The image of Scott. The raw, unfiltered masculinity of it. Jared’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The anger wasn’t gone, but it was… shifting. Transforming. His eyes, when they lifted back to meet Jordan’s, held a new, terrifying heat. “It felt good,” Jared repeated, not a question, but a low, fascinated statement. He took another step, closing the distance until they were almost chest to chest. Jordan could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rapid pulse beating at the base of his throat. “Watching him. Making him do that for you. It turned you on.” Jordan couldn’t look away. He could only nod, a tiny, jerky motion. “It turned me on,” Jared whispered, the admission ripped from him, harsh and honest. The confession hung between them, a live wire. All the jealousy, the betrayal, the rage—it all funneled into that single, electrifying point. They weren't two guys arguing anymore. They were two animals, circling, driven by a need that was bigger than reason. Jared’s hand came up, not to shove, but to grip the back of Jordan’s neck. His fingers were warm, possessive. “You wanted a reaction?” he murmured, his voice gravelly, his breath ghosting over Jordan’s lips. “You got one.” And then he kissed him. It was nothing like their previous kisses. There was no tenderness, no exploration. This was a clash. A claiming. Jared’s mouth was hard and demanding on his, his tongue plunging inward with a desperation that felt like violence. Jordan met him with equal force, his own hands coming up to fist in Jared’s shirt, holding him there, accepting the punishment, the apology, the desperate, fucked-up desire all at once. They stumbled backward, a tangled mess of limbs and furious energy, until the back of Jordan’s knees hit the arm of the couch and they spilled onto it. Jared landed on top of him, his weight familiar and anchoring. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down Jordan’s jaw to his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin there that would bloom purple by morning. A mark. Proof. “You’re such an asshole,” Jared growled against his throat, his hips grinding down, the hard ridge of his erection pressing insistently against Jordan’s through their clothes. “You’re a bigger one,” Jordan gasped out, arching up into the pressure, his own cock throbbing in response. The friction was maddening, not nearly enough. His hands scrabbled at Jared’s waistband, desperate. Jared sat back, kneeling over him, his eyes dark with a possessive fire Jordan had never seen before. He grabbed the hem of his own shirt and ripped it over his head, tossing it aside. His chest was heaving, his muscles taut. “You want to show me what I’m missing?” he challenged, his voice dripping with a new kind of intent. “Then show me.” He leaned down, his hands going to the button of Jordan’s shorts. He didn’t fumble. He made quick, rough work of it, yanking the fabric down Jordan’s thighs in one sharp movement. Jordan’s cock sprang free, already fully hard, dripping onto his stomach. Jared’s gaze locked onto it, his lips parting slightly. The anger was still there, simmering, but it was now entirely wrapped in a blinding, all-consuming lust. “Mine,” he said, the word a low growl of possession. He didn’t use his hands. He lowered his head, and his mouth, hot and wet and impossibly skilled, enveloped Jordan in a single, devastating motion. Jordan cried out, his back bowing off the couch. Oh, god. It was different from before. This wasn’t the experimental, curious blowjob from their first night. This was… vengeance. This was claiming territory. Jared’s tongue worked him with a brutal, exquisite expertise, swirling around the head before plunging down again, taking him deep, until Jordan felt the head of his cock hit the back of Jared’s throat. Jared’s hands pinned Jordan’s hips to the couch, holding him still, forcing him to take every devastating inch. The sight was unbelievable—Jared, his best friend, the guy he’d just tried to destroy, between his legs, sucking his cock like his life depended on it. Like he was starving for it. The incoherent, pleading sounds falling from Jordan’s lips only seemed to spur Jared on. He moaned around Jordan’s length, the vibration shooting through Jordan like lightning. His own hips began to move in tiny, helpless thrusts, fucking up into that perfect, hot wetness. He was losing control, teetering on the edge far too quickly, the combined emotional whiplash and physical sensation shattering his composure. “Jared… fuck… I’m gonna…” Jared pulled off with a wet, obscene pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Jordan’ glistening tip. His own breathing was ragged, his eyes glassy with need. He looked wrecked, and it was the most beautiful thing Jordan had ever seen. “Not yet,” Jared commanded, his voice hoarse. He shoved his own jeans and boxers down just enough to free his own thick, eight-inch cock. It curved upward, flushed a deep red, leaking copiously. He spat into his palm, a crude, primal gesture, and fisted his own length, stroking once, twice, his eyes locked on Jordan’s. “You wanted to play games?” Jared panted, shifting his weight. He positioned himself over Jordan, the head of his cock pressing against Jordan’s, sliding through the slickness there. “Let’s play.” He lowered his body, his cock aligning perfectly with Jordan’s. Their lengths slid together, a hot, velvety friction that made them both gasp. Jared’s hand wrapped around both of them, his grip firm, and he began to stroke. Oh. My. God. It was an entirely new kind of pleasure. The feel of Jared’s thicker skin sliding against his own, the way their precum mixed to form a slick, perfect lubricant, the overwhelming visual of their bodies joined like this. Jordan’s hands flew to Jared’s ass, gripping the hard muscle there, pulling him closer, grinding up against him, needing more, more, more. Jared’s forehead dropped against his, their ragged breaths mingling. His strokes became faster, more frantic, his hips pistoning, fucking his cock against Jordan’s in a sublime, frantic rhythm. “This what you wanted?” Jared grunted, his voice strained, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “This what you thought about when you made that video?” “Yes,” Jordan moaned, his own climax building again, a tidal wave of sensation. “Fuck, Jared, just like that…” “You’re mine,” Jared growled again, a final, desperate declaration as his rhythm began to stutter. “You hear me? Mine.” The possessive words were the final trigger. Jordan’s orgasm exploded out of him with a guttural cry, his cum shooting up between their sweat-slicked chests in hot, pulsing streaks. The feel of Jordan climaxing sent Jared over the edge a second later. He threw his head back with a choked roar, his own release joining Jordan’s, painting their stomachs in a messy, shared proof of their fucked-up, undeniable connection. They collapsed together onto the couch, a tangled, sticky, breathless heap. The only sound was their harsh, labored breathing. Jared’s weight was a comforting pressure on top of him. Jordan could feel the frantic beat of Jared’s heart against his own chest, slowly beginning to steady. After a long moment, Jared shifted, propping himself up on an elbow. He looked down at Jordan, his expression unreadable, his eyes tracing the mess on both their bodies. He reached out, his thumb brushing through the cooling cum on Jordan’s stomach. He brought his thumb to his own lips, never breaking eye contact, and slowly, deliberately, licked it clean. A shiver racked Jordan’s entire body. Jared’s voice was quiet, awed, and utterly wrecked. “What are we doing, Jordan?” Jared’s phone buzzed sharply on the coffee table, the sound cutting through the heavy, post-climax silence. He hesitated, his thumb still resting on Jordan’s stomach, before reluctantly reaching for it. Jordan watched as Jared’s expression shifted from dazed to focused, his brow furrowing as he read the screen. “Who is it?” Jordan asked, his voice hoarse. Jared didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed the phone to Jordan, allowing him to see the message from Blake: Miss me yet? Has our video made any money online yet? Jordan’s eyes widened. “What the hell is this?” Jared exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Blake and I… we’ve been making videos. For extra cash.” “Videos?” Jordan sat up slowly, his stomach churning with a mix of shock and curiosity. “Like… porn?” Jared nodded, his jaw tightening. “It started as a joke, you know? Just fucking around. But then people started paying. A lot.” “How much is ‘a lot’?” Jordan asked, his voice lowering, a strange, almost predatory interest creeping into his tone. Jared hesitated again, his gaze locked on Jordan’s. “Enough to cover rent. Food. Whatever we need.” He paused, his voice dropping even further. “Sometimes… more.” Jordan’s mind raced. The implications were huge. All this time, Jared had been keeping this secret—this lucrative, dangerous secret. And now, because of that damn video with Scott, he was tangled up in it too. “So… what?” Jordan said slowly, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re saying there’s money in this? Real money?” Jared’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something else—anticipation, maybe. “Yeah. There is. Why? You interested?” The question hung in the air between them, heavy with possibility. Jordan leaned back against the couch, his heart pounding. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was about opportunity. About power. And maybe, just maybe, about something more. “Maybe,” Jordan said finally, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. “But if we’re doing this… we’re doing it my way.”

Chapter 12 The low, greasy hum of the fryer followed Jordan home, a greasy film on his skin that no amount of handwashing could remove. He’d spent three days wrapped in a thick fog of confusion, Scott’s secret a lead weight in his gut that pulsed in time with the memory of their mutual release. We didn’t touch. It wasn’t that bad. The mantra did little to quiet the roar in his head. He’d avoided Jared, the guilt making his texts feel like lies. Getting sent home early from the burger joint felt like a reprieve. A surprise visit with Jared’s favorite Western Burger, a return to normalcy, that’s what he needed. Something to ground him. But then he turned onto Jared’s cul-de-sac. And saw Blake’s beat-up sedan parked boldly in the driveway. His steps slowed. Why? They weren’t friends. Jared hadn’t mentioned hanging out. A cold trickle of unease dripped down his spine. He pulled out his phone. Hey, you home? No immediate response. The house was quiet, too quiet. The front door, which was perpetually unlocked in Jared’s famously open household, was firmly shut and locked.. His heart began a slow, heavy thud against his ribs. He circled around back. The back door was also locked. A first. The only light on was in Jared’s bedroom, the blinds drawn tight. He crept closer, the damp grass soaking through his sneakers. Then he heard it. A low, guttural moan. Unmistakably Jared’s. The exact sound he made when he was buried deep, when pleasure stripped him of all control. It was followed by a higher, breathy gasp. Blake. Jordan’s breath hitched. He stood frozen under the window, his world tilting on its axis. The paper bag containing the burger grew heavy, greasy, pathetic in his hand. Another moan, this one muffled, then the distinct, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a headboard hitting a wall. The sounds painted a brutal, vivid picture in his mind: Jared’s muscular body moving, Blake’s tattoos flexing, their sweat-slicked skin sliding together. A cold, sharp fury instantly vaporized his confusion. Without thinking, his hand was steady as he pulled out his phone, thumbed open the video recorder, and held it up to the gap in the blinds. He captured thirty seconds of their private symphony—the ragged breaths, the wet slaps of flesh, Jared’s broken, pleasured cries. Proof. Then he turned and walked away, his stomach a tight knot of betrayal and white-hot rage. The house was dark when he got home, save for a single light in the living room. Scott was in his armchair, a book open on his lap, a glass of whiskey on the side table. He looked up as Jordan slammed the door a little too hard. “Home early,” Scott observed, his voice a calm, deep rumble. Then his eyes, always so perceptive, narrowed. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his tone was the final crack in Jordan’s dam. The story spilled out of him in a rushed, angry torrent—the locked doors, the sounds from the window, the recording on his phone. “He’s with Blake,” Jordan finished, the name dripping with venom. “After everything.” Scott listened silently, his expression unreadable. When Jordan was done, he set his book aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The right thing,” he said, his voice measured, “is to talk to him. Show him the video. Confront him with the evidence and have a calm, honest conversation.” Jordan just stared, his jaw clenched. The advice was reasonable, adult. And it felt utterly inadequate. A slow, knowing smile touched Scott’s lips. He stood up, crossing the room until he was standing right in front of Jordan, looking down at him. He reached out, not touching him, but his presence was suddenly overwhelming. “But that’s not what you want to do, is it?” he asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You don’t want to talk. You want to hurt him back. You want revenge.” The word hung in the air between them, dark and tempting. Jordan gave a stiff, silent nod. Scott’s smile widened. “Good.” The single word was full of dark promise. “Then let me help you.” His hand finally came up, his thumb brushing against Jordan’s lower lip. The contact was electric, a jolt that went straight to Jordan’s core. “He took something from you. Your trust. Your... exclusive attention. So take something from him.” Jordan’s heart was hammering again, but the furious ache was rapidly being replaced by a different, hotter, more desperate thrum. “What?” he breathed out, his lips moving against Scott’s thumb. “Me,” Scott said, his voice a low growl. “He knows what I saw. Show him you have access to something he can only watch from the doorway.” His other hand came up to cradle Jordan’s jaw, forcing unwavering eye contact. “Let’s make him a movie of our own.” The proposition was so devious, so perfectly targeted, it stole the air from Jordan’s lungs. All the conflicted guilt from the other night vanished, burned away by the inferno of betrayal and this new, intoxicating offer of power. Yes. This was the language he understood right now. Not talking. Not crying. Action. “My room,” Jordan whispered, his voice husky. “Now.” Scott didn’t hesitate. He followed Jordan down the hall, a predator’s grace in his step. Once the door was locked, Jordan turned, his back against it. Scott stood in the center of the room, already pulling his tight black t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad, sculpted chest dusted with dark hair. His hands went to his belt buckle. “Wait,” Jordan commanded, the new authority in his own voice surprising him. He held up his phone. “We’re making this for an audience of one.” Understanding flashed in Scott’s eyes, followed by a wave of raw hunger. He dropped his hands to his sides, a willing participant. A prop. Jordan hit record, framing Scott’s powerful upper body in the screen. “Take them off,” Jordan said, his voice steady, his own arousal a hard, demanding pressure in his jeans. “Slowly.” Scott obeyed, his eyes locked on the phone’s lens. He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the rasp of leather loud in the quiet room. He unbuttoned his jeans, the sound of the zipper coming down a slow, torturous descent. He pushed them down his thick thighs, along with his boxer briefs, and his cock sprang free, already fully erect, thick and formidable. Jordan zoomed in on it, on the glistening bead of precum welling at the tip. “Touch yourself,” he instructed, his own hand sneaking into his jeans to grip his own hardness, stroking in time with the fantasy playing out in front of him. Scott’s large, calloused hand wrapped around his shaft, and he gave a low, gravelly groan that vibrated through the phone’s speaker. He began to stroke, his fist moving with a practiced, devastating rhythm. Oh, fuck. The visual was overwhelming. The sheer size of him, the possessive way his hand worked his own flesh, the pure, undiluted masculinity of it. “Faster,” Jordan breathed, his own strokes becoming frantic. He panned the phone up Scott’s body, capturing the ripple of abs, the heaving chest, the intense, focused expression on his face. Scott’s breath hitched. His hips began to piston forward, fucking his own fist. “You like watching me pump my cock, Jordan?” he grunted, breaking the fourth wall, speaking directly to the camera—and by extension, to its intended viewer. “You like seeing what makes my cock feel good?” The possessiveness in the question, the implication that he was what was owned, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through Jordan. He was so close. He could see Scott was too, his balls drawn up tight, his muscles corded with tension. “I’m gonna cum,” Scott growled, a warning and a promise. “You want me to cum for you, son? You gonna show him how I shoot when I lose it for you?” That was it. The trigger. With a choked moan, Jordan’s orgasm ripped through him, spurting hot into his own hand, his body trembling violently against the door. The phone wavered in his grip catching his orgasm on video. On the screen, Scott followed him over the edge with a stifled roar, his thick release pulsing over his fist and stomach in dramatic, pearlescent streaks. The video ended. The room was silent except for their ragged panting. Jordan lowered the phone, his legs feeling like jelly. Scott stood there, spent and glorious, a slight, triumphant smirk on his face. Without a word, Jordan typed Jared’s number, attached the video file, and added a single line of text. Missed you tonight. Thought you should see what you’re missing. His thumb hovered over the send button. He looked at Scott, who gave a single, slow, approving nod. He pressed send.

Chapter 11 The warm weight of Scott’s hand on his, the raw honesty of his story, the smoky burn of the whiskey—it all coalesced into a single, throbbing point of heat in Jordan’s gut. He was completely unaware of the effect it was having on his body, the blood rushing south so fast it left him lightheaded. His thin basketball shorts, worn without underwear as always, provided no defense. A fierce, six-inch erection tented the fabric, the tip already damp with a bead of precum that seeped through the grey cotton, leaving a tiny, dark patch. He only realized his own state when he traced Scott’s gaze. Those dark, intense eyes weren’t on his face anymore. They were fixed, unblinking, on the prominent bulge in his lap. Jordan’s own eyes flicked down, then back up to Scott’s khakis. A mirror image. A thick, heavy outline strained against the tan fabric, unmistakable and just as eager. Seconds stretched, thick and silent, charged with a current so potent Jordan could barely breathe. Scott was the one to break it, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through the space between them. “I’ve been like this,” he admitted, his eyes flicking back up to meet Jordan’s, “Hard as a goddamn rock… all day. Ever since I…” He didn’t need to finish. Ever since I saw you. Something primal and fearless uncoiled inside Jordan, speaking with a voice that wasn’t entirely his own. “Did you like it?” The question hung in the air, bold and naked. “What you saw? You...want to see more?” Scott’s answer was immediate, a raw exhalation. “Yes.” A thrill, sharp and electric, shot down Jordan’s spine. “My room,” he whispered, the plan forming in a hazy, lust-drunk instant. “Wait until Mom’s asleep. Come to my room.” An hour later, the house was dark and silent. The soft click of his door opening sent Jordan’s heart into a wild rhythm. Scott stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, having traded his button-down for a simple pair of black gym shorts that did little to hide the formidable swell of his cock. He stepped inside and closed the door with a quiet, final sound. Jordan’s nerves were a live wire, his hands trembling slightly. He didn’t know what he was doing, only what he wanted. He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, his thumb swiping until he found the video. He turned the screen toward Scott. It was the clip Jared had recorded. Jordan on his knees, lips stretched around Blake’s thick, curved cock, his eyes rolled back in pleasure. Scott’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He stared, mesmerized, as the movie played out on the small screen. Jordan watched him instead, studying the rapid flicker of emotions on his stepdad’s face: shock, hunger, pure, unadulterated lust. His own hand slipped inside his shorts, fingers wrapping around his aching hardness. A soft groan escaped his lips as he gave himself a slow, slick stroke. Scott’s gaze snapped from the screen to Jordan’s hand moving under his shorts. That was all the permission he needed. With a guttural sound, Scott’s large hand plunged into his own gym shorts. His eyes fell shut for a moment, his head tipping back as his fist began to move, the fabric stretching and tightening over his frantic motion. He was the first to break the barrier. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, he pushed his shorts down his powerful thighs in one rough motion. His cock sprang free, and Jordan’s mouth went dry. It was massive, thick and cut, rising from a dense thatch of dark hair. Heavy balls swung beneath it, already drawn up tight. A glistening pearl of precum already crowned the slit. Emboldened, Jordan mimicked him, shoving his own shorts down to his ankles. They stood there, just feet apart, their erections bobbing in the dim light, the only sound their ragged breathing and the wet, rhythmic stroking of their own fists. Scott’s eyes were locked on Jordan’s smaller, slick cock, watching the way his hand glided over the flushed head with each pass. “So wet,” Scott murmured, his own strokes becoming louder, slicker, sloppy sounding. “You too,” Jordan breathed out, mesmerized by the sheer, glistening size of the older man, by the way his thick fingers struggled to close around his girth. The visual was overwhelming—the contrast of their bodies, the [banned word] of it all, the raw hunger in Scott’s eyes. His hips began to thrust forward, fucking his own fist. “Fuck, this is so hot.” “Yeah, it has to be our little secret.” Scott grunted, his pace increasing, his other hand cupping and roughly kneading his heavy balls. “Just like that. Show me. Let me see you get off.” The command, so similar to Jared’s yet so entirely different, sent Jordan spiraling. His back arched, his free hand gripping his own thigh for support. He was close, so close, teetering on the edge. Scott was breathing in harsh gasps, his muscular body tensing, a sheen of sweat coating his chest. “I’m close, I'm so close. I'm cumm…!” Jordan choked out, his orgasm roaring up from his toes. Scott’s hand flew off his own cock and clamped over his own mouth, stifling a deep, guttural roar as his hips thrust into empty air. Thick, white ropes of cum shot from his pulsating cock, landing in his own waiting palm, pumping again and again until his hand was overflowing. The sight was Jordan’s undoing. With a cry that was half-sob, half-moan, his own release tore through him. His cum splattered across his stomach and thighs in hot, frantic spurts, his entire body trembling with the force of it. For a long moment, the only sound was their heavy, spent panting. Scott, still holding his messy hand away from himself, gathered his composure with a sharp, almost military precision. He cleaned himself with a tissue from the nightstand, pulled up his shorts, and without another word, turned and left the room, made the "Shh" gesture wit his finger to his mouth, closing the door softly behind him. Jordan collapsed back onto his bed, the scent of sex and whiskey and man thick in the air. His mind was a blissful, overloaded blank. Exhaustion pulled him under, and he fell into a deep, instant sleep, his body sated and his world irrevocably changed.

Chapter 10 The silence in Jordan’s room was heavier than before, thick with the phantom scent of sex and the echoing click of the closing door. They dressed in a frantic, wordless hurry, their movements clumsy with adrenaline and shame. Every creak of the floorboards outside made them freeze, hearts hammering, waiting for the storm to break. But the house remained silent. Finally venturing out, they found the hallway empty. The living room, the kitchen—all deserted. Scott was gone. The only evidence he’d ever been there was the lingering, gut-churning memory of his shocked face. “What do we even say?” Jared whispered, his voice tight as they stood by the side door, a buffer zone between the secret world of Jordan’s room and the real one outside. “We could say we were… I don’t know, wrestling? Practicing for a play?” Jordan shook his head, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. “He saw everything, J. Everything. My… my cum on your face. You… inside me. There’s no explaining that away.” The image was seared into his brain, a brutal, pornographic snapshot. Jared hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “I’ll stay. I’ll be here with you when you talk to him.” “No,” Jordan said, the word coming out firmer than he felt. “I need to do this alone. He’s my…” He almost said ‘dad,’ but it wasn’t right. “…Stepdad. This is my mess.” After Jared left, the house felt cavernous and accusing. Jordan paced, trying to script a conversation that always ended with an imaginary Scott’s face twisting in disgust. He was spiraling, his anxiety a live wire under his skin, when his eyes caught on the corkboard by the door. A crisp, white notecard stood out amongst the pizza coupons and old photos. In Scott’s precise, blocky handwriting, it read: Jordan, need to talk. My office. 3pm. -Scott. The clock read 2:28. His mouth went dry. This is it. The walk to Scott’s downtown office was a blur of nauseating dread. The sleek, modern reception area, the quiet hum of professionalism—it all felt like a bizarre dream. The secretary, offering a polite smile, led him back and closed the heavy oak door behind him, sealing him in. Scott’s office was all rich leather and dark wood. And there he was, behind a massive desk, looking every inch the successful, composed forty-two-year-old man he was. He was handsome in a rugged, distinguished way, his broad frame filling out his tailored shirt, a dusting of dark hair visible at his open collar, his thick beard neatly trimmed. He looked up from some paperwork, his expression unreadable. “Jordan. Have a seat.” Jordan sat stiffly in the leather chair, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He could feel a fine tremor running through his body. He was near shaking, utterly laid bare. Scott leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the desk. His gaze was direct, but not unkind. “So,” he began, his voice calm, measured. “You and Jared, huh?” Jordan’s throat was too tight to speak. He just nodded. Yes, sir. “You two are… a couple?” Another slow, hesitant nod. The truth was the only card he had to play. Scott watched him for a long moment, taking in his obvious terror. “So then you are… gay?” This nod was the hardest. It felt like admitting to a crime. He braced for the fallout—the disappointment, the anger, the lecture. Instead, Scott pushed his chair back and stood. He didn’t come around the desk with anger, but with a quiet purpose. He walked over and, without a word, wrapped his arms around Jordan in a firm, solid hug. It wasn’t a brief pat; it was a real embrace, strong and encompassing. The dam broke. A ragged sob escaped Jordan’s lips, and his entire body went limp with the shocking wave of relief. He buried his face against Scott’s shoulder, the rough texture of the shirt wool soft against his cheek. “It’s okay,” Scott murmured, his voice a low rumble so close to Jordan’s ear. “It’s okay, son. If that’s what makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.” The words were a balm, washing away the fear and shame. They talked for a while longer, Scott back behind his desk, a palpable shift in the room’s energy. Jordan, his voice steadier now, explained how it started after prom, how new it was, how it was just them figuring things out. Scott listened, nodding, asking a few gentle questions, his demeanor that of a concerned parent, not a condemning judge. “I won’t tell your mom,” Scott said finally. “I’ll let you do that when you want and are ready. That’s your news to share.” That evening, after a strangely normal family dinner where Jordan could barely meet his mother’s eye, he retreated to the back patio. The night air was cool, a relief against his skin. He heard the sliding door open and turned to see Scott stepping out, two glasses of amber whiskey in his hands. He handed one to Jordan and took the seat beside him, the old patio chairs creaking under their weight. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, sipping the strong, smoky liquor. “I meant what I said earlier,” Scott said, breaking the quiet. “Your happiness is what matters.” He took a long swallow from his glass. “But seeing you two today… it stirred something up in me. Something I haven’t thought about in a long, long time.” Jordan stayed quiet, letting him talk, his own curiosity piqued. Scott stared out into the dark yard, his profile strong in the dim light. “I want to tell you something. Something from my past. Back before I met your mother. Back in college.” He turned his head, his eyes meeting Jordan’s, and in their depths, Jordan saw a flicker of the same hungry intensity he’d seen in Blake’s eyes, but tempered by age and experience. A shared secret. “There was this guy on my football team,” Scott began, his voice dropping, becoming almost confidential. “My roommate, actually. His name was Mike. We were inseparable. Just like you and Jared.” He took another slow sip of whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And one night, after a huge win, we were celebrating. Just the two of us in our dorm room, drunk on victory and way too much cheap beer…” He trailed off, a faint, nostalgic smile touching his lips. “We started wrestling around, like guys do. Just messing around. But then… it changed. It got… heavier. More intense.” Scott’s gaze was locked on Jordan now, unwavering. “I ended up pinning him down on the floor. We were both breathing hard, laughing at first. But then we just… stopped. We were looking at each other. And I could feel him, hard against my leg. And I knew he could feel me, too.” Jordan’s breath hitched. The whiskey felt like fire in his veins. He couldn’t look away. “I don’t know which one of us moved first,” Scott continued, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “But we kissed. It was… man, it was explosive. All that competitive energy, that pent-up… everything, just unleashed.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbow resting on his knee, the glass dangling from his fingers. “We spent the whole night exploring each other. It was fierce, and hungry, and so damn confusing. But it felt more real than anything I’d ever experienced with a girl.” He finally broke eye contact, looking down into his glass. “We were together, in secret, for the rest of the school year. It was the most passionate, electric time of my life.” He sighed, a heavy, weighted sound. “But then summer came. He went back home to his girlfriend. I met your mom. We never talked about it again. We just… went back to our lives.” Scott looked back up at Jordan, and his expression was raw, open. “Seeing you and Jared today… it was like watching a ghost of my own past. That raw need. That total surrender. It… awakened something in me I thought I’d buried for good.” He reached out, his large, warm hand covering Jordan’s where it rested on the arm of the chair. The contact was electric. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I understand. More than you could possibly know.”

Chapter 6 Blake stared at the phone in Jared’s hand, his cum-dazed expression sharpening into something more focused, more curious. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sex and the fading adrenaline of what had just happened. He slowly pulled his jeans up over his hips but didn’t bother to fasten them, the denim hanging open, framing his softening cock. “Did you… did you like it?” Blake asked, his voice quieter now, less of the performative straight guy and more genuinely himself. “Sucking my dick, I mean.” Jordan, still kneeling on the rug, wiped his chin with the back of his hand and nodded. “Yeah, man. A lot.” Blake’s eyes flicked to Jared. “And you? You liked watching it?” A slow, wicked grin spread across Jared’s face. “Loved it.” He held up the phone, the screen now dark. “Got the whole thing right here.” Blake swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked from the phone to the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. “What are you gonna do with it?” Jared’s grin didn’t falter. “Just for me. I’ll jerk off watching it later.” The words seemed to hit Blake like a physical touch. A visible shiver ran through him, and Jordan saw the faintest twitch in Blake’s loose-hanging cock. He’s getting hard again, Jordan thought, his own body responding instantly to the possibility. “Let’s watch it then,” Blake said, the suggestion tumbling out in a rush. “Right now. So you can jack off.” Jared didn’t hesitate. He was already moving, fumbling with his phone before finding the casting icon. A second later, the TV screen blinked to life, displaying the same video thumbnail from his phone. The room was suddenly illuminated by the cold, blue light of the menu screen. “Sit,” Blake commanded, his voice gaining a new layer of confidence as he pointed to the large sectional couch. He positioned himself squarely in the middle, a king on his newfound throne. Jared sat to his right, Jordan to his left. Jared tapped ‘play’. The video began with a shaky, close-up shot of Blake’s jeans. The audio picked up Jordan’s voice, soft and coaxing. “Stand up.” On screen, Blake’s hands fumbled with his button, then his zipper. The sound was obscenely loud through the surround sound speakers. “Now,” Blake said, his eyes glued to the screen, his own image now kneeling before him. “Take your clothes off. Both of you. And jack off for me.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order, and it sent a jolt of pure, submissive heat straight to Jordan’s core. He and Jared locked eyes for a split second, a silent, eager agreement passing between them. They scrambled to comply, their movements frantic. T-shirts were pulled over heads and tossed aside. Jeans and boxers were shoved down legs and kicked into a pile on the floor. Within seconds, they were both naked again, their cocks already swelling back to full, aching hardness. The room filled with the soft, slick sounds of their hands on their own flesh. On the TV, the video-Jared took the video-Jordan took Blake into his mouth for the first time, and a low, guttural moan echoed from both the speakers and the real Blake sitting between them. “Fuck,” Blake breathed, his own hand snaking into his open jeans. He wrapped his fingers around his own dick, giving it a slow, tentative stroke. He was getting hard again, his thickness filling out beautifully in his grasp. The sight of it—the three of them, all stroking themselves, all watching themselves—was the most surreal, erotic thing Blake had ever experienced. His eyes darted between the two other cocks. Jared’s, thick and cut, his hands gliding smoothly over the glistening head with each long pull. And Blake’s, curving up, his grip firm and sure. Jordan matched his rhythm to theirs, his own hand a tight fist around his six inches, his thumb smearing the fresh bead of precum that had already formed over his slit. The video played on, a lewd symphony of wet sounds and ragged breathing. The camera angle shifted as Jared had moved, now capturing the perfect profile of Jordan’s head bobbing in Blake’s lap, the look of utter ecstasy on Blake’s face. “Look at you,” Blake murmured, his voice husky as he stared at the screen. His stroking became more purposeful. “Look how deep you take it. God, your mouth…” Jordan couldn’t look away from the TV. Seeing himself like that, seeing the sheer skill and hunger in his own performance, was a bizarre and powerful turn-on. He watched his own throat work, heard his own gagging sounds turn into moans of approval. He was fucking himself with his own hand in time with the memory, his hips pumping into his fist. “I’m getting close,” Jared groaned from the other side of Blake, his strokes becoming shorter, more frantic. “The way you two look together… fuck…” On screen, the video was reaching its climax. Blake’s back was arching, his hands were gripping the couch cushions. Jordan’s own recorded voice was a muffled, desperate sound around a mouthful of cock. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna…” Blake’s on-screen voice cried out, a broken plea. The real Blake’s breath hitched. “Me too,” he gasped, his hand a blur on his own shaft now. “Now. Do it now.” It was the trigger. The permission. The shared energy in the room crested and broke. Jordan came first. With a choked cry, his body seized. His cock jerked violently in his hand, and the first thick rope of cum shot across his stomach, landing just above his navel. A second pulse followed, then a third, painting his skin with warm, white stripes. The sight and sound of him was the final push for the other two. On the TV, Blake’s orgasm hit, his body bowing in silent, ecstatic release. In the living room, the real Blake’s orgasm mirrored it perfectly. His head slammed back against the couch cushion, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock erupted. Thick, pearly jets spurted from his tip, arcing through the air to land on his own stomach and chest, mixing with the sweat already there. Jared followed a heartbeat later, his own release a torrential, groaning affair. He came all over his own fist, his cum splattering onto his thighs and the couch cushion beneath him, his body trembling with the force of it. For a long moment, the only sounds were the three of them panting, the frantic stroking slowing to gentle, oversensitive caresses on their spent cocks. The video on the TV continued to play silently, showing the aftermath—the collapsed, blissed-out form of Blake's first blowjob from a guy. Blake was the first to speak, his voice wrecked and full of awe. “Play it again.”

Here is a sort of funny story… when I was 20 I started on my journey of being a cum slut. Up until that time I was really with one man. After chasing and ultimately becoming hiv positive I let my mom(a nurse) know my status. She was cool with it but concerned as expected. After my diagnosis I threw caution to the wind and took any and all dick that was offered. In the first year I had 4 Sti’s. After the first one my mom asked if I knew who gave it to me. I said I think so. Of course I didn’t . I just wanted her to think I was selective. When I got the second one she asked again if I knew where I got it. I said maybe. After the third she said I should stop playing with the person that gave me the sti. I said I don’t know who gave it to me. I told her that I was ass up in a sling at steamworks and random men take turns breeding me. She said oh and walked away. Moral of the story is don’t ask questions if you are not prepared for the answer.

Part 4 I collapsed into the plastic green chair, it’s smooth surface cold against my skin. I was still breathing heavy and stretched my sore legs. There was porn playing on the screen, but I only half watched. My mind was reeling from the encounter I’d just had. I’d never been fucked like that — I kinda felt like a porn star for a little while. It had been work to hold that position, and my ass had taken an amazing pounding. I’d been fucked before, but not like that. I sat there pulling myself together. Exhausted. But still horny. How could I be horny after that? My cock was standing up straight, and I absently tugged at it thinking about what just happened. I had another stranger’s load in me. Why did I let that happening was t safe. I know nothing about him. Was he poz? What if he was? What had I done? I need to go. This place isn’t good for me. My mind was racing nearly as fast as my heart was. The thought of my bare feet on the sticky floor was suddenly repulsive, and I couldn’t even think about what stuff from the floor was now sticking to my arms and legs after being fucked down there. I stretched my leg out and grab one flip flop with my foot, sliding it closer. Then I pulled the second one closer, slipped into them and stood up. I teetered a bit, lightheaded from the pounding I’d just taken. My cock twitched at the thought. The porn caught my eye. Three guys fucking on screen. I should be done here, but damn these guys were hot. My cock twitched again and I started to stroke myself slowly. I hadn’t cum, and I was starting to feel horny again. Watching the video, I didn’t catch the sound right away. Finally it registered. Tapping. I looked around, confused by what I was hearing. And then I saw the window to my left. I had forgotten about the windows between booths. Through the window I could see a beautiful cock, thick and hard, being stroked. It was pointing at me. Fuck! Was that screen open the entire time? Had he seen what just happened? A cold chill ran through me. I need to leave. NOW! My body didn’t budge. Instead my hand kept stroking my cock. And through the window, he was doing the same. Who was that? I bent over to try to get a look at his face. It was hard to make out from the harsh angle and dim lighting, but I suddenly recognized the shirt. This was the guy I had walked by a couple times earlier, the one who didn’t even look up at me. But now I had his attention. He was standing, facing the window, stroking for me to see his big cock. And it was really hot looking. My horniness intensified. He sat down again, bending forward so his face appeared in the upper half of the window. He was giving my body a hard look. I felt very exposed, still naked, my athletic physique on display. It was weird to be looked at like this, but I also felt very sexy all of a sudden. I looked back the video, which had changed over. The guy in the video was stroking himself, running one hand over his body for the camera. I started to do the same. I looked back toward the window; he was staring intently at me. I stroked my cock slowly, letting him see its length, and I ran the other hand over my chest. Fuck, my pecs were hard and felt really good. I felt sexy. He tapped the window again and this his hand motioned me to come closer. Does he want me? I didn’t move from the spot I was standing in. I couldn’t. But I also didn’t stop stroking for him. He didn’t motion again right away, but after a minute he did, this time tapping his cock against the glass. This time my body moved a bit closer. I looked back the video. The model was still stroking, but now he was sitting in a chair, lifting his legs and fingering his hole. I’d never seen anyone do that. There was something very hot about that. I had a sudden urge, but I hesitated. I looked back at the real cock on the other side of the glass. Without thinking, I turned around and showed him my ass. I only last a few seconds before I got nervous and turned around again. His hand was motioning me to come closer, and I stepped up to the window, the glass the only thing keeping our cocks from touching. Everything happened very quickly from there. His cock disappeared from the window. I leaned down and saw him putting it inside his pants, zipping up. Had he shot his load? Looked like he was leaving. I was disappointed and kinda angry he was leaving. But then my door opened and he stepped inside. He was like a boulder rolling into the room, confident energy that nothing was going to stop him. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he pulled out his cock, waggling it for me to see. He was rock hard. I dropped to my knees right then and there. I went right down on him, showing my inexperience with a cock this size, but he didn’t mind. He just growled happily. “That’s it, boy. That’s what you wanted. Suck daddy’s cock.” I worked the head of his cock, not certain how much I could take. He would push his cock forward, but I would back up to avoid having it go deeper than I could handle. His hand wrapped around the back of my head, pushing me onto his dick as he thrust forward. My face was buried in his pubes; I gagged, but he didn’t care. He held my head there, his cock choking me. I sputtered and tried to breathe but couldn’t. “That’s it, boy. Relax your throat. Relax it.” Then he released me. I gasped for breath, but he was back in my mouth again, both hands grabbing the sides of my head, and he began to fuck my mouth. No one had ever done this. I was overwhelmed and mindlessly captivated at the same time. “There you go, boy. Get that big cock nice and slippery.” I grasped the base of his cock so he wouldn’t force it all into my mouth again. I started working his head and first few inches of his shaft with my mouth. It was sloppy, but he was growling with satisfaction. He reached down and touched my hole, his fingers roughly probing. “Nice,” he growled. “He did put his load in there. I didn’t expect that from you, boy.” He pulled his cock out of my mouth and started tucking it away again. “Let’s go down the hall.” I awkwardly stood up; he didn’t offer to help me. I started to follow him out of the room, still naked. “You should put your shorts on. Things are fairly open here, but there are still cameras around.” I slipped on my shorts and tank top, then followed him down the hallway, turned the corner, and turned again into the furthest hallways. I hadn’t been back here yet. There were a couple guys hanging in the hallway, but fewer rooms. He lead me to the very end. We stepped into a dark booth at the end of the hall. It was much larger than the others I’d seen. There was only a long bench and a small TV hanging in the corner. The bench was just plywood covered with carpet. He closed the door. He roughly stripped me again. Then pulled his pants down past his knees, his shirt still hanging open. I noticed a tattoo on his left hand pec. It looked familiar, a kind of swirl design. I wondered if it was an Asian symbol, but that didn’t seem right. I’d seen it before, but couldn’t place it. He spun me around, then pushed me into a kneeling position on the bench. I felt like an action figure being posed and played with. He was behind me, and then I felt his tongue start to probe my hole.. He growled again as he spread my ass open, and his tongue went deeper. “Fuck, boy. There’s a full load in there. Tastes toxic. Was he toxic?” I wasn’t sure what he was was asking. “I don’t know.” He growled. “You didn’t ask?” “I don’t think we talked.” “You’re full of surprises. I thought you were some uptight preppy Twink when I first saw you. I don’t have time for that bullshit. But turns out you’re a hot little pig boy.” I wasn’t sure what to think about what he was saying. I didn’t totally get it. And being called a pig wasn’t really something that was turning me on. But the his tongue went back into my hole, probing it, sending electric shocks through my body. I let out a moan. He slapped my ass. “Fucking hot boy. Fucking hot body. Wanting more cock. You ready for more cock, boy?”Nerves suddenly froze any response I was going to give. “Tell me, boy. Tell me you want daddy’s cock.” He slapped my ass. That snapped my nervousness and I yelped. His fingers massaged my hole, and I automatically started grinding back against them, hoping they would slide inside me. I felt cold glass under my nose; “Inhale. That’s it. Take another hit of the poppers like a good pig boy. I did as I was told. My body filled with at that amazing rush of heat, and felt my heart banging inside me. He grabbed my short ginger-blonde hair and pulled my head up. “Tell daddy what you want. Tell me you want my toxic cock inside your hot fucking body.” My body was aching for it. I lifted my ass up higher in the air for him to see. I felt like my body looked hot. He slapped his cock against my ass and my head exploded. “Please, daddy,” I panted desperately. “Please I want your toxic cock.”

Shame this story continued, would love to have read about the top giving into his primal urges and willing converting the boy into his AIDS son

(early 90's) It's hard to say how Jeffrey and I became s couple. We were opposites of each other in so many ways. He was careless and carefree, while I was always worried and planning and making lists. He wasn't especially neat or groomed. What I guess what I'm trying to say is that he was a slob. Unemployed, unclean and didn't give a damn. He lived in my apartment building, and we would say "hi" every once in a while -- in the elevator or at the mailboxes. Jeffrey was very tall and skinny, around my age (23), and always seemed happy. He had an unruly head of brown curls and has usually minimally dressed (with visible tattoos) I just figured he was another city weirdo...like all the others I'd met here. I'm a country boy who went to rural college and got a job in this foreign urban area. Midtown. It seems like all the misfits lived here. One night, I finally got tired of beating off to internet porn, and decided to go out to one of the many gay bars in my neighborhood. I walked to a lace called "Buddies"...with my keys spread out between the fingers of my right hand-- in case anybody tried to attack me. My work friend Anna had told me about that after she took a self-defense class. It's hard to remember now how scared I was of everything. Well I made it safely, the door guy carded me, and I went to the bar and ordered a beer. It was pretty dead, but they had a few decent pinball games. Man, I miss pinball. I was headed over to a machine, when I noticed Jeffrey sitting there.waiting for his turn at a pool table. Weirdly, I was happy to see him. I was exhilarated even. "Hi Neighbor!", I said as I tapped him on the back. "So you DO know me? I waved when you walked in, but you just went straight to the bar." "I didn't see you. Sorry." "No problem." "You like pool? I would have never guessed that." "I love it now that I know the secret....just don't care." "Huh?" "If you don't care about the game, you'll have more fun. I'm just shooting a ball --- not doing heart surgery. My life motto is 'nothing matters'." "Oh. I understand you better now." "Let's go get a drink and talk more. You'll understand everything in a few minutes." He took his two quarters off the edge of the pool table and led me along to a little table in the corner. "Want are you drinking, Jeff?" "Oh. Nothing just yet. I'm so stoned right now. I'm surprised I can still talk." "Is that why you're so happy all the time?" "Yeah...or maybe because of my philosophy: Just. Don't. Care." "I care about some stuff. I care about people. About living. Sorry, but I do." "Don't be sorry. Nothing matters. Remember?" "Yeah...okay. There's no one you care about?" There was a spark in his brown eyes. "Can I kiss you...just real quick?" "Uh..." I didn't have time to answer before his mouth was covering mine. My first kiss from a man. His breath was a little sour and I could smell body odors. "How do you feel? What do you feel?" (I wasn't sure) "I don't know anything about anything." "Yeah...well, I'm going to tell you some things. I lost my virginity years ago. I've been fucking and getting fucked ever since. I didn't even finish high school. My rich parents pay my way now. They can be stingy at times, but they don't want me moving home with them. I've been in jail several times, lost my license and I have AIDS. I'm usually stoned...all day long." Fucking hell! It all made sense. "Are you sick?" "I was only diagnosed 11 months ago. I was sick as a dog for a week, but now I'm fine. I get sores on the insides of my mouth sometimes, but that could be from anything. Wait...did you hear that?" "Hear what?" "Thunder. I swore I just heard some thunder. Listen." Sure enough. Deep rumbling from somewhere up above was moving in fairly close. It was Summer, and harsh thunderstorms were pretty much normal in this godforsaken part of the country. I'd seen some serious weather in my life, but never took it for granted. I'd never seen a tornado even though my state is famous for them. Part of my personality is always being worried that disaster is always near by. "Maybe we should go. I walked here and don't want to get soaked." "You don't get it, do you? Nothing matters. Stop caring so much about shit." I hated the attitude, but liked the guy enough to stifle my paranoia...for now. Jeffrey was coming down from his buzz a little. He wanted his happiness back and so we ordered more drinks. The thunder got louder. As his his high wore off and he drank more, he got less philosophical and and became more of a flirt...he kept kissing me and touching me and complimenting me. I enjoyed it despite myself. I could not be falling for this guy. No way. Then the thunder was right over us and the lights inside the bar flickered. "It's been fun, Jeff, but I'm going home now. Maybe we can meet here again sometime." "Fine. I'll go with you. I don't want the joint in my pocket to get damp anyway. Let's go." He gulped the rest of his last drink and we headed out. Yeah. We were in for a hell of a storm. The air was still and humid and there were no insects buzzing. No sounds at all except for cars here and there. Then a branch of lightning spread across the sky and electrified the night oxygen. I was terrified of lightning. A girl I went to junior high with had been struck by a bolt and was paralyzed. Just the memory of that made the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. I wanted to tell Jeffrey about her, but didn't want to hear about how I should stop caring. "You're thinking awfully loud, buddy." Huh? I hadn't said anything, but maybe he knew that I was troubled by the storm. "What? No. I just think this is going to be a bad storm. And..I think I just felt a drop of rain. Shit! We've still got five blocks to go." He fished in his shirt pocket and produced a fat joint. "Here. We'll smoke this on the way and you'll calm down a little." I was actually grateful for the chance to relax --- Jeffrey was a tough person to be stressed around. We smoked and walked as little spatters of Summer rain came down. "I think we're going to get wet. Let's walk faster." "Why? Are you made of sugar or something? I say we walk slower." God, he was infuriating! His parents must have been either very strict or very lax. Something had made him this way. "Fine, Jeffrey...but if we're killed now, you won't ever be able to get stoned again." Can't believe I came up with that one. The weed was giving me something extra to work with...or maybe it was the storm. "We aren't going to die from this. You really need to lighten up a little" Before I could come back with a reply, the rain started. Hard. We ducked into the doorway of a bank building that had gone out of business a decade ago. Then the rain came heavy and fast. "So much for not getting your weed wet, Jeff." "I'll dry it in the oven later. Come on." "Come on what? We have two more blocks to go." I was more curious than mad. He stripped off his sandals, pants and shirt and carried them out into the little grassy area beside the bank. What the fuck? "Free shower and free laundry!" He was serious. I took off my shirt and shoes, but not my jeans. I took out my wallet and keys to keep them safe and dry beneath my shirt. But I joined him in his stormy joy. "This is insane!" He was naked and I couldn't help but notice how thick his wet dick was. He didn't see my look because he was stretching his arms straight up in the air with his mouth open and letting the sheets of rain land on and in him. He rubbed his big bare feet in the grass as if he was using it as a scrub brush. His eyes were squeezed tight. Insanity. "Ahh! If only I'd brought a bar of soap. I can't believe you still have pants on. This is a moment you might not ever get again. Join me." Oh, fuck it. I was in this now. I took off my already wet jeans and boxers and stood there naked with him. Jeffrey was too lost in his own bliss to even notice my nudity. He was enjoying this in a way I probably never could. I just kept seeing lightning getting brighter and more severe. I might die here, naked and in public. Or I might not. I knew one thing: I'd remember this forever. Once Jeffrey finally realized I was there and I was naked, he sized me up and groaned. In the next flash of lightning, I saw his dopey smile. "You've got a nice body ... and a nice dick for a short guy. I didn't mean that in the way you think...I just meant that you're always wearing clothes..and I mean..." "It's okay. You are not offending me. How was your shower?" He was about to answer me when the thunderstorm got severe and serious. Jeffrey shouted over the noise. "I guess we better go now. It's not far." I was going to suggest we get dressed first, but he was already carrying his wet clothes away and padding toward the sidewalk. No way could I walk naked down a sidewalk -- even if a tornado was happening. I put my yucky wet jeans on and just left my underwear. Grabbed my other stuff and caught up with him. The wind started up and got stronger rapidly. I gave him my clothes to hold over his private areas. I sure as fuck didn't want to get arrested when we were so close to home, but he didn't care. He was in his own groove and loving being nude in the rain. A few cars passed us, but I guess they were just wanting to get to their destination before things got worse. They had no time to notice a naked man at night. The rain came down harder. And louder. Once we got to the lobby of our apartment building, I had decided I wanted to invite him to spend the night with me. I felt my heart beating. Was this what love was like? I don't mean the love I've always had for my parents or the two great dogs we used to have. It was a love that was connected to my crotch somehow. I was confused and not at all myself. "Jeff...would you...um...." "You live on the second floor, right? Let's go to my place. I'm on the ninth floor and have a great view. We'll watch the storm there." OK. We waited for the elevator and I prayed no one was on it. Prayer never works. There was a fat black lady with a laundry basket in her arms. She didn't even blink. She'd probably lived in this neighborhood of misfits for many years, and had most likely seen it all. I tried to mentally communicate my gratitude, but she obviously had her own shit to deal with. She got out on the fourth floor. Finally. It was just me and the nude man I thought I loved alone. As the old elevator creaked upwards, I decided to make a move. "Remember when you kissed me in the bar? I forgot to thank you." "No. I forgot to thank YOU. I've thought about kissing you since I first saw you in the laundry room. Surprised I didn't do it before now. You just always seemed to be thinking or worrying about something. So...you liked the kiss?" Ding. We were on the ninth floor. His door was all the way at the end of the hall. I let him walk in front of me so I could look at his ass. It was so compact and small -- like some kind of perfect peach. And there was a little red plus sign tattoo on the left cheek. He had HIV. I understood that, but it didn't make my heart beat any slower. Love. We got to his door (that he'd left unlocked) and went inside. It smelled like him...like sweat and dirty socks and weed. Only hours ago, I would have hated this odor, but now.... "Sorry. I'm not much of a housekeeper. Have a seat. I'll open up all the blinds and we can see this bitch of a storm. I know the perfect music for now, but I need to go to the bathroom first." After he left, I took a quick scan of the room. He didn't have much. The stereo was very expensive and impressive, though. I got nosy and looked through his CD collection. Ugh. I should have known it would be mostly stoner music from the 70's. I was a pure pop, Top 40 guy at the time. I settled back on his futon/couch just as he came back. With a semi-boner. That must have been a really good poop. Or he was feeling the same thing I was.... "Here! The perfect music for this weather event." He pulled out an old vinyl album in its original cover. Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon." This was such a stoner standard that I'd heard in college, I never understood the love for it until I heard it on Jeffrey's audio system. Every note of the first song was exquisite...and the tones seemed to come from every corner. Good speakers are worth the cost. It was heavenly. "What is this song called?" He told me, but I can't now remember now exactly what he said, My best guess is it that it was called "Great Gig in the Sky". It was beautiful. Breathe.... breathe in the air.... I was in bliss there on the couch. How was it possible for music to sound this good?? 'Get up. You're missing this. I've never seen so much lighting in my life." I stood beside him and witnessed the spectacle. A lacy curtain of lightning hung over the whole city. It was near and far, and was swallowing us whole. We just stood there and watched for a few minutes. I was lost in the weather magic, when Jeffrey's reached mine and guided it over to his rock hard cock. It felt so big and so real. I was just about to kneel down and kiss his dick, but just then a giant knife of lightning struck a giant tree across the street. I'd always pictured a moment like that as a white or blue explosion, but it was a big orange burst. I guess the tree was near a power transformer because the lights, music and AC went dead. I took my hand away from his crotch..and my worried self emerged again. I knew he wouldn't have flashlights or anything useful in a situation like this. Plus the elevator would not be working and there'd be no lights in the hallways. How would I ever make to my door now? I'd completely forgotten about the naked, erect, poz man next to me. "Shit. The power people won't get here anytime soon. They always get to this area last. Shit! What are we going to do now??" "Just what were doing." He pulled my hand back to his dick. I forgot about everything else. I decided I just wanted him and his dick. I got on my knees and took him orally. The only light came from the electric clouds outside. His head was slick and hot as it slid over my lips. It tasted like him in all the good and not-so-good ways. I'd never done this before, but felt instinctively able to take it down my throat. I only got about halfway there before I started gagging. I thought I might throw up, but didn't. He moaned and pushed his crotch into my face. "Stay right there. I'll just be a second." He disappeared into the flashing shadows and came back with a lit candle. He looked like the cover of a romance paperback as he came toward me. God, he was beautiful. How had I never seen it before? I stayed there on my knees kike a patient little slut waiting for the dick to come back. The wind brewed up and slammed rain into the windows. I felt like I was in a movie or something. "I never would have guessed you to have candles, Jeffrey." "My dealer is in Larrytown. It's a college area with lots of trippy stores. I always buy candles when I'm there. We can stay out here or go to the bedroom. I think we should go get comfortable. Follow me." His apartment was officially a studio, though the bedroom was blocked off from the living room. I followed him into his lair behind the candle glow. There were already three or four glowing candles lit already. Had he done this while he said he was in the bathroom? Or had he done both and I was too lost in the music to know how long he'd been gone. Of course his bed was unmade. I felt my chest tighten. He plopped down and spread out, stretching. I still had the gross wet jeans on, and knew I should take them off, but him to tell me to. i knew he would. "Get naked, little buddy." Told you. It's hard to get wet denim pants off of you and takes some time. "I'm not little, Jeffrey. I'm also not 'short. 5'10" isn't exactly short." I stood there, watching him stroke his heavy meat. "Sorry. When you're 6'6", everybody looks short." "Forget it. Of course I'm little compared to you. Ever washed these sheets?" "Nope. Not since I took them out of the plastic." "That's what I thought", I said as I hopped in next to him. The bed smelled strongly of his body, but it was very comfortable. He took over and positioned my body as he wanted it. I was on my back with my head over the end of the bed. He got u and stood over me. "I want that blow job to continue a little." He worked his dick into my mouth as he stood behind my head. I opened up my throat as much as I could.... "Yeah! Ever fucked a face like this? No, of course you haven't. If you get far enough. your dick finds a second hole. Yeah...let me feel yours." I tried to let him go deeper, but I couldn't breathe. He bucked and squirmed and said he'd found it. He just kept thrusting with abandon. Well, I guess this was as good as way to die as any. Just as saw colored lights in my head, he pulled out and let me gasp for air. "Sorry. I'm just obsessed with the idea of fucking that little opening down there. If I'd shot, all the cum would ave gone into your lungs probably. You'd never even feel it. You okay?" "I'm okay. My throat hurts a little." It also felt broken and ruined. "Sorry, man. We'll try again another time. Need some water?" "Nah. I'm good." He climbed in next to me. The storm seemed to be moving out.He was so large and so heated. "I need to fuck your ass now, okay?" "I want that too." "You sure?" "I'm sure." "Yo don't know quite how painful it is, do you? I basically just want to get my head in there and shoot. That way, you'll be mine forever. You will want me in your life after this...and I know I want you in mine." "sounds like a good plan, Jeffrey." "Yeah? Cool." He knelt between my legs and then put them on his shoulders. He pressed forward and I could feel that weapon of his pushing between my ass cheeks. He didn't g slow or easy. It was fast and hard. And so painful! It felt like I'd been stabbed in the ass by a knife, and I yelped. "SShhh. Hush, baby. I'm in. You might be my first virgin. Wow. Just let me go in a little more...yeah...one more inch...and...YEAH!!! I"M GONNA UNLOAD!" I wish I could say that I felt his hot cum shoot inside me, but all I felt was happy. "Thank you for the kiss and the night and the fun we had. You want to go wash up or do you just want to sleep?" I heard all that, but I was already drifting on an early dream. I felt his arms around me. We've been together ever since. He is always finding that other hole in my throat and always pumping loads into my guts. I've never been tested, because I'd hate for him to be disappointed if it came back negative. I never got "the flu". We belong to each other, and I'm sure I'll test positive eventually.