What's in a name?

[norubbers]

I spotted him from across the bar. Not much of an accomplishment since the entire bar was roughly the size of my basement and had less seating than my office conference room. But I hadn't seen him in 15 years, so that deserves some credit, right? He wore his hair a little longer now - a style that clearly took a lot of effort, but looked like he put no effort in. The beard was new. He wore it well. But it was his eyes that gave him away. Light brown and far softer and gentler than the rest of his dark dark features.

He looked good. I was barely across the threshold of the bar and I was right back in high school. I had known of Joel since kindergarten. He was a 3 sport athlete from the time he could run, attended sports camps all summer - even day camps when he was too young for overnights. He was one of the most popular guys in our class. It was very rare to find him without an entourage of teammates and cheerleaders. He was the quintessential high school preppy jock. I was...not. I had only really gotten to know him after taking a summer job at his family's tree farm.

15 years later, he looked like nothing had changed - except the entourage. He sat by himself at the bar counter opposite the door i had just walked in. He made small talk with the bartender and the patrons around him. A picture of effortless confidence.

He was dressed modestly in a pullover and jeans. They showed off his athletic frame, but otherwise he would not have looked out of place on the cover of a cookbook titled "So You Gave Up Grilling for Lent". His immaculate black converse hightops completed the look nicely. Some things never change. Suddenly from off to my left, someone shouted, "VEECH!"

I winced as the daydream shattered and reality flooded back to the front of my brain. My uncut member was working it's way into - what was his name?

Baron?

Byron?

Right! Bryan. "With a 'y,'" he had said emphatically. The dim, warm amber light of the bathroom played nicely off his olive skin. I felt a pang of guilt for letting my mind wander. The snap back to reality made me very aware of the dull throb starting in my balls. My cum was churning, ready to go whenever I got my fill of Bryan's sculpted ass trying to accomodate my throbbing cock.

I kept the pace of my thrusts steady, moving about half the length of my dick in and out of him in time with his moans of pleasure and his muttered requests to fuck him harder.

As the pressure built in my balls, I pushed more of myself into him, eventually managing to work the full length of my dick inside. I lingered a second longer the first time I felt my coarse, auburn pubes pressed between my pelvis and his ass.

I had never felt the need to measure my dick. The look on Byron's face when he felt me balls deep the first time was a big part of why.

His eyes rolled back and his hands clenched the edge of the countertop he was perched on top of, his knuckles instantly going white. The sounds coming out of his throat warped into a delightful, guttural white noise. Like he needed to yell out, but pleasure had temporarily stripped him of his ability to produce any noise that was identifiable as intelligible - let alone human speech.

After that brief syncopation, I resumed thrusting, pushing to the hilt every few thrusts in rhythm with his moans, which continued to devolve into gurgles each time my full length penetrated him.

Bryan recovered enough of his sense that he started trying to leverage himself deeper on my prick every thrust. I could feel his guts beginning to spasm around my cock and his breathing was beginning to sound like he was choking. Then I realized that his cum was seeping through the neoprene or whatever his jock was made out of. Well, that was easy.

I pulled out of Bryan's hole and he let out a little whimper, trying to keep his hole around my dick. There was a generous gape to his hole with the abrupt withdrawal of my girth.

"Where do you want my load?" I asked, teasing his hole with some gentle pressure from the head of my dick.

"Breed me full of that toxic seed, daddy!" He moaned.

And just like that, the pang of guilt I felt at being distracted disappeared as a new revelation crashed over me: I was this man's - what was he? 22? - this kid's fetish.

I looked down at Bryan with clinical detachment. He was a twink trying desperately to cosplay as anything else.

He was over a foot shorter than me and less than half my weight. His designer jock was flattering, but impractical. The razor burn peeking out over the waistband suggested he shaved his pubes. Otherwise his tan skin was hairless. His leather harness and armbands looked brand new and their placement was just a little off. Like he had never worn them before.

I looked down at myself. My 6'8" frame towered over him and the counter he was perched on. That frame supported 240 pounds of muscle built over years of physical work and maintained with Spartans and my training regimen for them. My muscles weren't as well defined as Bryan's. But the broad cords of muscle were taught under my pale complexion. Pale wasn't quite the right. I was honestly quite pasty underneath a very generous pelt of auburn body hair. I could probably throw this twink across the room with little more effort than throwing a bag of garbage in the dumpster.

All of that reddish brown fur trailed it's way back to my coarse, natural pubes. Nested in that thicket of hair was my member. As I said, I had never really felt the need to measure my junk, so i couldnt tell you exact measurements. Mine felt pretty proportional to what I had seen in porn and stuff. Most dicks I encountered were smaller than mine, but I usually attributed that to the fact that I was also significantly taller than most guys. A little over two handbreadths long and thick enough to fill my palm comfortably.

It had been a bit of a journey to acceptance of my body. I had a graduating class of 60 in high school. Being a statistical outlier of any kind makes you a target. Most of the nicknames bestowed upon me were not kind. It took me a while to grow into my body and even longer to appreciate it.

I felt a pang of melancholy as my eyes drifted over my biohazard tattoo. That was when I noticed that Bryan's eyes were locked on that specific ink. So reductive. His loss. It wasn't even my most interesting tattoo.

I sharpened my attention back on Bryan. "You want my virus, kid?" Buying into the poz talk pulled his attention from the ink that wrapped around the smooth skin over my right flank.

"Oh, fuck yes!" he began chanting, his magazine-worthy body trembling as he tried to maneuver his hole back on the head of my cock.

I slicked a wad of spit down my length, hoisted him off the counter by the straps of his harness - god he did not weigh much - and impaled him on my dick. His eyes went wide and he he looked like he was going into shock. Guess his hole rebounded faster than I thought. Oh well. Several rough thrusts later I began emptying the contents of my balls into his traumatized guts. As he felt the first few spurts begin to paint the walls of his colon, a rapturous glaze washed over his face.

By the time I was done cumming, a bolus of spunk was sloshing in Bryan's guts every time I moved my cock and i couldn't really sort out the look on his face. Impressed. Disgusted. Horny. Relieved. Lustful. All of the above.

I pulled my cock out just as quickly as I'd penetrated him and a rush of cum evacuated with it before he managed to clench his ruined hole. I stuffed my prick back in my jock and buttoned the fly of my jeans. "I'm on meds." I said casually. Bryan's dumbfounded stare definitely made me feel better about being reduced to my serostatus.

"Contestants for the leather newcomers division, please make your way to the stage," the bartender intoned over the PA system. Bryan gave a yelp and pushed himself off the counter. He rushed out into the dark of the bar and turned left toward the ramp up to the stage.

I finished tucking my shirt in and buckled my belt before making my way back out into the bar. I glanced across the lineup on stage. All eight of the contestants looked good up there. The bartender was reading off cards with their stats, hobbies, fetishes, and preferences. I watched until he got to Bryan.

"Bryan is a dominant top" he read. If I had been standing closer, I could have heard the dollop of my jizz fall from his hole onto the stage at the word "top." The bartender stumbled over the next part of the card and stared as drops two through four fell to the stage. His leaky hole was making a puddle. My chuckle joined the snickers and mumbles of the crowd as I turned and headed for the door.

As I drove home, I found my thoughts wandering back to Joel. I replayed the voice mails that I'd gotten earlier that day.

"Mr. Erikssen, my name is Linda Harroway with the Illinois district 109 school board. I am calling to inform you that you have been selected to be inducted into "Seeds of Success," the White Oak High School Wall of Fame. The induction ceremony will be part of the high school commencement ceremony with faculty reception to follow. We would be honored if you would deliver the keynote speech for the graduates, as well. Please check your email for an email from the engraving company to submit information for your plaque. We hope to see you May 28th."

A brief tone played.

"VEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!" I winced again on reflex before the familiar inflection of Joel's voice resonated with something deeper than my repressed feelings about the nickname. "Congrats on 'Seeds.' I heard your segment on the 'Dungeon Delver' podcast. I played it for some of my students. They can't wait to meet you. They were giddy when they turned in your nomination form. School's first celebrity on the wall and he's famous for table top gaming. Hope to catch up with you if you have time while you're in town."

Perhaps some things changed after all...

[negchaserlooking]

Well that took an unexpected different direction once I started to read your story. Good one @norubbers

[randyrawman]

This is really hot. I love the way you write...vivid, sexy, surprising. Hope you post more.

[norubbers]

Chapter 2

 

I arrived home and opened the door to find a manila envelope had been slid under with a note stuck on it

 

"Leif-

 

You were a hit! The internet loves you."

 

I opened the envelope and pulled out the papers. "Hey, reddit! I'm Leif Erikssen (u/nonotthat1), creative mind behind 'Role for Initiative', where A-list meets D&D. AMA." I scanned through the transcript of the forum with notes and highlights from my PR lead, Brenda. I skipped ahead to the section about our Role for Education" charity work. Brenda had scribbled some notes about positive engagement. 

 

The very last section was all of the personal questions. I felt like I had done a fairly graceful job fielding the declarations of love and marriage proposals that so commonly pepper the comments. Brenda's had some notes about not alienating potential viewers scrawled next to an answer about being gay.

 

I tossed the packet on my desk and stripped out of my jeans and flannel shirt and headed for the shower. The pouch of my jock was plastered to my matted pubes - must not have quite been done cumming after all.

 

I peeled the jock off and hopped in the shower. A quick scrub and I dried off and went to bed.

 

I dreamed that I was back in Joel's high school bedroom. His furniture stopped being a comfortable fit for me when i was 16 and 6 inches shorter. This was just comical, but that's dreams for you. We were watching a movie. I glanced over at him. From up close, he was quite the sight to behold. His shaggy black hair and beard were immaculately kept. His joggers and t shirt fit him perfectly, despite the casual look.

 

I was in joggers and a muscle shirt. He caught me looking and I turned my attention back to the movie. He nudged my leg to draw my attention to a joke or something in the movie. The contact sent a pulse straight to my dick. I went from zero to 60% hard nearly instantly - god this really was like being back in high school. I tried to adjust my joggers in order to hide the bulge, but that just drew attention to the situation brewing in my lap.

 

Without a word, he squeezed my thigh. He leaned in to kiss me, his other hand finding its way to my face to stroke my beard. In unison, our mouths parted and our tongues met and another electric thrill coursed through my body to my cock, now rock hard.

 

I maneuvered myself off the futon to lean - though with my size and the comically small futon it was more like loom - over him. I leaned him back gently, continuing to savor his mouth. I broke our kiss only to pull Joel's t shirt off and appreciate the bare-chested otter stud laid out before me. God the years had been good to him. I resumed kissing him, making my way to his ear, where I nibbled briefly on his earlobe before working my way down his neck to his chest and abs.

 

Through ragged breaths, he stopped me at the waistband of his joggers and sat up. He ran his hands over several of my tattoos: Norse runes down my left arm, a complex sleeve on my right arm designed to look like armor. His hands found their way to the hem of my muscle shirt and his kissing became more insistent.

 

He tugged at my shirt and I helped him the rest of the way, exposing my fur-coveres pecs, abs, and a few more tattoos including my biohazard sign. By this point I had a substantial wet spot in the front of my joggers and he hadn't even touched my dick. His hands continued exploring my body, tracing my tattoos to distract from their intended destination: my throbbing erection. Just before he grabbed the sticky, wet bulge in my joggers, I pushed him back down onto the sofa and held him there. I pointed to my biohazard tattoo.

 

"Do you know what this tattoo means?" I interrogayed him with some amount of urgency. He nodded, his light brown eyes sparkling. "And?" I demanded. He smirked a little and reached for the waistband of my joggers again. I pinned both hands over his head with one hand while my other hand pinned his chest.

 

From his position, he couldn't move mucb, but the struggle was adorable. "Joel, I have HIV. If we continue, there is a chance I could infect you."

 

"I know you're poz. I've known since, like, 8th grade."

 

He mustered as much strength as he could in his awkward position and knocked me off balance backward. He got his legs under him faster than I expected and before I knew it, I was on my back, he was straddling my legs, and my pants were half off.

 

I reoriented myself and realized that he was staring - transfixed maybe - at my dick.

 

"Holy. Shit." He punctuated.

 

"What?" I asked.

 

"Your dick is..." he trailed off. "I mean, I knew you were hung in high school. But not this hung."

 

"Dude, I'm 6'8". My dick is normal size for someone my height," I defended. He didn't respond. Instead he got up and took his own joggers off, revealing his own substantial member. I admired the sight. He had thicker body hair on his lower body. Jet black like the rest of his hair, coarser. He, too, kept his pubes natural. There was a drop of precum glistening on the end of his uncut dick. My mouth watered.

 

"I am 7" - 7.5", which is above average." He wrapped his hand around his dick. It looked sizeable in his hand, for sure. He came back to the futon and put his dick and his hand next to mine. The difference was evident immediately.

 

"Okay. So I'm hung, I guess?" I said.

 

"Beyond hung." He said, taking my pants down the rest of the way and moving his mouth toward my dick. 

 

My dick was coated in precum. I have always been a heavy precummer. I used to keep extra underwear at school in the event of an errant boredom woody soaking through my underwear. I started to protest, but he already had my head in his mouth, any thoughts of protest evaporated as I laced my fingers into his shaggy hair and offered some gentle encouragement.

 

He was struggling with the first few inches and I didn't want to push too far. He enthusiastically tried to take more of my dick, initially stopping when he gagged. Eventually he pushed past his gag reflex and got the head of my dick into his throat proper. He was a quick study.

 

He continued trying to throat my whole dick for a bit. When he stopped to let his jaw, throat, and lungs catch up, he experimented with working my shaft with his hand, playing with rolling my foreskin back over my head.

 

Watching him play with my foreskin, I was struck by how different our dicks were. Like the rest of me, my cock was pale. Two very prominent veins bulged, winding their way along the length of my shaft. When soft, my foreskin covered about 40% of my mushroom head. When fully hard, my foreskin pulled back off the head completely. Guys who didn't see me soft often didn't realize I was uncut.

 

In contrast, Joel's foreskin covered most most of his head - about 60%, even fully hard. He also had some prominent veins - more than me, in fact. But they were smaller and a bit more subtle. His dick was certifiably perfect. My mouth continued to water.

 

 He continued stroking me while he buried his face between my thighs, seeking my nuts. He nuzzled against them at first with his beard providing extra waves of stimulation. My contented grunts signaled it was time for exploring them with his tongue, then his mouth.

 

I could feel the cum starting to churn deep in my balls. I reached down and pulled him back up to kiss me, pulling him close to me. He fell right into the trap. I grappled him and rolled him off of me onto the floor, then dropped down onto my hands and knees over him. While he was still reeling from the sudden reversal of position, I kissed my way down his fuzzy body once more to his beautiful dick. 

 

I took his dick - god a swear that dick was straight out of a dirty magazine; you couldnt airbrush a better looking dick - down my throat with practiced ease and delighted in his gasp as I did. He began to buck his hips and I let him fuck my throat like that, pulling off of him when I needed air. I moved to go back down on him.

 

"If you do that again, I will cum," he said with a tone of lust in his voice. "Probably immediately."

 

"I mean, that is the goal here, right?" I asked.

 

"Not yet," he said, pulling his legs up between us, exposing his hole.

 

Needing no further instructions, I buried my face in his hole. My beard provided extra stimulation, but my tongue was doing the heavy lifting. I devoured his hole. I started with thorough exploration of his ass, gently licking every inch of his hairy, tanned skin from his balls to his hole.

 

I could feel his body becoming restless with all this stimulation of his hole and shifted gears. Slow licks were replaced with quicker flicks of my tongue that whipped him into more of a frenzy.

 

He was making sounds somewhere between a grunt and a moan. He became increasingly excited as I started working a finger in. He was tight, but enthusiastic and I tried to match my efforts to stretch him to his natural efforts to adjust to being penetrated. Whenever I withdrew my finger, I immediately replaced it with my probing tongue, which I drilled into him.

 

We worked our way up to 2 fingers. By this point he was precumming pretty heavily. I used some to add additional lubrication while our work continued to prepare his hole.

 

With 3 fingers sliding comfortably in and out of him, I repositioned and placed the head of my dick at his hole. 

 

"You're sure you want this? You know the risk." It was a statement more than a question.

 

"I want you," he replied. "All of you." He ran his hands through my chest hair, sending tingles through my whole body. I shivered a little in anticipation.

 

And with that, I pressed into him. I gave him some time to adjust to just my cockhead. Even taking three fingers, it was a substantial leap to taking my dick. He screamed out in some blend of pleasure and pain and I tried to pull back but he pulled me into a kiss.

 

"Just go slow," he said between soft, quick kisses. I could feel his sphincter fighting against my dick, every muscle in his rectum trying to push me back out. But I held steady and little by little the spasms stopped. Now the real challenge started.

 

I dont think I've ever fucked someone that slowly. At least not since I hit my 30s and sex became more of a lustful thing I sought when i was horny rather than anything related to genuine desire. My overproduction of precum helped keep things slick and allowed very slow progress of the first 4 inches of my dick. After what felt like hours, the head of my dick had found his second sphincter and he was starting to enjoy feeling me inside him.

 

I started to gently make love to his hole. Long, slow strokes with plenty of added spit and my own precum. He was in pure ecstacy. After several strokes against his second hole, I pushed through it and stopped again, savoring the look of exquisite agony on his face. He recovered more quickly this time, as he was getting a feel for how to relax his hole.

 

"I want you to pound me, Leif." He said.

 

I picked up the pace and realization of his judgemental error crashed over him. I backed off a bit, and he looked disappointed.

 

"I want to make you cum," he insisted.

 

I smirked a little. "I could cum whenever I want. I dont need to pound your hole to get off. I just want to make sure you get your fill."

 

He spit in his hand, grabbed his prick and started stroking which I took as permission to resume fucking him. I matched my thrusts into his hole with his strokes of his cock 

 

"Together, then?" I said. His building moans provided his assent.

 

A couple minutes later, he locked eyes with me. The message was clear though he didnt say a word: it was time. His moans as he began oozing bright white, pearly cum were primal and animal. He wasn't a shooter, that's for sure. But he did have a good sized load. God, even his cum looked good.

 

As his hole spasmed around me, my member swelled up as I began blasting ropes of cum into him. I lost count at 18 spurts. I leaned down to kiss him, trying to keep my dick in his hole so my cum wouldn't leak everywhere.

 

And then I woke up. Why was I exhausted? Why did I smell cum. I threw the comforter back and surveyed my sheets. It looked like a murder scene, but the splatter was white instead of red.

The details of the dream were fading quickly but one detail wasn't going anywhere: he had said he had known I was poz since the 8th grade. That was factually correct. I had been born poz. But he shouldn't have known that. I chalked it up to wibbly wobbly dreamy weamy bullshit and tried to shake the sleep haze off.

I pulled the sheets off the bed and put them in the laundry. And made a mental note to buy sheets that weren't navy blue.

[ErikRaw]

thanks for adding the gaming mention @norubbers!  Nat20, man!

[norubbers]

Chapter 3

I spent the next week thinking about Joel and the invitation from my former high school. I had called Linda back the next morning to formally accept the invitation, but Joel's voicemail kept replaying in my head. Better that than the dream, I guess.

Memories of Joel occupied most of my thoughts on the drive out for Spartan Trifecta weekend.

Joel and I go way back. He and I attended school together from kindergarten through graduation. K-12 all in one building. Average graduating class from the high school was about 65 people. This school was tiny.

Despite the tiny size of the student body, Joel and I barely knew each other until middle school when I started working for Joel's parents. They owned one of the largest tree farms in the midwest and would hire out extra workers during peak seasons. Labor laws allowed kids as young as 13 to work in agriculture. Pretty sure those laws weren't intended for work involving axes and saws, but loopholes are loopholes.

That job paid for my first summer theater camp, which eventually led to my nickname. Junior year, the camp production found me center stage, shirtless, and wearing a viking helmet. Joel had come to see me in the show. He sought me out backstage in the dressing area after the show.

"You looked like some kind of viking Hercules up there, man," he said after.

"Everyone in that audience is probably scarred for the rest of their lives having seen me shirtless," I countered. "Blinded, too. I'm incandescent up there with the stage lights on me."

"Dude..." he started, trying to pull me to the mirror, which was comedically futile. "You really have no idea how good you looked up there, do you?"

While I still had one good growth spurt left in me, at the time I was 6'4" and about 235 pounds. Work on the tree farm was very physical, so I had decent bulk to go with my height. I felt like I was more chub than muscle at this point. In contrast, Joel was about 5'5" and maybe 120 during a bulk. He kind of looked like a child trying to push his dad on the swings.

I got up and let him take me over to the dressing mirror. He was right, I did look pretty damn good. While there was a little bit of pudge still to go, there was no mistaking the sheets of muscle that ran beneath. I already had a decent amount of dark auburn body hair, and I could have grown a beard if my mom didn't insist I shave every couple days. I put the helmet back on.

"Viking Hercules, you say?" I asked sarcastically, a goofy grin spreading across my face.

"Yeah, but that's too long. How about V-H for short?" He quipped. We both laughed.

The daydream faded as I pulled my subaru into the parking lot of the compound of cabins that would be my home for the next 3 days. I got my key from the attendant and surveyed the parking lot. No one else from my training group was here yet. I threw my duffle on the end of one of the beds in my cabin and headed back out. Maybe the training course would take my mind off things.

In a way, I was right. On the training course, I met Scott, future-DILF. He was average height - about 5'10", but from 6'8" everyone looks about 5'10" -  and about 230 pounds of fresh-from-the-gym muscle and too much beer and pizza. He had dark blond hair and blue eyes. He stared at me on every obstacle on the training course. Especially after I took my shirt off after the dunk wall and my soaked shorts were clinging to my obscene bulge. Compression shorts my ass.

After finishing the course, I doubled back toward the start of the course and met Scott as he was finishing the course. As I walked past him toward the cabins, I grabbed my bulge and nodded. He turned tail and followed me without a word. Good to know my cruising instincts still worked. I led him into my cabin. His tongue was in my mouth before I even got the door closed.

He was a good kisser, but I had other goals. His hands found my bulge, rapidly hardening in my compression shorts. I pushed him to his knees and pulled the waistband of my shorts down as he went. His tongue found my balls, slightly musky from the course.

His eager mouth struggled with my cock at semi-hard. This was going to be fun. He hesitated as my cock reached full hardness.

I clamped a hand around the back of his head and forced my length into his throat. I could feel his throat convulse as he gagged. God I love that feeling of panic. I pulled my dick out of his throat. Tears streamed from his eyes as he coughed and tried to catch his breath.

"Relax your fucking throat," I growled, shoving the length of my uncut cock back in his mouth. I felt teeth and abruptly pulled back out, clapping him on the side of his head - harder than was probably necessary, but I wanted to ensure he got the message. "And watch your teeth."

We attempted a few more times, each ending with him gagging and panting for air. He was beginning to look a little unsteady on his knees.

I hauled him off his knees and shoved him over onto the bed. He flopped on the bed, nearly delirious. I fished through my duffle for my poppers. I uncapped them and shoved them under his nose and watched the haze roll over his eyes. I positioned him on his back with his head hung over the bed.

I took a generous hit of poppers for myself. All thoughts faded except using his holes to get off. I plunged my dick back into his throat and started fucking it in earnest. Through his popper-induced stupor, he gave no resistance and his throat stretched to welcome my girth with every thrust. Now this was more like it. I pulled out, a generous coat of spit on my cock. His initial popper fog was starting to lift.

"Turn over. Ass up," I commanded. He did as he was told and I tossed the poppers to him. "You're probably going to want some more of those" I rummaged through my duffle for lube. "I'm poz. Undetectable. I don't do rubbers." I left no room for discussion. I took him reaching back to spread his cheeks as consent enough. He muttered something about PrEP.

I hadn't really noticed, but he had a generous coat of dark blond fur over most of his body, including his ass and around his hole. I slathered a generous amount of lube into his hole. I took another hit of poppers. The head of my prick found his furry hole.

I pressed the head of my dick into his guts without ceremony, stopping only when my head met resistance deeper in his hole. He didn't flinch from my dick. Either the poppers were really doing their job or he was a very well-worn bottom. Whichever, his hole felt great. I pressed into him until the head of my dick met resistance deeper inside.

I fucked the first few inches of his guts deliberately - pressing against his second sphincter with every deep thrust. At some point he must have hit the poppers again because he pushed back into one deep thrust. The sound he made as the rest of my dick sank into him was best described as a howl. my pelvis rested comfortably against his bubble ass and he immediately began trying to come off of my cock.

I grabbed his right arm and leveraged him down on the bed, pinning him; my dick still deep inside. I could feel him squirm beneath me, whimpering as his intestines struggled to make friendly with their new invader.

When the squirming stopped, I resumed thrusting into him. God he had a great hole. I could feel the cum beginning to brew in my balls.

Deep penetrating thrusts mixed with quicker, harder thrusts as his body was dribbled against the cheap mattress springs. His howls had long since turned into moans.

I released the armbar pinning him to the bed and pulled him up to his knees. In doggy style, the rhythmic slap of our bodies joined his moans. I was nearly certain our sexual symphony could be heard by at least the neighboring cabins.

I pulled out of him again and rolled him over. Throwing his legs back and exposing his furry hole. I wanted to see the look on his face as I filled him with my seed. I sank my hardness back into his guts.

We both hit the poppers one more time as I took up a steady rhythm in his hole. His own cock was average, but rock hard. It pointed straight up to his belly button and pulses of precum erupted from the tip every couple strokes.

As my orgasm built, I pressed him into the bed, my hand at his throat.

"You ready for my load?"

"Fucking breed me!" He pleaded.

I began to unload in his hole. The orgasm wracked my body, ejecting rope after rope of my DNA into his core. When the spasms finally stopped, I looked down to see that Scott's furry tummy was shot through with a couple modest ropes of his own cum. I pulled out and a small torrent of my special sauce poured from his hole.

"Shame you're undetectable..." he murmured. I ran my hand over my biohazard tattoo. This was a sentiment I had encountered before.

In my experience, PReP guys go through phases.

Phase one: "I'm still going to be safe." This involves still using condoms and barebacking with committed partners who they know are tested regularly/on PrEP. The phase ends when the guy starts barebacking with non-monogamous partners who are presumably negative/on PrEP.

Phase two: "Trust the guy, trust the meds." The guy is regularly barebacking nonmongamous partners who self-report being tested and negative and/or on PrEP. This phase ends when the guy takes his first confirmed poz load. This load is nearly always undetectable.

Phase three: "U=U." This is where you will find most guys on PrEP. And for good reason. This is where the current science stands. These PrEPed guys will take a load from an undetectable guy without a second thought. I can usually spot these guys a mile away out in the wild.

Phase three ends when the guy misses a dose or lapses on a refill and takes a load anyway. He will decide "it's fine because he's undetectable." Alternatively, he will take a load of unknown potency because "that's what the meds are for and he's so fucking hot and I'm so fucking horny." This is how phase four begins.

Phase four: a chaser is born. The guy will seek out a viral load or cease taking medication. He has gotten a taste of the risk. And risk is a drug. The high of beating the odds wears off quickly and he will take riskier and riskier actions to feel that high again. Some chase passively and just don't do anything to mitigate the risks. Reveling in their close calls after the fact. Others move on to chasing actively. For the active chasers, getting infected is the only way to feel that high again.

My best guess, Scott was on his way out of phase three or was in the early stages of chasing.

"I can help with that..." Scott sat bolt upright at the new voice. I glanced over to the door and smirked. The door frame was occupied by a 5'3" tank of a man, 6" cut prick in hand. Guess I get to room with with Cal this weekend.

[RawSubDad]

Love it. Will you write more?

[norubbers]

6 hours ago, RawSubDad said:

Love it. Will you write more?

Yeah. I have thr next chapter started. Work got unexpectedly crazy on me and I started another story. But the next part IS coming.