“You’re out of your mind if you put value on what these people think.”
Uri licked his lips and rubbed his temple. “I’m not. I’m not stoned.”
Rich kissed Uri and glanced through his hair, spotting the jockish tanned guys who were stealing glances back at them. Rich was a riddle, something quirky and unusual in the crowd of primped hairless jocks. They knew Rich wasn’t a college student. They didn’t know he was a high school dropout, but some, more sober, probably assumed it, based on his appearance.
Jason, the porn star whore, danced on a steel coffee table stripped down to his black briefs. Multicolored lights on the Christmas tree painted his body in reds, blues and greens. The jocks hollered and smacked his ass and pulled on the elastic band of his briefs, snapping it against his tan line.
“Most of these parties turn out this way,” Uri said, falling back into Rich’s torso in the kitchen archway. “Once enough of the prudes and two or three confused straight guys leave, the rest will land up naked, fucking each other, maybe right there in the living room.”
Rich pulled his arms around Uri. “You’re full of shit.”
Uri laughed. “Okay, that’s only happened once, and I wasn’t even there when it did, but who knows.”
Rich stumbled, adjusting his weight, pulling Uri closer, swaying him around in his arms and nuzzling his ear. “Would you join them?”
“No, I’m ugly,” Uri said. “But I would sneak a few photos if I could.”
“You’re not ugly,” Rich said kissing his ear. “You’re my handsome Ukrainian boy.”
“Don’t try.”
“You look like one of those young boyish Russian soldiers.”
“The kind that sell their bodies for sex because they’re poor?”
“If you want,” Rich said.
In the living room, Jason continued to dance on the coffee table to thumping club music. A short, muscular, redhead rugby player named Colt pulled Jason’s briefs down, exposing bright white skin and coarse trimmed pubes. Jason kept dancing, his soft cut dick and balls bouncing, meaty glutes flexing as he turned to show his ass. The redhead put Jason’s dick in his mouth and sucked on it. Jason gyrated, unaffected. Some of the guys hooted, others leaned back and watched like they would in a strip club.
Rich grabbed Uri’s camera from a step on the kitchen stair-well. “Holy shit, we gotta get this.” He flipped it on.
“Wait, wait,” Uri said, hushing him. “Turn the flash off or do movie mode.”
Rich spun the wheel on the camera settings to movie mode. “This breed of closet jock must be documented.” He aimed the lens at the debauchery.
Jason’s cock swelled to seven inches from Colt’s sloppy tonguing; he clutched the base of his dick and humped into the rugby player’s lips.
Colt buried his nose in Jason’s sculpted pubes, chin grinding the sometime porn star’s hairless balls, freckled dimples folding as he gurgled down Jason’s cock like a pro.
Uri grinned like an imp and snuck behind Rich, who held the camera at his side, halfway peeking through the archway of the kitchen. The kitchen lights were off, the darkness obscuring them from those in the sunken den. “On the rugby team Colt’s nickname is Lips because he’s got nice thick ones,” Uri said. “If only they knew the use he got out of them.”
“Maybe they will,” Rich muttered, gently nudging the zoom on the camera. “I hate closet jocks.”
A large number of shy prudes left the party as more guys lost their shirts and jeans and put their hands on each other until an intimate group of just eleven or twelve remained. Marcus, big and jolly and giggling, stayed on the sidelines, having no problem being host and witness to hot guys devouring each other in his den.
Colt, the rugby player, grew furious on Jason’s cock, lips pounding down to the base. Jason groaned, the first utterance in his stoned haze, a feminine groan. Colt slid off Jason’s cock and grabbed his ankles, where the black briefs bunched up. He yanked them hard and the dancing porn star flew onto his back, smashing down on the steel coffee table, glasses and cups rattling. Some of the guys laughed. Colt squatted and clawed Jason’s tan pecs while devouring his cock. He grabbed Jason’s thighs and thrust them in the air. He slid his tongue down Jason’s cock and balls and buried it in his hairless, meaty ass. Jason let out a high-pitched squeal. The jock’s tongue found no resistance and fucked deep into him, teeth grazing his sphincter. Jason grabbed Colt’s hair, pulling his face harder into his ass. The rugby player reached up and smacked the hand away with a swipe of his forearm.
“Fuck!” Jason yelled, cradling his wrist.
Colt grunted with an underbite and wrapped his arms around Jason’s tanned, waxed thighs and pulled him against his own hard body. He spat in his hand and polished his fat, uncut, six-inch cock. He squatted and shoved it into Jason’s ass, bare.
“Oh, fuck!” Jason cried. “Fuck me,” he moaned.
The muscled guys surrounding the coffee table fished their cocks out and jacked off over Jason. Colt pounded Jason’s ass ruthlessly, his own asscheeks shaking with each slam. One of the guys shoved his cock between Jason’s lips. The porn star sucked it expertly, as if he knew he was on camera.
Rich tried to keep Uri’s camera steady in his hands. Uri was horny, so overwhelmed by the sight of the Grecian jock orgy that he couldn’t stop himself from slipping his hands into Rich’s jeans, reaching around to grab balls and cock. Rich faltered and set the camera on the counter, lens aimed into the living room scene of guys moaning, jacking and fucking.
“You wanna get fucked, too?” Rich spun around and gnawed on Uri’s Adam’s apple.
“Fuck, yes,” Uri said.
Rich fished a lubricated condom from his pocket and dropped his jeans. He slipped the condom over his hard-on. Uri dropped his jeans and briefs and grabbed hold of the archway above his head. Rich squatted behind the shorter Uri, arching his cock up into his tight, hairless hole, pushing his cock in with his fist.
Uri squirmed in pain, ass fighting Rich’s cock. Rich pressed the rest of the way in when Uri’s ass gave way. He pounded him gently and slid his fingers up Uri’s outstretched torso, fondling his nipples.
Uri panted and Rich’s pelvis cupped his asscheeks. He watched guy after guy take turns fucking Jason up the ass and down his throat. One guy came across Jason’s face, getting jizz in his eye. Another came across his nipples. A fully clothed jock licked it up in a long sloppy drag. Another beefy blond came up Jason’s ass, cum spilling out the porn star’s sphincter around the next invading cock pummeling the raw red hole.
Rich snuck his hand around Uri’s hip, grabbing hold of his dick. He jacked Uri, fucking him up the ass with long slow strides, burying himself balls deep, sliding out to the tip then shoving balls deep again. His dangling sac nuzzled against Uri’s. He bit the hair on Uri’s neck, digging his lip ring in.
“Fuck. I’m not gonna last,” Uri groaned as Rich’s pelvis slapped his asscheeks and hand polished his cock, smearing precum all over his head and loose foreskin.
Jason jacked himself as a fifth guy pounded him and shoved his load into him. Guys dragged their nails across Jason’s chest. A massive Pacific Islander jock with long braided hair slammed his orgasm into Jason and grabbed his feet and snaked his tongue between his toes.
Jason cried out, writhing, and his own cum splattered his neck to a chorus of male moaning.
Rich’s hand fluttered on Uri’s cock, fist pumping and sliding his foreskin. Uri humped back into Rich’s rhythm and stifled his growl, spewing his load on the kitchen floor. Rich kept fucking, dragging his fingers up Uri’s ribs to his nipples, nearly twisting them off as he got his rocks off inside him. He slid out, condom quarter-full with spunk.
The orgiastic men in the den wiped themselves up, lounged and passed a pipe, the room filling with a skunky haze again. None of them could see Uri and Rich as they dressed in the pitch-dark kitchen. Rich threw his used condom in the sink.
Uri grabbed his camera from the counter. The red light was still on, indicating it was recording. It was just nearing the limit of its memory card.
Uri shoved the camera into Rich’s hoodie pocket and looked up into his eyes. Rich grinned downward, devilish canines over his lip. Uri silently laughed into the air, hopped, then pulled Rich down for a kiss.
They ran out the back door, through the backyard, out the gate, through the paved back alley of the wealthy neighborhood, until they made it to the street. Uri jumped around as Rich lit a cigarette.
Uri laughed, condensation billowing from his mouth into the freezing fog lit orange by the streetlights. “I can’t believe you did that! I can’t believe that happened!”
“Look what you’ve done,” Rich said, stumbling in the middle of the street, puffing his cigarette. “You turned me into a voyeur.”
Marcus lived a few blocks from Uri’s house, and they walked home in the fog, nuzzling each other for warmth in the raw air.
“What do we do with this?” Uri asked as he scanned through the thirty-minute video recording on his computer. It was a sweaty, glistening, well-lit orgy of athletic bodies, topped with Rich and Uri’s close panting and shadows.
Rich, naked and showered, blew smoke over Uri’s hair, resting his chin on top of his head. He watched as Uri replayed one of the guys cumming on Jason’s face, over and over.
“I don’t know. Now that I’m sobering up, I think we should probably delete it. The gay illuminati will come for us.”
“Fuck them. We could put it on our own XTube amateur page,” Uri said. “Make loads of cash, then I could put it on my blog. Anything tagged
frat
,
athlete
or
amateur jock
automatically gets a shitload of views.”
“How long do you think you could get away with that?” Rich asked.
“Long enough to get money.”
Rich tapped his cigarette in a coffee mug, eyes on the ceiling, musing over the idea of being less impoverished. “But what do we do if people want more? People always want more,” Rich said.
Uri unplugged the camera from the computer and pointed it at Rich.
Rich leaned back on the bed, letting the cigarette dangle from his bottom lip as it curled into a smirk. His wiry arms turned and flexed, blue feathers of his eagle tattoo on his left arm shimmering over damp skin and veins.
Uri winked into the camera’s little viewfinder at the convex image of Rich’s suddenly willing blue eyes, eyes fresh from the rush of exhibition, eyes now eager to be exhibited.
SEA MONSTERS
Matthew Lowe
We’ve been drinking all morning, Ash and me, feet up on the front porch. Neither of us has a job at the moment, so we tend to spend a lot of time out here, just loafing in deck chairs. Ash has only been with us a couple of weeks. I suppose we’re still in the getting-to-know-you stages. Jamie, his boyfriend, is a friend of ours. When he came to take our spare room, Ash came too.
Ash is nice enough. He is certainly nice to look at, a man who carries his beauty with easy grace. He came up from the coast to be with Jamie and he’s still got that warm holiday glow about him.
The weekend after they moved in, my boyfriend Michael filled the bathtub with ice, and we threw an impromptu housewarming party.
Jamie was keen to show Ash off. Like the proud curator of a museum’s perfect piece of art, he clung to his discovery, only letting go of him when he needed to slip outside for a smoke, or return to the bathroom for a drink.
You could tell Jamie was thrilled by all the attention Ash was bringing him. He spent most of the evening fielding inquiries about his new beau.
When? Where? How big? How often?
But as the night wore on he began to look a little threatened. The same magnetism that had drawn him in drew others, too. They circled the happy couple like sharks at feeding time.
At the end of the night when we were collecting the empties and taking them out to the bin, Ash stopped and threw his arms around my neck.
“I’m glad I moved down here,” he said. “I really like living with you guys.” His breath was warm against my neck. I could feel the ripples of his firm body as he pressed against me.