Part 114

Well, I guessed a guy's vanity must be a bottomless pit. All the guys were the same. Give them a compliment and they'd wanna know all the fucking details, and Greg was no exception. "OK, so how awesome am I?"

"I've already told you a million fucking times."

"So make it a million and one."

"Look in the mirror for fuck's sake!"

"I am looking in the mirror!"

"So tell me what you see?"

"Me."

"I guess that's the prob. You're using your own eyes."

"They're the only fucking eyes I've got, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, well I have the same prob, I guess. I look at myself sometimes and try to see myself the way others do. Maybe it's not so hard for me 'cause I appreciate the male bod -- I can see what turns my buds on, 'cause the same things about them turn me on. The weird thing is, my own bod doesn't turn me on."

"I'm glad to hear that, bro. You're one cocky mutha but at least you don't have an inflated ego. If you did, you'd have a lot less friends."

"You wanna park your ass in my face and jack me?"

"I'll never understand you," he grinned, then shrugged. "OK, if it makes you happy."

What was there to understand? Fuck, Greg's ass was a work of fucking art! The color of his skin alone was the dope -- shiny, smooth and bronze. And his hole was a slightly darker color, but totally free of hair or any blemish. Whatever it was in my brain that ordered my tongue to probe that wrinkled rosebud was way beyond my control.

I laid on my back on his bed as he squatted over my face. Within inches of my eyes was the most awesome sight, as well as the most wicked scent. Everything about him was the bomb -- perfect balls, a delicious cut dick, and buns to die for. As he took hold of my throbbing seven in his fist, I used my flat hands to smooth his globes while I licked everything in sight.

It was the combination of the smell of my spit mixed with his spicy, natural odor, and his fist riding my shaft, that finally triggered the mighty explosion of boy juice. As each of my jets fired into the air, I pressed my face hard against his firm, spread buns and sent my tongue as deep inside his soft, spongy hole as I could get it. Whoa! What a fucking blast!

"You know something?" he mused as he cleaned my stomach with a tissue. "People are weird. I've seen stuff on the net that makes me puke. And, not so long ago, what happened between you and I tonight would've made me puke."

"So how come you're not puking?"

"I'm not sure. I know one thing, though. I could never tell anybody about what happens between us."

"You've got the guilts?"

"I guess so. I mean, if all this was supposed to be normal and natural, how come our folks don't talk about it, or we don't learn about it at school?"

"Not sure. Maybe folks think that their own fantasies are like unique or something. That's one of the great things about porn -- you see guys doing stuff that you do, and you think whoa! Hey, I like doing that, too! So you don't feel such a geek anymore. Porn's educational."

"You're a sicko." Greg screwed his nose as he tossed the cum-soaked tissue into the basket.

"Why? 'Cause some dude says I am? What makes him such a fucking expert? Lemme ask you something. Do you sit or stand when you wipe your ass?"

"What kinda dumb question is that?"

"Do you sit or stand?"

"Stand."

"Well, I sit."

"What does that prove?"

"That nobody taught us whether to sit or stand. It's something you have to figure out for yourself. Y'know? I mean, what teacher is gonna ask the class to raise their hands if they sit while they're wiping their ass? Nobody wants to talk about it. What teacher or parent is gonna ask you if you get a thrill outa having your step bro sit on your face while he's jacking the fuck outa you?" That was it. Greg and I cracked big time and fell about for a whole minute. Then I continued. "Hey, when was the last time you were with a group of people talking about nose-picking?" We cracked again, and had tears rolling down our sore cheeks.

By the time we'd recovered, Greg was sitting cross-legged on my bed with his back against the wall. "I've gotta tell you one thing, bro." His soft, chocolate eyes smiled at me. "I'm not embarrassed about being naked any more. It's like it's no biggie."

"Should it be?"

"I guess not. It's just that I used to think so. And you know something? I've been kinda thinking about that. I figure our ancient ancestors wore animal skins 'cause of the cold or whatever. Then guys got pissed 'cause some other dude had a better bear skin, so it became like some sorta status symbol. So people tried to dress better than the next dude to show how important they were. And it kinda went from there. Then most people thought this clothing thing was pretty neat 'cause it hid their lamo bods from critical eyes and made them look a whole bunch better -- so they made it compulsory."

"That's one helluva theory," I laughed, "but it sounds cool. Anyway, you look way cool without clothes."

"Careful, bro. You'll get me horny again."

"What would your dad think if he knew?"

"Don't even think about that, bro! He's never gonna know. He'd freak big fucking time."

"How can you be sure?"

"Oh, so you're gonna tell your mom?"

"No."

"Get real, Daniel. While it's our secret, it's cool. But if our folks knew… I mean, why do you think dudes at school call the nerds faggots or cocksuckers or whatever? Hey, they're not trying to be complimentary, if you know what I mean."

"They just don't understand."

"And you're gonna make 'em understand? Sure. I can see you now, standing in front of the class trying to explain why you like my ass in your face or my cock stuffed down your throat. What the fuck do you think they're gonna say? "That's totally cool, Daniel. We're really glad you explained all that shit.""

"I guess not."

"Guess not? Hey, dude, they'd nail you to the fucking cross. You'd be dead meat."

"I've convinced you that I'm OK."

"Strike one."

"Not true, bro. Kyle, Steve and all the other guys think I'm OK. And you're forgetting something. I used to call Paul a faggot and a cocksucker before I changed my mind."

"Hey, if you wanna go on some fucking crusade, that's your business, bro. Just don't include me. OK? I'm not ready to be ridiculed."

"Are you saying that you're not already? How many dudes call you a 'nigger' just 'cause you're colored? How many guys have joked about your mom being some fucking cannibal or whatever?"

"That's different -- those fuckwits don't know what they're talking about."

"And guys who call me a faggot do? Gimme a break, Greg."

"So what the fuck are you saying? That we should take on the whole fucking world?"

"Maybe I am. Who's gonna respect you if you don't respect yourself?"

"OK, smartass. Tell me one thing. Are you gonna tell your mom?"

"No."

"I rest my case."

Well, he might've rested his case, but he didn't rest his cock. The fucker got all horny again and rammed the damn thing down my throat -- not that I minded. Hell, he was my bro and he rocked big time. Besides, it made me feel good to know that I'd helped him get his rocks off -- my face had to be better than his fist anyday. It was the same when my buds blew me. They didn't do it 'cause they felt obligated or charitable -- they did it 'cause they wanted to, and 'cause they got a kick outa giving me a thrill.

"I still don't understand you, Daniel," Greg smiled as his throbber began to get lazy in my mouth. "How come you do this for me?"

Well, there was another thing that my bro didn't understand. Talking with a mouthful of cock was impossible. I let his monster slide outa my mouth, took it between my fingers and squeezed his knob to get the final, tasty pearl of boyjuice. "How come?" I asked before swallowing. "I guess it's like when you give somebody a present. You watch them unwrap it and open it, and then you see the look on their face -- and you know that you've blown them away -- that you've made them really happy."

"So you do it to please me?"

"Yeah, but that's not the only reason."

"So what's the other reason?"

"Well, when you're pumping the shit outa my face, sometimes I look up and I can see your expression -- it's like you're in some amazing place that you can't describe 'cause it's just so damn fantastic. And you've got hold of my head 'cause I'm the one who's taking you there. So it's like you're there 'cause of me. Y'know?"

Greg sat down beside me on the bed, placed his open hands on each side of my head, then gave me a little, affectionate kiss on the lips. "I know one thing, bro. You're something totally special. Hell, if you did tell your mom about all this shit, maybe she'd understand. I'd like to think so. And I'd like to think my dad would, too. But I guess both of us are too afraid to take the risk."

"And what do you think about when you're fucking my face?"

"Pretty much what you said -- that you're taking me to someplace fantastic that I couldn't describe, and that you're happy to do it for me." He bowed his head for a moment, then lifted his eyes. "I feel kinda bad 'cause I can't do it for you."

"But you do, bro. You do! You do stuff for me that a lotta straight guys wouldn't. Hey, I don't want you doing stuff that you don't wanna do. That wouldn't be right. It should be fun for both of us. Know what I mean?"

"You know something? Maybe if your mom did hear all this stuff we're talking about, maybe she would understand. And maybe my dad would, too."

"You don't really believe that."

"I guess I don't. But I'd like to."

"Hey, you're the one who was telling me to get real a little while back."

"Yeah, I know. But you confuse the fuck outa me, Daniel. Sometimes I think all the stuff we do is just so… well, wrong, I guess. And other times I think it's so right 'cause it feels so damn right. And when I'm thinking like that, it's like I wanna tell the whole fucking world that it's totally cool."

"Do you tell your dad everything you do with Lindy?"

"Of course not!"

"Why not?"

"It's none of his fucking business!" He studied my face for a moment before a wide grin spread across his handsome face. "Yeah, I see your point."

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