I've had to chop out some backstory. That's the content elided by a tab and three dots. Scotty's formative past breaks the site's rules. The days when a director could make a film like Pretty Baby or Taxi Driver are gone. It's just too big a risk in the face of the nation's blue laws.
Despite the sexual activity between two young men, this is not a gay story. I wrote Johnny as straight and Scotty as a freewheeling submissive and a brat of a sort. People have layers, and dimensions.
I set out to write about how dominant and submissive might find each other as they express the basic elements of their natures, how a strand of tension can thread itself through their relationship over time, and what might happen when the thread is struck with sharpest intensity.
Let's not get into any Kirk-and-Spock discussions about submerged homoeroticism. Not unless you want to hear it from me about Qui-Gonn and Obi-Wan, and what made the Sand People run in abject terror from the old bachelor Jedi and his powered wand.
It was the rain that washed down the wall between us, that washed the glaze from my eyes.
Scotty and Johnny, we were running mates in our midwestern small town. From the age of eight, he was lean as a whippet even after he hit his next growth spurt -- maybe one-oh-five after a burger he couldn't finish. I had two inches and ten or so pounds on him. He was straw blonde with a sharp face and a sharp mind. At eight, I was a scaled-down gorilla -- heavy shoulders, thick arms and one eyebrow.
At eighteen, I had a varsity letter, a knot on my collarbone and three former girlfriends. One had been very sweet to me. We had learned a lot about each other, and ourselves.
Scotty turned eighteen as a free spirit -- literate, mercurial, inquisitive just for starters. Although I hung with the athletes at school, I had slowly won respect as one of the few who had not abandoned my childhood friend. Slowly, sometimes violently.
Weekends and through the summer, I was out the door first thing to his place. Half the time, he was waiting on our step. We rode a different direction every day, usually all day. We raced on foot. Scotty won, mostly, but I got quicker. We wrestled, and I taught him my best escapes.
We had rules to even things up some. The only one that mattered was "no tickling". A teasing touch anywhere from the neck down was enough to drop my buddy to his knees.
I was missing something. On the one hand, I felt Scotty should have the slack. On the other, it seemed that I lost even when I won. Scotty would slap me on the shoulder and say, "You won it, ya big guy, sure thing." Yeah, thanks. Thanks for patronizing, come see us again.
That day, we hadn't gone far. The late spring storm came in after midday, heavy as forecast. Slipping on the patchy wet asphalt, we rode through the blighted section of town.
"Follow me, big guy. I know a place."
The house was too small for the Victorian features on its face. We rode around back and dropped our bikes behind the porch. Scotty skipped down the steps and opened the basement door.
"Come on, come on!" Scotty was feeling the cold sting of each pelting drop even through his sloppy tee shirt, and on his bare legs.
I stood and stretched, letting the puffs of storm breeze cool me after the strenuous ride. "This isn't so bad. Unless you've got a thin skin."
"'Sure must help to have a thick head." He ducked through the door.
I heaved a deep breath and thought, Why did he say that? I heaved a couple more. He didn't need to say that. Some gritty brew in my head crystallized and I dropped into the stairwell.
It was a dusty dry space, cluttered with the detritus of home maintenance, travel souvenirs and the passing phases of childhood. Scotty had gone barefoot, and I took the hint and slid out of my soaked baller shoes.
"Look what I found." He shook the dust from a bundle of canvas and undid the ties. Flipping the bundle open, he showed it to be a good size -- eight-by-ten at least -- and oddly clean. "Flip that mattress down. We might as well be comfortable."
I whipped the mattress to the floor. "Take it back, Scotty."
"What? Huh? Take what back?" He floated the canvas clean side up over the mattress.
"You said, 'thick head'. Take it back."
"He-e-e-y-y-y, I was just joking around, big guy." He'd never been one to retreat, my
skinny buddy.
"Last chance, my friend."
"Oh, come on!" I was already moving. "Hey, take a jo --" I bowled him over. He twisted onto his stomach and tried to push me off of him. His arms collapsed, then his legs straightened under my weight. He tried to shift for leverage. We struggled. Lean as he was, he surprised me with his strength.
The effort made me sweat, so I skinned out of my tee. I had his hips pinned under my abs. I clamped my hands around his sides to still him and he laughed and clenched into himself. Okay, this is working. I began to squeeze and rub. Cotton cloth bunching in my hands forced me to stop for a moment. "Take it back, Scotty."
"Do your worst. Fucker."
I started again. He writhed and twisted under me, snickering through his teeth. I was annoyed with the way the shirt kept bunching in my hands, so I pushed it up over his shoulder blades. I hitched upward on him until I could force his arms up, then pushed the tee over his head and past his elbows. I had his bare skin under my fingers from the waist up.
Teasing and squeezing the skin of his neck made him stretch it like a turtle reaching for a leaf. He moaned and giggled, almost asking for more.
I dropped my hands into his armpits, rubbing and squeezing with my thumbs parked on his shoulder blades. He got wild. I rode him liking a bucking bronc. He surged and twisted under me, laughing in a full-throated stream.
"Take it back, bud."
"G-gu ga-ah go ta-ha-ha-ha-hell!"
I began to get hard. I had to stop for a moment to adjust myself. At the time, I had to wonder. Through ten years as best friends, there had been nothing homoerotic between us. Nothing homophobic either. We were two ignorant kids running all over our piece of the earth, clueless.
We had rules. Scotty hadn't broken any, but he had used them to taunt me and push me around. It was time for a reckoning between us. Nothing subtle, like Scotty's tactics. I just overpowered him. And power is an aphrodisiac.
I didn't parse it all out, then and there. I just knew I couldn't let him off the hook until he admitted his game and changed it. We needed a new rule.
I didn't want to bruise him. I could stroke and squeeze gently and he reacted as though I were driving every nerve in his body. He tucked into himself and laid flat under me, laughing as though it were a regular part of breathing.
Football had taught me to dominate the other man. I had him. I wanted all of him.
"Take it back, Scotty. Last chance."
"N-no-ho-ho-ho ..."
"Then you asked for it."
"I d-did-ha-ha-ha-ha ..."
Now that was a strange response. It was also the point of no return. I moved my thumbs down his rib cage and tickled him below his pectorals, starting a freshet of new laughter. He whipped back and forth, and I had to keep back to save myself a broken nose. He'd laugh, steal a breath, laugh some more.
I played him like a simple guitar. His underarms made his laughter stream from him in a tone that was somehow normal. The base of his ribs drove him to a higher pitch. When I rubbed his belly, he laughed in a deeper, more guttural tone. I caught glimpses of his contorted face. His half-lidded eyes showed only white, as though they had rolled up in their sockets.
I was having big fun, and the sheer power I had taken over him had me throbbing. He twisted and jerked under me, and I was as hard as a telecom tower.
I was running out of places to tickle. I plunged my hands into his waistband to attack his lower abs and my fingers fouled on his jockeys as they had on his tee. Same problem.
Same solution. I pushed off of him. While snatching at his sides, I used my other hand to strip him of his flowing basketball shorts. Making him naked lent me a new surge of power drug in the brain, and I attacked his defenseless thighs at the creases beneath his buttocks. He flopped like a fish, laughing in a pitch of desperation. He flipped completely over onto his back.
He shocked me. He was hard as I was, his member sweeping over the slight curve of his belly and flipping gently with the laughter spasms in his abdominal muscles. His eyes shone.
"Well," he said. Small gouts of laughter escaped him as he breathed and the residual impulses lingering in his nerves echoed and faded. "What are you going to do to me, now?"
"You're loving this ..."
He choked, swallowed, giggled. "I thought you'd never get the idea. Huh-huh ... huh. I tried so hard."
I leapt at him, trapping his legs under me. I took that last patch of his abdomen by storm. He lay flat, his arms splayed, and laughed from deep in his belly, where my fingers probed firm muscle. His shoulders rose from the canvas, and I pushed him flat to continue his torment. Finally, I exhausted him. I tried tickling the base of his towering hard cock. He moaned and shifted. "Aw-w-w ... fuck me."
"Fuck me! Scotty, you're unbelievable."
He chuckled. "I know. But I meant, fuck me."
"Fuck you? Jeez! ... 'You think I'm queer?"
"No, Johnny. Definitely not. But then, why are you so hard? Still so hard."
Hell, he knows. He knows just as I do.
"It's the power. I can do anything I want to you, use your body any way I like. I'm loving every minute. I could start over right now."
"Do it, then. Stick it in me. Take me." He raised his knees and spread them wide. "Make me your bitch."
I'd wanted all of him. I did still. I rose up on my knees and stripped out of my cutoffs.
"Good, just wait a sec." He sat up and spat on my little head. Then he took me in his mouth, laying on a thick layer of saliva. He lay back again, said, "Start slow, okay."
"Sure."
I leaned over him and pushed. Then I pushed harder. "I don't think I can get in."
"Gimme a sec. I want this." He exhaled slowly. I watched him go limp. "Now," he murmured.
I strained to the root of my cock. A moment of pain and I was inside of him, just an inch. "O-oh! Wow!"
"Ah-h, yes! Come on now, big guy. Nice and easy." I slid into him until my abs met the backs of his thighs. "O-oh yes. Wait. Oh, that's good. Stroke me. And grab me."
I wrapped my hand around his straining member and squeezed as I pulled back to that first inch. "Oh, damn!! Letgoletgo!" I dropped him and steadied myself, planked. "That was close. Stroke me, now. Nice and steady."
I took him with a smooth easy motion, rocking his hips and pulling upward at the end of each stroke. Five strokes, ten ... twenty ...
"God, that's good. So good. Pound me now. Gimme it all. Rip me, you bastard! Rip me open!"
I tried. I reared back, then drove into him with every muscle behind it.
"Oh, gaw-awd!! Gawd-DA-A-M!!"
I ripped at him. I punched him. Over and over again. He began to tremble, palsied. He seized onto me, straining in desperation. The moment froze. Finally, he went limp and his arms dropped and splayed.
Panting, he sketched a slow grin over his jaw. "I'm gonna be so sore in the morning."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I am. Are you about ready?"
"Oh, yeah. You?"
"Grab me. Steady strokes until we're done, okay?"
"I can do that." I knelt back on my heels and took his penis in my hand. While I stroked him, I played with it. I ran my thumb up and down the underside, making him moan and thrust. I played my thumb in circles, then brought up my forefinger and gently pinched the flesh under the head. This ended him. As he began to spasm in my hand, I pushed into him as deeply as I could and released. "Coming. Feel me?"
He was in the last throes of his orgasm. "Oh, jeez. It's amazing."
"Yes, it is."
"Oh, fuck. Are you still hard?"
"Yeah. You too."
"I'm hard a lot, when I'm around you. You never noticed?"
"Like, checking you out? Dude, I like girls."
"Mm-m-m," his teasing grin was back in place, "mostly. I guess."
Okay ... I leaned over him and straightened my cramping legs. I had him pinned and the sense of power over him had me throbbing again. "All right, wiseass."
"Oh, no," he murmured as my hands crept over his ribs. I began to rub and pinch his lean flesh. He giggled like a girl, and his knobby knees rose and his thighs clamped onto my sides. He tried to push me off of him, but his arms were weak and unsteady. I pulled half out of him and thrust hard, did it again. Seizing his hips, I pressed as deeply into him as I could while using my thumbs to torment his hip sockets. "Ohgodohgodoh ..." he chanted. "You-hu-hu're insa-hay-hay-hay-ne! You bastard! F-f-fuc-c-kmefuckfuckme-e-e, oh GA-AWD!!" The tone of his laughter was desperate and I could feel his muscles twitch and spasm under and all around me. He writhed and shuddered and I bathed in his helplessness.
I wrapped my arms fully around his ribs, gathered him close and dug into his sides. I was still thrusting into him, trapping his rigid member between our hard layers of belly muscle. He laughed in a pitchy, convulsive rhythm, with interspersed groans that melded back into the stream. I could feel his entire body as he went completely wild. I tortured him, and I grinned so that my cheeks began to hurt.
Scotty laughed helplessly. He arched under me, and the sensation in my cock was a sweet straining as his buttocks clenched. He twisted to try to throw me off to the side. Then he collapsed and I almost pulled out of him. I kept my fingers working. His arms and legs flailed as he tried to push his tormented body from underneath.
I switch my left hand to a grip on his shoulder at the base of his neck. Using this leverage, I pushed harder into him. I felt as though I were fucking him with a baseball bat attached to my pelvis. I was hard all the way down between my legs. I could feel the strain at the base of my butt. I used my free hand to rhythmically squeeze the root of his flat chest muscle in the hollow of his left arm.
"No-ho-ho," he cried as he laughed, "no-no-no-ho-ho-ho-ho-gawd-no-ho-ho-ho ..." He went silent, still laughing and twisting under me but unable to raise the breath to raise his voice. I released the pectoral root. Scotty regained his breathing a bit at a time. He coughed, giggled, inhaled, exhaled, chuckled ... He was several minutes in recovering.
I was beginning to feel tenuous in this quiet moment. I was softening, and I felt my release pressing. While I was tickling and fucking the daylights out of my skinny buddy, I was so hard that my cock felt like it might break off at the root. I knew I could fuck him all day. I needed to start in on my submissive friend once again. "Take it back, Scotty?"
His voice was low, his words softly slurred. "You said 'last chance'."
"I guess I did." I switched hands.
"Oh, ho-ho-no-no-no ..."
Scotty had become more pliant. He was no longer almost screaming with laughter in my grip. He giggled and chuckled and wriggled like a puppy. As I moved my hands over his body, I became a pile driver. He was the river bed and his laughter was the water flowing past and over me.
And then, seduced by the rhythm and the sense of power over him, I was coming. I took a shallow thrust, and one more, as my strength ebbed and I dropped limp on top of him. My cock pulsed gently, and I crooked my fingers in his short ribs. He bubbled with laughter I could feel in his rolling abdominals, massaging the last dregs of satisfaction from me.
I think I slept for a few minutes. I came to floating in a cloud. The only solid thing in my universe was Scotty's member, hard as a lead pipe against my belly.
"Still?" I muttered.
"That's the rule."
I levered onto my forearms. "What ... what 'rule'?"
"I can't. You have to." He ducked his eyes. "I mean, you don't have to. I have to, umm, deserve it."
"And that's a rule? From ... where?"
"Remember Callie? You kind of acted like she didn't exist."
"Your sister, dude. That's straight up bro code. Anyway, I was a frosh and she was a junior."
"She used to ask about you."
I was still muzzy. "Okay, but ... mmh. One sec." I got my knees under me, tapped his legs together, then settled on his thighs. "This all comes to one thing, right? Maybe in, like, an hour or two?"
That teasing smile fluttered over his lips. He shrugged. "Well, forget it."
I ran my thumb up the underside of his penis, along the side of his urethra.
He threw his head back and gathered two hands of the canvas in whitened fists. "Please!" he panted, "oh p-please, please!"
I circled the tip of my forefinger at the cleft of his head, pressing him lightly against his abs. "Tell me. I know you want to." I pulled my finger back and his hips surged after my touch. His face clenched in a yearning that made me feel gut-punched. I felt a fresh stir in my groin.
...
He was beginning to soften. I took him in hand and he closed his eyes and sighed. I tickled him at the root and he pulled away. "No-no. Not yet. Just," he sighed, "keep hold. Don't do anything. Just hold me."
...
As he told his story, he'd soften from time to time. He was softening again. I gave him another little squeeze , then firmer, felt him stiffen once more. I was getting pretty hard as I visualized (his story) ...
"Oh, that's good! That's fine, right there." He sighed.
...
His breathing was heavy and he was sprouting sweat as the physical memory overtook him. Holding him was like clutching the end of a rubberized baton with a slow pulse against my palm.
"'You ready, Scotty?" I stroked him one time.
"Oh, gawd! No, not yet. Just a ... another minute."
...
"You really should have made a pass."
"If only I'd known." I squeezed hard.
He flailed under me. "No-no-no, not yet! Not yet, you bastard!"
"Try thinking of icebergs, buddy." I let him go and squeezed his sides, rubbing the underlying musculature and driving the laughter streaming out of him. I was as hard as I had been all day and I wanted him whole and helpless and now. I let him settle down and regained my gentle grip on the bar of his flesh. "Finish it. Spit it out, now, the last of it."
"Ah-h, gawd. That's nice. All right."
...
"I think I came for a solid ten minutes."
"Oh, come on!"
"I've never been that hard that long ever since. You?"
"I didn't even know you until today."
"Umm ... Johnny ... Are we still friends?"
I ran my thumb and down his member. He groaned and began to tremble. "Get up on your knees, my friend."
"Yes! Oh, gawd, yes!"
I eased into him, listened to his breathing become strained. I began to pound him for all I was worth while he chanted, "Yes! Yes! Oh, gawd, yes! Harder! Harder! Oh jeezus gawd, yes ..." I pulled him in a hammerlock erect on his knees and freed one hand to rub and squeeze his pits, ribs, abs and sides. Finally, when he didn't know any more whether to laugh or pray, I seized his member and stroked with my fingers along the underside, pressing on top with my thumb.
He thrusted hard with every stroke. "Please, oh, oh please, please, ple-e-ease!!"
Finally, I murmured in his ear, "You deserve this." I took that little patch of skin under his head to one side of the urethra. I pinched it gently, rubbing and squeezing between forefinger and thumb. He gasped and his breath stopped. Then ... I won't even try to render the long cry with which he took his many times withheld climax. It came back at me from the bare block walls of the cellar in waves, slowly diminishing until it left a mere echo of the consuming passion I'd spurred within him. As he went limp against me, I cradled his chest with my left arm and tipped him forward until I could catch us both with my right. He was a rag doll, and I positioned his arms and head as I would have been comfortable. Still inside him, I began stroking him steadily. Even with my earlier urgency, I felt relaxed. I could do this, keep it up until Scotty came to an awareness that would feel and enjoy my moment. Easing into and out of him became one of life's regular sensations, comparable to walking, speaking or breathing.
"Oh-h-h, that's nice," Scotty crooned as he roused. "This ... this is the way to wake up in the morning. Or any time. What's next?"
"'You ready for me?"
"No, but ... do what you want with me. You're scaring me, and it's exciting."
"I got you." I tumbled onto my left side, pulling him with me, pressing on his abs with my full strength, probing him deep.
There is a tendon that runs along the inner thigh up to anchor on the pelvis. If a human is ticklish, this spot is the closest to panic-inducing on the body. It also provides a nearly unbreakable grip on the lower torso. I found this spot in Scotty's crotch, then gripped his left side under the short ribs.
"No-no, please," Scotty crooned as I fitted my fingers to his side and probed with my right for the tendon. "Please, no! No-no -- a-a-agh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!"
I worked him with fingers against my thumbs and pressed harder into him as his legs rose to protect his groin. I felt his abs roll and spasm as his entire core clenched around me. His laughter bounced from the walls, echoing after his passion cry. I felt drunk with the power of manipulating and penetrating his spare musculature. He was mine, totally, and the hardest act I could commit was to release my grip on him.
In a way, he freed himself. The experience of him became overwhelming. The reverberation of his helpless laughter, the rolling and tensing of his muscles in my hands and the spasming of his core around my swelling member seized upon me whole and drove me over the edge into a roaring climax that completely blotted out my senses. The only anchor in my world was Scotty's body as something like my life force rolled out of me and into him.
My awareness diminished from a vignette to a cameo to a single point as I fell into void.
I woke in baby steps. Scotty was saying that it was coming on twilight. Soon, they would have the cops out searching. I released him and took his help getting to my feet.
We made the most of the few months remaining before life forced its hard choices on us. Scotty went on to State, having the academic chops to win half a ride and the energy to eke out the rest. He's a psychotherapist and an author, now, nationally known.
I signed away my life. The military taught me enough about industrial diesels that I can now work for myself, and the travel gives me a spotty second income from social media.
I never jumped in with another man. Scotty was my closest friend, and he gave me as much as I gave him, even more. But he was once in a lifetime. Man or woman, as I learned the soft but unyielding way. I can afford to date a professional twice a year -- on my birthday and on the anniversary of the day Scotty and I discovered the truth. I could never else have been so happy.
Despite the sexual activity between two young men, this is not a gay story. I wrote Johnny as straight and Scotty as a freewheeling submissive and a brat of a sort. People have layers, and dimensions.
I set out to write about how dominant and submissive might find each other as they express the basic elements of their natures, how a strand of tension can thread itself through their relationship over time, and what might happen when the thread is struck with sharpest intensity.
Let's not get into any Kirk-and-Spock discussions about submerged homoeroticism. Not unless you want to hear it from me about Qui-Gonn and Obi-Wan, and what made the Sand People run in abject terror from the old bachelor Jedi and his powered wand.
SUBMITTING SCOTTY
by
Sophilos
by
Sophilos
It was the rain that washed down the wall between us, that washed the glaze from my eyes.
Scotty and Johnny, we were running mates in our midwestern small town. From the age of eight, he was lean as a whippet even after he hit his next growth spurt -- maybe one-oh-five after a burger he couldn't finish. I had two inches and ten or so pounds on him. He was straw blonde with a sharp face and a sharp mind. At eight, I was a scaled-down gorilla -- heavy shoulders, thick arms and one eyebrow.
At eighteen, I had a varsity letter, a knot on my collarbone and three former girlfriends. One had been very sweet to me. We had learned a lot about each other, and ourselves.
Scotty turned eighteen as a free spirit -- literate, mercurial, inquisitive just for starters. Although I hung with the athletes at school, I had slowly won respect as one of the few who had not abandoned my childhood friend. Slowly, sometimes violently.
Weekends and through the summer, I was out the door first thing to his place. Half the time, he was waiting on our step. We rode a different direction every day, usually all day. We raced on foot. Scotty won, mostly, but I got quicker. We wrestled, and I taught him my best escapes.
We had rules to even things up some. The only one that mattered was "no tickling". A teasing touch anywhere from the neck down was enough to drop my buddy to his knees.
I was missing something. On the one hand, I felt Scotty should have the slack. On the other, it seemed that I lost even when I won. Scotty would slap me on the shoulder and say, "You won it, ya big guy, sure thing." Yeah, thanks. Thanks for patronizing, come see us again.
That day, we hadn't gone far. The late spring storm came in after midday, heavy as forecast. Slipping on the patchy wet asphalt, we rode through the blighted section of town.
"Follow me, big guy. I know a place."
The house was too small for the Victorian features on its face. We rode around back and dropped our bikes behind the porch. Scotty skipped down the steps and opened the basement door.
"Come on, come on!" Scotty was feeling the cold sting of each pelting drop even through his sloppy tee shirt, and on his bare legs.
I stood and stretched, letting the puffs of storm breeze cool me after the strenuous ride. "This isn't so bad. Unless you've got a thin skin."
"'Sure must help to have a thick head." He ducked through the door.
I heaved a deep breath and thought, Why did he say that? I heaved a couple more. He didn't need to say that. Some gritty brew in my head crystallized and I dropped into the stairwell.
It was a dusty dry space, cluttered with the detritus of home maintenance, travel souvenirs and the passing phases of childhood. Scotty had gone barefoot, and I took the hint and slid out of my soaked baller shoes.
"Look what I found." He shook the dust from a bundle of canvas and undid the ties. Flipping the bundle open, he showed it to be a good size -- eight-by-ten at least -- and oddly clean. "Flip that mattress down. We might as well be comfortable."
I whipped the mattress to the floor. "Take it back, Scotty."
"What? Huh? Take what back?" He floated the canvas clean side up over the mattress.
"You said, 'thick head'. Take it back."
"He-e-e-y-y-y, I was just joking around, big guy." He'd never been one to retreat, my
skinny buddy.
"Last chance, my friend."
"Oh, come on!" I was already moving. "Hey, take a jo --" I bowled him over. He twisted onto his stomach and tried to push me off of him. His arms collapsed, then his legs straightened under my weight. He tried to shift for leverage. We struggled. Lean as he was, he surprised me with his strength.
The effort made me sweat, so I skinned out of my tee. I had his hips pinned under my abs. I clamped my hands around his sides to still him and he laughed and clenched into himself. Okay, this is working. I began to squeeze and rub. Cotton cloth bunching in my hands forced me to stop for a moment. "Take it back, Scotty."
"Do your worst. Fucker."
I started again. He writhed and twisted under me, snickering through his teeth. I was annoyed with the way the shirt kept bunching in my hands, so I pushed it up over his shoulder blades. I hitched upward on him until I could force his arms up, then pushed the tee over his head and past his elbows. I had his bare skin under my fingers from the waist up.
Teasing and squeezing the skin of his neck made him stretch it like a turtle reaching for a leaf. He moaned and giggled, almost asking for more.
I dropped my hands into his armpits, rubbing and squeezing with my thumbs parked on his shoulder blades. He got wild. I rode him liking a bucking bronc. He surged and twisted under me, laughing in a full-throated stream.
"Take it back, bud."
"G-gu ga-ah go ta-ha-ha-ha-hell!"
I began to get hard. I had to stop for a moment to adjust myself. At the time, I had to wonder. Through ten years as best friends, there had been nothing homoerotic between us. Nothing homophobic either. We were two ignorant kids running all over our piece of the earth, clueless.
We had rules. Scotty hadn't broken any, but he had used them to taunt me and push me around. It was time for a reckoning between us. Nothing subtle, like Scotty's tactics. I just overpowered him. And power is an aphrodisiac.
I didn't parse it all out, then and there. I just knew I couldn't let him off the hook until he admitted his game and changed it. We needed a new rule.
I didn't want to bruise him. I could stroke and squeeze gently and he reacted as though I were driving every nerve in his body. He tucked into himself and laid flat under me, laughing as though it were a regular part of breathing.
Football had taught me to dominate the other man. I had him. I wanted all of him.
"Take it back, Scotty. Last chance."
"N-no-ho-ho-ho ..."
"Then you asked for it."
"I d-did-ha-ha-ha-ha ..."
Now that was a strange response. It was also the point of no return. I moved my thumbs down his rib cage and tickled him below his pectorals, starting a freshet of new laughter. He whipped back and forth, and I had to keep back to save myself a broken nose. He'd laugh, steal a breath, laugh some more.
I played him like a simple guitar. His underarms made his laughter stream from him in a tone that was somehow normal. The base of his ribs drove him to a higher pitch. When I rubbed his belly, he laughed in a deeper, more guttural tone. I caught glimpses of his contorted face. His half-lidded eyes showed only white, as though they had rolled up in their sockets.
I was having big fun, and the sheer power I had taken over him had me throbbing. He twisted and jerked under me, and I was as hard as a telecom tower.
I was running out of places to tickle. I plunged my hands into his waistband to attack his lower abs and my fingers fouled on his jockeys as they had on his tee. Same problem.
Same solution. I pushed off of him. While snatching at his sides, I used my other hand to strip him of his flowing basketball shorts. Making him naked lent me a new surge of power drug in the brain, and I attacked his defenseless thighs at the creases beneath his buttocks. He flopped like a fish, laughing in a pitch of desperation. He flipped completely over onto his back.
He shocked me. He was hard as I was, his member sweeping over the slight curve of his belly and flipping gently with the laughter spasms in his abdominal muscles. His eyes shone.
"Well," he said. Small gouts of laughter escaped him as he breathed and the residual impulses lingering in his nerves echoed and faded. "What are you going to do to me, now?"
"You're loving this ..."
He choked, swallowed, giggled. "I thought you'd never get the idea. Huh-huh ... huh. I tried so hard."
I leapt at him, trapping his legs under me. I took that last patch of his abdomen by storm. He lay flat, his arms splayed, and laughed from deep in his belly, where my fingers probed firm muscle. His shoulders rose from the canvas, and I pushed him flat to continue his torment. Finally, I exhausted him. I tried tickling the base of his towering hard cock. He moaned and shifted. "Aw-w-w ... fuck me."
"Fuck me! Scotty, you're unbelievable."
He chuckled. "I know. But I meant, fuck me."
"Fuck you? Jeez! ... 'You think I'm queer?"
"No, Johnny. Definitely not. But then, why are you so hard? Still so hard."
Hell, he knows. He knows just as I do.
"It's the power. I can do anything I want to you, use your body any way I like. I'm loving every minute. I could start over right now."
"Do it, then. Stick it in me. Take me." He raised his knees and spread them wide. "Make me your bitch."
I'd wanted all of him. I did still. I rose up on my knees and stripped out of my cutoffs.
"Good, just wait a sec." He sat up and spat on my little head. Then he took me in his mouth, laying on a thick layer of saliva. He lay back again, said, "Start slow, okay."
"Sure."
I leaned over him and pushed. Then I pushed harder. "I don't think I can get in."
"Gimme a sec. I want this." He exhaled slowly. I watched him go limp. "Now," he murmured.
I strained to the root of my cock. A moment of pain and I was inside of him, just an inch. "O-oh! Wow!"
"Ah-h, yes! Come on now, big guy. Nice and easy." I slid into him until my abs met the backs of his thighs. "O-oh yes. Wait. Oh, that's good. Stroke me. And grab me."
I wrapped my hand around his straining member and squeezed as I pulled back to that first inch. "Oh, damn!! Letgoletgo!" I dropped him and steadied myself, planked. "That was close. Stroke me, now. Nice and steady."
I took him with a smooth easy motion, rocking his hips and pulling upward at the end of each stroke. Five strokes, ten ... twenty ...
"God, that's good. So good. Pound me now. Gimme it all. Rip me, you bastard! Rip me open!"
I tried. I reared back, then drove into him with every muscle behind it.
"Oh, gaw-awd!! Gawd-DA-A-M!!"
I ripped at him. I punched him. Over and over again. He began to tremble, palsied. He seized onto me, straining in desperation. The moment froze. Finally, he went limp and his arms dropped and splayed.
Panting, he sketched a slow grin over his jaw. "I'm gonna be so sore in the morning."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I am. Are you about ready?"
"Oh, yeah. You?"
"Grab me. Steady strokes until we're done, okay?"
"I can do that." I knelt back on my heels and took his penis in my hand. While I stroked him, I played with it. I ran my thumb up and down the underside, making him moan and thrust. I played my thumb in circles, then brought up my forefinger and gently pinched the flesh under the head. This ended him. As he began to spasm in my hand, I pushed into him as deeply as I could and released. "Coming. Feel me?"
He was in the last throes of his orgasm. "Oh, jeez. It's amazing."
"Yes, it is."
"Oh, fuck. Are you still hard?"
"Yeah. You too."
"I'm hard a lot, when I'm around you. You never noticed?"
"Like, checking you out? Dude, I like girls."
"Mm-m-m," his teasing grin was back in place, "mostly. I guess."
Okay ... I leaned over him and straightened my cramping legs. I had him pinned and the sense of power over him had me throbbing again. "All right, wiseass."
"Oh, no," he murmured as my hands crept over his ribs. I began to rub and pinch his lean flesh. He giggled like a girl, and his knobby knees rose and his thighs clamped onto my sides. He tried to push me off of him, but his arms were weak and unsteady. I pulled half out of him and thrust hard, did it again. Seizing his hips, I pressed as deeply into him as I could while using my thumbs to torment his hip sockets. "Ohgodohgodoh ..." he chanted. "You-hu-hu're insa-hay-hay-hay-ne! You bastard! F-f-fuc-c-kmefuckfuckme-e-e, oh GA-AWD!!" The tone of his laughter was desperate and I could feel his muscles twitch and spasm under and all around me. He writhed and shuddered and I bathed in his helplessness.
I wrapped my arms fully around his ribs, gathered him close and dug into his sides. I was still thrusting into him, trapping his rigid member between our hard layers of belly muscle. He laughed in a pitchy, convulsive rhythm, with interspersed groans that melded back into the stream. I could feel his entire body as he went completely wild. I tortured him, and I grinned so that my cheeks began to hurt.
Scotty laughed helplessly. He arched under me, and the sensation in my cock was a sweet straining as his buttocks clenched. He twisted to try to throw me off to the side. Then he collapsed and I almost pulled out of him. I kept my fingers working. His arms and legs flailed as he tried to push his tormented body from underneath.
I switch my left hand to a grip on his shoulder at the base of his neck. Using this leverage, I pushed harder into him. I felt as though I were fucking him with a baseball bat attached to my pelvis. I was hard all the way down between my legs. I could feel the strain at the base of my butt. I used my free hand to rhythmically squeeze the root of his flat chest muscle in the hollow of his left arm.
"No-ho-ho," he cried as he laughed, "no-no-no-ho-ho-ho-ho-gawd-no-ho-ho-ho ..." He went silent, still laughing and twisting under me but unable to raise the breath to raise his voice. I released the pectoral root. Scotty regained his breathing a bit at a time. He coughed, giggled, inhaled, exhaled, chuckled ... He was several minutes in recovering.
I was beginning to feel tenuous in this quiet moment. I was softening, and I felt my release pressing. While I was tickling and fucking the daylights out of my skinny buddy, I was so hard that my cock felt like it might break off at the root. I knew I could fuck him all day. I needed to start in on my submissive friend once again. "Take it back, Scotty?"
His voice was low, his words softly slurred. "You said 'last chance'."
"I guess I did." I switched hands.
"Oh, ho-ho-no-no-no ..."
Scotty had become more pliant. He was no longer almost screaming with laughter in my grip. He giggled and chuckled and wriggled like a puppy. As I moved my hands over his body, I became a pile driver. He was the river bed and his laughter was the water flowing past and over me.
And then, seduced by the rhythm and the sense of power over him, I was coming. I took a shallow thrust, and one more, as my strength ebbed and I dropped limp on top of him. My cock pulsed gently, and I crooked my fingers in his short ribs. He bubbled with laughter I could feel in his rolling abdominals, massaging the last dregs of satisfaction from me.
I think I slept for a few minutes. I came to floating in a cloud. The only solid thing in my universe was Scotty's member, hard as a lead pipe against my belly.
"Still?" I muttered.
"That's the rule."
I levered onto my forearms. "What ... what 'rule'?"
"I can't. You have to." He ducked his eyes. "I mean, you don't have to. I have to, umm, deserve it."
"And that's a rule? From ... where?"
"Remember Callie? You kind of acted like she didn't exist."
"Your sister, dude. That's straight up bro code. Anyway, I was a frosh and she was a junior."
"She used to ask about you."
I was still muzzy. "Okay, but ... mmh. One sec." I got my knees under me, tapped his legs together, then settled on his thighs. "This all comes to one thing, right? Maybe in, like, an hour or two?"
That teasing smile fluttered over his lips. He shrugged. "Well, forget it."
I ran my thumb up the underside of his penis, along the side of his urethra.
He threw his head back and gathered two hands of the canvas in whitened fists. "Please!" he panted, "oh p-please, please!"
I circled the tip of my forefinger at the cleft of his head, pressing him lightly against his abs. "Tell me. I know you want to." I pulled my finger back and his hips surged after my touch. His face clenched in a yearning that made me feel gut-punched. I felt a fresh stir in my groin.
...
He was beginning to soften. I took him in hand and he closed his eyes and sighed. I tickled him at the root and he pulled away. "No-no. Not yet. Just," he sighed, "keep hold. Don't do anything. Just hold me."
...
As he told his story, he'd soften from time to time. He was softening again. I gave him another little squeeze , then firmer, felt him stiffen once more. I was getting pretty hard as I visualized (his story) ...
"Oh, that's good! That's fine, right there." He sighed.
...
His breathing was heavy and he was sprouting sweat as the physical memory overtook him. Holding him was like clutching the end of a rubberized baton with a slow pulse against my palm.
"'You ready, Scotty?" I stroked him one time.
"Oh, gawd! No, not yet. Just a ... another minute."
...
"You really should have made a pass."
"If only I'd known." I squeezed hard.
He flailed under me. "No-no-no, not yet! Not yet, you bastard!"
"Try thinking of icebergs, buddy." I let him go and squeezed his sides, rubbing the underlying musculature and driving the laughter streaming out of him. I was as hard as I had been all day and I wanted him whole and helpless and now. I let him settle down and regained my gentle grip on the bar of his flesh. "Finish it. Spit it out, now, the last of it."
"Ah-h, gawd. That's nice. All right."
...
"I think I came for a solid ten minutes."
"Oh, come on!"
"I've never been that hard that long ever since. You?"
"I didn't even know you until today."
"Umm ... Johnny ... Are we still friends?"
I ran my thumb and down his member. He groaned and began to tremble. "Get up on your knees, my friend."
"Yes! Oh, gawd, yes!"
I eased into him, listened to his breathing become strained. I began to pound him for all I was worth while he chanted, "Yes! Yes! Oh, gawd, yes! Harder! Harder! Oh jeezus gawd, yes ..." I pulled him in a hammerlock erect on his knees and freed one hand to rub and squeeze his pits, ribs, abs and sides. Finally, when he didn't know any more whether to laugh or pray, I seized his member and stroked with my fingers along the underside, pressing on top with my thumb.
He thrusted hard with every stroke. "Please, oh, oh please, please, ple-e-ease!!"
Finally, I murmured in his ear, "You deserve this." I took that little patch of skin under his head to one side of the urethra. I pinched it gently, rubbing and squeezing between forefinger and thumb. He gasped and his breath stopped. Then ... I won't even try to render the long cry with which he took his many times withheld climax. It came back at me from the bare block walls of the cellar in waves, slowly diminishing until it left a mere echo of the consuming passion I'd spurred within him. As he went limp against me, I cradled his chest with my left arm and tipped him forward until I could catch us both with my right. He was a rag doll, and I positioned his arms and head as I would have been comfortable. Still inside him, I began stroking him steadily. Even with my earlier urgency, I felt relaxed. I could do this, keep it up until Scotty came to an awareness that would feel and enjoy my moment. Easing into and out of him became one of life's regular sensations, comparable to walking, speaking or breathing.
"Oh-h-h, that's nice," Scotty crooned as he roused. "This ... this is the way to wake up in the morning. Or any time. What's next?"
"'You ready for me?"
"No, but ... do what you want with me. You're scaring me, and it's exciting."
"I got you." I tumbled onto my left side, pulling him with me, pressing on his abs with my full strength, probing him deep.
There is a tendon that runs along the inner thigh up to anchor on the pelvis. If a human is ticklish, this spot is the closest to panic-inducing on the body. It also provides a nearly unbreakable grip on the lower torso. I found this spot in Scotty's crotch, then gripped his left side under the short ribs.
"No-no, please," Scotty crooned as I fitted my fingers to his side and probed with my right for the tendon. "Please, no! No-no -- a-a-agh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!"
I worked him with fingers against my thumbs and pressed harder into him as his legs rose to protect his groin. I felt his abs roll and spasm as his entire core clenched around me. His laughter bounced from the walls, echoing after his passion cry. I felt drunk with the power of manipulating and penetrating his spare musculature. He was mine, totally, and the hardest act I could commit was to release my grip on him.
In a way, he freed himself. The experience of him became overwhelming. The reverberation of his helpless laughter, the rolling and tensing of his muscles in my hands and the spasming of his core around my swelling member seized upon me whole and drove me over the edge into a roaring climax that completely blotted out my senses. The only anchor in my world was Scotty's body as something like my life force rolled out of me and into him.
My awareness diminished from a vignette to a cameo to a single point as I fell into void.
I woke in baby steps. Scotty was saying that it was coming on twilight. Soon, they would have the cops out searching. I released him and took his help getting to my feet.
We made the most of the few months remaining before life forced its hard choices on us. Scotty went on to State, having the academic chops to win half a ride and the energy to eke out the rest. He's a psychotherapist and an author, now, nationally known.
I signed away my life. The military taught me enough about industrial diesels that I can now work for myself, and the travel gives me a spotty second income from social media.
I never jumped in with another man. Scotty was my closest friend, and he gave me as much as I gave him, even more. But he was once in a lifetime. Man or woman, as I learned the soft but unyielding way. I can afford to date a professional twice a year -- on my birthday and on the anniversary of the day Scotty and I discovered the truth. I could never else have been so happy.
