GayCountryMasc

I didn’t see it coming, but you folks showed more than enough interest in the first part of the story for me to sit back, dick in hand, and take y’all on another stroll down memory lane…to one of my very favorite stops. It’s one of the best in my mental spank bank, so hold onto your cocks, fellas.

Not many weekends went by without Josh pulling his normal “late night” routine. As a matter of fact, after this torture had been going on for a few months, Josh happened to be having roommate problems and decided to move. Who would have guessed it would be two doors down from my apartment. Not two apartments down; no, same apartment. Two doors down. Which is literally as close as he could possibly get. So at this point, we shared a porch and had only two walls between us. Despite this fact, Josh never wanted to walk the extra ten feet to his door after the bars. So, on went the nights of him passing out on my couch, one of our heads on the other’s shoulder or an arm wrapped tightly around the other’s body; always toeing the line between bros and lovers, but never crossing it. I didn’t push. Behind his beautiful blue eyes, I saw more that confusion. Honestly, it was a self-loathing that only occurs when one’s soul is being ripped in two; on one side was a fiery passion that he couldn’t suppress and on the other was a lifetime of moral absolutes that he couldn’t ignore. It broke my heart. And my heart, incredibly, won out over my throbbing cock and practically bursting balls in this case. I was stuck somewhere between love and lust, in constant conflict between a desire to nurture his heart and a need to worship his cock. Luckily, I would soon be presented an opportunity that would allow me to satiate my needs while preserving my good intention of not basically raping him.

It was March in Mississippi, and that meant only one thing in a college town: Spring parties. My fraternity’s party was coming up and every active was allowed one male guest. Bitches, of course, were all welcome with no invitation. Also needless to say, my invitation went to Josh. Friday night rolled around, and the fraternity house was packed with hoards of co-eds hustling to take advantage of our enormous supply of free (bottom shelf) liquor and the one-hit-wonder (bottom shelf) rapper playing hype-man in the back yard. I was doing my usual drunk thing, making rounds around the house to visit everybody and miss nothing, when someone pulled me aside. “Dude, you should probably go find your boy. He’s being weird and creeping out girls.” Fuck. Eventually, I located Josh. He was a mess. Absolutely shit-hammered and very emotional to see me. I deduced that he’d gotten upset I wasn’t spending my night with him. He was basically drunk-crying. Fuck. At this point I’d like to interject and remind you: Josh wasn’t a little bitch. He was a tough country boy that handled almost everything like a man. Except this. So, I made an executive decision to miss the rest of our night-one party and get this shit-show home without him getting jumped or arrested.

We left the party and started the half-mile walk back to my/his (but obviously my) apartment. I held him up as we staggered across campus, Josh maximizing our risk or Public Intox by periodically screaming “GOOOO *HIS FRATERNITY’S NAME*!!!” Goddamnit. That was not chill for freshman to do and even less chill for a senior (I was a Junior) to do. I was starting to get pissed until…Josh grabbed my hand. He laced his fingers around mine and held my hand to his chest. He screamed his fraternity’s name again to demonstrate that he was indeed schwasted. Then, he pushed my hand down onto his belt buckle and managed to say, “It’s okay.” GOOOAAAALLLLL. I “accidentally” pushed his belt buckle off and then offered to fix it, grazing his cock for the first time as I buckled it back for him. We were still on campus but I didn’t even give a fuck, I wanted him even more than I wanted anyone’s acceptance. I held tightly onto his hand for the rest of the walk home, partly to support him but mostly because I was completely consumed by physical desire.

When we finally got to my house and walked inside, I wasted no time. As soon as I shut the door, I braced him against it and pressed my lips against his for the first time. It was fucking nirvana. It quickly escalated to making out, in such an aggressive way that it would usually have been a comical turn-off if it weren’t the result of 100% raw passion. I grabbed his hand and led him toward the couch, where I pushed him down and straddled myself on his lap, grinding my ass against the hard bulge beneath it like my life depended on it as our tongues intertwined. I pulled off his shirt and let out a sigh of pure lust as I rubbed my hands all over his ripped chest and abs, slowly making my way down to his belt buckle. As I unlatched it, I reached down his pants and grabbed that sweet cock that I had dreamed about for so long. It was perfect. A little smaller than me, but that didn’t even occur until later. All I cared about was that it was his, and that is was his heartbeat I felt through the engorged cock in my hand. There was also something so satisfying about knowing that mine was the only male hand that had touched his dick in a long time, if not ever. It was like an electric force between us. Were I the original narrator of this story, things were about to get real fucking steamy. I usually top, but I was more than eager to take his cock inside me and ride him like a power-bottom on speed until we both climaxed together.

*Not erotic...yet*

Just to preface, I’ve hooked up with several “straight” guys. Ones with girlfriends, ones who tame vast amounts of strange, the works - but the common denominator between all of them is that we met on Grindr. This isn’t about those guys. This story is about an experience with a friend belonging to that entirely separate group of straight guys; you know - the ones who can never even bring themselves to download Grindr in the first place. The ones who take society’s “taboo sins” really seriously, particularly if they come from Leviticus. The ones who, despite all of this, love dick just as much as I do - but may only act on it once or twice in their entire lives. Luckily, I can usually sniff that shit out like a truffle pig. I spent my fair share of time in that closet myself, after all.

We met through a mutual straight friend, who had once drunkenly left his shacker in his bed to “sleep walk” to the couch I was on and “pass out” on top of me. That’s a story for another time, though. He introduced me to one of his fraternity brothers (we weren’t in the same fraternity) and my gay sixth sense immediately picked up a subtle tension between them. It was one I happened to know well, and it screamed “We got drunk and fooled around so now we have to avoid so much as sitting beside each other even though we can’t stop eye-fucking from across the room!” For me, recognizing that interaction is like the equivalent of a buck catching a fat whiff of doe-in-heat piss. It basically puts me into a primal frenzy. Hence the nearly year-long pursuit of my new friend that ensued. For the rest of the story, we’ll call him Josh. 

Josh was a really handsome guy. Wavy blonde hair and blue eyes, a great smile, and a beautiful body that you knew was built by manual labor. If that didn’t already make my dick throb, he was also really fucking smart. Granted, it was in a sort of Rain Man-ish way that only applied to math and science, but damn if that kid couldn’t solve equations like a fucking Texas Instrument. On top of all that were a lot of common interests that are tough to come by like hunting, fishing, fraternity life, and heavy drinking with hetero friends. Needless to say, I was hopelessly attracted to Josh. Which would have quickly faded to a little man-crush then gone away, had Josh not reciprocated just enough every day. It didn’t take long to develop a “best friendship” (almost like there was some sort of ulterior catalyst..), and he started to get jealous if I hung out with my other (actually straight) bros more than him. It was kind of sweet and endearing, at first. I figured it would be no time before he’d give in and I’d finally get to at least suck his cock - I knew it’d be a done deal if I could get that far. But how? It would only happen when we were drunk, obviously. He needed alcohol as an excuse. 

The problem was, he’d get absolutely obliterated every time he went out. While he used to bring random girls home to fuck every time he went out, he now always ended up at my single-bedroom apartment off the square at the end of the night. He had also adopted the habit of downing several shots before he closed his tab and stumbled to my door. He’d show up with a clear but unspoken battle raging inside, I’d calm him down with a more-than-friendly shoulder to cry into, and he’d quickly pass out in my arms while I ran my fingers through his silky hair. This went on like clockwork for quite some time. The blue-balls were becoming unbearable and the absurdity of the whole thing was starting to drive me mental. I knew I had to do something when I started entertaining the idea of taking advantage of him while he was passed out. And don’t get me wrong, I’d been thinking about that since the first night it happened, but I would never act on it. Unless my nuts were about to explode like forgotten landmines. Which they were. So one weekend, I decided I’d get him home before he had a chance to pass his blackout threshold...