Straight Guy

Claire humped up, and her moans got louder. "Shoot your milk into me."

"You want my queer sperm in you?" Wesley said.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" Claire chuffed.

"Then, take my wiener!"

"Oh, Wes ... Wes ...Wes!" Claire's rapidly forming goose bumps indicated an approaching orgasm.

"You have one hot pussy, you know that?" Wesley said. Puppy-love passion sprinkled the toughness in his voice.

"If only you knew ... how my cunt ... feels ... burning ... from the inside," Claire gasped.

Wesley ran his fingers through the auburn cascade that fell thinly off three corners of Claire's head.

Claire's orbs communicated something amorphous to Wesley—and became so dreamy that they shut halfway.

Wesley slipped his suave hands down Claire's svelte legs. "Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!" His body shook like a banana tree, and his expression said it all.

Jason felt everything with him: Wesley's body melting like an ice cube on a hot tarmac, his balls frizzling a la shrimp marinara, and his cream of coconuts squirting up his cock like water from a spray gun.

At last, Wesley collapsed onto Claire.

* * * *

The vertical white slats to the balcony rattled to a gust of wind.

A stronger scent of pine walloped Jason's nostrils. Claire's skin smelled of sweet onions and salt, and the scent pricked the oval holes of Jason's nose.

Down the river bend of each of his legs, Jason pushed his knee-crumpled clothes.

Jason's short hair of silk undulated like oat stalks to a breeze.

Jason unzipped his black walking sneakers, kicked them off, and tossed aside his khaki corduroys, white briefs, and black socks.

The articles flew like strands of hay.

Jason grabbed Wesley's wiry arm, forced him back, and squeezed a knee over Claire's slender leg.

Wesley bumped over Claire's other leg. Imitating a frog, he croaked, "Grabbit."

"Roger," Claire said. She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around Jason's dick.

Jason's blood turned into all of the world's rapids, and his lean body jerked like a raft.

Around the chiseled onions of Claire's fingers, Jason wrapped one of his swarthy hands. Slowly, he led Claire's fingers toward the Venusian volcano beneath his willy.

Jason's milk-crusted birdie sunk into Claire's slit.

"Yeah!" Wesley said. "Flood her insides."

Jason hoisted Claire's calves toward his shapely shoulders and pushed harder.

The film in Claire's vagina was enough to make any guy cum. Yet, Jason couldn't stop thinking that evolution didn't mean for things to be like this. Simply put, it was unnatural for a male to let another male cum in the female of a species. Still, this was what Jason had allowed Wesley to do—and what Wesley was encouraging Jason to do. Even more disturbing, Jason found himself enjoying the feel of another dude's semen entering his piss slit. Fired up like a drunk frat boy, Jason began the copulatory rhythm.

"Yes, tiger," Claire said in a sorority girl voice.

Jason lowered his gym-tightened chest. "Homo over there sure knows how to cum."

A surge of wind buffeted Jason's rumps like an open hand.

Was the cuff, Jason wondered, a sign that nature was on Wesley's side? Possessing nates the color of sand, Jason couldn't be sure that Wesley wouldn't spank him, as well—or worse. Terrified and incited at the prospect, Jason jostled Claire harder and faster. He kneaded her left softball and licked the engorged nipple on the right.

"All right!" Wesley cheered, lying like a ferret to Jason's right. Wesley reached for a gold-dusted cushion of red, pulled it off a yellow butterfly chair, and slipped the pillow under Claire's head.

The red quickened Jason's pulse. As a result, Jason pistoned more urgently into Claire.

"Yes," Claire gasped. "Fuck me harder!" Her close-set eyes hooked into Jason's evenly spaced eyes.

With the fury of a windstorm, Jason stared into Claire's almond orbs. "You want my cock?"

"I need it!" Claire screamed.

"You got it, Madonna." With that, Jason grasped the slimness of Claire's calves, lowered her legs aside, and pushed with the roughness of a linebacker.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" Claire panted.

"You like that?"

"God, yes!" she said at the top of her lungs.

"Then, take my snake!" Jason kept slamming his penis into the drawstring bag of Claire's pussy.

Every curve of Claire's shorter body bounced.

Claire closed her tan eyelids, wriggled her head on the red pillow, and convulsed uncontrollably.

"Fuck!" Jason squalled. "I'm cumming!"

Jason's body shimmied like a jalopy swooshing at 60 miles an hour. His balls churned, sizzled, and vaporized, and his hot dog melted in the heat of Claire's underworld. At last, Jason collapsed onto her.

III

Jason stared at the grid platform's 3-D image of Claire's face. He shook his squarish chin in disappointment. "I can't believe you allow a gay dude to fuck you."

"Wesley's gay in theromanticsense," Claire corrected, "as in homoromantic. But in the purelysexualsense, he's trisexual."

"What is that anyway?" Jason said.

"Tri for Zone 3 of the graph that Wesley showed you," Claire said. "Tri also means that Wesley's willing to try sex with anyone he likes."

"Is that like bisexual or something?" Jason said.

"The gay side of the bi circle, yes," Claire lipped.

"But didn't you say he loves you?"

"Of course!" she said. "But in a more heteroplatonic kind of way."

"Yet, he fucks you."

"When he's turned on enough and none of his college buddies are around to feed him their members," Claire said casually. "Or when there's another hunk to join on that hunk's ride with me."

Jason's somewhat diamond face grew puzzled. "I don't get it."

"Most straight men don't," Claire said amusedly. "Think of it this way. Many straight guys fool around with other straight guys. 'It's nothing,' they say, 'just sex with my buddy.' That's what the bisexual liberation movement of the 2020s is all about—heteroromantic college buddies who are proud and open bisexuals."

"You mean, those neo-hippie, wanna-be-yuppie college men increasingly seen on the news?" Jason said, excited and revolted at the idea.

"Exactly," Claire said. "Already, they are 24% of the population."

"I've noticed how bis are wearing an earring on each ear," Jason said.

"One for each sex they find attractive," Claire said. "Wesley only wears one earring because he bends to the right. But most bis are in the middle."

Jason fixed his irises of honey brown upon the holographic phone's control panel. Like his thoughts, his oval eyes began to zigzag as he tried to sort the good from the bad.

"I'm not sure I approve of what you and Wesley are doing," Jason said, "and I sure don't understand how a gay guy could enjoy sex with a girl. I'll tell you what I do know, however. Last week's fuck was the best lay I'veeverhad."

"With me or Wesley?" Claire jested.

"I only fucked you."

"Right," she said.

"And I would do anything to have you again."

Claire's tawny face lit up like a sunflower. "Great," she said. "Meet me at 7 o'clock. My place."

IV

Claire led Jason into the brightly lit apartment. "Tonight, you're going to have to do a little more," she said.

"Like what?" Jason answered.

Wesley emerged from the dark behind the maize walls and crimson baseboard of the living room.

"Tonight, you have to fuck Wesley."

Jason puffed in disbelief, although part of him had seen this coming. "Let me guess," he said, looking at Wesley. "You want me to squirt in you."

Coyly, Wesley lowered his round chin.

"Why thefuckdo you insist on corrupting me?" Jason said. "Can't you see I like girls?" His soft-spoken voice turned whiny. "Why can't you stick to your kind and let straight guys like me enjoy chicks like Claire?" Jason shifted his oval eyes left. "Or are you the mastermind behind this, trying to satisfy some twisted kick by seeing your gay beau fucked like a girl?"

"You'll like it," Claire crooned.

"—and I'll fucking catch his germs down there!"
"Sometimes in life, one has to take risks to enjoy certain things," she said.

In denial, Jason shook his semi-round nose.

"I wouldn't ask you to do something most men wouldn't enjoy," Claire resumed. "And my cooch isn't going anywhere. You can always top off your gay experience with a straight one, leaving your fragile, heteroromantic identity intact."

Jason huffed.

"Besides,he'sthe one getting fucked," Claire said.

Wesley glided into the white sun of the kitchen, but his white basketball sneakers didn't make a sound.

Wesley rested his left hand on the white Formica of the entrance counter. In a mix of spiritual detachment and childlike wonder, Wesley raised his ash-blond eyebrows at Claire and Jason. The white fluorescent light shone upon Wesley's golden-yellow hair as if part of his aura. His pink face, in turn, took an almost mystical look.

Claire looked yearningly at Wesley. Slowly, she approached him. "It is at times like these that I feel most proud to have you as my boyfriend." Claire's butter hand took Wesley's dainty hand, and a tear welled in one of her liquid eyes. "You're more masculine than Jason willeverbe. Or any straight guy, for that matter."

"You want me to give him my ass?" Jason said. He ripped off his polo shirt of camel along its buttoned top. "Would that prove my manliness to you?"

Claire turned her hazel irises right. "I wouldn't ask you to do that."

"I see," Jason said sarcastically. "You're trying to desensitize me, step-by-step. Tonight, I fuck Wesley. Tomorrow night, he fucksme!"

"That's not true," Claire said. She wiped a teardrop.

Claire and Jason's panting filled the area around the white kitchen.

Wesley's impartiality seemed to ease tensions, however.

Claire and Jason's breathing evened out, and silence fell on the low-rise apartment like the fog of a British Columbia inlet.

Jason zagged his swarthy fingers through the liquid sand of his backflowing hair. "I don't know what I'll do tomorrow," Jason said.

The words disrupted the quiet like a pebble a crystalline lake.

"But I do know that I want your pussy," Jason went on, "and I will do anything to get it." Hesitantly, he looked at Wesley.

Wesley was sporting orange boxer shorts of nylon. As usual, his pink legs advertised his athleticism. Wesley removed his yellow tank top of cotton, and his chest continued the player leitmotif.

Jason twitched a leg muscle in Wesley's direction.

Wesley inched toward Jason.

Jason approached Wesley.

And Wesley brushed his fingers against Jason's ab muscles—cotton rolls stroking the skin of scallions.

The breathing of the fellows became as labored as the panting of boxers in a ring—Jason's with jitteriness and Wesley's with horniness. With the speed of spreading smoke, the smell of the young men overtook the leftover aroma of pumpkin pie.

Wesley caressed Jason's beautifully shaped pecs.

For some reason, Jason didn't protest Wesley's initiative in touching his chest. Maybe it was its wheat-colored contrast with Wesley's peach-hued chest, the yin-yang—and hence, non-gay—difference made more evident by the hairlessness of the youngsters there. Whatever the answer, Jason touched Wesley's pale hips in response.

Wesley's angelic eyes smiled at Jason—Wesley's irises blue skies at noon.

Jason groped the dirty-blond hairlets of Wesley's quadriceps.

"Almost like monkey grass, eh?" Wesley said.

Jason tried to gauge the difference between Wesley's skin of leather and what Jason's palm remembered was the satin of Claire's flesh. Jason's heart thumped in a strange way.

As if Wesley were his wrestling opponent, Jason picked him up, carried him to the bean sofa, and dropped him on the hemp.

Wesley threw his brawny legs in the air.

Quick as a falling house of cards, Jason jerked Wesley's orange boxers of nylon down.

What Jason saw took moments to sink in. Wesley was wearing pearl-whitepanties—silk and all! The panties had small ladybugs printed all over and sparkled as if suffused with moonlight from within. The sugary grains on the surface of the white panties reflected, in turn, the yellow-white lights of the room.

Jason turned his dark irises left. "You knew about this, didn't you, Claire?"

Wearing a sheepish grin, Claire hunched her pared oranges of shoulders.

Jason turned his squarish chin forward. "What a sissy," he said, hissing on the s's.

Wesley's hard-on was cast in relief under the liquid silk of his white panties. Wesley's pinkish dick was the trunk of a super mushroom, and its head was a pearl onion. As if that weren't enough, a dot of wet daubed the front of Wesley's whities.

Jason's cock was so hard that it bent from lack of room inside his corduroys.

Jason had no choice. He unbuttoned his mahogany corduroys and unzipped their silver zipper. "Give me those," Jason said and tore in two the white of Wesley's panties.

Shredding sounds ripped through the living room like a swarm of crows.

Wesley's seven-incher broke free, its prepuce raw chicken skin pulled back.

"Hey, catcher!" Claire hollered. She tossed a blue tube of something to

Wesley.

Wesley caught it. "Ball 3."

The pink opening of Wesley's ass puckered over the edge of the bean sofa. Wesley, in turn, smeared a tad of silver lube onto his anus.

Jason's sex gun stayed as bulged as one of the white fluffy clouds of the bean sofa. Perhaps it was the sight of Wesley lying back in the blue sky like a cherub.

To Jason's left, Claire knelt below Wesley. "Help me untie his sneakers," she said.

Something about the rawness of this caused Jason to shuck down his mahogany corduroys and his white briefs of cotton. Jason stepped out of both articles and dropped to his knees. Adrenaline kept rushing through Jason's body like a swarm of fireflies. At once, Jason wrested off Wesley's white basketball sneakers and white socks of cotton.

In surprise, Claire lifted her brown eyebrows. She rose like a helicopter and glided away from the partly cloudy skies of the bean sofa.

But Jason wasn't through! He fell on his white briefs, raised his hairless legs of caramel, and held his black running sneakers just below Wesley's broad forehead. The fruit's duty was clear.

With the delight of a child, Wesley unzipped Jason's black sneakers and pulled them off. Wesley threw the black chunks of rubber right and left, and he peeled Jason's black socks of cotton off. Wesley then held up his bodacious legs higher than before.

Wesley's behavior shocked the bejesus out of Jason. How, he wondered, could a guy feel no shame about throwing up his legs like that?

The slats of the bamboo floor reflected the yellow-white lights of the lamps and floodlights of the living room. Like the bean sofa, the throw pillows that Jason first spotted last Thursday had a partly sunny sky furled around each of them.

Jason clutched two throw pillows, knocked them on the parquet floor, and placed his knees on the masses of hemp. Jason knelt closer to Wesley's haunches of beef and scowled at the awkwardness of his position.

Warm as steaming rolls of French bread on a metal tray, Wesley's calves landed on Jason's sturdy shoulders.

Into the shadowy zipper of Wesley's duff, Jason inserted the oozing cherry tomato of his glans.

Wesley's chute was warm as the innards of an antelope. It resisted Jason's banana with the strength of a baseball glove squeezing to an intruding hand.

"Bro," Jason breathed. "You sure are tight."

Wesley's deep blues of jello shot lust at Jason. "Start pumping, and you'll see how loose I can get."

"Fine, Mary!" Weird as it felt, Jason started pounding the ass.

"Yeah," Wesley whiffled.

Jason sped his thrusts.

Wesley shook his stuffed corkscrew.

"You sure get a kick out of this, don't you?" Jason said.

"Since I was 13," Wesley heaved.

"Then, take my sausage!"

Wesley wailed as though Jason had punched him in the belly.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wesley grunted in a moped of loudness.

"Then, take my cream!"

Tri lad squalled an ah. He twisted a coriander seed of a nipple and strained his sexy neck back.

Veins of blue-green forked on Wesley's neck.

Bubbles sizzled inside Jason's testicles like water effervescing to the top of a fish tank. Maybe it was because Wesley's veins accentuated the fact that Jason was fucking a guy. Not knowing why, Jason lowered his brownish chest.

Wesley raised his peach lips. Like a suction cup, he drew out one of Jason's teats.

"Fucking A!" Jason said, throwing his narrow forehead toward the yellow-white light coil that was indented above him.

Wesley's titillation of Jason's nipple filled Jason with fright and incitement, as no chick had ever stimulated his body with such calculation, crudeness, and directness. To Jason's shock, Wesley, a pansy, was controllinghimwith the skill of a ventriloquist. Worse, each gay move of Wesley's pulled areas of Jason's soul that he didn't even know existed. Jason's social conditioning told him to slug the faggot and get the hell out of there. The vulgar pressure around Jason's cock and the tongue around his hard teat told Jason to stay plugged to Wesley.

The cumulus clouds of the bean sofa shook violently.

"Man!" Jason gobbled.

Wesley's sperm sack slid back and forth. "Whoo-hoo!"

Maybe it was desire for revenge. Or perhaps, Jason was allowing himself free rein in this sunlit meadow of queer sexuality. Whatever the explanation, Jason reached for Wesley's cock and squeezed the erect piece of pizza dough.

Wesley sobbed as if a puck had hit him on the leg.

"You better not complain," Jason said, sputtering droplets onto Wesley's rosy cheeks. "Or else, you maytrulyget it."

Wesley pinched shut his soft eyelids. "Stop!"

Jason kept squeezing Wesley's dick and battering his prostate. "That's what you get for stealing me away from Claire."

Wesley opened his upright half-saucers, and his pupils dilated in a second. Wesley's deep blues of gelatin hooked into Jason's eyes and yelled,I can't take any more massaging down there!Yet, Wesley's face begged for another round of cock squeezing and prostate ramming. Like a good little boy, Wesley fluted, "I promise I'll behave."

"I don't want to hear another word from you," Jason grated with the distorted basso of a mangled audio disk.

"Or else?" Wesley challenged.

"Or else, I'll give you this," Jason said, driving his frank to the hilt onthis.

"Ouch!" Wesley blubbered. His supple calves slipped off Jason's defined shoulders.

Jason slithered the wheat rolls of his arms around Wesley's pink thighs. "Oooh, yeah," Jason said.

Wesley's soles of light pink pointed at Jason's face like floodlight reflectors. The soles danced to Jason's bucking of his hips. Then, the unspeakable happened. Wesley grinned mischievously; his incisors showed with the whiteness of china; and he said, "I dare you to kiss my tootsies."

Jason scoped the scrumptious-looking soles. His heart stirred in a weird way. To his astonishment, Jason actually wanted to try this. But as straight hunk, he couldn't just give in to a fairy's perverse demand. Jason had to make Wesley pay for this "service."

Jason grinded the polished sandpaper of his hips to a halt. "You're one screwed up fox."

Fright gripped Wesley's pink face, as the blond apparently wondered whether he had pushed the envelope too far.

Slow as a panning movie camera, a wicked smile materialized on Jason's face. "Tell you what," he said. "I give you the spanking you deserve, and if you live through that, your feet are mine."

"Right on," Wesley said.

Jason swung to his feet with the dexterity of a leopard.

Wesley flipped to his pert abs, dropped his knees to one of the throw pillows on the parquet floor, and keeled over the bean sofa.