Big-dick Bottom Pt. 04

"No way," Stacy said. "I'm working a double tomorrow and it's already late. I need to get home."

"Yeah, me too," Derek said. "I can give you a ride home, Stace?"

I took a drink from my beer and pretended not to see Stacy looking at me. I knew that if I drove her home the interrogation would continue.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, D," Stacy said, frowning at me.

"Whaddya say, Paulie, Jason? Come over?"

I thought about my parents. They had been pretty hands-off with me since I started working. They didn't like me coming home late, and I think they were pretty horrified that I was hanging out with people who smoked cigarettes, but I reminded them that the alternative was that they were going to kick me out, and that seemed to shut them up.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

"Can I smoke there?" Jason asked, bringing his index finger and thumb up to his lips.

"Oh, yeah, baby. We're all gonna smoke," Mario said, putting his arm around me. "Isn't that right, big P?" He squeezed my shoulder and I felt the heat from his body as he leaned into me.

~

Mario, Jason, me, and a trio of the guys Mario had been drinking with at the bar all made the short drive over to Mario's -- an old, dilapidated Victorian-style house toward the center of town.

"Hey, it was my grandma's house, show a little respect," Mario explained when one of the guys started ribbing him about the frilly curtains and outdated furniture. We were passing a joint around, sitting on couches and chairs in the living room.

"Hey Mario, why don't you ever have a girlfriend?" one of the guys asked.

Mario took a long toke and then handed the joint to me. He exhaled and started to laugh-cough. "Fuck you. I've never had a problem getting women, you know that."

"It's keepin' 'em that's the problem, eh? Fat fuck like you," the guy retorted.

Mario grabbed his belly and gave it a shake. "Big boned, asshole, big boned," Mario said, and he put his arm around me. "My man Paulie knows all about that, don't you, Paulie?"

I laughed uncomfortably. Being around this many guys, especially guy guys like the three that had come with us from the bar, was making me nervous. When Mario had waved us into the living room, I had come in and sat down on the furthest couch, trying to be inconspicuous. But then Mario had flopped down next to me with two bottles of beer and scooted himself to press against me, wedging me into the corner.

"That skinny little toothpick? Hey, no offense, kid," the guy said, laughing.

Everyone but me continued talking -- laughing, joking, taking the piss out of each other. I actually inhaled this time, when the joint came around. I had been smoking cigarettes with Stacy over the last few weeks so I knew how to hold smoke in my lungs without coughing. And tonight, hell. I thought it might take the edge off my anxiety.

After a short while, my head started spinning and time began to slow down. I looked around the room, watching the men talk, studying the way their mouths, eyes, and hands moved. Snippets of their conversation slipped in and out of my consciousness.

"Bro, you need to get your dick wet..."

"Amanda? From the Hut?"

"That fuckin' rack, man!"

"She won't even give me head!"

"Dude, her tits, man? World class, I'm tellin' you..."

"Her tits, man," I mouthed, silently, and I felt myself sink deep into the cushions of the couch. Then there was a dark, velvet stillness.

~

When I woke up, the lights in the house were off and the TV was on, showing some sort of nature program, with the volume turned down low. I looked around. The three guys from the bar were gone and it looked like someone -- Jason -- was passed out on the far couch. Mario was leaning back, slumped in the same couch I was sitting in, looking at the TV. His shirt had ridden up a little, exposing his fuzzy belly.

"You passed out, P," he said when he saw me sit up.

"Shit, sorry," I said. I rubbed my face. I was groggy and felt like there was gauze packed into my head.

"No worries, Jace passed out, too, as you can see. Fuckin' lightweights," Mario said, chuckling. He pulled himself up to stand and went into the kitchen.

"You want another beer, Paulie?" he shouted.

"No, thanks... hey can I get some water?" I answered.

Mario walked back to the couch and tossed me a bottle of water, then sat down next to me, close enough that our legs were touching. He leaned back and took a long swig of his beer, then put his arm around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I took a drink of water and felt the cool liquid spread through my belly. I felt dwarfed next to Mario and his warm, soft chest. I let myself relax into him, leaned back and rested my head in the crook of his arm.

We sat like that for a long time, watching the TV. When he'd finished his beer, Mario started to rub my shoulder with his thumb. I didn't stop him. He leaned over to set the empty bottle on the coffee table and then leaned even more of his weight against me. With his free hand, I saw him start to rub himself, through his pants.

I felt my cock thicken and start to strain against my underwear and jeans. Mario was breathing heavily in my ear, pushing at his crotch with his palm. I looked over at Jason, worried that he might wake up and see us, but he was snoring, lying face down on the couch with his head turned away from us.

"Take it out," Mario said, whispering into my ear. He stopped touching himself and pulled up on my shirt, exposing a few inches of bare stomach above the rim of my jeans. I felt his large knuckles slide against my exposed skin, there, and I shivered. I looked at him. His eyes were half-lidded and glued to my crotch.

Hesitantly, I reached to undo the button of my jeans and then arched my hips up to pull my pants partway down my thighs. My hard penis twanged up in my briefs once it was clear of my pants. It poked up across my thigh and pointed up toward my belly, straining the white fabric of my underwear.

Mario's breath came quicker and he reached over to slide his fingers, slowly,under the elastic waist of my briefs. His hand tracked across my pelvis until it hit against the shaft of my cock. Then I felt him cup his hand under my balls in an attempt to encircle the entire unit of my cock and balls. The pressure of his grip -- his large, strong fingers squeezing me -- sent a pulse up through my cock. I watched a wet stain of precum start to spread from where the tip of my penis was pushed up against my underwear.

From the base, Mario moved his hand up the shaft of my cock, freeing it from my underwear.

"God damn, P," he breathed, while he palpated my cock, feeling the girth of it in his grip. I reached for his crotch. He let go of my cock and helped me undo his belt and zipper and then his dick was out, too, swinging up with a soft thwack against his belly. His cock was not too long, but it was thick and uncut and when I grabbed it I felt the easy glide of smooth skin over the underlying rigidity of his shaft.

I moved to get down on my knees but Mario shook his head and pushed me back to a sitting position. Then he pushed my hand toward my own cock, indicating that I should jerk myself off. Obediently, I did what he wanted. I began to move my hand along the length of my dick. He started to do the same, jerking himself off. He pressed his thigh against mine and with his arm still around me, squeezed my shoulder in time with the movements of his hand on his dick.

Light from the TV flickered across our hands and dicks as we jerked off. Mario was whispering to me, "harder, faster," and timing the strokes of his hand to mine as he watched me. I was leaking an almost unbroken stream of precum that slicked my shaft and dribbled down onto my shirt and belly. Mario was breathing faster and faster, and I could tell he was getting close to coming because he was giving himself little breaks from stroking. His cock was pulsing and extremely hard, the veins standing out in stark relief along his shaft.

I started to feel an orgasm boil up. I looked to Mario and knit eyebrows together in consternation, looking to him for permission. He nodded and squeezed my shoulder, so I rammed my cock up into my hand and let loose. The first squirts of cum shot up over my head and behind the couch, and then several more lined my chest and belly in streaks of sticky fluid.

"Holy shit," Mario said, and then his hand was on his cock and he was coming, too. He angled his hips toward me and shot onto me, onto my belly, a few powerful blasts of cum and then a slow trickle from his slit, which he squeezed out, bringing his foreskin up and around the head of his cock before pulling it back, slicking himself with the remnants of his load.

My belly was contracting with gentle, post-orgasmic spasms and I reached up to wipe the slickness from my hand on a dry section of my shirt. My cock was starting to deflate but was still standing up, swaying like a log balanced on its end.

Mario's grip on my shoulder relaxed and he stood up, grunting with effort. He pushed his penis back into his boxers, and then pulled his shirt off. In the flickering light, I saw his body, the dark hair that furred his belly and his chest and the fleshy mounds of his pecs. He looked at me and reached for my hand, pulled me up and then pulled my shirt off, too, carefully, holding the wet part out so cum wouldn't get on my face. Then he pulled up my pants, which were bunched around my knees and helped me get back into them.

I wasn't really sure what was happening, to be honest. I knew I had just jerked off with him, Mario, my boss, and that it should feel weird or inappropriate. But it didn't. It felt... natural, good. I took another drink of water from the bottle, which had fallen to the ground. Mario laid back down on the couch. He scoochedd back so that there was a sliver of cushion in front of him, which he patted, looking up at me.

I hesitated for a moment. I knew I should leave, get back home. But I was probably still drunk, or high... or both. And... I looked down at Mario, his broad, furry chest and soft belly, and the expectant look in his eyes. I laid down. Mario wrapped his arms around me and I felt the warmth of him against my skin and felt his slow, even breath against my neck. I closed my eyes.

~

I woke up disoriented. Once I realized where I was, I looked around. Mario was gone. And Jason was gone. I sat up. I was still on the couch, shirtless, and the room was littered with empty bottles and the remains of the joints we'd smoked, scattered across the coffee table. I rubbed my head. A clock on the wall read quarter past ten. I searched the debris and found my crumpled shirt. When I put it on, I felt the dampness of cum all over it. I saw the water bottle on the coffee table and I downed the remaining water in one long gulp.

In the kitchen, I saw a note on the counter.

Hey P

Lock up when you leave, OK?

M

I took another bottle of water from the fridge before heading out into the blinding light of the morning to drive home.

~

I was walking up the path to my front door when I heard a voice shout behind me.

"Hey!"

I turned to look, but the sun was so bright I couldn't see.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, boy!"

I stopped in my tracks. I turned to see him striding over to me. Neighbor daddy. He pushed a fat finger into my face.

"Do you see what you just did?"

"What?" I said, confused and scared. My head was fuzzy and my heart was pounding.

"Look," neighbor daddy said and pointed back at the flower bed that separated our two driveways. I saw a flattened track through the bed where my tires must have clipped the corner as I drove in. The carcasses of what looked like two or three chrysanthemum plants were plastered into the dirt.

Shit.

"I'm -- I'm sorry," I stammered. "I' didn't realize..."

The daddy leaned in, grabbed my shoulder and pulled at my shirt, sniffing at it. I prayed he didn't notice the gratuitous cum stains all over it.

"Are you drunk?" he said.

By now, the two sons had come around from the backyard. The ginger was leaning on his shovel and had a grin on his face watching his father confront me.

"No," I said.

Could I still be drunk? I was so disoriented from the weed and from... in any case, I realized that I must smell like a distillery.

"Well, I tell you what you're gonna do," the daddy rasped at me. "You're gonna fix this fuckin' bed, and you're gonna replace those fuckin' flowers, do you hear me?"

The daddy's eyes were green-gray pools of rage as he yelled at me, and spit flecked out of his mouth, hitting my face. My asshole clenched tight, remembering the roughness of the finger he had used to penetrate me in my living room a few weeks back.

"OK, yeah," I said. My arms and legs were trembling.

Satisfied, he released me. I stumbled backwards and tripped on the edge of the driveway. I went down hard and my palms scraped into the concrete. The ginger snickered. The older son watched me, stone-faced.

I picked myself up and rubbed my raw palms against the material of my pants. My Pizza Hut hat had fallen off. I picked it up and brushed it off, and felt the beginning of tears in my eyes. The daddy looked at me, spit onto the ground, and then stomped back around to the back of his house, his sons following behind him like dogs.

~

In the shower, I cleaned the bits of grit that had ground into my palms. The hot water helped to clear my head. I thought about the night at Mario's. The weed and the feel of Mario's big, thick body next to mine. The look in his eyes when he watched me stroking my cock. And then, how he'd held me afterward, spooned me while we both fell asleep. I shook my head in disbelief. Did I really jerk off with him? Maybe the weed was clouding my perception of what had really happened.

After the shower, I did a load of laundry and made myself a sandwich and then crashed in the den. I thought I would only take a short nap, but when the phone rang, waking me up from deep sleep, I saw it was 3:15. Fuck. I was late for work.

"Paulie, what the fuck?" Stacy said when I picked up the phone.

"Sorry, sorry," I said. "I passed out."

"Just get your ass over here," she said.

"Yeah, sorry," I said.

"Someone had a good night," she said, and I heard her laughing before she hung up.

My Pizza Hut shirt was still wet in the washer so I pulled on a clean white T-shirt and grabbed my hat on the way out the door. Thankfully, the neighbors weren't around as I drove off. I didn't want to run into them again. On my way to work, I thought about where I was going to find some goddamned chrysanthemums.

It was busy all afternoon. Lots of deliveries, but none of my regulars. It was fine by me, I was uncharacteristically un-horny today. It could have been the weed. As I drove around, it felt like I was seeing everything through gauze.

At around eight, I took a delivery of pizzas and soda to a house that I recognized. When I was in elementary school, I used to be friends with a kid named Zach, who was a little older than me. We had met at church camp and had played at each other's houses for a few years. I'd even come to one or two of his birthday parties, before he cut me off like the rest of my erstwhile friends once it was clear I was such a freak.

When I rang the doorbell, there was no answer. I rang it again, but then I heard laughter coming from the back of the house. I took a deep breath and walked on the stone path leading to the back of the house.

I'd forgotten that Zach had a pool, one of the few houses I'd ever seen to have one -- a big, in-ground pool with a diving board and everything. There were a bunch of young people in the back yard, guys and girls, standing around the pool with red cups, talking and laughing. A couple of girls standing near the gate saw me approach and looked at me like I was some sort of diseased raccoon that had wandered in.

"Hey Zach, pizza boy is here," one of the girls called out as she sneered at me.

I steeled myself as a tall, muscled guy peeled himself away from another group of people and walked over. I hadn't seen Zach in years. Jesus Christ, he'd grown into hulking jock, I saw. He was wearing a loose, unbuttoned flannel shirt and a pair of swim trunks. His chest and abs were huge and well-defined. And... I felt a tightening in my stomach as I saw thick mass swinging in his shorts as he walked over.

If he knew who I was, he pretended not to. He pulled a couple bills from his shirt pocket and shoved them at me, dismissively. I took the money and counted it.

"Hey," I said, to his retreating back. He swiveled to look at me.

"You're short," I said.

"What?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

"You're short... the money, I mean. This is only forty bucks. It's 45.99." The words spilled out of me and I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. Everyone had stopped talking and was looking at me.

That's when I saw him. He must have been hidden in the crowd before, and I hadn't noticed him. The ginger. He was shirtless -- in the midsummer evening light his torso blazed white in contrast with his sun-reddened arms and neck. He pushed his way past a couple of girls to approach me.

"That's 45.99," he said in a sniveling, mocking voice. The weak, broken posture that I'd seen him adopt at his house was gone. Here, his shoulders were thrown back as he swaggered over to me. I took a few steps back, and I felt my knees going weak to be up close to him again.

"Bro, you got six bucks?" Zach said to the ginger.

"Yeah, I got your money," the ginger said, leaning in close to my face. I smelled his smell, the sharp, almost bleach-like odor of his skin. I met the clear, empty blue of his gaze. He reached down to his pocket but then suddenly brought his arms up and shoved me, roughly, sending me flying into the pool. I hit the water and went under, clothes, shoes, money belt and all. When I came back to the surface, I heard riotous laughter.

I kicked to the edge of the pool and pulled myself out, dripping, onto the concrete. I looked around, humiliated. Zach and the ginger were doubled over, laughing and pointing at me, and the rest of the kids were all laughing, too. I stood, seething, for a moment, and then walked away, stiffly, back to my truck. I still had the forty bucks from Zach clutched in my hand. I would have to make up the rest out of my tips. I was back at the restaurant before I realized I must have lost my hat in the pool.

~

"What the fuck happened to you?" Stacy said when she saw me walk into the kitchen, sopping wet.

"I fell," I said, not meeting her eye. "Into a pool."

"You fell. Into a pool," she repeated, doubtfully.

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I tripped, OK. I'm clumsy, you know that," I said.

Mario walked in.

"Holy shit, Paulie, you piss yourself or what?" Mario said, coming up to me. He spun me toward him to inspect my wet clothes.

"He fell into a pool, Mario," Stacy said with exaggerated matter of fact-ness.

"It was an accident," I said.

"Oh, I see. An accident," Mario said. "Occupational hazard, I guess. "C'mon, let's get you some dry clothes. While you were out swimming, we got a shit-ton of orders."

He took me into the back office and shut the door.

"Strip," Mario said, and he started rummaging through some boxes. I unlaced my shoes and took off my socks. Mario tossed me an oversize Pizza Hut shirt.

"Here's a shirt, probably a little big for you," he said, "and I'm pretty sure -- ah ha -- yeah, I got a pair of pants back here."

He pulled out a pair of khakis and held them out in front of him. I stifled a laugh when I saw them.

"Good thing I have a belt," I said, standing up and unbuttoning my pants.