Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"So, following the flowchart," he says as he picks up the sheet from the coffee table, "I went on to these sites." He points to a group of sites in the middle. The first have been checked off, the next set crossed out, and the final ones so covered with ink that there are holes in the paper. "These didn't go so well."

Yeah, I could tell that.

"No interest at all, then?"

"Are you kidding me? Does anyone like seeing people tied up and spanked," he gestures to the first set of crossed-out sites, "having things stuck in them that are--no joke--as big as my arm," second set, "or watching people wearing rubber get abused by people wearing leather?"

"Okay, so we can eliminate the rough stuff. Good to know. But you said that it got better after that."

"Yeah, these weren't bad," he says, gesturing to a set of sites that specialize in solo scenes with women. "And then these were great," he continues, pointing at the next box over, containing sites with women in pairs and groups.

He's kind of a typical male when it comes to this--even guys who don't know any actual lesbians are more than happy to see attractive women get busy with each other. But I don't judge, I'm here to help.

"So, good news. Were you able to achieve your--err, our--goal with those sites?"

"It felt like I was close. But I still wasn't there."

I can't help but notice that there are two more boxes on the chart.

"You said that after it got better again, it was amazing?" I prompt.

"Yeah, so, about that. As you know, this box was the same as this one," he points back to the previous set, "But with guys instead of girls."

Yes, of course I know. Those are some of my favorite sites, but I had figured my taste was far different from his. I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Well, I really didn't want to look at those, because, well, you know..."

I do know, but I don't want to give him any hint that I'm thinking what I'm thinking. I just keep nodding, like one of those stupid toy birds from physics class that dip into a water glass over and over and over again.

"But then I remembered that I had promised I would, no matter what, and so I did."

He stops, silent. It's pretty clear he's not going to go on unless I give him some sign that he can trust me not to judge him.

"You know, people look at all kinds of stuff on the web, and none of it means anything about them as people, really."

He sighs, a little sideways chuckle, as if he's already told himself this many times over. He shakes his head and looks at the rug, the coffee clutched in his hands, swishing around and around in the mug.

"Clark, tell me what happened," I urge softly.

There follows the longest pause in the history of the world. Mountain ranges are formed during this silence, oceans boil and cool. I wait and wait and wait. And wait.

Finally, finally, he croaks out a word.

"Worked."

"What?" I ask, disbelieving.

"It worked," he mumbles, eyes closed, coffee still swishing in circles.

"Oh."

We wait. But I've already sat through the longest pause ever, and I can do no more.

"It...worked," I repeat back to him, and he nods. "You were able to get fully hard?" He nods. "For the first time, right?"

"The first time in my life," he whispers. He screws his eyes tighter, and a tear trickles down his cheek.

"Dude, that's fuckin' awesome! Once it got hard, were you able to..."

He nods. And then, "Three times."

"Holy shit, man! That's fantastic!"

He looks up suddenly, as if I've stabbed him. I would have expected relief in his eyes, but all I see is a bewildered pain that sears through me like a hot knife.

"They were dudes, Josh. Dudes." His voice breaks.

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean anything, necessarily...there could be all kinds of reasons why you--"

"Why I got hard for the first time in my life? Why I had the best three orgasms of my life watching guys jack off?"

I have to grant that he has a point. But I'm not going to push him over that edge if I can help it--at least not so quickly.

"But that doesn't necessarily mean that you're gay--"

"What else could it mean?"

"That you saw yourself in those guys. That it was like watching yourself get hard for the first time. That it was shocking enough to jolt your dick awake. It could mean a lot of things."

He suddenly launches off the chair and lands with a thud next to me on the sofa. He looks right into my eyes, flush with an intensity that scares me a bit. He's lost for words, struggling. Then he looks down, and takes a heaving breath.

"When I look at them," he says, then clears his throat and shifts his weight on the sofa. "I get so fucking--argh! They don't even have to think about it. They just reach down, give their junk a wiggle, and bam! They're rock-hard and ready to go." He stops and breathes in and out, rapidly. Then he takes a breath, and it all comes out in a rush.

"I didn't really want to watch, but once I'd started I couldn't stop. I mean, those guys--they moaned and writhed and all that other fake stuff for the camera, but their bodies are just so ready to do what they want. I sat there, staring at their cocks, seeing all the changes they go through, how they shine when they're super hard. It is so fucking easy for them! I was just about to say fuck it, but then I felt my stupid dick waking up, and suddenly it wanted to do what they were doing, and so I did. It was fucking amazing," he gasps, wild-eyed, "--and now I have to deal with it."

Having exploded like an angst volcano, he falls silent, shaking, tears again running down his cheeks. I don't know how to help him, I don't know what to say.

"The worst part," he chokes out, his throat closing with emotion, "Is that I don't even like guys."

I take a breath to speak, but he holds up a hand and stops me.

"Not attracted to them at all. Never have been. I mean, you're right here next to me, and you are so sweet and so kind and honestly, I think if I were gay I would be all over you right now because you were cute already but now you have a kind of a glow from the Kahlua and I think any gay guy would be all over you, but that's just not me. I don't think. Oh, fuck, Josh, I don't even know any more!"

I can feel myself blushing furiously, flattered and overwhelmed and completely at a loss as to how to respond.

"So that's why I asked you over tonight. There's one box left on the chart, and I'm pretty sure I know what's in it. I know I said I would try it, but I'm scared out of my fucking mind right now. What if I watch that porn and it turns out that dudes are the only thing that gets me going? What do I do then? Ohhh, fuck."

He lays back on the sofa, covers his face with his hands, and I think that noise means he's sobbing. It's awful. I keep finding myself with these cuties who suddenly explode into sobs--I'm starting to think I'm being punished for something.

I look at him, stretched out next to me, face covered, and try to think altruistic thoughts. He's clearly in desperate shape, and so the wrong thing for me to do at this point would be to stare at the strip of his muscular lower belly that I can see peeking out between his waistband and his shirt, right? I should be all about consoling him and saying the right thing, but what occupies my mind right now is the intricate pattern of dark blond hair that swirls around that lovely swath of skin from his outie navel all the way into his shorts, pointing the way.

Pull it together, Josh. You're here to help.

"Clark?" I say softly, and either he doesn't hear me, or he's too far gone to respond. "Clark?" I say a little more loudly. Still no response. I put my hand on his knee, and he jumps as if I've touched him with a hot iron.

He takes his hands away from his face, and looks at me--hard. He's trying to decide whether he can trust me, I'm sure of it.

"Clark, it's okay. Nothing you've done--nothing you've told me--will leave this room. You are absolutely safe."

He nods, slowly, and he starts to calm down. I'll give him all the time he needs. I knock back the burning remains of my coffee, feeling a bit dizzy as I do.

"Will you do it with me?"

Luckily I've swallowed by the time he asks this, or he would be wearing my last mouthful of coffee.

"Yes!" I blurt as soon as I've had a chance to draw a breath. "Now, um...what, exactly, are we doing?"

He smiles in spite of himself.

"The last box."

Before I can respond, he's grabbed his laptop and fired up a browser. He copies the URL from the version of the flowchart I sent him by email, and the site pops up. He takes a deep breath and looks at me.

When I selected the sites in this box I really didn't think he'd ever get this far. I expected that something along the way would turn his crank, or that despite his assurances he would wimp out and ignore it. So I chose these sites mainly because they're the ones I like, not because they are a representative sample of the many ways that male bodies can fit together. The first one is now in front of us, and he's looking for me to give him the sign that it's okay to continue. Well, here goes.

"All right, let's do this thing," I bluster, with as much faux bravado as I can muster. I am so turned on right now I can barely see, but I must continue to look objective or he's going to seriously freak out.

He nods, and logs in using the account I supplied. The screen is filled with images of this site's specialty--the application of the latest in handjob techniques to the bodies of the hottest, straightest jocks that money can buy. I love this site because the models seem genuinely straight, and are clearly way outside their comfort zone. In a lot of the videos you can hear straight porn in the background, and most of the guys never look anywhere other than the off-camera monitor that plays it. It's almost like the orgasms are being wrenched from them, forced by the expert manipulations of the handjob practitioner. You can see them battle against being aroused and brought to orgasm by another man, but he always wins. It's awesome.

"Which one should we watch?" he asks, cursor hovering over the array of bodies laid out for our delectation.

"Him," I answer, authoritatively. I point to a new model who looks very much like Diggler. I hope the irony will be lost on him.

"All right, AJ it is," says Dig. He clicks, and AJ's video loads.

The obligatory legal verbiage fills the screen for a moment--you know, everyone's over 18, some poor drudge in a tastelessly decorated office has the proof on file, blah blah--and then the scene opens. Every video on this site uses the same set--a brightly lit bedroom, furnished in a manner one might encounter in the second-best hotel in a medium-sized city. It's nothing much to look at, but that just means that all of the attention is on the star of the show, a guy named AJ who begins by standing somewhat awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

"So, AJ, tell us a little about yourself," prompts the unseen director. He never shows up on camera, so I have no idea what he looks like--the voice is smooth, but always with a leer in it.

"Umm," starts AJ, who either is a terrific actor or really, really nervous. "I'm in college, and I play basketball, and I, uh, you know."

AJ is great to look at, but there's not a lot going on in that head of his.

"All right, why don't you take off your clothes and let us see what we're getting today."

Robotically (hmm, robot strippers--there's a sci-fi story I would actually read) AJ strips down to his boxer briefs and stands anxiously, shifting his weight from side to side. He is an athletic specimen, with muscles not chiseled in a gym but grown naturally as a result of his play.

In each of the scenes on this site there's a moment at which the handjob specialist comes into the picture to finish the disrobing process and guide the guy to the bed. Luckily, this scene has been shot with my favorite handjobber--the other two often look bored while they stroke away, but not this one. He seems to really enjoy his work. He takes AJ's hand and leads him over to the side of the bed, and then he pulls down the underwear and leaves AJ standing stark naked. The camera slowly works its way down his body, pausing for a good minute while the narrator asks AJ if the girls like his big dick. It's silly talk, but I will admit that I enjoy hearing straight guys talk about how they use their equipment.

Once the interview is over, AJ lies down on the bed, and the wankworker settles between his legs. The camera catches just a moment when AJ's eyes flick down at the figure reaching about to lay male hands on his cock for the first time, and then, instantly, AJ looks off to the side where the narrator has turned on a hetero porn flick. The good stuff is about to begin.

Click.

Diggler has hit the pause button.

I look at him, trying to see what's caused him to stop the video. He looks at the screen for a moment longer, then turns to me.

"See, here's the thing," he says, gesturing at the screen. "They didn't kiss or anything."

"That's not what this site is about," I reply.

"Well, what is it about, then?" he asks, all innocence.

"They find straight guys who want to make some money, and they pay them to let some guy jack them off."

"Oh," he says, still pondering. "That's not what the all-girl sites were like."

"Yeah, I imagine that those had, you know, girls in them."

He chuckles. Good sign.

"No, I mean that the chicks were all like kissing on each other and stuff, and they moaned and whimpered like they'd never wanted anything more in their entire lives. This AJ guy looks like he hardly wants to be there."

"Well, duh. He's straight."

"Oh no he's not, not if he's about to let that other dude do what I think he's getting ready to do." Diggler looks at me like I must have suddenly forgotten what "straight" means.

"But that's the whole thing on this site. These guys don't get off on a guy touching them, but then they get off because a guy's touching them. It's kind of awesome, really, because you get to see them give it up--they never wanted a guy, but they can't fight off the orgasm." I pause for a sec, looking at his disbelieving face. "Guys are sluts, really. They'll take any hand over their own, no matter what it's attached to."

Diggler squints at me like he's trying to decide if I'm serious.

"You know it's true, Dig. Friction is friction."

He exhales and gives a reluctant nod. Then he clicks play again, and the real action begins.

AJ is given enough time to become engrossed in the porn he's watching, perhaps even forgetting where he is and what's he getting paid to allow. He jumps when he feels the hand close around his soft cock. His eyes close for a second, as if he's fighting the urge to look down at what's happening to him, and when they open they focus on the porn vid as if his life depended on unblinking scrutiny.

The hand around his dick massages and tickles and coaxes, and soon he's on the rise. A squirt of lube gives his cock a gloss, and it grows even larger. In spite of himself, he sighs quietly as his erection reaches full strength.

Click.

"See, that's what I mean. All that guy has to do is get a quick jiggle, and he's bone-hard and ready to rumble. Shit."

"And this is having no effect on you?" I ask, my voice scrupulously devoid of insinuation. I have noticed a slight tenting in Dig's shorts.

His hand immediately moves into a protective posture over his crotch, but he knows I'm onto him. He looks up, and the slight grin that plays around his mouth bursts open with a giggle that is half anxiety and half excitement.

"You caught me. Yeah, I'm getting a little motion down there. But I still don't think I get this whole deal--I mean, this AJ guy isn't straight anymore, right? Once you've had your junk jostled by another dude, you're pretty much on the gay train."

"Oh, and every time one woman gets busy with another a lesbian is born?"

He looks puzzled at me, and then says, earnestly, "Dude, you probably don't know this, but chicks are different."

"Okay, so here's another lesson about the gays," I say patiently. "We actually understand women better than you do."

His puzzlement deepens. "But you don't even like chicks..."

"I don't bone them, duh, but my closest friends have always been girls. At least until I got to college, when I had a chance to meet a better class of guy than the ones that populate my hometown."

"So, then..." he's thinking hard. "Let me get this--women in the lesbo videos really are dykes?"

"Actually, no. It's kind of the opposite. The women in the 'lesbo' videos are women who get paid to have sex on camera, and they don't much care which sex they're having it with."

"Okay, I get that. But you're saying that this guy," he thrusts at the screen, "Is really straight, but he lets this guy paw at him, for money, while the other guy films it?"

"Yep, that's it."

"That's pretty fucked up, you know."

"Your boner and I disagree," I answer smugly. His crotch is now nearly overflowing.

He looks down, looks back up at me, and then there's that giggle again--the one that makes me picture him and me and a soft summer breeze and a green meadow and lots and lots of semen.

He clicks the video back on.

AJ can no longer ignore the sensations coming from his sturdy prick. His skin is flushed, and his breathing is heavy. The lube crackles softly while little "Unh" noises emanate from AJ's throat. The hand gripping his dick moves faster, twisting, pulling on the pole of pale flesh. AJ's eyes roll back a little, and he says something that sounds like "Hoooo," and we can tell he's close. He takes two short breaths in, and he's almost there.

Then the hand stops.

I'm not sure whose gasp is more anguished, AJ's or Diggler's. AJ's is pained, yearning, and it speaks of the ache that is surely cramping through his loins at this moment. Diggler's is shocked, bereft, and in it I can hear an undertone of mortification that what's happening on the screen has affected him so direly.

"That's just fucking cold, man. Who does that to a guy?"

I swivel my head to look at Diggler.

"Wait, so first you didn't even want to watch this, and now you're upset that they're not doing it right?

"Oh, fuck, Josh--I don't know what I'm...I mean what we're...oh, fuck."

I notice he hasn't stopped the video.

"Please?"

It takes me a second to realize that it's AJ's voice we're hearing. He's clearly distraught, and though his balls don't actually look blue on the video, you know they're aching. He's asking for the handjob to continue--asking for a man to bring him to orgasm. I'm somehow able to stay conscious even though every blood cell in my body is on its way to fill my cock like the Hindenburg. I decide to push Dig a little.

"Oh, man, did you hear that?" I goad. "He's begging for it now."

All I hear from next to me is a hissing noise, like air being slowly let out of an inflatable sex doll. Dig's shorts are ridiculously tented now, like big-top-circus tented, and he's squirming as he watches.

"What did you say?" the handjobber prompts AJ.

"Do it. Please, just do it."

"Do what?"

AJ's dick throbs crazily on his stomach, bouncing up and down and side to side as he thrashes, seeking friction.

"Jack me, just fucking do it, okay? Make me--make me--" he pants, "Make me nut."

"Ohhh, fucking fuck," Diggler mutters next to me. He's given up trying to manage his genitalia, and the shiny head of his cock protrudes hungrily from the waistband of his shorts.

"Unnnnnhhhh," is all we hear from AJ as the stroking begins again. He isn't even looking at the porn anymore--his eyes are screwed shut and he is gripping the sheets on both sides as he writhes. His pectorals gather up into hard mounds, his nipples point to the ceiling, and the corded muscles of his arms stand out in glossy relief as his body goes rigid. His pelvis tightens and he thrusts one more time into the fist of his tormentor, and then the blast comes. The milking hand flies up and down his rigid cock while the white liquid sprays all over--all over him, all over the bed, all over everything.