Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

When a calm finally settles over AJ, the camera pans up his body, tracing the web of white spunk that decorates his still-panting form. The camera finally reaches his face, and he fixes his gaze right at the lens.

"Are we done?" he asks, in the manner of someone who has suffered through a particularly complicated root canal. And the scene fades to black.

We sit in silence in front of the computer. I wait.

"Oh, god, Josh," whispers Diggler.

"Yeah?" I ask, as open-ended a question as I can think of at this moment.

He looks down at his lap, where the angry red head of his cock throbs at us, a crystal drop emerging from the slit at the tip.

"I'm going to ask you a question," he says, slowly.

"Okay," I reply. Oh please oh please be the question I want to answer. Please!

"You can say no," he says, even more slowly.

Yeah, that'll happen.

"Mm-hmm," I answer, not wanting to delay him in his asking.

He looks at me--right at me, his urgent gaze drilling into my eyes.

"Will you do that to me?"

He immediately looks away, as if he cannot stand to see what effect his words will have on me.

There's silence in the room. I think it's silent, anyway, but I can't really tell. All I can hear in my head is some kind of Hallelujah Chorus, sung by unicorns dancing on rainbows. This is all kinds of awesome.

"Clark, are you sure that's what you want?"

He turns back.

"No." He huffs out a sharp breath. "I'm not sure about anything right now. But I have to know. Will you do it?"

He looks up at me and swallows hard. His eyebrows rise, a plaintive expression that pierces me. He's so scared and so horny and so confused--and so, my type.

"Of course I will." I even manage to make this come off sounding like I'm doing him a favor. Of course, I'm fully aware that the cock fairy has just waved his magic wand and made my dream come true.

"Come on," he says, and then he bolts up and heads for the bedroom. I follow, the butterflies back in my stomach. But this time they feel wonderful.

# 10 #

Diggler's bedroom is as IKEA-perfect as the rest of the place. He switches on the lamps by the bed, which fill the room with a soft glow. He stands at the end of the bed, and looks at me, suddenly shy. Oh, we are not going to slow this train down now, buddy.

I step close to him, and look him right in the eye.

"You in?"

He nods, slowly at first, then with more assurance.

"Then make like AJ and get these clothes off." I smile reassuringly. God, I hope I'm not drooling.

He takes the hem of his shirt in his hands, and pulls it up and over his head. I'd forgotten that under that shirt lurks the body of a water polo player so tightly built that he can go down on himself. Damn.

Without pausing, be slips his hands into the waistband of his shorts and whips them off. Then he stands before me, his cock barely contained in his well-stretched boxers. I stand, appreciating the view, until I realize that he's waiting for me to take the lead. We really are going to re-enact the video.

I take his hand and lead him over to the side of the bed. His palm is sweating, and his breath is kind of shallow and quick.

We reach the designated spot, and he stops. I know what I'm supposed to do next, but now it's my turn to be nervous. This is a huge step for both of us, and my mouth is suddenly dry. Usually by the time I get to laying hands on a straight guy, he's already begun to think of himself as not so straight after all. Dig's not there yet, which makes what we're about to do kind of kinky, even for me.

But we've come this far. I'm not going to let the cock fairy's work be in vain.

I reach out and put my hands on the waistband of his drawers. Here I stop, taking a moment to look him in the face, to see if he still wants this. In answer to my unspoken question, he puts his hands over mine and pushes down. Yep, he still wants it.

I slide his boxers down those slim legs with their steely sleek muscles, and he steps out of them and onto the bed. He lays back, like AJ did, though he looks a bit more anxious.

I climb on the bed after him, positioning myself between those lovely legs, and immediately before me It throbs. It's not fully erect at the moment, but Diggler half-hard is twice as long as most men are when fully extended. His eyes are closed, but somehow he knows when I reach toward him, and he catches my wrist in his hand. I look up.

"Will you do something for me?" he asks, his voice breathy and urgent.

"I'm about to, Dig. Just let my hand loose and I'll get to it."

"No, not that. I mean, I still want that, but I'm scared."

"Of course you are. This is a really new thing you're doing. But you're going to be fine."

"But I don't know what will happen...you know...after."

"I assume that you'll shower and I'll go home, content with a job well done."

"No, I mean what if it gets weird? What if I get weird?"

I look up at him, puzzled.

"What I mean," he explains, "Is that I'm not sure I'm going to want to go through with it once we get going."

I start to tell him that he shouldn't worry, but he stops me.

"No, listen. This is all so new and strange and I'm worried about what I might do. I don't want to hurt you."

"So, do you want me to stop?"

"No, I need you to do it. But I also need you to use these." He reaches around behind the headboard and pulls out a length of soft, red rope from each corner.

"You want me to--what?"

"Tie me up with these. Tie my wrists so that I can't get loose. I just want you to be safe," he says, sensing my hesitation. "And I want to be sure that I go through with it. I gotta see this through."

Whoa, dude.

"Dig, why do you have ropes on your bed?"

He looks a little sheepish. "I told you I'd tried everything to make it work, right? Well, these are left over from one of my last desperate tries. I actually hired a pro, and she thought that I might like it rough. She tied me up and did her best, but I just couldn't...well, you know. After that I just stuffed them back here and tried to forget about the whole thing."

He hands me the ends of the two ropes, and then stretches his arms out wide. Holy shit that's just about more sexy than I can take right now.

"You're sure?" I ask.

"Definitely," he says, and he means it.

I tie his wrists with the two lengths of rope, and then sit back to appreciate my work. Suffering through those horrible years of Boy Scouts has finally paid off--he won't be getting out of these anytime soon. He's like my Odysseus, lashed to the mast so as to resist the Sirens' song. It's pretty much the same deal here--we've tied him up so that if heterosexuality beckons, he won't be able to answer the call.

So. Fucking. Hot.

"Do you want me to grab your laptop and pull up some porn or something? AJ had something to look at, and that probably helped."

"No." His voice is sure and quiet. He looks down at me, and his face is as serious as I've ever seen it. "You're all I need."

Have you ever stuck a fire hose down your pants? Yeah, me either. Until this moment I had no idea what that would feel like. Now I know. It's damp. And my cock is showing no signs of easing up on the twitch-and-drool thing it's doing.

I look up at him, eyebrows up, asking; he looks down at me, jaw set, nodding.

I brush the fingers of one hand along the base of his cock, right where the loose skin of his balls begins. He gasps, startled, perhaps shocked at being touched this way by another guy. Well, hold on Diggler, because you're about to get a whole lot more touched.

I wrap my fingers around his cock, which snakes up to his belly button. The fingers of both hands. And still I've only got about half of it in my grip. I slide my fists loosely up and down several times, and I feel the monster respond. It doesn't get much thicker, but it is definitely getting firmer. I smile, proud of the effect I'm having.

I hear him chuckle, and I look up. He is grinning at me, teasing me gently for my goofy look of delight at feeling him bone up. But he looks genuinely happy, and that warms me all over. But especially in my pants.

I give his hard-on a squeeze, and feel its firmness. He's there.

"Oh, fuck, Josh," he exhales.

"Yeah, Dig?"

"That's the first time. Ever."

"First time for what?" This, I know the answer to. But hearing him say it will pretty much make me come in my pants, and I'm not going to miss out on that.

"The first time anyone's ever gotten me hard. The first time anyone's ever felt my hard dick."

Oh, yeah. That did it. All I have to do is squirm a little. That tiny little bit of friction puts me right over the edge. A perfect little orgasm washes over me, leaving me happy but ready for more. Lots more.

"It's fucking amazing, Dig. You are so hard right now."

He groans, and I start sliding my hands up and down, first slowly, and then, as we settle into a rhythm, I stroke more purposefully. Soon I see his balls start to pull up to the base of his cock. He's getting close.

"Oh, god, Josh. Ohh...STOP!" he suddenly cries, tensing against the ropes.

I drop his cock as if it actually were a snake, and look up at him.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" I'm completely freaked out by his sudden shout.

He pants a bit, catches his breath, and then he can speak again.

"It was too fast, too much all at once. I needed you to stop." He takes a couple of breaths, trying to calm himself down. Then he looks at me, and that intensity is back in his eyes. "But I don't want you to stop."

"Uh, dude? You said 'stop.' "

"Yeah, but it's like I said--I want you to do this, and I need to see it through."

"But if you say to stop, I'm going to stop."

"No. If I say stop again, you keep going. You ignore me and just keep doing it. Okay?"

I look at him, not sure which Diggler to trust--the one who clearly needs this release, or the one who's not into being touched by another guy.

"Dig, I--"

"No! You keep going. Even if I tell you to stop--even if I scream it--you need to do it. All the way. No matter what. Will you do that for me?"

"Uh, I guess. It's a little weird, though."

"What part of what we're doing isn't already a little weird? Just promise me that you'll keep going. Promise."

Now, my Philosophy professor would have something pithy to say here about free will, but he's not looking up at the longest cock in the world that just happens to be attached to an amazing naked guy who is begging me, naked, for help.

"I will. No matter what. Promise."

"Thank you. Now, for god's sake, go!"

I set my jaw, grab that cock, and get back to tugging. This is work I can get into.

"Hey, Dig? Got any lube? I'm afraid I'm going to rub you raw here. This skin hasn't seen much friction."

"Tell me about it. But I don't have any lube around. Sorry."

"What kind of guy doesn't have lube?"

He blushes. "Um, well, it's just that...lube tastes bad." He shrugs impishly.

Oh, that's right. Why should he content himself with a handjob when he can give himself a blowjob? But back to the task at hand. To get through this, I need to be resourceful. I need to think like a Boy Scout. Ah, got it.

I work up some saliva, and then spit it into my hand. Now, this could seriously freak Diggler out. Kinda risky. But then I remember that he's tied up, so I stop worrying how he'll take it and just slap that spit right onto his rock-hard cock.

He jumps, clearly alarmed at what I've done. But then he starts to feel my hands slipping more smoothly up and down, gliding along his length, and he's quickly at peace with it. His breathing starts to get a little labored, and I can tell he's on his way. This will be fun.

"Ohhh, oohhh," he moans, his head turning side to side. A mist of sweat has appeared on his chest, giving him a healthy glow. His breaths are quicker now, shallower. Then I see his balls start to pull up again, drawing nearer to the base of his towering cock. It won't be long now. This is the point he was at when he--

"Josh, stop."

I look up at him. His face is etched with a confusion of emotion--I see regret, fear, desperation, perhaps a little shame--and his voice is clipped and reedy.

"No."

I keep up my strokes, spitting into my hand again for good measure.

He thrashes against the ropes, his head swiveling desperately from left to right, searching for any slack he can use to get away from me.

"Stop! You have to fucking stop!" His voice is louder now, and his legs are kicking frantically. I lift myself up and then come to rest on top of them, pinning them to the bed. It's a bronco ride, but he's not getting away from me.

"Josh! Fucking stop! Right now!" he bellows. We'll be hearing from the neighbors soon if he keeps that up.

A sudden inspiration strikes me. I reach down the side of the mattress and feel around the base of the bed. There! I feel a rope--the lower companion of the two that bind Diggler's wrists. I pull it up, and he sees it just as I wrap it around his ankle. I have to release his cock for a moment in order to finish the knot and pull it tight, but soon my work is done. Now he has only one leg to kick with, and a quick jump to the remaining corner of the bed yields the final rope. In seconds I have him spread-eagled and immobilized.

His yelling has become a profane litany of abuse, his voice growing hoarse with exertion and panic. He suddenly switches tactics. He fixes me with a desperate, wide-eyed stare, his voice a husky, urgent rasp.

"You can't do this, Josh," he pants. "This is like rape. I don't want you to do it."

I lie down on the bed next to him, and speak softly, directly into his ear. "You do want me to do it, Dig. You told me so. And you told me not to stop. Made me promise. And I'm not one," here I grab his cock, give it a squeeze, "To break my promises."

He whimpers, and his eyes are welling up.

"But...but I'm not...I'm not gay," he whispers.

"No, you aren't. But I'll tell you what you are," I growl into his ear. I stroke his cock harder, faster.

"What...what am I?"

"You are...about to have an orgasm." I grin. That was smooth.

"No."

"And I'm going to give it to you."

"No, please." His whisper is now a groan.

"I'm going to make you come."

"No! You can't make me."

"Oh yes I can. I'm going to pull it out of you."

"Oh...god...no..." he grunts.

"You're going to come, right now, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Oh, fuck, stop!" he shouts again.

While one hand tugs on his cock, or at least the top eight inches or so, I clamp the other over his mouth. This has the effect of preventing any more outbursts. It also makes me feel very very dirty. I gotta get this done before the questionable ethics start to kill the mood.

I bend down, spit on his cock, and come back up to look in his face. I can't even tell what he's feeling anymore--he looks like a drowning man, watching the water close over him, just wanting it to be over. He's about to get his wish. I lean down, and he gasps as my breath fills his ear.

"Come for me, Clark. Come for me. Shoot it all over me."

He goes rigid, and I know I've won. Every muscle stands out in sharp relief, and he stops thrashing, stops yelling. I pull my hand off his mouth. He looks at the ceiling, his eyes wide, and then, from his throat, the tiniest little gasp.

The first blast I don't even see coming. It smacks me wetly on the side of my head, glazing my shoulder as well. This is the same guy who barely dribbled during his performance last week? The second volley goes even further--some of it hits the headboard, some streaks his face. Then his pole just goes crazy, lobbing spurts of come all over the place, a constant flow of spunk that quickly frosts both of us and the bed. It goes on for what seems like a full minute, and then finally subsides.

Diggler gasps, as if he hadn't drawn breath since it started. He may not have. I look up from the sperm-dotted bedscape to see how he's doing. This moment will be crucial.

His eyes are screwed shut, and he's shaking all over. Oh, not a good sign. Crap.

Suddenly his eyes fly open. He looks at me, somewhat insanely, as if trying to remember who I am and how I got here. I realize I'm still holding onto his cock. I let go.

"Josh..." he croaks. Is that horror or post-orgasmic exhaustion I hear in his voice?

"Clark?"

His mouth moves, trying to wrap itself around what he's struggling to say. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

"Thank you," he sighs, finally. "You saved me." A grin flashes briefly, and then he closes his eyes.

"It was my pleasure," I whisper, humbled by his extravagant gratitude. "I did what any friend would do."

He chuckles.

"I guess I've never had a friend as good as you," he says.

"Well, you have me now," I say, meaning that on levels that he certainly can't understand. I release the knots on his wrists, and then those that bind his ankles. He's stretched out on the bed, exhausted, drained.

"I should get going. You look like you need a rest."

His eyes open again, and he sits up a bit.

"No, stay. Please. This is the first time that I've ever had...ever done...well, ever whatever, and I don't want to feel like it was a hit and run. Come on, stay. I'll make breakfast in the morning," he wheedles, and gives me a puppy look that makes my chest tight.

"Oh, okay. You win. I'll take the couch. You've kind of made a mess of the bed."

He laughs.

"Yeah, but only the top of the duvet. The sheets are fine. Come on, stay with me."

I look at him, hard.

"Clark, what are we doing here?"

"I don't know what we're doing--or what we did. I kind of don't give a fuck right now. Just stay, okay? I don't want to be alone." He pulls back the sheets and slides in, and then holds them open for me to join him.

If you're wondering how I get myself into such fucked-up situations, well, I am too. If you figure it out, drop me a line. In the meantime, I'm just going to shuck off my clothes and hop in bed with the straight, self-fellating water polo player whom I've pretty much just raped with my hand.

I slip into the sheets, keeping my boxer briefs on to restrain my still-hard cock, and position myself as close to the edge of the bed as I can get. Dig looks over, smiles sleepily, and touches my cheek.

"Thanks, man. I love you." Having said this, he drifts immediately to sleep, leaving me to ask the ceiling just what the hell he meant by that.

# 11 #

When I awaken, I'm in bed, Diggler's bed, alone. I look around, reconstructing the events of last night, trying to understand what happened to put me here. I review the whole evening, with the following results: one, I have no idea what it all means; two, I'm rock-hard again. This is why letting your cock make major decisions about your relationships is a bad idea.

I hear Diggler in the kitchen, so I slip out of his bed, put my clothes back on, and head out to say good morning. What I'm going to say beyond that is, well, beyond me.

He's in the kitchen area, at the stove, no doubt cooking something indescribably delicious because that would just be my luck. Huge cock, cute guy, great cook, totally straight. We probably won't even mention what happened last night.

"Hey, buddy," he says as he hears me approach.

"Hey," I reply, sitting at the small counter. He turns back to whatever he's cooking. It smells awesome.

I study his back for a moment, thinking about all the ways this could go. He could decide on the "Full Denial" strategy, in which we pretend that I didn't just have to dig his dried semen out of my ear, and never acknowledge that we even came into contact. Or, he could go the "Ruby Slippers" route, in which he comes to the conclusion that he's suddenly completely gay, and this will end with our breakfast getting stone cold while we frolic in the shower all morning. It could be something in between, of course, because that's where I live my entire life. Smart money's on indeterminate sexual tension that leads to confusion and angst. Yay.