More Than a Tight End

"This ass is mine. It is so fucking mine, you are the property of Darius McGuire. Remember that," he grunted as he slid deep, his balls pressed against my taint.

"I'm yours, take me however you want," I groaned, the feeling being full of thick cock unlike anything I imagined.

After a while I wanted more, faster, harder. I wanted him so deep inside of me he'd never find his way out.

"Harder, please, Darius," I begged. I knew there was more. My body was telling me there was more. I didn't know what it was, but something instinctual told me this wasn't all there was.

"You're incredible, baby. So responsive, so hot," he praised me as he shifted partly to his knees, and he grabbed my hips to adjust my stance so that I was partially on my hands and knees.

When he thrust forward again it was with so much more power and passion that I cried out in surprise and pleasure. "Yes, Darius, yes, harder," I said.

With that, he became a wild man, thrusting so hard I had to use most of my strength to push back against him to keep from being shoved into the headboard, and to help him delve deeper, his cock filling me with a pleasure I never dreamed existed.

And when he grunted and moaned, and as I felt his cock twitch inside and unload his hot, thick ropes of cum into the depths of my rectum a second orgasm tore me apart -- even more intense than the first, as I emptied myself onto the bedcovers beneath me.

I collapsed onto the blankets and Darius collapsed on top of me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his cheek resting on my shoulder. We gasped for oxygen together as my still- spasming muscles milked his cock of every bit of cum from his body, as if every part of me craved him.

I had no idea how long we lay there because I might have passed out or fallen asleep. I had no idea which, but when I became aware of my surroundings again Darius was still buried deep inside, his cock softening.

He rolled off, and I felt my sphincter try to close as the softened cock slid out with a wet, spludgy feeling. To my surprise, it did close, mostly because I actually clenched it tight, not wanting to lose the cum Darius had left inside. I wanted to keep it, to make his seed a part of me.

He rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the water run, and I realized he was probably cleaning off his cock, which I also realized I still hadn't actually seen or touched, with my hand, anyway.

When he came back he had a wet washcloth, and he gently cleaned my ass and wiped up the mess I left under me with another towel.

"Stay with me tonight," he asked as the warm washrag soothed my slightly sore parts.

I was already half asleep and I was pretty sure I had missed the last ferry off the island, it left just past midnight, and the clock by the side of the bed I had fifteen minutes to be there. I had planned to make the three-hour to drive home to Vancouver, near Portland.

That wasn't going to happen, and I didn't have a room here, since I wasn't "officially" present at the event.

"Okay," I agreed readily.

Somehow Darius got both of us under the covers, wrapped his arms around me, and we fell asleep.

At some point in the night I woke up to Darius' hand wrapped around my cock, and without thinking, I returned the favor. I fisted his cock for the first time. It was bigger than mine, not by much, but he was definitely nicely hung. I couldn't believe I had that thing inside of me, or the pleasure it brought.

"Oh, baby, yeah," he groaned as I slid my hand up his shaft; at this I was an expert, thanks to frequent self-service. He was cut too, which pleased me more than it should have. For a few moments we traded hand jobs, then he scooted closer, until our bodies were pressed against each other and there wasn't really room between us, and gently pushed my hand away before replacing it with his own hand, which was large enough to wrap around both of us.

I grunted, and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him even closer, and my hips began to move with his strokes, which to my delight resulted in even more friction -- his hand, his cock, my body, his body.

"More, oh, more," my voice wasn't my own as I was lost in the way our bodies worked together perfectly for our combined pleasure, our combined sweat slicking our bodies. "Fuck, Darius, I could do this with you forever."

It didn't take long after that for me to let out a huge groan as third, wondrous orgasm tingled down my spine, then back up my balls and cock, painting both of us in cum.

"Baby, yes, cum all over me," he cried and released his own load, which quickly mixed with mine and our sweat in a sticky, wet mess.

This time I went to wash myself off and get the wet washcloth, and he fell asleep as I cleaned his belly and cock, which in the dim light was gorgeous, dark, thick and straight, not more than a half-inch larger than mine in any way. We were truly well matched. When we fucked, we were the dark and light sides of the same beast.

I tossed the washcloth in the tub to rinse it out in the morning, and found him curled on his side, his soft breath even and deep. I fell asleep wrapped around him, the big spoon, my forehead tucked against he back of his neck.

The next morning I woke up to the morning sun gleaming through the open windows of the third-story room. Our positions were reversed; I was the little spoon, and I was partly on my back, so I was looking up at him as he was propped up on one elbow, his arm wrapped around my waist possessively.

He was blinking at me sleepily as if trying to decide if I as real.

"You're actually here with me," he said, then touched my cheek hesitantly, as if I'd suddenly disappear in front of his eyes.

I groaned. I hated mornings. "That I am. Last night was incredible. You're incredible."

Wonder filled his eyes. "I thought I drunk-dreamed it all," he muttered. "I must have had more than I thought I did."

"You sure as hell didn't have whiskey-dick," I assured him. Somehow, I didn't want him to know that I was entirely straight. Or thought I was straight until the previous night.

"You really are gay? And you're into me."

I shrugged, not ready for the "gay" label, unwilling to put any kind of characterization on the previous night's incredible sex -- with a man. "Bi. If I was straight I don't think last night would have been so amazing."

He groaned and pulled me close for a kiss. "Damn, I never thought you'd ever actually let me touch you. I mean, I saw you last summer at skills camp, watched the fuck out of you. It was killing me that you were underage. I never thought I'd be so lucky that you might be...," he trailed off, his hand trailing down my side.

I ran my hand over his much-darker arm. The similarities between our builds was remarkable, though he was just a bit bigger; perhaps because he had a few more years to put on muscle, perhaps he was just a bigger guy. In the early morning light that streamed in the window his skin glistened, highlighting the incredible, lean muscle definition he built with hours on hours in the gym. Hours I could totally identify with. I loved being big and muscular. It was a kind of power in and of itself, and apparently I loved big muscular men.

As a little kid I was a white-blond tow-head, but now I'm just a pale golden-blond, and while my skin was nicely tanned after a summer of football practice and running without a shirt, the contrast between his dark mocha skin and mine was mouth-watering. I had dated a few black girls, but there weren't many in my school so it was never a thing with me. They were just -- girls, and not particularly memorable, like every other girl I had ever dated.

So it wasn't his skin tone that got me.

It was those muscles, his raw masculinity that mirrored my own. My admiration of his athletic prowess, and damn, his prowess with both his cock and mine. The give and take of our physical near-equality, his power in driving into my body, of being able to contain my own strength, and my power in returning that power, thrust for thrust.

"Baby, I'd love to feel that thick cock in me. Flip around," he said.

The thought of fucking his ass was intriguing, but really, it didn't do a lot for me. Instead, I craved the feeling of him filling me again, of him taking my ass as his own.

"Not my thing," I said, understanding my own raw honesty even as I hardly believed what I was saying. I didn't know this about myself at all until this moment. "I need you to fuck me again. This time I want to watch; I want to see your face when you cum in me."

To hell with it. I was experimenting, right? If I liked it once, would I like it again? It didn't make me gay. It just made me open minded.

Darius groaned and kissed me. "Are you sure? I hadn't pegged you for a true bottom, no pun intended. But then, my thing is I love sucking cock, and I'm no submissive."

My brain barely interpreted the words, so I ignored them and pulled him closer for a kiss, making good use of my own muscles to show him I meant business.

"Okay, so you top from the bottom, too," he said with a chuckle that turned into a groan as I pulled him down on top of me and wrapped my legs around his waist.

I moaned, turned on as fuck and learning new terms that seemed obvious from the context. "Bottoming seems to be my thing," I agreed, "But I'm no submissive either."

Heh, that one I knew. Being aggressive with sex just felt right. I just had no clue until now that I loved the feeling of a cock inside of me, and wh

"Oh, hell no. If you were, I probably won't be interested. I like a man who likes to give as good as he gets -- even if he does it from the bottom," he agreed as he reached for a tube on the bedside table I hadn't noticed the night before. Lube. That explained why his fingers and cock slid in so easily once we were on the bed. "It's okay, bareback? I mean, I was too drunk last night to remember. I've never fucked without a condom before."

"Me either," I said, but wasn't going to admit that my ass was a virgin and I thought I was straight until he came along. "I'm clean."

A quick squirt of lube, and his fingers were in my ass again, and this time he wasn't slow or patient. My voice caught in the back of my throat with an inarticulate noise as the combination of my slightly sore ass and his faster than before entry gave me that sharp, stinging and not entirely pleasant stretch I had expected the first time. It was shocking, compared with the previous night's distraction of the blowjob and slow, easy entry.

"Sorry. You make me so fucking excited," he said, and kissed me deeply to ease the sting of the entry of a second finger -- which worked like a charm. I loved it when he kissed me like that. Hell, I loved everything he did to me.

By this time my cock was at full mast, and throbbing with need. It was something I never felt before last night, but I craved his touch on my prostate, needed it like I needed oxygen.

When his fingers reached that magical spot my cock jumped like a fucking jack in the box, and I shouted his name.

"Damn, baby, you like it that much," he muttered, his eyes hooded with desire.

"I need more," I begged, my eyes downward, on the long dark cock that bobbed between his legs, just as hard and ready as my own. "I need your cock buried to the hilt. I need you to mark me as yours deep inside."

I really had no idea what I was saying. I'd never felt anything similar toward anyone. It explained everything, especially the lukewarm feelings I had toward girls. I still appreciated their form, loved a nice set of tits, wide hips, but touching them -- it was like kissing my sister, or mom.

My earlier half-formed idea that I might be gay burst into rainbow color in my mind. I very definitely was gay, because the idea of going back to girls was like being given a perfectly cooked and spiced filet mignon and trading it in for a basic McDonald's hamburger. Once I tasted the filet, the hamburger was okay, but damn, that filet.

Was I okay with it? Oh, hell no. Not really, or perhaps, just not yet, but I wasn't ready to think about it as a new reality, and pushed the acknowledgment aside.

For the moment I was Dariusexual. I could deal with that for the short term. Then I wouldn't have to unpack everything that came with the other possibility.

In a flash, his two fingers were replaced with the wide head of his cock pressing inward. I was so eager for it I pressed back against him, and with a pop I only heard in my head, just that little bit of him was seated inside of me, and I groaned in partial relief.

"Fuck me hard," I insisted, "give me everything you've got."

He complied, and with one long, hard thrust, he took me until his balls rested on my ass, and this time without waiting for me to adjust, he started fucking me like he meant it.

Darius thew his head back in ecstasy as he fucked me, half on his knees, and I let go of his waist and spread my legs as much as they would to help him get deeper.

I grunted every time he hit my prostate, and I could already feel the tingling pleasure running my spine. I grabbed my cock and squeezed hard in an attempt to slow my approaching orgasm, but his quick, hard thrusts were overwhelmingly euphoric.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my knees and pulled them higher, until they were nearly to my shoulders. His thrusts were shorter now, but he kissed me, deeply, his mouth battling mine in rhythm with his thrusts, until he abandoned the kiss, his face wrecked as his orgasm overcame all rational thought and he rutted into me with all the power and violence an elite college linebacker's ability, and he unloaded his second load deep in my body.

I was his, for as long as he wanted me.

His orgasm pushed me over to my own rapture as his orgasm triggered mine and, with the pressure on my prostate, my cum shot out almost all the way to my neck, and when he collapsed on me it squished between us. Why the hell did I like that so much.

He held me close and tucked his head between my shoulder and neck; it seemed to be a body part he was obsessed with, because he breathed deeply and gave me small kisses on my neck and jaw.

"If I paid for another night, would you stay with me," he asked, and I was thrilled and devastated.

I groaned. "I need to be home this afternoon. I have an assignment due tomorrow I've barely started. I wish I could stay."

We took a shower together and gently, lovingly washed each other's bodies. It was sweet and gentle, and I loved exploring his body, which was so remarkably similar to my own. It was an unexpected discovery, those last twelve hours. I discovered I'm gay, and thought I had a type -- guys who looked like me -- big, muscular, fit. Skin color? I had no idea if it mattered. I had a sample of one.

Once we dried off and got dressed, a very slow process since we kept touching and kissing, and found ourselves wrapped in each others' arms if we let it go too far.

"Are you out?" he asked while we were locked in a miserable embrace, hating the farewell.

I shook my head. "I'm thinking about telling my parents and brother and sister, though. They deserve to know and they're not homophobes. I think they'll be okay."

Yeah, and thankfully I didn't have a girlfriend at the moment. I wasn't a cheater, and this would have been the ultimate cheat. My last girlfriend broke up with me soon after Homecoming was over. She said I wasn't a good boyfriend, that I spent all my time concentrating on football, and none on her. I didn't care all that much.

"I'm not out either, I do have a sister who knows, because she caught me with a guy once. Sure, there's an NFL player who's out now, but as a draftee? No. I'll stay in the closet until I feel my career is solid enough to survive the blowback," he said.

He smiled brilliantly and pulled me back into his arms. "We can't be together in public, but come up to visit. I have my own apartment, so you can stay as long as you want. Come to my games."

I froze. I assumed it was a one-night stand, a hook-up.

It sounded almost too good to be true.

I kissed him, hard. "I can't guarantee I can be there for the rest of your games, but I'll try."

It took ten minutes for us to finally get me out the door, and twenty minutes later I was on the ferry to Fauntleroy.

For the entire three-hour drive home my mind whirled with how much I wanted to say, and to who. My brain swirled with "I'm a gay man," and "I can't be gay, I've been with girls for years!"

By the end of the drive my brain finally decided it was stupid to keep trying to pretend to myself I wasn't gay. Everything pointed toward being gay. All I had to do to get a painful, rock-solid hard-on was to think about Darius -- clothed.

I tried to imagine Madison, my last girlfriend, nude and on her knees, giving me a blow job, which wasn't difficult because it was something I thought about before. Madison had waist-length wavy brunette hair, deep green eyes, and creamy pale olive skin. Her mom was Greek, and I called her Venus because she looked like the classic Venus de Milo statue, but with arms and a prettier nose.

I didn't even get a twitch.

One limp dick.

I tried imagining various female celebrities I'd beaten off to in the past, and somehow none of them appealed sexually. I was still vaguely interested, but the attraction was "meh." I mean, they were still very interesting to look at. My head would probably still turn at the sight of a gorgeous female figure -- I liked them full-breasted, wide-hipped, with a bit of extra padding and a defined waist -- but they were no longer the lure they had been.

I'm sure most guys out there would probably take ages to get used to the idea they're gay, but that wasn't me. I was the kind of guy who rolled with the punches. What ever was, was. Honestly, it was a relief to understand why my physical response to even the sexiest of girls was so tepid.

As soon as I recognized what I was, it was my first instinct to own it. And there was only one way to own it if I was going to stay in the closet to protect Darius.

On Sundays my parents would predictably be home. Most likely they had football on, and we loved our football. After 6 p.m on Sundays we were required to be home, but we all liked our lazy Sundays in front of the TV, so it was unlikely anyone would be out today.

I had a pass when I traveled to Seattle, because Dad knew I spent busy weekends there and planned to sign on National Signing Day in the spring.

Did I mention my beanpole dad is also a classically-trained chef? He runs his own restaurant, combining his financial skills with his cooking skills. I had no idea how he stayed so skinny, because he spent the whole day sampling food to make sure it was perfect. However, it also meant I grew up on really good food and could cook well enough so that I would neither starve nor suffer burnt or bland food.

Mom and Dad were both vocal LGBT allies, and my siblings had good friends who were out, but sometimes it's different when it's your own family. That much I knew just from hearing stories.

A long-standing rule in the family was that anyone could call a family meeting at any time. Usually it was Mom or Dad, to discuss some change in their work schedules, or a budget issue, or something along those lines, but sometimes one of us kids called it to negotiate for new rules because we were older, like a later curfew or dating limits -- or to renegotiate who did which chores.

"I'm calling a family meeting," I told my brother and sister, who were watching an anime in the living room.

Dad heard from the kitchen, and yelled up the stairs for Mom.

In five minutes everyone was assembled.

"Calling a family meeting immediately after you get back from a trip to U-Dub is either really good or really bad," Dad observed.