The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 01

Pete relaxed as Ace leaned forward. Ace's cock penetrated him, and Pete's breath caught. "Fuck, you feel so good," Pete whispered. He felt Ace's long, blonde hair tickling his chest.

For Pete, this was the type of passionate sex he'd always dreamed of. This was a fantasy come to life. He reached up to tweak Ace's pierced nipples.

Ace went as slowly as he could. This wasn't the same as a quick anonymous fuck after a show, where he knew he'd never see the guy ever again. This wasn't a shallow exercise in getting his rocks off. This time, there was meaning, depth, and a human connection waiting to be explored. But as he gazed into Pete's beautiful eyes, felt Pete's hand wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down, and felt Pete's fat tongue force its way into his mouth, his climax began to approach.

Ace broke the kiss. "Pete ... wait ... no ..."

"I want you to, Ace." He nodded.

Ace's balls and mind exploded as his twitching dick shot thick ropes of seed way deep into Pete's pussy. And as Pete felt Ace unloading inside him, he jerked himself and drenched his stomach with own warm semen.

Pete gripped Ace's ass, holding him inside him. "Don't pull out. Stay inside me."

Ace lay his weight down on Pete's body, feeling the warmth of Pete's cum on his skin. They continued kissing, but eventually, Pete began to deflate, and he had no choice but to remove his spent equipment. Pete pouted in mock-sadness.

They lay next to each other, both completely spent, and both completely satisfied. Pete's fingers explored Ace's torso and neck. He felt so relaxed he could've happily fallen asleep. He looked into Ace's eyes and smiled. "So I'm led to believe you're playing at Eternal on Sunday night, rockstar."

"I think that's right," Ace replied. "Are you coming?"

"Nah, I'm busy. I've got a tax appointment that evening which I've been looking forward to," Pete laughed, "and then after that, I'm going home to wash my hair. But I thought you'd arrive on Sunday afternoon and be gone by Monday morning. I thought you'd only be here for one night."

"That was the plan, but ... that was before I met you. I changed our schedule. We were meant to play a show in Tallahassee on Friday night, and then Columbus on Saturday, and we were gonna come here the next day. The plan was to rock up here, unload, play and then ship back out again the next day. But I spoke to the boys, and we cancelled."

"You cancelled a gig?" asked Pete. "Why?"

"We cancelled *two* gigs -- the one in Tallahassee, and the one in Columbus."

Pete was dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Duh," Ace replied, kissing Pete's cheek. "Because I wanted to see you again, and not just for a quick overnighter. I explained how I was feeling to the other guys in the band, and they understood completely. I told them I'd met someone in Atlanta last time we played there and that we'd been texting. They asked who it was, and when I told them it was the drummer from A2M, they said 'he's cool, yeah, you should go meet him again', and so here I am. Sure, we cancelled a couple of shows, but it works out good for the rest of the band, too. They get to have a break. You know what it's like -- touring is a shitload of fun, but it can also be a grind when you have too many gigs back-to-back. So as soon as the others said they're cool with some downtime, I booked a flight."

Ace paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. "I meet lots of dudes on the road, and most of the time it's just sex, but you're so different. I felt that straight away, when we were talking backstage after the Eternal gig a few weeks back. And I wanted to spend some time with you, away from the stage and away from the scene. And if I've worked this out properly, we've got three nights together -- tonight, tomorrow night, and then there's the gig at Eternal on Sunday night."

If it was possible for Pete's heart to swell any further, it might have exploded.

"Are you hungry, Pete?" Ace asked as he absentmindedly ran his fingertips through the semen pooled on Pete's stomach. "I always get hungry after hot sex with a cute guy."

Pete grinned. "Yeah. I could do with a bite. I know a place."

Ace raised an eyebrow, and Pete already registered the implied question. "No, dude, I'm not taking you to Eternal. Atlanta has other venues."

Ace had a thought. "Oh, wait. Wait a second. I need to do something before we head out."

"What's that?"

"I need to book a hotel," Ace smirked. "I need to find somewhere to sleep tonight."

"Shut up," Pete replied. No way was Ace gonna spend the night anywhere else but Pete's bed.

They got dressed and ventured out into the street.

Half an hour later, they were at a bar, each with a cool, locally brewed ale in front of them. Ace took a satisfied slug of his beer. "Fuck yeah. That hits the spot." A cute waiter arrived, bearing menus. They each ordered the exact same meal -- the spicy noodle stirfry with vegetables. Their meals arrived quickly, and as they ate and drank, they talked.

"How'd you first get into music, Ace?" Pete asked, slurping up a mouthful of hot noodles.

Ace thought. "I think it was my older sister. My parents were into music, and they owned a lot of records, but they were mostly Latin jazz. Maybe that was because we lived in Miami, and there were Cuban and Latino influences everywhere. I can appreciate that style of jazz now, so maybe it got into my blood without me knowing it, but when I was growing up, I wasn't into it. I wanted something different. My sister was into loud guitars and the long-haired men who played them, and while I've never been into women, it was obvious from the amount of male attention she got that she was hot."

"Sounds like you've inherited the same genes," interrupted Pete.

Ace smiled. "She had these massive fuckin' titties that the boys loved," he continued. "Fuck, they were big. I'm not into chicks, but I always wanted to suck on 'em, and she was my fucking sister! She got whatever she wanted from those dudes. Our front door was like a turnstile, she was going out with a different metalhead each week, and I always felt jealous of her because of the steady stream of hot dudes she brought home. Most nights, I'd hear her getting her brains fucked out in her bedroom next door while they were listening to metal. Maybe she thought the music masked the sounds of sex, but it didn't. And so here's me, in the next bedroom, fapping myself to death with a dildo I'd bought online buried up my ass, dreaming about the dude she's fucking, and wishing he'd arrived in the wrong room and was fucking me instead. I'd wake up the next morning, my parents had usually already left for work, and I'm getting ready for school. My sister's sitting at the kitchen table with last night's temporary penis sitting next to her. She's pouring him a complimentary coffee before kicking him out the door at the first available opportunity, while I'm staring at his hair, his clothes, his face, drooling as I try to imagine what his cock looked like." He paused. "And so one afternoon, I nervously asked her -- 'what were you listening to last night?'. She welcomed the question. Maybe she thought that if I could hear the music, I couldn't hear them having sex, but I never told her the truth that I could hear both. Anyway, she started introducing me to metal bands, she introduced me to her army of casual boyfriends, and I even managed to lure a few of them into my own bed. I guess my tastes and interests in music expanded from there. I think I've made a mental association between heavy metal and sex." He looked at Pete. "And also with cute dudes."

Pete was loving the story. He waved to get the waiter's attention, and two fresh ales landed in front of them. "Are you still in touch with your sister?"

"Nah," replied Ace. "She's dead. Drug overdose."

"Fuck, dude, that sucks," Pete commiserated. "I'm so sorry."

Ace shrugged it off. Pete sensed something deeper was at play in Ace's thoughts, but he didn't press. "Heroin's a bitch," Ace deflected. "What about you, Pete? What got you into music?"

They'd finished their meals, and the waiter cleared their table.

"I think my influences date back a little earlier than yours might," Pete started. "Mine are seriously retro. My dad had an old Kiss CD, but I have no idea why. Music wasn't a big thing when I was growing up. My parents owned a lot of books, but not much music, so I read a lot, and the Kiss album stood out like a sore thumb. I listened to it once or twice and got addicted to it. I played it all the time, gazing at the band's makeup in the picture on the front cover. Later, I found some concert footage of them online, and I was fucking mesmerised. I wanted to be in a band like that, but I was introverted and shy. I didn't have many friends, and I didn't talk to people at school about music. I wasn't cool. But then, just as I was about to graduate high school, there was this huge retro trend, and for some reason, everyone in my class became fixated on the 1980s. Most people discovered 80s synthpop for the first time, but it was my introduction to late 80s glam metal. The makeup, the hairspray, the denim, the leather, and the excess. You know, bands like Motley Crue, Poison, Skid Row and so on. I loved their sound, but just as much, I loved the way they looked. I used to lay in bed at night jerking off as I imagined Bret Michaels or Sebastian Bach fucking me in the darkness. I grew my hair long, got a shitty job, and saved up enough to buy a cheap drumkit. I imagined I was Rikki Rockett. I had the biggest fucking crush on him."

"Do you still have the Kiss CD?" Ace asked.

"My dad gave it to me, along with a bunch of other stuff, a few months before he died. Maybe he knew how much it meant to me, and I regret not asking him. I'll show it to you when we get home. Maybe we can listen to it someday. I haven't played it in ages, but the last time I listened to it, it didn't really sound like metal at all. It sounded like innocent pop music. Like, it sounded like it had been polished in the studio."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Polished like Poison. Fuckin' pop-metal."

Pete smiled. "I wondered when our first musical disagreement might arise."

"That time is now," replied Ace. "Poison fucking sucks, and so does Skid Row."

In Pete's heart, he knew this was true. He'd moved on from those 80s glam-metal bands a long time ago, but nostalgia tugs hard at heart strings, especially in conversations like this. "Well, yeah, OK, but if you could go back in time and you had the opportunity, you'd want to have sex with them, wouldn't you?" Pete volleyed. "And did you see the sneaky dickpic Tommy Lee posted on Instagram just last year? It was only up for a few hours before he deleted it, but don't tell me you wouldn't want to wrap your cunt around his cock. I know I would!"

"Duh. Of course I would too, but that's beside the point. Drink up," Ace said, draining his beer.

They talked about music for a while longer before the conversation veered in the direction of ink. Ace gingerly touched Pete's forearm. It sported a tattoo of a brick wall. Ace fucking loved it, but he was curious to see if there was a backstory. "Why'd you get this done? What does it mean?"

Pete looked down at his forearm as Ace traced his fingertips through the bricks. "That feels good," he admitted.

Ace smiled. "Don't evade the question," he jibed.

Pete tried to think, though it wasn't easy with Ace's hand tracing tickles across his arm. "It's meant to be a permanent reminder to myself to stay strong and to be tough. Mentally, that is. I've been weak in the past. I've been taken advantage of, and I don't ever want that to happen again."

Ace got the feeling there was a huge amount of detail submerged beneath Pete's answer, but he didn't pry. "And what about the tattoo on your other arm?"

"I had a serious mental episode many years ago. Like, suicidal thoughts. I'm a million miles beyond that now, so don't worry. The tattoo is a koru, which is a Māori word that kind of means 'coil'. It's like the leaf of a fern unfurling, giving birth to new life, strength and peace. And at the time I had it done, I needed a new chapter in my life, and I needed to find inner peace."

Ace stroked Pete's koru tattoo. "It's beautiful," he whispered, barely audible over the noise of the bar. "It really suits you."

Ace had many tattoos of his own. Pete only had two or three large tatts that had deep significant meaning to him, but Ace was much more impulsive. References to some of the things he'd done, the places he'd visited and the people he'd met were inked onto his skin to create a constant reminder of them. If Pete asked about Ace's entire collection, they'd be here all night, so he focused in on one. "You've got a tatt on your shoulder that I'm curious about. The number '4'. What does that mean?"

"Can you imagine music without the number four?" Ace replied.

Pete blinked. "It's that simple?"

"Yeah, it's that simple. I'm a musician, and when you're a musician, being able to count to four is really important."

"Imagine counting up to three, and not knowing what comes next," Pete deadpanned. "It'd be the death of music as we know it. Punk would never have existed, and Sesame Street would've been in a world of pain."

Ace laughed, draining the rest of his glass. More beer arrived. "Hey, so ... I hope you don't mind me asking, but ... what happened to Carlos?"

"His boyfriend died in a road accident. It was the day after A2M and Boipussy played a double bill at Eternal a couple of weekends ago. I don't think you would've met him, he wasn't in town that night. He was an interstate trucker. Definitely not from the metal scene, and I don't know for sure how he and Carlos first met. I only met him a few times myself. He seemed like a nice guy, quiet and reserved. He helped me lug my kit into Eternal one night, which was really sweet."

Pete paused for a second to remember that evening. "I was running late and was hungover that night, and I nearly didn't turn up. I was hungover that night because I stayed out way too late at Eternal the night before. Carlos and his boyfriend were there too, and I drank way too much. I had a serious crush on Carlos at the time, and it's fair to say I embarrassed myself that night in front of them both. You know how it feels when you get seriously fucking slammed and you do something you're embarrassed about? The next day you can only remember the bad parts, and the worse parts."

Ace nodded. He'd been there before too. Many times.

"Wait a second," said Pete. "I need to take a piss."

Ace cradled his beer and glanced around the room while he waited for Pete to return.

"His name was Gorilla," Pete continued, resuming his seat. "Well, that probably wasn't his real name, but that's how Carlos always referred to him. Gorilla was driving his truck to Atlanta the day after our show, and he was planning to take some vacation days to spend with Carlos. But on the way, he smashed into a freight train. I can't piece it all together properly because I wasn't there, but I think what happened was Carlos was working behind the bar at Eternal that afternoon. In the backroom, one of his colleagues saw reports of an accident on the local TV news. The bulletin showed an image of Gorilla's face, and she instantly recognised him as Carlos's boyfriend. I think she walked out to where Carlos was serving customers and told him to shut the bar before she broke the news to him. She called me on Carlos's phone, told me what had happened, and I drove to Eternal to do what I could. When I arrived, he was in a terrible shape. He was probably in shock, and probably also in denial. He tries to put on a brave face these days, but I can tell he's still completely devastated."

Ace didn't know what to say or how to respond. He'd never experienced loss like this in his own life. "Fuck, man," he stammered.

"Yeah, I know," whispered Pete. "I don't know right now what Carlos wants to do. Either with the band, or with his life. I had lunch with him today, and he's not the same dude he was before. I think he's still processing. I was with him when you texted me from the airport. I think he's just burying himself in work as a distraction. You'll see him on Sunday night."

"I hope he's OK," said Ace. "I can't imagine what he must be going through."

Pete nodded. "Yeah."

The mood darkened, and they fell silent for a few moments before Pete resurrected the conversation. "You said you played Daytona Beach," he yelled. "Tell me stories!"

"Fuck, Pete. Spring break is fucking weird even for me, and I'm from Florida. Frat dudes, man. Like, I mean, we get a lot of chicks coming to our shows, but I can never work out whether they come because they're into us and they want to hear our tunes, or because they want to watch guys making out. Well, let me rephrase that. I *know* they're there to watch guys making out, but hopefully they like our songs too. Anyway, so we take the stage, and all the women are standing at the back. We're rockin' out, the dudes are up front singing all the lyrics and smashing back the beers, and in the distance, I can see the chicks up the back, nodding in time, nursing their drinks, waiting for us to finish so the real show could start. Anyway, so we finish our set and pack up, and each of us has a separate room in the hotel next door. I've showered and I'm about to hit the hay when I hear this noise outside my window. It's coming from the carpark. I flick the light on, and there's a male-on-male-on-male orgy happening outside. I can see what's happening because some of the nearby cars have flipped their headlights on, shining their beams across the orgy. And around the men, there's this circle of women, eagerly watching hot male sex, fapping themselves. And so here's me, on the 5th floor, watching this happen, thinking -- would this be happening tonight in this carpark if not for Boipussy?"

"Maybe not," Pete replied.

"We got those dudes worked up so fucking much," said Ace.

"I think I know how they must've felt. You get me worked up too, dude. Finish your beer, Ace, I'm takin' you home now."

Ace picked up the check, leaving a healthy tip. Pete summoned an uber, and they rode silently in the backseat.

They rode the elevator, and Pete turned the key in the door. Ace immediately ran to the bathroom, closing the door. Pete heard Ace's bladder unload, streams of beery piss cascading into the bowl. After the torrent had ceased, he heard Ace flush the bowl and wash his hands. "Fuck ... sorry about that. I was gonna burst."

"I know the feeling," Pete said. "Get the fuck out of my way." He barrelled into his bathroom and let loose, flooding the bowl. He zipped up and headed back to the living room.

Ace approached Pete, wrapping his arms around his waist. "You know what we both got in common right now?"

Pete drew a blank.

"We both got empty bladders."

Pete laughed. "True." He smiled, and Ace returned serve. Their faces pulled close, their lips collided, and their tongues soon followed. Ace's eyes closed as he surrendered to the urgency of Pete's kiss.

Pete gently, yet insistently, led Ace towards his bedroom. He turned the lights out. Fragments of illumination rose from the street below. Clothes were shed, and bodies became naked.

Ace looked around in the near-darkness. "I feel like I've been here before," he said.

Pete crash-tackled him, and they both landed in his bed. He rolled on top of Ace's naked frame, kissing him. "I want you in my mouth so fucking bad," he whispered.

Ace lay on his back as Pete slowly and seductively made his way down towards Ace's groin. Ace's cock was so fucking hard right now, knowing what was to come.

He felt Pete's hand began to tease the head of his cock. He felt Pete's hot breath on his shaft.