Two Southern Gentlemen Ch. 12

Content/trigger warning: This series contains bullying, homophobic language, and non-consensual sexual acts, but they are integral to the plot and character development so please take them in context.

DUSTY

"Please... sir."

Two little words, but just saying them is like leaping off of a cliff into the unknown. No parachute, no idea if anything will slow my fall let alone catch me at the bottom, or if I'll wind up a broken jumbled up mess of blood and bones.

Why did I ask him to give me his piss again? And why did I give in to his commands? The relief of being given my life back with zero obligations after a long afternoon thinking my life was over, those hours of agony were like looking death in the face. But instead of death, I'm face to face with him, and this intense eye contact with him, like he can read my mind, the shining bright light in his hazel eyes... The deep desire to give into my curiosity, the deep need to find out more, experience more of what I'd only had a small taste of, literally... The stillness of the night, the darkness like a cover, like a secret invitation, telling me that just this one time, just this once, I can let myself be... free. Just this one time I can say, "Yes, I want this".

That "Please, sir", so hard to get out, but once it was out it felt so natural, so right. It doesn't make any sense. I'm the one who should be above him. In a flash in my mind I see that image from a week ago, that moment that awakened all of... this. I realize just now that the sight of him being covered in blood and my piss wasn't what set me off. All these revelations, all this wanting, it all came from looking down at him at that moment and seeing myself in his position. That I was the one who should be covered in blood and his piss. That I'm the weak one who deserves to be abused.

This man, so much more worthy of respect than me, for sure, but also more worthy than all my teachers, my coaches, even the preacher, even my daddy. All of those "yes, sirs", every one I've ever said up to now, those were all out of obligation, deferring to adults 'cause of their age and position instead of their true worth. I've seen their true natures and I've seen their lives full of pettiness, ego, hypocrisy. While this man has already seen me at my most vulnerable and stripped bare, and he's shown me mercy. Somehow instead of feeling looked down upon, weak, worthless, I feel... safe.

Obeying him actually makes perfect sense. He's the one who's so much better than me. He's the one who's strong, noble, good. This man has seen me at my absolute worst, been on the receiving end even, of all my explosive anger and just plain pointless meanness, and somehow he can still forgive me and still want me, or at least forgive me enough to give me what I want, what I need, in this moment, what I need more than anything else. Even if he wants it too, even if he's getting into this kinky ass shit too, it still amazes me that he would be able to see me in this different way.

That "Please, sir". That push from him to submit to his commands, that gentle push. No, I realize, not even a push. He... Jesse... He's not the bully I am. He let me decide. He just brought me to the doorway and invited me to step through and see what was on the other side. And he wouldn't have judged me if I'd pulled back. Well, I can't be sure about that, but when I said he's strong and decent and good, I meant it. He's like from another era, one where men and women had manners, were brave, he's noble, good, like a... like a gentleman. A Southern gentleman. Not showy, just proud, calm, and as strong and solid as an oak tree.

I'm only able to put all this into words looking back on it. Right now, all of this is rushing over me in a crazy quilt patchwork of impressions, but pretty soon all that gets swept aside and I'm distracted by him, Jesse, breaking our locked eyes by standing and starting to pull off his shirt over his head. "Take off your trunks," he says, his voice a little husky like he's holding himself back.

I'm still kneeling, but I quickly work my trunks down with both hands, my rock hard eight-inch cock getting pulled down by my trunks against my thigh before swinging free and up, standing straight out from my crotch like a damn flagpole. Jesse openly admires my body and cock this time, and I find myself blushing with a mix of pleasure and pride.

Soon it's my turn to admire, though, because his shirt is off and I'm seeing his slim smooth body again for the first time since last week. He hesitates for the briefest moment, and then his trunks are off in one movement and I can't help but catch my breath at the first sight of his cock. It's hard, like mine, and nearly as big as mine, maybe seven and a half inches, but it's noticeably thicker. Mine is a good thickness pretty much the same all the way down and paler than the rest of my body which has been out in the sun all summer, but his is a little darker than his body and gets slightly thicker as it gets to the base where there's a light set of dark pubes. I realize that he's uncut, which I haven't seen much before, and that he's pulled his foreskin back, and his cockhead has a big meaty mushroom head, more of a helmet on it than on mine. His dick is also veinier than mine. I'm almost calling it beautiful in my head, but I quickly squash that thought.

I immediately start salivating for the taste of piss and I'm feeling like a fucking dirty bastard, and I would be feeling more conflicted about that and trying to stifle that too if I weren't so damn horny.

"You ready?" he asks me with a devilish glint in his eye, putting his hand around the base of his cock and aiming it straight at me.

"Yeah, man," I whisper almost reverently, and I hear a begging note in my voice. Seeing the warning look on his face I quickly correct myself by saying, "Yes, sir," and I feel a thrill run through me from tip to tail at those words and their meaning, and I feel even more blood pulsing into my cock as it gets even harder.

I close my eyes and open my mouth wide and he's so close to me that I think I can actually feel his body heat. Those seconds of anticipation with my hand holding onto my cock are in a word, exquisite (a word that I don't think I've ever actually used in real life). But they're nothing compared to when the first jet of piss actually hits my face and my open and ready mouth, my tongue.

I can immediately tell that the piss is lighter this time, more watery. The taste is less intense, but that's not bad at all, just different. The stream is less of a fire hose this time, less forceful, but it's still steady and plenty strong, more caressing, like a warm spring shower. I get a solid mouthful of it, and that piss is so full of life, now I understand why vampires drink blood, because this is like drinking life at its source, like touching a live wire. As I'm swallowing that first mouthful down, I dip my head and let the piss stream cover my buzzed head like it's a fucking baptism, let it trickle down my neck and back, raise my head again and move my face left and right, down and up, around and around, so that it covers every inch of my face, getting into my ears, covering my closed eyes and my eyebrows and eyelashes, my nose, let it soak into my light beard, let it invade all of my senses, but as soon as I've finished swallowing one mouthful I want another, I want to drink more, more, more. A sound of deep satisfaction is rumbling deep in my chest as I fill my mouth with that delicious piss again, and the next time as I'm swallowing I move my body back a little so that the piss covers my front, and the feeling of it hitting my muscular pecs, soaking the light fuzz on my chest and dripping down, filling in the crevices of my six pack abs, dripping onto my hard cock and into my fine blonde pubes is fucking amazing, and then I'm back in front of the tap again, filling my mouth again, and my right hand is rubbing that piss all over and deep into my chest while I continue stroking my cock at a fast steady pace with my left.

I take a second to wipe my eyes with my free hand so that I can look up at him, at Jesse, and any thoughts that he might be disgusted at how much I'm loving this immediately disappear. What I see in his face almost makes me shoot then and there. The look of pure enjoyment covering his entire face is so fucking hot. He has a slight smile as he looks down at his piss painting me in his colors, his scent, marking me, and instinctively I know that what I'm seeing must be the exact same expression on my own face. I almost want to laugh in delight like a little kid playing in a lawn sprinkler, but that would just be fucking weird. Not like getting covered in piss isn't fucking weird, but hey.

But here's the thing: it doesn't feel weird. I'm practically bathing in that golden shower, but it doesn't actually feel weird at all. It feels right. I know it sounds crazy. My senses feel pumped up again and I'm hyper aware of the cooler night air, the dim light of the moon, the quiet sound of the water, the stillness of the world around us, the only sound our heavy breathing, our involuntary sounds of enjoyment, and the tinkling of that piss stream. And that piss feels every bit as good as before, even better because this time there's no resistance at all. I'm not resisting it at all, and he's not having to force me to take it. There's no need to fight it, we both want it, there's no need to do anything but just enjoy it, there's so much mutual pleasure that we're both getting from this. I'm so hyper aware that it's almost like I can feel every individual cell in my body lit up with an intense little flame, I feel so alive, I feel like I've never felt more alive. I don't think I've ever felt so free in my entire life. I don't think I've ever felt so close and connected to anyone in my entire life.

I can't decide where I want it the most, I want it everywhere at once. In my mouth, on my body, on my dick, on my chest, in my hair, in my face... Just when I've decided that in my mouth is my absolute favorite, I feel that the stream is slowing, and it's too soon, too soon, I haven't had enough, I'm still so thirsty for it, I want this, all of this, to last forever. I've unconsciously been moving my mouth more and more forward in order to catch every single last drop of that liquid gold while still pulling on my dick, and fuck if my moans haven't been getting louder too from all the sheer pleasure I'm feeling, when suddenly I freeze exactly as if Jesse had stuck the tip of his knife in my side like he did this afternoon.

Except right now it's not a knife that has me spooked to hell. I realize I've been so wrapped up in catching the last of that piss that my lips have touched the very, very tip of his, Jesse's, cockhead.

As I kneel frozen, my hand still on my dick mid-stroke, all of my muscles suddenly tight and tensed, the world goes slow mo again as the last droplets of piss leak out of his dick and onto my lips. But I can't bring myself to touch more of that cock and lick up those last drops from that piss slit, and so they just dribble off my mouth and fall to the ground, completely wasted.

In this frozen moment the image of that spaghetti and meatballs scene from that Disney movie with the dogs fills my mind, and it would have been kind of funny if the fact my lips actually touching a cock, his cock, hadn't sent me immediately plummeting straight down from the crazy high heights that I'd been flying at just seconds earlier.

I'm not fucking gay. I'm not fucking gay. I'm not fucking gay!

It's like I've just been hit with an ice cold bucket of water straight from fucking Antarctica. In that fraction of a second I realize that I've really, really, really fucked up. I let myself get carried away, I got caught up in a crazy fantasy that had absolutely nothing to do with reality. Getting pissed on is one thing, but pissing isn't sex. Even drinking it, yeah, it's fucked up, but that's not sex. That's all just fooling around. Noticing that he's good looking and has a nice body isn't gay either. Acknowledging that he's worth all my respect and even admiration isn't gay.

But touching his dick, let alone with my fucking lips, is definitely gay, and I'm not fucking gay. I'm a football player. I've got a girlfriend. There is nothing in my life that is gay. I've planned out my whole future, and nowhere in that future is there any part of it that's gay. If saying "sir" was like jumping off a cliff without a parachute and worrying about what would happen when I hit the bottom, touching his dick is like looking straight into the coldest, darkest void and realizing that there is no bottom, that there's only an eternity of falling... endless, endless falling with no hope of recovery or redemption, no life, no hope of salvation. I've already looked death in the face once today. Seeing that face a second time in the moment I least expected it to appear, right next to the most intense pleasure I've ever felt in my life, feeling that ice, ice cold hand of death reaching towards me, put his hand on my shoulder, it chills me to the marrow of my bones, to my innermost core.

I try to shut down my senses, but the acidic, salty taste of piss is still coating the entire insides and outsides of my mouth. The heat of that hard meaty cock on my lips, the piss slit just begging to be licked clean, the smell of dick that I've never smelled before but has so many promises of future pleasure wrapped up in it, the strength emanating from him. Both he and I are so hard and I'm almost going crazy with the need to taste that dick, taste it just once, just try it once, but I'm frozen because I know I can't. It's like I see two roads stretching out in front of me, and this is it. Everything up to now can be explained away, could be excused as just fooling around, but this, this is the point of no return. I can leave now, pretend none of this kinky shit ever happened, no one would ever know, and now I know I can trust Jesse to never try to tell anyone about any of it, he's too damn honorable. I can live my whole life without going down this path. The alternative is just too impossible for me to even imagine. It's that yawning chasm with no bottom, just falling, falling, endless falling. I need to pull away now, my mind is screaming. Pull away now! NOW!!

In desperation I look up at him, still without moving my mouth from the tip of his dick. His eyes meet mine and he's looking down at me, and of course he's sensed that something is wrong. I'm almost hoping for him to do something or say something, and I'm sure my eyes must be looking wild and desperate. I'm simultaneously praying that he does and that he doesn't just grab me by my hair and slam his damn dick forward deep into my mouth, all seven and a half inches of thick veiny cock meat, force me to take it, choke me on it, fuck my face hard, make my fucking decision for me.

But dammit, dammit! He doesn't. He's not like me. He's not a fucking bully. He just keeps looking at me with this new look in his eyes. If I were him I guess I might be feeling pretty pissed off that I'm crapping out on him, chickening out like this like a fucking pussy, but that's not what I see in his eyes. Sympathy, I guess. Like he understands that I really, really want it, to at least try it, just once, but that he also understands that I've realized that I've already taken it way too far. Like he can see that I know in my heart of hearts that I can't ever try it. Not once. Not ever.

After what seems like an eternity of silent communication I can't bear to look him in the face any more and finally I sit back on my heels, wipe my face off some, resist the urge to lick my lips, start to pull up my trunks.

"I gotta go," I mumble as I stand up. My legs are really unsteady and fuck, I'm actually shaking.

I start to slowly walk towards the water, and I honestly don't know if I'm hoping that he, that Jesse, will call after me and command me to stay or not. I honestly don't know what I would do if he did.

But somehow I feel sad, really, really sad, like with every step all of that joy, all of those cells that were lit up and burning and feeling so alive, are one by one dying inside of me, their lights being extinguished one by one.

I wish I could say I'm walking away from all of this for my daddy, or that it's so I won't be losing my friends, my girlfriend, all that. But it's more than that. The more distance I put between us, the more I can remember what I need to be focusing on and the more I can find the strength to leave behind all that maddeningly tempting light and heat, that dangerous electricity. I want to play football in college. I've dreamed about having a career playing pro football all my life. And if that doesn't work out I'll do construction, work side by side with my daddy, take over the business some day, marry Misty, raise a family, church on Christmas and Easter, birthday parties, grandkids, the whole nine yards. I don't fucking want to be an interior designer or a hairdresser or any of that shit. I don't fucking want to wear pink, or drink cocktails, or go to fucking Beyonce concerts. I don't want to fucking march in a parade, have people fucking looking at me all the time, talking about me behind my back, die of AIDS, all that fucking gay shit. I'm not fucking gay. I'm just not.

My life would have ended if Jesse released that video today, and I'm not going to throw it away now, no matter what I was feeling in the heat of the moment. I've already gone too far, but it's not too late. This is the end of the line, this is where I get off this crazy train. This is where all that degenerate horniness and craziness fucking stops.

I'm just about to step into the water when I hear him.

"Dusty," he says softly, and it's only because I've been listening closely, hoping he would say something, that I even hear him. In spite of my decision, hearing him say my name and realizing it's the first time I've ever heard him say it, it sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I turn to glance back, half afraid to hear what he's going to say.

"Be good," he says with a sort of half smile. The sensitive look in his eyes and the compassion in his voice brings a lump to my throat and makes my eyes start to water, and I turn back away from him quickly. Has anyone ever shown me as much compassion in my life as this kid, no, this man, the last person in the world who I deserve any sympathy from? "Be good." Somehow it's the exact right thing to say. Even though I've done terrible things to him, fucked things up all day today, last week, for years even, been a bad person for most of my entire life, somehow he forgives me and even hopes for good things for me, hopes that I'll be a better person.

And then, once again, I'm swimming away, although this time instead of going as fast as I can I'm going slowly. It's as if that open doorway that he'd led me to and that I'd put one foot over is now closing shut behind me forever. That whole life that I'd only caught a glimpse of is ending too soon, ending before it had even begun. Like a stillborn child. Like an aborted fetus.

My chest feels tight and there's a painful ache there.

I don't think I've ever felt so sad in my entire life.