5amWriterMan's Blog, page 3

Erotic Pop

Coming soon - a collection of erotic poems inspired by pop music. The first poem, Shagging Boys in the Street, was initially a one-timer but it helped generate a flow of creative juices and I'm planning to produce a "track list" of approximately thirty hits. Here's another example, "Glory Hole." Can you figure out which 80's dance hit it's based on? Enjoy! ;-)








Glory hole, I’ll meet you at theglory holebut I’ll never see a thingbesides a cock to explore.On my knees, I lick the tip;hands on wall, lips firmly grip.I think you’re headed for a blowout,so don’t let go ‘till I taste your drip.
I think that I rememberthe sweetness of your tasteeven in your current hasteto leave the glory hole.
Glory hole, I always hear you callingand I keep respondingeager for the next pouring;I’ll swallow every timeat a glory hole.
Glory hole,I think that I’m addicted;glory hole,bewildered to resist it;glory hole,‘cause I never forgetthe sweetness of my breathonce I devour manly poles at a glory hole.
###
Check out some of my self-published gay erotic stories, such as "Pop My Cork, Dammit!" Only $0.99 until July 31! via Smashwords, Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, Google Books Tony is a thirty-year-old gay virgin who wishes for a man to finally penetrate his virgin hole. Instead, he finds Steph, a straight man. The two bond quickly as friends, things heat up, but boundaries are placed since Steph proclaims he isn't gay. Can Tony separate his feelings for a straight guy and find someone to pop his cork? His anus is quivering and it requires full attention, stat!

***

A TASTE OF ARGENTINA the eBook! If you enjoyed the #TGIFF stories, you'll enjoy them again, updated with more sex! Available on Amazon. Join Steve on his sexcapades through Buenos Aires, Argentina; a country known for its delicious wine, beef, and men! He enjoys a mouthful (and ass full!) of magical flavours as he devours various men on the plane, in the park, in hotel rooms, in alleyways, in bathrooms, in bedrooms…maybe he should consider a longer stay! 
Warning: this story is filled with large erections, ejaculations, drug-induced sex, cream pies, and a dash of romance.

Shagging Boys in the Street

When Sammy was youngerhe discovered internet porn;porn that was special,men fucking men from every angle.
He thought, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,that’s everything I need.But how will I tell my friends and familyI want to be shagging boys in the street?”
Will they try to change Sammy?Tell him to find someone loving;something more than just fucking.Will he feel empty and lonely?
He thought, “I’ve worked hard all through schooland I want to find a job that’s really coolbut will my sexual desires hinder mebecause I'd rather be shagging boys in the street?”
Now that Sammy’s a few years olderand his confidence is bolderhe’s checking out the gay barsand flirting his heart out.
He thought, “I’ll never be alone,I’m part of this family.Two or three at the same time,I’m shagging boys in the street.”
Sammy’s dyingwith cancer at thirty-nine.He doesn’t have a partnerbut he has many lovers.
All his lovers surround him,those who made his short life pleasurable and sweet,and he tells them, “I can die without regretfor shagging boys in the street.We met, we fucked, and we became family.After I die, keep shagging boys in the street.”


***
This poem was inspired by Greg Holden's beautiful song, "Boys in the Street." I put my erotic twist to it ;-)
If you haven't heard the song, check out his video. It's brilliant!

POP MY CORK, DAMMIT!

POP MY CORK, DAMMIT! is a gay erotica novella available July 15 via Smashwords: Tony is a thirty-year-old gay virgin who wishes for a man to finally penetrate his virgin hole. Instead, he finds Steph, a straight man. The two bond quickly as friends, things heat up, but boundaries are placed since Steph proclaims he isn't gay. Can Tony separate his feelings for a straight guy and find someone to pop his cork? His anus is quivering and it requires full attention, stat! 
Here's a snippet:
Everyone around me is having sex– those currently coupled, others picking up strangers at a bar, and the majority using smartphone apps to locate daily conquests within a reasonable radius from their home.  I’m the last virgin male, unable to meet another man and disinterested in my usual routine of masturbating to porn three times daily. Oh, and I’m thirty years old today. Ugh!
I’m pondering these thoughts as my family and friends sing happy birthday to me. My sister carries a massive chocolate cake – even though I’d prefer a delicate angel food cake – tortured by the stabbing of thirty lit candles swaying dangerously to an extinguished state before I can blow them out; all the while hoping and praying that my forgotten wish will come true. Yet I plaster on my trademark smile and pretend that everything is fine and dandy. Everyone claps. They are pleased with my expert blowing skills. They have smiles on their faces too, but they’re all having sex after the party, including my parents. I made the bloodcurdling discovery of condoms in my parents’ bathroom while I was looking for my mother’s chemical body hair remover – it works great to remove unwanted hair around a man’s anus! I don’t know why I bother removing the hair because in a couple of days it’ll start to itch and within weeks it will have grown back around an unpenetrated hole.
I sit in front of the cake with my convincing fake smile plastered on my face as I mentally sigh at the sad state of affairs of my sex life. After thirty years, I have perfected playing the role of the perfect son, brother, uncle, and friend. I wish I knew how to play the role of a sex-craved lover.
The birthday cake is cut and doled out, gifts are open, and finally, the guests leave! I’m left alone to simmer in the messy state of my home trying to decide if I should leave the clean up until tomorrow and continue drinking on my own or try to mentally resolve how two of my friends met each other for the first time today and left together, barely keeping their tongues from each other’s mouths. Another mental sigh as I picture the two men together – two friends of whom I’ve crushed on for years and successfully secured my place in the sex-free friend zone, yet in minutes they become each other’s newest sexual conquest. I can imagine their tight, trim bodies exposed during a frenzied ballet of shredding clothes, groping appendages, and a battle of who will be on top. And if they’re lucky, they get to repeat it minutes later while alternating positions. Damned be my hot, sexy, versatile gay friends!
I eventually realize during this imaginary sex scene that I’m drinking warm champagne directly from the bottle. I set it aside and grab a chilled bottle from the fridge. As I pop the cork, I hear a startled scream from the dining area. I slowly turn around and peek into the room. Apparently, one of my guests passed out in the far corner of the room and no one bothered to take him home. I recall that he came as someone's guest but I can’t remember his name.
“Where am I?” slurs the man with squinted eyes trying to look towards the empty table that was once filled with party guests.
“You’re in my dining room. Want another?” I ask while lifting the bottle slightly into the air to give him a visual cue of the alcoholic beverage I’m offering.
“Sure dude! Bring it on!”
Dude. Great. Straight.
I walk over to his corner and pass him the bottle. I turn around to grab another bottle for me but he tugs at my pants.
“Hey! Sit down! Let’s drink this together. Where’s the birthday boy? We should toast him one.”
“Well, you’re looking at him,” I say as I plop my cushiony ass next to the nameless drunk who suddenly wears a smile from ear to ear.
“Whoa, happy birthday, dude! Cheers mate!” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, takes a long sip of champagne and then passes the bottle to me. I’d rather be having sex than sitting on a dirty floor drinking myself into a hangover with a drunken heterosexual stranger in my dining room. Fuck my luck!
***
I think my brain is trying to tell my body to wake up. I feel sweat dripping from various parts as the sun shines directly over me and my bed. I squint trying to open my eyes slowly and adjust them to the bright sunlight. A familiar pounding begets my forehead and eyes – hangover!
I’m overly unmotivated to get out of bed so I convince myself that it’s my birthday weekend and I should stay a while longer. I grab my pillow and place it over my head to cover the bright, harsh sunlight invading my room. As I lay there, relaxingly awake with my eyes closed, I let out an orchestra of flatulence that has harboured in my digestive tract during my slumber.
“Dude! Good morning to you too!”
I jump when I hear the man’s voice. I’m not alone? Who’s here? Did I just fart in front of another human being? And who the fuck uses the word dude? Although I’m very hungover I suddenly connect the voice.
Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck!
“I hope you don’t mind but I used the toothbrush that was in the bathroom. I have nasty morning breath when I’ve been drinking the night before,” says so-called straight drunken dude from last night as he exits my bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. I suppose he took the liberty to have a shower, too.
I’ll have to remember to burn that toothbrush.
 “So, what’s for breakfast?” he asks with that same smile stretching from ear to ear. I raise a bottle of champagne. “Awesome! Nothing cures a hangover like drinking it away! Pass the bottle dude,” he says. I give him the bottle, check out his body, and attempt to remember the events of last night.
“We got pretty plastered last night, eh?” says dude.
“Pretty wouldn’t be the adjective I would use.”
Dude gives a hearty laugh, followed by a loud burp, and then another swig from the bottle before he returns it to me.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Umm…drinking myself back to bed?”
“Great! Count me in! Do you have more bottles when we finish this one?”
“Yeah. My family’s pretty generous with alcohol on my birthday. There’s at least three or four bottles left over from the party.”
“That’s crazy shit cool! Let’s finish this bottle then grab another each. Is there a balcony in this place? I would love to get some sun while we drink.”
“Yes. You can access it from the living area or the bedroom.”
“Perfect! I hope you don’t mind but I sunbathe in the nude,” he tells me as he grabs another bottle of champagne from the fridge, walks towards the balcony door, and throws his towel to the ground before heading outside. I can’t decide what horrifies me more, the naked man walking out on my balcony and exposed for my neighbours or his used towel on the floor in my living room. “Don’t forget to grab another bottle,” he says, “and come enjoy the sunshine with me!” as he disappears on the balcony.

Wearing a pair of speedos, I grab a bottle of champagne and sunscreen before heading to the balcony. I notice that ‘dude’ is lying on his chest and I get a full, close-up view of his hard, bubble butt. I take a seat on the lounge chair next to him and he lifts his head in my direction.
“There you are! What took you so long?”
“I had to shower and brush my teeth.”
“You smell great!”
“Umm, thanks for noticing, I guess.”
“Feeling better? Pop that cork and catch up to me. I’m halfway through my bottle of champagne.”
“Yes sir!” I say mockingly like a soldier. I almost did a salute but decided that might be too kitschy. I pop the cork, lay on a lounge chair, and drink. Dude decides to rise from his seat, raising his arms to give his body a good, big stretch, and sits down with his Full Monty facing me. It sits straddled between his legs, soft and at least six inches. My mind goes blank (a sudden loss of oxygenated blood!) except for one thought: how big does it get when it’s hard?
“So, birthday boy, you’re thirty now, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I manage to squeal without making eye contact.
“I’ll be twenty-five in a couple of months. I feel old. I can’t imagine what it’s like to turn thirty.”
“Don’t think about it. Enjoy your twenties. So far thirties suck!” Except when I'm on a balcony with a hot, naked 25-year-old!
“Hey, didn’t you have a good time at your party yesterday? And now you get to spend a day with me!”
“Well, it’s always nice to hang out with family and friends but it also reminds me that everyone is shacked up or getting shacked up while I stay single and sexless.”
“I’m single too but I wouldn’t say I’m sexless. When the need arises, I take care of the deed.”
He pumps his fist near his crotch.
“Masturbating doesn’t count!” but I keep my eyes glued to his hand movements.
“Of course it does! If you’re masturbating then you’re feeling sexual desires. Sometimes it’s better than sex because you control everything. There isn’t any pressure in being someone different, you don't need to pleasure anyone else, or show them that you’ve been pleasured.”
Hmm, he makes a good point, but I’m tired of porn and masturbating! I’m longing for the touch of another man’s skin against mine. Can I tell him this? 
***
While you're waiting for July 15th to purchase the novella and read the rest of Tony's story, check out other books available by 5amWriterMan such as "A Taste of Argentina," "Romancing Liam," "Touch Me! Fuck Me!" and "Infected Thoughts"

Tennis Fever: Playing with Blue Balls

A #TGIFF ode to Wimbledon 2015. Enjoy! ;-)
His backhand return was a winner. The break point was his and he was serving for the set. As he and his opponent rested before the next game, the umbrellas opened over his head.
It started to rain.
If they were playing on the main court, the retractable roof would be closed and he’d finish the set, but on this court the fans started their descent into the covered areas, crowding the concession stands.
He waited. He hoped that the rain would pitter-patter away. He wanted to play the next game – possibly the last – and make him the winner of the match. Instead, the rain drops grew bigger and fell harder from the sky. They created puddles all over the court. With skies darker than night, the empire called the match. They’d finish play tomorrow.
Fuck!
As everyone, including his opponent, cleared the court, he grabbed an umbrella and watched the rain perform its taunting dance. It was a seductive dance that burned a fever throughout his body; partly for interrupting the game but another part of him was aroused. The air was warm despite the rain and his scrotum felt heavy in his shorts. When was the last time he had a release? He was so focused on winning this tournament that he spent every waking moment training, playing, practicing, and reviewing matches with his coach. His handsome coach. A man he idolized while growing up. He was surprised and excited when he received a call from the former number one player in men’s tennis. Although older and retired, the man didn’t lose any of his good looks, and his body was still a chiseled creation. He carried around a semi-naked photo of his coach, taken for a magazine spread during his heyday, and pulled it out every time he needed a fantasy for masturbating.
His cock grew and tented his shorts. He rubbed it, feeling the sensation of the polyester shorts against its skin. He never wore underwear during a game. It was bad luck. It was his only superstition. He’d been photographed and he became famous more so for his bulge than his game. If he Googled his name, images of his bulge flooded the screen. A fan page also popped up, maintained by a group of his gay fans. He wanted to come out, be the first openly gay professional male tennis player, but his coach told him it would ruin his career. His coach. His image returned and the fever grew stronger. He threw the umbrella and let the rain cover him. Every drop felt like a fingertip’s touch. He had millions of fingertips caressing him and burning an uncontrollable craving throughout his body. His covered skin yearned for their touch as much as a body needs oxygen to breathe and live. He tore off his shirt and welcomed the warm wetness from the sky. They bounced off his pecs and teased his nipples. A stream poured into his shorts and sizzled steam from his overheated cock. It begged to be touched so he pulled off his shorts. As his hand made its way to his cock, he was interrupted by a set of arms throwing a towel over his body.
“Are you insane? Someone’s gonna see you and your picture will be all over the ‘net.”
It was his coach. He always recognized that sexy, deep voice, even if it was during a screamed reprimand.
He picked up his clothes, held the towel around his waist, and followed his coach into the change room.
“Are we the only ones here?” he asked.
“Yes. The others left. I’m the only one who waited for you. Thanks for the show.”
“Sorry coach, I…”
He didn’t know how to explain his desire to cum, naked in the rain, on the tennis court, while fantasizing about his coach.
“Let’s hope no one took a picture of you. You could be suspended for exposing yourself on court! Take a cold shower and tame…that!”
His cock was still hard. His balls were full and begged for a release; so much so, they hurt. He’d give them the release they begged in the shower.
The cold water from the shower didn’t help. His cock stood erect and his balls refused to release their juices. He returned to the change room and bumped into a body. It was his opponent. He was naked except for a towel around his waist.
“Nice form out on the court today,” he said, looking at the erect penis that bumped his leg.
“Thanks,” he replied, more like a question than a response. It was the first time he saw his opponent’s naked chest and it was dark, hairy, and…delicious. The man smiled when he noticed the set of eyes lingering over his chest. He pulled off his towel and said, “There’s more to see.”
In a frenzied haze, the men locked lips and moaned in tandem. They touched each other’s swollen erections and took turns on their knees. Lips smacked against cocks, tongues dug deep into crevices, balls licked with hunger, and mouths filled with an explosion of sex juices.
They kissed a last time, tasting each other in the process, before exiting the change room.
The next day, they finished the game. He was happy to hold his serve and win the match but he was more excited to run into his opponent in the change room, again.
###
If you enjoyed this story, check out some of my books, including A TASTE OF ARGENTINA!

TOUCH

TOUCH is a poem from  TOUCH ME! FUCK ME!  a collection of poetry, gay erotic short stories, and drawings,  Enjoy and happy #TGIFF! ;-)



I stretch my armfor a touchand a reminderof who you were;of what we were.
The space between usgrowsbetween the sheets, on the streets, and within my heart.
Your intimacy liesnonexistent for me; time spent so wellwith online loversand a void in me.
I stretch out my armbut quickly retractfore you turn away to sleepunaware ofa touch I need.

Clown Realness: Every Clown Wants a Good Fuck!

Oleander Plume, authour and owner of the blog “Poison Pen / Dirty Mind,” is a list maker (probably numerous bucket lists that consist of various sex toys to try…just saying!) Apparently, one of her lists includes a list of story prompts and she’s created a fabulous contest called “Pick a prompt, any prompt, story contest!!” The inspiration for this week’s #TGIFF story comes from one of her prompts “blind date arrives dressed as a clown.” My first thought was Bianca Del Rio, the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 6, because she is clown realness perfected and I get a chubby thinking about a blind date with her. So, here’s my attempt for some hot gay sex with a clown. Enjoy! ;-)
I can't believe I'm going on a blind date again! I thought dating only happened in your twenties and thirties (I'm gay! We play the field as long as we can!) But at forty and newly single after a ten-year relationship, do I know how to date? What do I wear? What do I say? How much can I drink and not come across drunk or fall asleep?
A good thing, though, I returned to the gym and shaved off those extra pounds that a relationship smacks on your body. No more muffin top for me! My skin is perhaps a tad softer than it was in my twenties and early thirties, but there is evidence of a bicep and a tricep. C'mon, look very closely! Yes, see, right there! I've given up on abs, but a flat stomach is a great asset on any old, gay man (remind me to hold my breath the entire date!)
Every single gay man, at any age, needs a straight girl best friend (SGBF). She will help you with clothing, hair products, hair styles, and make up. Lucy is my SGBF and she's here to help me get ready. She's also the one who set up the blind date.
"You're wearing this black shirt, these jeans, those shoes, and…this pair of underwear."
"Lucy, that's a jockstrap."
"Whatever, anything to show off your ass. Flaunt that baby and it might get lucky tonight. When was the last time you had a good, hard fuck from a big, fat cock?"
Yes, Lucy's the subtle type.
"How's the ass hair situation," she asks. I'm mortified!
"This ass has always been smooth!"
"Your asshole too?"
Dammit! When your asshole hasn’t been used for sex in a long while, you forget that it needs a shave.
"I brought some hair remover. Keep it on for five minutes then use this loofah and wipe your hole clean of hair. Don't forget to douche afterwards; no one likes a messy bottom."
I swear Lucy watches too much gay television. How does she know all this stuff? Nonetheless, I follow her advice, I look hot and I feel great! The black shirt is snug, showing off my muscles (yes, I told you, they're there!) and it's slimming, too. The jeans plump up my bum and the jockstrap helps show off an impressive crotch.
I hope this itch around my asshole goes away soon.
"I'm ready to fuck you looking like that," comments Lucy. I'm tempted to grab a dildo and let her at it. It'll be easier than dealing with a blind date.
"Before I go," she says, "massage this on your face. It'll make your skin glow and look younger."
"Wait, you're not introducing me to your friend?"
"Who, Ben? No! I'm gone before he gets here. I'm not killing the mood of first impressions."
And she's gone. I'm left alone, stewing in my nerves and feeling the sweat pool around my pits and my ass crack. Another good reason to wear dark clothing!
I pour myself a glass of wine, chase it with an anti-anxiety pill, and try to relax before Ben arrives. I barely know much about him besides his age (a few years younger than me), he's hot, and he has a very impressive package, according to Lucy. I'm not certain how she knows Ben. I'm sure she told me but I was probably drinking away my sorrows over my broken relationship. Glen, my ex, and I were the perfect couple, except for his affinity for fucking twinks in our bed while I was at work.
The doorbell rings just-on-time to pull me out of my reverie. I down the wine, pop a breath strip, check my breath, and answer the door.
WTF?!?
"Hi I'm Ben."
He's a fucking clown!
"Sorry, I was running late and didn't have time to change."
"That's quite the outfit."
"Thanks! It was a hit at the party!"
He's a clown and dumb. I don't think he recognizes sarcasm. Hello! We're gay! We invented sarcasm!
I realize he's still standing on the other side of the door so I apologize and let him in. The second shock of the evening comes when he walks by and I notice that his ass is bare and exposed. Is he wearing assless chaps as part of his clown costume?
"Hey, Steven, do you mind if I clean up a bit in the bathroom. This makeup is not how I imagined making my first impression."
I nod, wearing my shock face (although Ben might not notice because all my faces are the same since I started Botox treatments), and guide Ben to the bathroom. He smiles and disappears into the room. Under all that makeup, I think he's cute. He has dimples that match those on his firm ass. I feel my jockstrap tighten as my cock grows thinking about Ben's ass.
"Down boy, not yet!" I mentally yell at my cock. It never listens!
I pour another glass of wine and grab an empty glass for Ben. I make myself comfortable on the sofa and wait for the grand re-entrance of my blind date. Ben leaves the bathroom as I'm halfway done my wine. The makeup is gone but he's still wearing the same outfit. He's definitely cute (and much younger than me!) His dark hair and caramel skin make his light-blue eyes pop.
Fuck, he's gorgeous!
Then I look down and investigate his outfit. It's not a typical clown suit: it's white with rainbow-coloured stripes and three red leather puff balls that run down his chest. The suit is fitted, not the loose and shabby clown suit that most clowns wear, and he's wearing a black jockstrap over the pants – the assless pants! He sits next to me and I pray that his ass is clean (I'm not wiping any skid marks off my tan-coloured sofa!) I offer him a glass of wine and he accepts with a smile. Oh those dimples are adorable!
"So, Steven, you must have a few questions about my outfit."
"Well, without the makeup and wig, I noticed it's quite an original ensemble."
"Thanks! I made it myself."
"You're quite talented. Are you a seamstress?"
"No. I'm a drag queen who knows how to sew."
A clown and a drag queen. What is Lucy thinking? How desperate does she think I am?
"Drag queen, huh," I say.
"It's not really your thing, is it?" asks Ben. He suddenly looks sad and downs his glass of wine. "Don't worry," he continues, "you won't be the first gay man to discount me for being a drag queen."
"Whoa, hold on, Ben. I don't want you to think I'm not interested because you're a drag queen dressed in a clown outfit. It's just not what I expected."
"Didn't Lucy tell you anything about me?"
I stare at his crotch. "Maybe one thing."
"That bitch! She told me I'm totally your type. It’s the reason I kept the suit on instead of bringing a change of clothing."
"Albeit you're a clown, you look hot in that outfit."
Ben blushes. "Hot enough to fuck me?"
"Now that's my type...a man who gets to the point!"
Ben takes my comment as a yes and jumps me, his hard body pressed against mine, and his lips smacked firm on my lips. He tastes sweet like…cotton candy; a clown who tastes like cotton candy. Really?
I squeeze his ass and he moans into my mouth. I roam around his hole with a finger and it slides in unexpectedly. Is he pre-lubed? He squirms, clenches against my finger, and serenades me with additional moans. I reward him with two more fingers. His hole is velvety soft and warm like a slicked, stuffed animal. My body stirs with anticipation and floods my cock with blood. My hard-on is praying to break through my jockstrap and jeans. As if on cue, Ben reads my mind and unzips my pants, releasing my ravenous sex organ.
"Nice beef whistle," he comments before playing the instrument with his mouth. Fuck, such talented clown lips! Must be from blowing all those balloons!
"Not so fast," I plead, although I'm flying high with the sensation. "You're gonna make me cum too soon!"
He doesn't stop. Instead, he works faster and deeper. I feel my cock hit the back of this throat, his tongue circles the head, then it’s against his throat again, and I explode. I feel my cum blast inside his mouth and his sphincter clench tight around my three fingers. Yes, they're still inside his hole and I've finger-fucked him this entire time.
He releases my cock and presses his ass firmly against my hand. "Fuck that feels good and you taste delicious!" He bends down, kisses me, and gives me a taste. We moan in tandem, more so when his tongue pokes deep down my throat. His breathing intensifies as he fucks my fingers. I feel that clench again only this time it's stronger, and it pulses, and he yells, "Oh...oomph...ugh...I'm coming, daddy, I'm coming!" (Did he just call me daddy?!?) He throws his head back and bounces on my fingers until his orgasm ends. It takes him a few seconds to calm from the exertion. He smiles at me and pulls his jockstrap down. He scoops his semen with two fingers and feeds it to me.
"Is it really bubblegum flavoured?" I ask in awe. Everything about this man is sweet!
"I'm clown realness. It's all bubblegum, cotton candy, and cake. If you have some condoms handy, I can blow one into any farm animal you like until we're ready for round two."
"Round two?" I ask.
"Yes, Steve. That was the opening act. Round two is the main attraction and you'll never want to leave my big top once you experience round two."
He kisses me, slides off my cock and disappears into the bathroom. My cock hardens and my asshole twitches anticipating round two. I pull my pants off, throw them to the ground, and lay on my stomach. When Ben returns, I give him a condom and a bottle of lube. "I'm ready for the big top!"
***
And my favourite clown...

POP MY CORK, DAMMIT! (Part 3)

Click here for Part 2. Enjoy! ;-)
I’m clueless of time when I wake up and find myself alone on the balcony aside from four empty bottles of champagne and a vacant lounge chair. I stumble out of the chair, knocking the bottles down in the process, and walk inside, feeling the burn of the sun on my skin with every step.
“Hello,” I yell into the condo, “anyone home?”
The condo is silent. I believe my nameless guest made his way home. I grab a glass of water and notice a note on the kitchen counter:
Hey dude! Had a blast! Let’s do it again sometime. Happy Birthday! Steph.
Steph. Hmm. I wonder if that’s short for Stephane (French boys are hot!) Well, at least dude has a name but he didn’t leave a number. Maybe I’ll run into him on a night out with Frank. In the meantime, the condo needs a good clean but I’m not in the mood so I grab my cellphone to call my cleaning lady. When I turn it on, there’s a message waiting for me; it’s from Steph:
Now I’m on your phone. Call me anytime! xo.
Strange. I’ve never received an “xo” from a straight man. Whatever, it’s probably his texting signature, but part of me tingles with excitement from seeing it. He’s straight, Tony! Snap out of it! I put the phone down and decide cleaning can wait until tomorrow. I need another shower to cool off my tender skin…so much for the sunscreen!
***
“Hey Tony, how’s the hangover?” yells Frank into the receiver. I wish I checked the caller ID before picking up. I’m not in the mood to hear about last night’s conquest.
“I was feeling better until youyelled into my ear.”
“Aww, sorry sweetie! I just wanted to touch base and see how our birthday boy was recovering from last night.”
“Drinking champagne this morning was not a good idea to help with last night’s hangover.”
“Yeah, Steph told me about your little rendezvous.”
“Someone forgot to take him home after the party.”
“I had my hands full and he looked so peaceful napping in your condo. I didn’t want to disturb him.”
“No, you didn’t want a third wheel attached to potentially kill your plans of hooking up with Charlie.”
“Charlie, that’s it! It’s been bothering me all day!”
“You had sex with Charlie and you can’t remember his name?”
“We had a lot to drink, but I can describe every curve, muscle, and taste of that splendid body.”
“Spare me the details.”
“But they’re great details! So great that you’ll have weeks of material for jerking off.”
“No thanks. I’ll stick to my porn collection.”
“By the way, I hope you don’t mind but I gave Steph your number. He called me today when he left your place. He didn’t want to wake you from your midday nap.”
“Thanks. He’s a fun guy.”
“He is and he really likes you.”
“We hit it off as friends.”
“Be careful with that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he play the straight card last night?”
“Yeah, he told me he’s straight. He kept calling me dude! What gay man uses the word dude?”
“My cock bends towards gay on my gaydar when he’s around.”
“You think every hot guy is gay.”
“So you think he’s hot, eh?”
“That’s not the point, Frank. He was nice and fun and didn’t leave me alone on my birthday night like someof my friends.”
“Hey, we celebrated with cake and champagne. I needed some of my own celebrating afterwards.”
“Did you do your typical, ‘I can’t sleep with someone else in the bed’ routine last night with Charlie?”
“It’s not a routine. I really can’t sleep if someone else is in the bed. I called a cab for him this morning.”
“Morning? So he did sleep over?”
“No. We fucked all night. He left around 8 a.m. I had a great sleep until four o’clock this afternoon.”
“I can’t wait to hear Charlie bitch about you kicking him out.”
“I didn’t kick him out. We sealed the deal, multiple times, and then it was time for Frank to have his alone time.”
“I’m glad you had a fun time with Charlie, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to nursing my hangover.”
“Sure sweetie. I’ll let you go. Keep me updated if Steph contacts you. Let me know how straight he really is.”
Frank was laughing on the phone as I turned it off and threw it away from me. I need to relax without any more distractions. I grab the ice pack I was using before Frank called, place it back on my forehead, and lay on the sofa with my eyes closed. The cold sensation on my forehead and the quietness in the room begins to soothe my head. Soon I am drifting into sleep.
***
“Charlie, what are you doing here?”
“I didn’t get a chance to give you your birthday gift, Tony.”
Charlie pulls me off the sofa and I’m naked. I don’t remember taking off my clothes!
Charlie smiles, drops to his knees and takes my cock in his mouth.
“Oh…wow…uh…that feels amazing Charlie, but a gift card would’ve sufficed.”
“Shut up and enjoy the treat,” Charlie replies, and returns to his position with mouth on cock. I hold Charlie’s head as he hoovers from tip to base, breaking his routine to lick the tip of my cock, suck its head, and then take it fully to its base. He uses his hands to pull my scrotum and tease my balls. I feel a finger poke my hole and I jump.
“Don’t be afraid,” says another voice behind me, “we’re going to give you what you’ve been waiting thirty years to experience.”
That’s when Frank walks in, naked and fully erect. He holds my waist from behind and presses his cock against the crack of my ass. His lips lick and kiss the crevice between my neck and my shoulder. The sensation is unbearably fantastic. I throw my head back and surrender my lips to Frank. He kisses me in tandem with gyrations of his pelvis against my ass while Charlie sucks my cock.
Frank licks a finger and inserts it into my hole. I jump at the cold intrusion but quickly adjust to the pleasure released from its pressure against my prostate. He continues with a second and then a third finger. I feel I’m getting close to the edge of orgasm when Frank fluidly removes his fingers and replaces it with his cock. He rips into my hole with one push and he’s balls deep. I groan and I can’t contain myself. That single thrust puts me over the edge and my body spasms, filling Charlie’s mouth with my cum. Charlie doesn’t relinquish my cock, swallowing every drop, and Frank keeps his cock deep inside me until my body relaxes from its orgasm.
“How does it feel to finally lose your virginity?” asks Frank. Charlie rises to meet my lips, giving me a taste of my cum. He proceeds to kiss Frank who moans his approval. “Your cum tastes great, Tony.  It tastes like sweet tequila.”
“Sweet tequila?” I ask. I turn around and it isn’t Charlie’s face that’s smiling at me, it’s Steph.
“Yes, Tony. You’re my sweet tequila.”
“When did you get here Steph?”
“I’ve been here the entire time. Oh, there’s the doorbell. Let me get that for you.”
Steph walks away and I watch his delicious ass swagger to the door. Numb from the experience, I sit down and lay back on the sofa. The doorbell keeps ringing.
“Are you getting that, Steph?”
But there’s no answer and the doorbell keeps ringing. I turn around and Steph is gone. Charlie has also disappeared and I’m staring at a big wet spot on my crotch. Damn! Was it all a dream?The doorbell keeps ringing.
“Just a minute!”
I try to find something to hide the wet spot but there’s nothing close by so I answer the door making sure to keep my body behind it.
“Hey, Steph…wha-what brings you here?”
“Hey dude, you look like shit! Still hung over?” he asks while barging through the door.
“A bit, maybe, but you woke me from a nap.”
“Oh sorry dude! I thought you might have had a nice long nap this afternoon when I left you on the balcony. Nice shade of red you got there. I bet it will brown nicely!”
“So, Steph, how can I help you?”
“Oh, since we finished all the champagne this morning, I bought more. Now we can continue celebrating. I even wore a nice shirt for tonight.”
Steph smiles, two huge dimples on either side, bright white teeth, and a day’s worth of facial hair. He holds up two bags filled with clanking bottles of champagne but I focus on his tight, sexy, black, buttoned-down shirt that barely snuggles his chest and outlines every muscle.
“That’s very sweet, Steph. But I’m not sure…”
Steph doesn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence. He unloads the bottles in the fridge, grabs an ice bucket from last night, fills it with ice from the freezer, and places a bottle inside. “It won’t take long to cool. How about I help you clean up a bit while we wait?”
“That’s a very nice offer, but…”
“Don’t mention it. It’s another gift for your birthday.”
“My birthday was yesterday.”
“It’s your birthday week and you just turned thirty! Let’s keep celebrating! Did you spill something? You have a stain on your pants.”
“Oh that, yeah, clumsy me!”
“Go take a shower while the champagne cools. And wear something nice.”
I’m speechless as Steph pushes me towards the bathroom. I close the door and stare at myself in the mirror. Is this still a dream? I smack myself in the face a couple of times, open the door, and Steph is still here in his sexy shirt cleaning my condo. What the fuck is going on?
###

Interested in more? Read the rest of “POP MY CORK, DAMMIT!” available soon on Amazon. Next week I’ll bring a different #TGIFF story to this blog!
In the meantime, have you read A TASTE OF ARGENTINA? Yum! 

Join Steve on his sexcapades through Buenos Aires, Argentina; a country known for its delicious wine, beef, and men! He enjoys a mouthful (and ass full!) of magical flavours as he devours various men on the plane, in the park, in hotel rooms, in alleyways, in bathrooms, in bedrooms…maybe he should consider a longer stay!
Warning: this story is filled with large erections, ejaculations, drug-induced sex, cream pies, and a dash of romance.

POP MY CORK, DAMMIT! (Part 2)

Click here for Part 1. Enjoy! ;-)
Wearing a pair of speedos, I grab a bottle of champagne and sunscreen before heading to the balcony. I notice that ‘dude’ is lying on his chest and I get a full, close-up view of his hard bubble butt. I take a seat on the lounge chair next to him and he lifts his head in my direction.
“There you are! What took you so long?”
“I had to shower and brush my teeth.”
“Pfft. Why bother? You smell great! Alcohol seeps from every pore of my skin when I drink. I didn’t notice that from you when I got up.”
“Well. Thanks for noticing, I guess. But I was sweaty and felt icky. It feels good to start the day with a shower.”
“Glad to hear you’re feeling good! Pop that cork and catch up to me. I’m almost halfway through my bottle of champagne.”
“Yes sir!” I say mockingly like a soldier. I almost did a salute but decided that might be too kitschy. I pop the cork, lay on lounge chair, and drink. Dude decides to rise from his seat, raising his arms to give his body a good, big stretch, and sits down with his Full Monty facing me. It sits straddled between his legs, soft and at least six inches. My mind goes blank (a sudden loss of oxygenated blood!) except for one thought: how big does it get when it’s hard?
“So, birthday boy, you’re thirty now, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I manage to squeal without making eye contact.
“I’ll be twenty-five in a couple of months. I feel old. I can’t imagine what it’s like to turn thirty.”
“Don’t think about it. Enjoy your twenties. So far thirties suck!”
“Hey, didn’t you have a good time at your party yesterday? And now you get to spend a day with me!”
“Well, it’s always nice to hang out with family and friends but it also reminds me that everyone is shacked up or getting shacked up while I stay single and sexless.”
“I’m single too but I wouldn’t say I’m sexless. When the need arises, I take care of the deed.”
He pumps his first near his crotch.
“Masturbating doesn’t count!” but I keep my eyes glued to his hand movements.
“Of course it does! If you’re masturbating then you’re feeling sexual desires. Sometimes it’s better than sex because you control everything. There isn’t any pressure in being someone different, trying to please someone, or showing them that you’ve been pleased.”
Hmm…he makes a good point, but I’m tired of porn and masturbating! I’m longing for the touch of another man’s skin against mine. Can I tell him this? I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I need to change the subject.
“How did you get trapped here last night? Didn’t you come with Frank?”
“Yeah, but he was really interested in that gay dude he was flirting with all night so I didn’t want to get in the way. And I don’t have much control when there’s free alcohol.” He pauses before he leans in and whispers, “I don’t remember passing out.”
“You can always depend on Frank to take off on his friends when he’s hunting his next prey.”
“Ha! You know him well, too!”
“I’ve known him since we were six years old. We grew up together in the same neighbourhood. How do you know him?”
“He picked me up at a bar. But don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not gay. I went to Zippers on a Sunday night with a group of my gay friends and I guess Frank thought I’d be his prey for that evening.” He chuckles before he continues. “I enjoyed the attention so I flirted back. It was fun! I also gave him a little peck on the lips before I broke the news that I was straight. He tried to convince me that every man has a little gay in him so I challenged him on that and went home with him. We drank and talked at his place. He rubbed his hands on my legs and he got a kick at seeing my cock grow inside my jeans. Who wouldn’t get turned on by someone rubbing your leg when you’re drunk?”
I try to imagine his cock growing larger than its current size and I feel my erection grow. I keep my hands folded over my speedo and plead it deflates before he notices. “He tried to kiss me,” he continues, “but I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.”
Ah, a gentleman!
“But after a few more drinks, I could feel myself getting really drunk and I could barely stay awake. At some point I don’t even remember what we were talking about when I felt hands on my pants. Soon enough, they were unzipped, pulled down, and Frank’s mouth was around my cock. That guy has skills!”
Damn! Why didn’t I think of that last night?
“Since a mouth is a mouth, and I could tell that Frank had a lot of practice, I laid back and enjoyed the blowjob. It was the first time anyone made me cum inside their mouth! He said I tasted like sweet tequila. Ha!”
“Was it awkward afterwards?”
“It wasn’t for me. I passed out and woke up the next morning on his couch. When I woke up I could hear noises coming from the bedroom. I didn’t know when, but Frank found a neighbour on a gay sex app and invited him over while I was sleeping. If I knew, I wouldn’t have walked into the bedroom. But there he was, face buried into his pillow while the guy plowed his hole. Frank can take a cock better than any girl I’ve been with.”
“Like you said he’s had extensive practice.”
We both laugh and clink bottles to cheer Frank’s promiscuity.
“I slowly closed the door so they wouldn’t hear me. I left Frank a note with my number so we could hang out sometime and then I went home. He called me a few weeks later to go for drinks with some of his friends and we’ve been hanging out ever since.”
“Has he tried to come on to you again?”
“Nah, you know Frank! He has you once, and then he’s onto another. But it’s better this way. We're friends without the awkward part of him chasing me and trying to make me gay.”
“Don’t you think it was a little gay that he gave you a blow job?”
“Nah, it’s just a blow job and he gave it to me, not the other way around. Like I said, a mouth is a mouth.”
I smirk at his comment and lay back on the lounge chair, drinking champagne, and soaking in the sun; but my mind races with images and thoughts from his first encounter with Frank. Mostly so, the thought that Frank never made a move on me. I’m just that typical check mark on the “average looking gay” profile box.
“Looks like you’re packing just as much as me,” chuckles dude guy as he winks at me and points towards my speedo.
Part 3 next week!

 If you liked this story, you may want to consider my newest eBook: A TASTE OF ARGENTINA! Yum! 

Join Steve on his sexcapades through Buenos Aires, Argentina; a country known for its delicious wine, beef, and men! He enjoys a mouthful (and ass full!) of magical flavours as he devours various men on the plane, in the park, in hotel rooms, in alleyways, in bathrooms, in bedrooms…maybe he should consider a longer stay!
Warning: this story is filled with large erections, ejaculations, drug-induced sex, cream pies, and a dash of romance.

POP MY CORK, DAMMIT! (Part 1)

Everyone around me is having sex – those currently coupled, others picking up strangers at the bar, and the majority using smartphone apps to locate daily conquests within a reasonable radius from their home.  I’m the last virgin male, unable to meet another man and disinterested in my usual routine of masturbating to porn 2-3 times a day. Oh, and I am thirty years old today. Ugh!
I’m pondering these thoughts as my family and friends sing happy birthday to me. My sister carries a massive chocolate cake – even though I’d prefer a delicate angel food cake – tortured by the stabbing of 30 lit candles swaying dangerously to an extinguished state before I can blow them out; all the while hoping and praying that my forgotten wish will come true. Yet I plaster on my trademark smile and pretend that everything is fine and dandy. Everyone claps. They are pleased with my expert blowing skills. They have smiles on their faces too, but they’re all having sex after the party, including my parents. I made the bloodcurdling discovery of condoms in my parents’ bathroom while I was looking for my mother’s chemical body hair remover – it works great to remove unwanted hair around a man’s anus! I don’t know why I bother removing the hair because in a couple of days it’ll start to itch and within weeks it will have grown back around an unpenetrated hole.
I continue to sit in front of the cake with my convincing fake smile still plastered on my face as I mentally sigh at the sad state of affairs of my sex life. I’m surprised I can cut the cake into pieces to offer my friends and family without stabbing myself and unintentionally donating drops of my blood to every piece. I guess after 30 years I have perfected playing the role of the perfect son, brother, uncle, and friend. I wish I knew how to play the role of a sex-craved lover.
The birthday cake is cut and doled out, gifts are open, and finally, the guests leave! I’m left alone to simmer in the messy state of my home trying to decide if I should leave the clean up until tomorrow and continue drinking on my own or try to mentally resolve how two of my friends met each other for the first time today and left together, barely keeping their tongues out of each other’s mouths. Another mental sigh as I picture the two men together – two friends of whom I’ve crushed on for years and successfully secured my place in the sex-free friend zone, yet in minutes they become each other’s newest sexual conquest. I can imagine their tight, trim bodies exposed during a frenzied ballet of shredding clothes, groping appendages, and a battle of who will be on top. And if they’re lucky, they get to repeat it minutes later while alternating positions. Damned be my hot, sexy, versatile gay friends!
I eventually realize during this imaginary sex scene in my head that I’ve been drinking warm champagne directly from the bottle. I set it aside and grab a chilled bottle from the fridge. As I pop the cork, I hear a startled scream from the dining area. I slowly turn around and peek into the room. Apparently, one of my guests passed out in the far corner of the room and no one bothered to take him home. I recall that he came as a guest with my best friend, but I can’t remember his name.
“Where am I?” slurs the man with squinted eyes trying to look towards the empty table that was once filled with party guests.
“You’re in my dining room. Want another?” I ask while lifting the bottle slightly into the air to give him a visual cue of the alcoholic beverage I’m offering.
“Sure dude! Bring it on!”
Dude. Great. Straight.
I walk over to his corner and pass him the bottle. I turn around to head back to the kitchen and grab a second bottle for me but he tugs at my pants.
“Hey! Sit down! Let’s drink this together. Where’s the birthday boy? We should toast him one.”
“Well, you’re looking at him,” I say as I plop my cushiony ass next to the nameless drunk who suddenly wears on a smile from ear to ear.
“Whoa, happy birthday, dude! Cheers mate!” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, takes a long sip of champagne and then passes the bottle to me. “May we have hangovers that remind us of a great party!”
It would be better if I were having sex rather than sitting on a dirty floor drinking with a drunken heterosexual stranger in my dining room. Fuck my luck!
***
I think my brain is trying to tell my body to wake up. I can feel sweat dripping from various parts of my body as the sun shines directly over my body and my bed. I guess I forgot to close the blinds before I went to bed. I squint trying to open my eyes slowly and adjust them to the bright sunlight. I can feel the familiar pounding behind my forehead and eyes – hangover!
I’m overly unmotivated to get out of bed so I convince myself that it’s my birthday weekend and I should stay in bed for a while longer. I grab my pillow and place it over my head to cover the bright, harsh sunlight invading my room. As I lay there, relaxingly awake with my eyes closed, I let out an orchestra of flatulence that had harboured in my digestive tract during my slumber.
“Whoa dude, good morning to you too!”
I jump when I hear a man’s voice. I’m not alone? Who’s here? Did I just fart in front of another human being? And who the fuck uses the word dude? Although I’m very hung over I suddenly connect the voice.
Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck!

“I hope you don’t mind but I used the toothbrush that was in the bathroom. I have nasty morning breath when I’ve been drinking the night before,” says so-called straight drunken dude from last night as he exits my bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. I suppose he took the liberty to have a shower, too. I’ll have to remember to burn that toothbrush.
 “So, what’s for breakfast?” he asks with that same smile stretching from ear to ear. I raise a bottle of champagne. “Awesome! Nothing cures a hangover like drinking it away! Pass the bottle dude,” he says. I check out his body as I pass him the bottle, all the while trying to train my mind to remember the events of last night.
“We got pretty plastered last night, eh?” says dude.
“Pretty wouldn’t be the adjective I would use.”
Dude gives a hearty laugh, followed by a loud burp, and then another swig from the bottle before he passes it back to me.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Umm…drinking myself back to bed?”
“Great! Count me in! Do you have more bottles when we finish this one?”
“Yeah. My family’s pretty generous with alcohol on my birthday. There are at least three or four more bottles in the fridge.”
“That’s crazy shit cool! Let’s finish this bottle then grab another bottle each. Is there a balcony in this place? I would love to get some sun while we drink.”
“Yes. You can get access to it from the living area or the bedroom.”
“Perfect! I hope you don’t mind but I sunbathe in the nude,” he tells me as he grabs another bottle of champagne from the fridge, walks towards the balcony door, and throws his towel to the ground before heading outside. I can’t decide what horrified me more, the naked man walking out on my balcony exposed for my neighbours or throwing a used towel on the floor in my living room. “Don’t forget to grab another bottle,” he says, “and come enjoy the sunshine with me!” as he disappears on the balcony...
P.S. I love watching Russell Tovey pop his cork! :-)

###
If you liked this story, you may consider checking out some of my books:

Dark Passenger

Today's story is not an erotica story. It's a dark story. If you read "Infected Thoughts," you'll recognize some familiar characters.

Guy said he would buy the groceries himself. He watched others walk outside – their daily routine – as he fidgeted with the hair on his chin and paced across the floor. Yes, he would do this today.
His heart pumped harder, stronger, and louder, while his pores excreted excessive sweat. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses for disguise. With earbuds in place, he turned up the music and took a shaky first step out the door.
The air was thick, his steps were frantic, and his breathing was short. The music was loud enough to drown the voices. With his head low, Guy sprinted to the store.
Once inside, he picked up a basket and filled it with as many products his racing mind could remember: bananas, green tea, and deodorant. He sped through the aisles like a skillful criminal and wound up at the self-checkout. He realized he forgot the milk; but there were others waiting behind him so he would have to do without.
Scanned, bagged, paid, and out the door, Guy felt a partial sense of relief.
Returning home, he dropped the grocery bags on the floor, closed and locked the door, and sat on the ground. He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he removed his cap and sunglasses. Deep breaths calmed his racing heart and he opened his eyes only when the internal turmoil reached serenity; and casually he walked to the kitchen counter to cross off "buy groceries" from his to-do list. Guy smiled because it was the only outdoor activity on today's list and he could spend the remainder indoors. He poured a glass of gin to chase a handful of pills, and then organized the purchases in their respective cupboards.
Guy stretched across the sofa with a second glass of gin, feeling peachy and light-headed. His mind morphed quickly into an altered state, helping him ease into a late morning slumber and forget the excursion.
"Hey sexy, you're looking hot in those gym shorts," said a voice. Guy recognized it and smiled.
"Yes, I know. That's why I wore them."
"Can I have some gin?"
"Pour yourself a glass, Justin, and join me on the sofa."
Guy heard shuffling in the kitchen and ice cubes clanking against glass. His body shifted as Justin sat near the end of the sofa. He held his drink in one hand and rubbed Guy's bare legs with the other.
"Nice and hairy."
"I can lie here all day while you massage my legs."
"Take off your shorts for a complete massage."
"Russ wouldn’t appreciate that."
"He’s not around."
"You're a bad influence, Justin."
"Says the man drinking his second glass of gin before noon."
Guy slapped Justin in the leg, playfully, and pulled himself up for a kiss.
"I'm ready for that massage," he said, with mere millimeters of space between their lips.
"Let me help you remove those clothes. Another drink before we start?"
***
Guy awoke startled by the slamming of a door and a voice: “Hey, I'm home."
It was Russ. Shit!  Guy frantically looked for his clothes and scanned the room for Justin. He was wiping his naked, sticky body with a pair of shorts when Russ walked in.
"Hey, did you sleep all day again?" asked Russ.
"Uh, no."
"Alright…would you mind starting dinner?"
"Do I always have to make dinner?"
"You don't always make dinner, Guy! But I worked all day whereas you spent the day masturbating naked!"
"And I went shopping…outside! That takes up a lot of my energy!"
"But you had plenty of energy to relieve yourself afterwards…did you get the milk for the mashed potatoes?"
"No. I forgot."
"Figures," whispered Russ, under his breath, as he walked away from Guy.
"It's a good thing he didn't know I was around," said Justin, crawling from behind the closet door. "He doesn't understand you like I do. I am so proud of you Guy, making your way outside for the first time in ten days!" Justin's genuine smile shined between his words.
"I was wondering where you went. Hurry and leave before Russ finds you!"
"A kiss goodbye?"
"Yes. Quickly!"
Justin bent down and kissed Guy passionately for a few, short seconds.
"I wish you didn't have to go," said Guy, reluctantly releasing his lips.
"I'll be back when you need me; especially when Russ ain’t around."
"I love you Justin."
"Love you too, Guy."
Justin walked away, winking a smile, and wiggling his naked ass.
"You're still naked?" asked Russ. "I think I need a run. I'll be back in about 45 minutes. Will dinner be ready then?"
"I'll try."
Guy dressed and Russ left without a kiss or goodbye. He refilled his empty glass with gin and used it to chase his evening pills.
I'll take a short nap before dinner.
He woke up moments later struggling to climb off the sofa. Instead of touching ground, Guy was falling, face up, watching the room fade. The space around him darkened, and his speed slowed until he was suspended in partial darkness; a black hole painted in hues of grey.
"What happened? Where am I?" he asked.
There was no reply.
He tried to move but his body remained frozen in his suspended state. His only physical ability was to move his eyes, scanning the grey abyss around him.
"This is a dream," he thought, but he couldn't wake up. Guy was scared. His heart rate increased and his breath was shallow. Panic rose and filled his throat but he couldn't scream.  Suddenly, he noticed a dark figure move towards him as fluid as the wind.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?" he asked, but he couldn't release the words. He attempted a futile scream for help as the dark figure flowed closer to him, squeezing tightly, and extorting the breath from his lungs.
"Help!" he screamed in his mind.
"Who will help you now? You did this to yourself," said a voice, somewhere within the abyss.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
A sinister laughter enveloped the space but it swiftly pitched higher into a series of shrieks, sending shards of pain to Guy's eardrum. Blood flowed from his ear canals and oozed into his mouth. It had an acrid taste of decayed meat. He tried to spit it out but the dark figure wouldn't allow it. It forced the blood down Guy's throat until he was drowning in it.
"Are you happier now? It won't be much longer."
Guy tried to escape but he had no control of his suspended body with its head drawn back, mouth open, and blood draining into its throat. He sensed a torturing joy emanating from the dark figure.
An eternity later, the dark figure released Guy and threw him into a slimy canal. The slime coated his body as he travelled towards a tiny, bright spot.
"It's time to relax, Guy," said a different yet familiar voice. "You've almost reached your journey's end."
"Is that you, Justin?"
"You're almost here, away from Russ and all your darkness."
The tiny, bright spot grew larger until Guy flew out of the canal and landed feet first on a soft surface. A barrage of hummingbirds surrounded his body, sucking on the sticky slime. At completion, the birds flew away and Guy dropped to the soft surface. He was able to move his limbs but when he tried to speak, the acrid blood filled his lungs.
"Drink from this," said Justin, as a geyser sprouted from the ground. He drank some but quickly spat it out. It wasn't water. It was a bitter-tasting fluid burning his throat like moonshine; however, drinking it made the blood foam out of his mouth. Reluctantly, he continued to drink until his body convulsed into violent spasms, spewing its entire contents of the acrid blood.
Adjusting to his better self, Guy noticed Justin standing naked in front of him, with a huge smile and arms wide open. Guy ran to him and Justin held him tight, kissing the top of his head. "You're finally here with me, Guy. Come, I'll take you home." Justin led Guy through a door of scattered light and disappeared.
"Hey Guy, I'm home. Is dinner ready?" The house was silent and the kitchen was empty. "Did you fall asleep again?"
Angry, Russ stomped into the living room and found Guy lying on the couch, vomit covering his mouth and dripping to the floor. Shattered glass, gin and empty bottles of pills lay nearby.
Russ ran to hold Guy’s cold body while a crumpled piece of paper stewed in the vomit:
my dark passengerscreams at nightand my skin itchesfor its elixiras I drown into this inner holefilled with rage and shamesearching for self-validation
unsuccessful am Ito cease the tearing of my soulso I search for methodsto soothe the torturein my headand find a placewhere I am free