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"