Try Me (Extracurricular Activities #2)

by Neve Wilder

“The fuck are you doing to me, Farrow?” He spoke in a raspy, wrecked way that lit me up, like I’d stumbled upon a key that unlocked a part of himself he’d forgotten. And while I didn’t have an answer for him, I hoped it was along the same lines of what he was doing to me.

Inside me, every fucking thing was humming with a dangerous, magnetic energy I didn’t even want to try to stop.

Coming here still messed with my stomach. I could never eat the mornings before I came, and I couldn’t eat for hours afterward. In spite of what he’d done, I hated thinking about my dad stuck in this place for the rest of his life. For that matter, I hated coming at all. But I did because I was his son, and regardless of the fact that he was guilty as fuck of the crimes he was accused of—I stopped the line of thought before it got too far. The truth was, I didn’t know why I still came. Maybe I needed the reminder of what I didn’t want to become. Greed made people this way. Greed and desperation.

It was hard to look at him. I kept doing it in short glances the way you avoided staring at the sun because it’d hurt your eyes. If I looked at him too long, I saw how much he’d aged, the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles and salt-and-pepper hair, and my mind tried to fit that up against the memories I had from when I was a kid. Him teaching me how to ride my bike, the steady hand on the back of my seat, the other on the handlebars.

I’d been born into nothing and ended up with everything. Chet had been born into everything and ended up with nothing.

“Somehow, out of fifty fraternity brothers and an entire university, you’re the most arrogant asshole I know.” “That’s a huge compliment coming from you.”

He’d texted me earlier about our project, and I’d mentioned coming to the library, but I hadn’t expected him to show up, much less find me. I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed or amused. My dick didn’t have the same quandary at all, immediately stirring with interest.

Mark had been awkward as fuck when we were around thirteen. Glasses, braces, features too big for his face. I guess I had been, too. But now he was…shit, he almost hurt to look at, and it wasn’t because he was perfectly symmetrical or proportioned according to the golden mean or had dazzling eyes. They were a nice blue, and his upper lip was more pronounced than his lower, very slightly off-kilter due to the micro cleft palate he told me he’d been born with. A stray lock of golden-brown hair was plastered in a curlicue shape along his temple. But everything about him seemed to work in some kind of crazy magnetic harmony. At least on me.

His kiss was reckless and hard, like something caged for too long and finally allowed to spring.

“That’s right,” he purred, low and sexy. “You fucking like that finger in your ass, don’t you?”

I was a jumble of disparate sensations, the pleasure more cerebral, centered around the fact that he was fingering my ass, touching a part of me no one else ever had. He pushed deeper and the cerebral gave way to the ohfuckyes, tandem pressure and pleasure twisting me up. Maybe I said the ohfuckyes part aloud, because Chet laughed softly. “Turn around.” I did so immediately, no questions.

“You taste good.” The justification was offered in conjunction with a gentle press of his lips to my asscheek. It was strangely out of place and all the more seductive for it.

I wanted him to fuck me. I’d let him slide his dick inside me right now. Fuck, I might even beg for it.

“So fucking good,” he growled. “So fucking sexy and tight.” Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I blew my load. Just like that. Just because Chet Pynchon told me I was sexy and tight in a growly, pure sex voice.

“Do you like it?” I nodded, tongue too thick for words. I liked him using my body for his pleasure, liked how he’d just gone for it unabashedly. No inhibition,

His balls smacked against my bare skin, and my cock started to get hard again when he gripped me tighter and slammed between my legs with one hard, final thrust. Heat flooded over my inner thighs and nuts as he coated them with his release and slumped against me, a tremor racking his body that I could feel all through mine.

“Shower or bed?” “Depends on the day, perv.” I laughed and yanked up my shorts. “What was it this morning?” I swiped my hand across the thighs of my shorts, but what I really needed was a shower. “Bed. Lying on my back. Covers off. One hand on my dick, the other tugging on my nuts. I was thinking about you.”

His scent, his taste, all of it wrapped me up and surrounded me. Like the fact that we were fooling around where anyone could see us, the way his kiss affected me should’ve been terrifying. And it was, a little. I was scared that nothing else would ever compare. And that I couldn’t have it forever. But maybe a while would be long enough. Maybe the thrill would make the inevitable downfall worth it.

“We can’t be anything.” Saying the words aloud caused a physical reaction inside me, like someone tugging on the muscles in my chest or squeezing my lungs in a vice grip. But someone had to. How long had I wanted him? It was longer than the length of time I’d known with absolute certainty I couldn’t have him.

Chet: But since you already took Carroll’s class, maybe u could help me? Mark: Happy to hold the textbook in front of your face while you’re on your knees. Chet: Or you can get on all fours and I can set it on your back. Seems the more practical solution if you ask me. Mark: I didn’t ask.

Sneaking around with him was the first slice of genuine elation I’d felt in a long time.

For a while, everything was good. I was doing everything I’d ever wanted to. Then it all got mixed up with pills. My family. The way I was raised, and this whole idea that everything I wanted so badly was wrong. That I was defective and disgusting.”

“You know why I wouldn’t let you touch me when you were in my room that night? Because I was afraid if you did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. That I wouldn’t want to stop. That I’d keep wanting it. That I’d keep wanting you. And I was right to be afraid. Because I do.”

I wanted more. I wanted all of him. In my bed. Spread out and undone. No clock to pay attention to, no one to hide from.

“I wanted to kiss you that night you came down to Kacey’s dock,” I told him, cinching my knees around his sides as he grabbed my waist. He tilted his hips into my weight, hard dick grinding against my ass. “It wasn’t the first time I wanted to, but it was the first time I had trouble holding myself back.” “So you told me to fuck off instead.” “It seemed like a solid plan at the time.”

My name in his mouth. My weakness. I wanted him to keep saying it in that throaty, wrecked murmur.

The noises he made vibrated against my tongue, and I drank them down greedily.

Mark dug his fingers into my arms, dragging and pinching the skin, then nudged my chin up, lips blazing down my neck, teeth nipping, tongue soothing the sting. He was careless and rough, and I fucking adored every messy, imprecise second of it.

“You wanna get inside me, Farrow?” I reached between us to circle his head with my fist as I glided along his shaft. “That what you mean? Who’ll top who?” Mark moaned, eyes fluttering closed when I twisted my wrist. He drew in a staggered breath. “Yeah. I didn’t want to assume anything.” “You’re not ready for me to fuck you.” It was the truth. And besides, I was burning with a need that had existed for years, with fantasies that had become scorching impetus.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good.” I curled over, pouring the words into the shell of his ear as I reached back and rubbed the head of his cock over my entrance. In seconds, we were both worked up and breathing hard as I teased myself open with his crown.

I broke him in with a few slow rocks, drinking in the sight of his nipples pebbled tight and dark on his pecs, the rapid, visible kick of his pulse in his throat, and the flush painting his chest. “Are you about to tell me how tight I am?” I drawled. “You are.” Mark grunted with the effort to hold still as I ground into him. “Really fucking tight. Really fucking naked and fucking tight and…fuck it.” He punched his hips into me, knocking loose a cry when he glided over my prostate, and I realized I’d seriously, seriously underestimated both his stamina and prowess as a lover. The fucker was a natural.

No way I’d last as long as I wanted to—which was probably longer than was medically advisable, anyway. I couldn’t help it, though. The unyielding clench of Chet’s ass around my cock was euphoric, each thrust inside him like my dick was a lightning rod, taking massive hits of pleasure and grounding them through me in sizzling waves of electricity.

It was addictive, intoxicating, watching him take me, the needy upward thrust of his hips when I eased back, and the way his spine arched and his fingers dug into me when I came at him again.

Sex with him, like everything else between us, was both savage and tender, temperamental and incredibly fucking hot.

“Gonna come inside me?” he cajoled in my ear, with another dick-wringing squeeze around me. “Want it?” I’d never edged myself so profoundly. My balls were leaden and full, and almost painful to touch. If I’d been alone, I’d have kept an eye on the wall opposite the bed to see how far I shot. Out of scientific curiosity, of course.

He gave something approaching a nod and pulled one of my hands to his mouth, licking and sucking my fingertips and knuckles like he couldn’t get enough of me. Liquid heat spiraled through me as he slammed backward in perfect counter time to my thrusts. “Fuck yeah, I want it.”

I soared on the relentless pulse of my cock emptying inside him, how the flood of semen made him tighten, draining every last drop from me. At the last spurt, he slipped free, moving up my chest. My mouth was open and waiting, hungry for the cock he jerked against the eager flick of my tongue.

His release hit the roof of my mouth, pooled hot in the back of my throat, and coated my tongue. I closed my mouth around him, and a shiver racked his shoulders as I sucked him dry.

I ran a hand down his chest and over his softened cock, then between his legs, eliciting a tiny arch of his back. Chet let out a quiet groan as I slid my finger through his slippery asscheeks and smeared my jizz around his hole. “Fuck, that’s so unbelievably sexy,” I whispered, a full-body shiver darting through me as he gripped my wrist and pushed my finger back inside. Hot and wet, the filthy intimacy of touching him like that threatened to get me hard again.

I wanted Chet Pynchon, and I was with him right now. Everything else would get sorted as we went.

“I would’ve let you in anytime.” I met the dark pools of his eyes, the confession soft. “I always will. I don’t know that I’d ever be able not to.” “Jesus, Farrow.” “Yeah.” I sighed. I was kind of hopeless, really.

Chet Pynchon naked was a glorious sight. I’d been too busy earlier twisting him into various pretzel shapes to really pore over the lean composition of his body, the biteable flex of his triceps as he reached for his boxers, the tight bubble of his ass and v-cut abs that weren’t as pronounced as they’d been back in his basketball days, but still sleek. Everything about him seemed like it’d been personally primed to turn me on.

The booming echo of a guy growling your name as he fell apart? Yeah, it got my blood pumping.

He kissed me until my head spun. The noonday heat of the bricks at my back melded with the heat of his mouth, and my entire body felt so light and warm, like only his hands on my shoulders were keeping my feet on the ground. He pulled away a fraction of an inch and licked his lips. “I swear to God, you’re the best damn kisser in existence.” “So why’d you stop?”

Chet: Was gonna tell you that tie’s not awful. Mark: Thank you, I think. Chet: Would be better as a blindfold. Or wrapped around my fist. With you on your knees. Think I could persuade you to try a different kind of ropes course? Mark: JFC this is exactly what I’m talking about. Bye. Chet: Wait. Chet: I want to take you out. Mark: Mafia style? Or like to dinner and a movie. Chet: Idiot.

“So I just hop on?” “Unless you want to levitate your ass onto the seat, yeah.” He prodded the seat like the whole bike might tip over. “I’ve never ridden one before.” “If you only knew how many times I’ve heard that in my life.” The dark look Mark gave me had me chuckling as I patted my own shoulder. “Hand here, then ease on. I’ll be gentle, sweetheart, I promise.”

Love for speed existed for a reason, though, for the heart-pounding, stomach-swooping breathlessness that came from navigating around a curve or flying over a hill. In fact, there was only one other thing I knew of that caused the same sensation… Mark’s body molded to mine, a firm heat against my back, implicit trust in the way his fingers relaxed from their rictus grip and became more of a casual touch that secretly thrilled me. We’d been swoops and dives and potholes for most of the time I’d known him. But for this moment right now, it felt like open road between us, and it was my heart that was moving at breakneck speed.

Because the truth was, nothing else felt as good as Mark Farrow. I wasn’t sure anything else ever could.

I liked just walking with Mark, being aware of his presence at my back or alongside me as we roved, and I guess he felt the same, because when I’d glance over at him, he’d give a smile I didn’t know what to make of. It was a fusion of shy and devious, and it made my stomach swoop just as much as the rolling hills we’d climbed and descended earlier.

“It’s a total mindfuck to try to wrap my brain around. Some days it feels black and white, and other times he’s still the guy who taught me how to ride a fucking bike. Let me play in all his cars and never told me to be careful or acted like it was a big deal. Took me every year to that hot-air balloon festival because I liked to watch them fly.”