Date: Mon, 05 Mar 2001 21:51:28 -0500
From: David Buffet <tightserve@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alpha Male - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Passive Aggression

	His cock was amazing.  Long, thick, bursting with power, it grew from its
base with strength and girth.  Near his balls, it was wide enough that I
would probably not be able to encircle it with thumb and forefinger.  It
extended to just beyond his belly button, curving in a gentle but definite
arc so that when he stood, it would point slightly upward.  As it was, while
its head dented his belly, the central section of the shaft rose almost an
inch off his abdomen.  As large and solid as it was, the skin on it hung
loosely.  He was uncut, the entire organ sheathed in a baggy sweater of
skin.  Its crown could have been the model for an Indian arrowhead.  Flared,
pink, glistening, it drew the focus of the eye to it like God's finger in
the painting of the _Creation of Man_.
	The effect was immediate.  To say I was boned would be like saying the
Titanic took on a little water. I was just as sunk.  His dick took my entire
field of vision.  The fog had become solid, as if I was moving through
partially set Jell-O.  Still, my hands continued their job, despite the lack
of help from my brain.  I moved above his head and wet his chest with the
rag.  Looking down on his face in repose, I was struck by an
uncharacteristic moment of clarity.  He was not perfectly beautiful.  There
was an asymmetry to his features that would have barred him from a modeling
job.  Still, he was a picture of perfect and raw sexuality.  He hadn't
shaved that day, the stubble adding to his roguishness.  Yet he had a few
freckles across the bridge of his nose that I hadn't noticed before.  His
eyebrows were strong and forceful, but his cheekbones not particularly
pronounced.  Relaxed as he was, his thin lips were parted and his tongue was
again resting on his lower lip.  He was boy and man within the same package,
and I realized that while he may have hit puberty at ten, he was, in no
sense, finished developing.
	I was lathering his chest, scrubbing his mighty pectoral muscles in
sweeping, circular strokes.  Unable to stop myself, I began rubbing his
aureoles and nipples with soapy fingers.  Even after they were beyond clean,
I continued, enjoying their feel as they engorged with blood.  His cock
twitched in appreciation and he heaved a great sigh.
	I rinsed his chest and with tremendous care to keep the water out of his
face, wet his hair.  Placing a dollop of shampoo in my palm, I began to work
it into his hair.  My fingers learned the bumps and rises of his skull as I
used the shampoo as an excuse to give him a luxurious - for both of us -
scalp massage.  I knew I was doing it right.  His toes curled.
	I rinsed and repeated.  Didn't really need to, I thought, but what the
hell?  How often would I have this opportunity?  Might as well follow the
directions to a word.
	His abdomen was next, which required me to treat, at least in a cursory
way, his dick.  With utmost professionalism, I moved it out of the way with
the back of my hand while I lathered beneath it.  I would not have been the
least bit surprised if it had left an imprint on my skin.  It was
extraordinarily heavy - the strength of his erection making it fight to
return to horizontal.  I washed his belly, his abdominals, the trail of
longish black hairs that began at his belly button, broadening out to his
curly, full pubic bush.  With the washcloth, I abraded the skin.  I loved
having my pubes scratched, and guessed the feeling was somewhat universal.
Rinsing the area, I returned his dick to its resting position, and worked
down his legs.
	I paid particular attention to his feet.  They must take quite a beating, I
thought, so I changed technique when I got there from one primarily of
ablution to one primarily of massage.  I worked the tiny muscles of the
ankle, attacked with brutal force his instep, punched his heel, stretched
the ball of his foot and gave each toe its due.
	Having spent some time on his feet, I returned with eager anticipation to
his midsection.  Dropping the washcloth into the bucket, I lathered my hands
generously and took his heavy, distended ball sac into them.  The seat of
his power, I thought.  The genesis of his effect on me.  I was lovingly
tender with his great balls, swirling around them with my fingers, playing
with the skin and hairs that grew there.  A hint of smile appeared on his
lips, and his dick began to leak a little - a single pearly drop of precious
fluid appearing at its mouth.  I played as a child would - discovering their
weight, their size, their contour with my manipulations.  Satisfied that we
were, for the time being, well enough acquainted, I reluctantly rinsed them
free of suds.
	He was clean, now, stem to stern, and the only thing that remained was to
raise his centerboard.  I ringed its base with my hand, drawing it away from
his body.  It was a mast and it was making me three sheets to the wind.
Dizzy for want of it, I bent down and brought my lips to it.  When I made
contact, but before I could engulf it, Adam opened his eyes and hooked my
chin with his hand, lifting me gently off him.
	"That'll do, pig," he said warmly, "that'll do."
	"Huh?"
	"That was great.  Just what I needed.  But that'll do for now."
	"Don't you want to get off?"
	"I can do that later.  Listen," he said, pulling my face close to his, "I'm
very happy, and very happy with you.  You're doing this for me?  Then stop
now.  You okay with that?"
	I nodded.  He brought his mouth to mine and kissed me briefly.  One full
sweep of his broad tongue against mine.  He let me go and sat up.  "You done
good, Mark," he said hopping off the table.  He stretched - one long,
luxurious, leonine curve of body.  "Why don't you come to our room later.
We'll have a talk."  And with that, he left.
	I have never jacked off more quickly or more explosively in my life as in
the three minutes after he had gone.
	Having wiped down the table and mopped the floor, I set off for my room
wondering again what to do about Matt.  I couldn't avoid him.  That would
just hurt him.  Nor could I continue to lead him on.  If I said something,
he would be hurt, and it would be weird for the rest of the summer.  If I
didn't, he'd figure it out for himself, it would hurt more, and it would be
*very* weird for the rest of the summer.  Besides, passive aggression wasn't
my style.  I was more confrontational than that. As I entered the dorm, no
answer presented itself to me.  Perhaps Mr. Daniels would help, I thought.
	But it wasn't to be.  I passed Brad's door on the way to my room.  It was
open and he lay, stripped to the waist, on his bed inside.  When he saw me
pass by, he called out.
	"Heeeeeywood,"
	I stopped at his doorway and leaned in.
	"You can't be serious," I said.  "It's a thousand degrees."
	"Heeeeeywooooood," he crooned, smiling.
	"Can't it wait, Brad?  I'm really not in the mood."
	"I got a woodie that won't quit.  Look!" he said.  He peeled the front of
his shorts down.  He wasn't kidding.  The blond pole stood proudly erect on
his belly.
	"Give me a break, Bradley.  I'm exhausted, wet and really pissy right now."
	"But it's calling for you, dude.  See?" he said.  He took the head and
positioned a finger on each side of the piss slit.  Pulling the two small
lips apart to make it look like a tiny mouth, he raised his voice to a
falsetto and called, timing the opening and closing of his miniature,
southern oral orifice with his words, "suck me.  Suck me!"
	Despite myself, I laughed.  "You're too much, Brad."
	"Coolness," he said, seeing that I was relenting, "you're the best, dude."
I walked in the room and closed the door.
	"I'll jerk you off, okay?  Just a quickie."
	"Okay," squeaked the diminutive mouth at the end of his dick.  I took it
from him, finding the familiar feel of it in my hand pleasant despite
myself.
	"But if you want to get off, you need to talk," I said.
	"Okay, dude.  No problem.  What do ya like?  Stroke my hot meat, faggot?
That kind of thing?"
	I turned to speak with the head of his cock.  "Look, little dick," I said
to it, "tell the big dick up there I'm not joking.  If he doesn't treat me
right, he's going to be getting to know his own right hand pretty fucking
well for the rest of the summer.  Got it?"
	"Got it," Brad squeaked, contritely, but in his dick voice.
	Ringing his flesh in my hand, I sat down on the bed next to him and started
a gentle rhythm.
	"How long have you and Wendy been going out?"
	"Coupla years."
	"You ever cheat on her?"
	"Not once," he said to the guy who was jerking him off.
	"Just with guys?"
	"That doesn't count."
	"How do you meet them?  I mean, when you're not actually provided one by
your coach."
	He laughed.  "This is the first time he's ever done this, you know," he
said.  "Most of us thought it was a pretty cool idea."
	"I bet," I said.  "Glad to know I'm a ground breaker.  So how did you use
to find guys?"
	"It's not that hard.  I got a bod that gay guys really like."  To stress
the point, he took one wrist in the other and pulled in isometric
opposition.  His pecs, biceps and triceps flared in response.  "And we can
tell who you guys are pretty easy.  So when we'd go to away meets, I'd
just...I don't know...scope for who was scoping me."
	"They come up to you, or did you approach them?" I began to thumb the
sensitive junction of his glans lightly.
	"Mostly me.  We tend to intimidate gay guys.  You're different," he said.
"Most guys think we'll beat the crap out of them or something if they ask.
Usually the ones that ask are old disgusting guys."
	"So, what?  You just walk up to a guy who's scoping you and say, 'hey, want
some of this?'" I added a squeeze of his dick for emphasis.
	He giggled.  "That's pretty much it.  You don't have to work that hard with
most gay guys.  Much easier than girls.  You could teach them a thing or
two, you know."
	"Yeah," I said, "but I don't think they're particularly interested in
learning how to be more like men."
	"Too bad," Brad said.  "Put tits and a pussy on a guy, and you got the
perfect date."
	I continued to stroke him in silence for a bit, making sure not to let his
fever rise.  He laid his head back into the pillow and shut his eyes.
	He was so stunning, I thought.  Beach bum surfer dude soccer jock all
rolled into one.  Of course he had a cavalier attitude about his body.  Who
wouldn't?  How could you be that beautiful and not be intimately aware of it
and the effect it had on other people?  Still, I found what he was saying
distasteful.  How many young Matts had been ruined by a boy like him, I
wondered?  And this Wendy!  Either she allowed him his egocentricity because
he was so gorgeous - which did not speak particularly well of her - or, as I
hoped, she was as stunning as he was and used him as fully as he used her.
	"So when you would meet a guy, you'd ask him if he were interested..." My
inflection indicated I wanted him to continue.
	"...Yeah.  And we'd go somewhere - usually to his place.  On the road, we
have to share hotel rooms.  Sometimes we're four to a room -- and then I let
him do me."
	"You ever do him too?"
	"Naw.  I want to get off, and they're grateful to do it.  Kinda like you."
	I let go of his dick, which flipped back to his abdomen with a thud.  "That
what you think?"
	"Shit yeah, dude.  Most of them are amazed I'll even talk to 'em, let alone
let them blow me.  It's a pretty good deal, if you ask me."
	"You know, Brad, I changed my mind," I said.  "I think I *will* give you a
blowjob."
	"Cool, dude!"
	"My absolute pleasure," I said, bringing my lips to his head.  I engulfed
him and with the assistance of both hands, started an assault that was bound
to bring him off within seconds.
	"Holy shit!" he cried, surprised at the vigor with which I was pleasuring
him.  As predicted, before very long at all, I could feel his testicles
begin their telltale rise.  I was deep throating him when they began, and as
they did, I withdrew so that just his head was in my mouth and began sucking
it like a vacuum cleaner.  With a few well-placed ministrations of my hands,
I felt the first squirt of cum hit the back of my tongue.
	As expected, his hands flew to the back of my head which he held in place
while his hips thrust his dick into me in one convulsive spasm.  Not before,
however, I was able to tighten my jaw just a tad and remove my lips from
their protective station over my teeth.  As he shoved his dick fully down my
throat, the length of it passed over my teeth, which were spread apart a
millimeter less than the width of his dick.
	He howled, half in the ecstasy of the orgasm, half in pain as my enamel
scored the skin atop and below his sensitive dick.  For a split second, he
didn't know what to do - leave it in or take it out.  As my tongue swept the
abrasion, though, he quickly decided and pulled my head off him faster than
you can say, "was it good for you?"
	Wiping a line of cum from my chin, I looked at him cup his groin in pain.
I hadn't drawn blood, but he would have a couple of nasty scrapes that would
take a week to heal.
	"You're right, Brad," I said, cheerily, "that *was* satisfying.  Thanks!"
I left the room.
	Okay.  So sometimes passive aggression has its place.
	It had been a long, difficult day, and it still wasn't done.  From Brad's
room I walked down the hall and stopping just before my door, turned right.
	Beyond the door now in front of me was something I knew I wanted.  Beyond
the door was what had lurked just beneath my consciousness all day as I sat,
sweated, cleaned, watched, bathed, blew.  I had not thought about it.  I had
not analyzed, I had not reasoned, I had not rationalized the decision I was
about to make.  Instead, I had let sensation percolate up through my psyche
until it had suffused my soul.  I did not consider why.  I did not
understand.  Still, there was a part of me that knew, with absolute surety,
it was right. Beyond the door was what I needed and beyond the door was what
enjoyed my need.  I knocked.
	"Yo," I heard from inside.
	I opened the door to the Lair, and stood on the threshold.  Dan was alone,
sitting on his bed and thumbing through a Sports Illustrated.  The sweet
smell hit me like a wall.  It was addictive, I realized.
	"Can I come in for a sec?"
	"Sure," he said.  "Pull yourself up a piece of mess."
	He wasn't kidding.  The place was a disaster zone.  Every piece of clothing
they owned was on the floor, tangled up with magazines, playing cards, chess
pieces, CDs.  I found a path to what I guessed was a chair.  Indeed, lifting
the underwear, sneakers, jeans and a couple of Hostess Cupcakes (I think)
revealed a chair below.  I stood with the pile of crap in my hands, looking
for some guidance as to where it should be placed.  Getting none, I sat down
in the chair and simply dumped it next to me.  This seemed to be the correct
thing to do, as he paid no particular attention to it.
	"Listen, Dan," I began, "this afternoon didn't go anywhere near the way I
wanted it to.  I'm really sorry."
	He shrugged and kept reading his magazine.
	"No, this is serious.  We both know I have the propensity to say the wrong
thing when I'm nervous.  The truth is, what you said about me is absolutely
right."
	He nodded.
	"And as for your inclinations," he looked up at me warily, "I don't
understand them.  I don't understand them at all.  I think I point
completely to the other side of the compass.  I don't think I could ever
understand what you were talking about on an intuitive level because it's so
foreign to the way I feel."  He nodded again, inviting me to continue.  "You
see, the thing is, well...I'm actually not quite sure how to put this,
but...Dan..."
	"Well?"
	"This is a bit uncomfortable for me..."
	He frowned and waited, wordlessly, for me to continue, staring at me over
the magazine.  I became lost, again, in the blue on blue of his eyes.
	"The thing is...Dan...that I think I could fall for you in a major kind of
way."
	"Despite my 'inclinations?'" he asked.
	"Actually..." I stammered, "I think *because* of them."
	He looked at me for a long time, then smiled.
	"Well, it's about fucking time," he said.
	"Pardon?"
	"It took you long enough.  Jesus!  I've been waiting for two weeks."
	"You have?" I asked in stunned naiveté.
	He nodded.
	"Wow.  Where was I?"
	He shrugged his shoulders.  "Fighting the fog."
	I laughed.  We sat there looking at each other in silence.  When the pause
began to make me uncomfortable, I asked, "So what now?"
	"Well, you sure you want to start something?"
	"No."
	"You understand what you're getting yourself into?"
	"No."
	"Good answers, Mark.  So now we just see what happens.  In the meantime, no
cumming."
	"Ummm...that's going to be a little problematic," I said.  "There's kind
of...a situation."
	"It's not going to be a problem at all," he said with confident authority.
"Deal with it."
	I nodded.  I sat there wondering if I should join him on the bed, wondering
if I could kiss him, wondering what I was doing there, wondering what my
future would hold.  He sat there watching me wonder, taking, I think, some
delight out of my confused indecision.  Before I could bring myself to act
or commit more fully to inaction, though, the door open and Adam burst into
the room.
	"Fuck me, I'm hot!" he said, announcing his entrance as clearly as Gabriel.
	"We have a visitor," Dan said to him.
	"So I see," replied Adam, walking over to his bed and stripping off his
shirt.
	"It seems our little friend wants to take a walk on the wild side."
	Adam slowly turned to look at me, fixing his gaze on mine.  I felt very
small.
	"Well it's about fucking time!" he said, breaking into a smile.  "Now go
get a towel.  We're going swimming."